A s an introvert, I have been in some way, shape or form preparing for this moment for my entire life. I had used Zoom before a few of my classes made the switch to virtual meetings on the platform, and I was no stranger to the virtual learning world. I used Google Hangouts before it was cool or necessary. I regularly swipe through videos on TikTok, which is apparently a quintessential Generation Z activity. And still, with all of that generational knowledge, I ran into all sorts of questions during the start of my online courses a few weeks ago. Could I be more informal in my class’s BlueJeans chat than I would be in a class email? How am I possibly going to take an exam online? Are other people also realizing that this particularly useless meeting or mandatory in-person seminar could have just been an email? My initial opinion about shifting from in-person classes to online meetings was largely negative. It’s definitely been difficult to retain information and remain focused during these online sessions, and many students I’ve talked to have expressed similar feelings. During class and during my newly- expanded amount of free time, I am having difficulty motivating myself to do anything at all. I miss my classmates and roommates a whole lot, and I miss studying with friends. I miss being employed. I miss certainty, routine and structure. In particular, I miss my roommate’s Muddy Buddies. That is not a euphemism for something weird or kinky — one of my roommates makes this delicious snack (also known as puppy chow) that simply tastes like joy and whose components yield zero health benefits. There is perhaps an argument to be made in defense of the peanut butter, but the rest of the ingredients for Muddy Buddies (confectioner’s sugar, cocoa, butter, etc.) have about as much nutritional value and addictive quality as the average mango Juul pod. I thought that my exodus from Ann Arbor would mark the end of my roommate’s delicious treats for the house to enjoy. My sister has a vicious allergy that could require hospitalization if she were to ingest a peanut, and in this time of crisis, messy peanut butter foods are to be strictly avoided in my household. Imagine my surprise later, standing in the half-empty Detroit Metropolitan-Wayne County airport, as I spotted some Chex Mix Muddy Buddies ripoffs on the way to my gate. I impulsively bought two bags. It is hard to describe the taste of Muddy Buddies à la Chex Mix. I suppose it tastes like giving up, if that were something one could taste. Whereas snacking on my roommate’s Muddy Buddies provided me with the carelessly optimistic sense that everything in the world might just turn out OK, crunching on these artificially- flavored bad boys evoked the anxiety of a mediocre English or theater major graduating into one of the worst job markets in recent history. If you were to rip open the dark belly of all human despair and venture into the gunk of its fleshy depths, you’d find those peanut butter chocolate Chex Mix bags. As a recent Harvard Business Review article suggests, the coronavirus crisis will create indelible changes within the United States. and abroad. It’s unclear exactly how the massive shift to online college courses will impact the future of learning at the University of Michigan, or other educational institutions in the long-term. A nation-wide survey of college students have found the psychological effect of their school’s shutdown to be significant; many survey respondents reported higher levels of depression and anxiety. This should come as no surprise given the abrupt changes in daily student life: 52 percent of respondents had been unexpectedly laid off from a job or had their hours cut back, 28 percent lack reliable access to healthy meals and 20 percent lack reliable access to a mobile device or WiFi. Statistics like these illustrate my biggest concern with the “we’re in this together” style of guidance to those feeling dejected about the crisis. Some students have the means to make it through the coronavirus pandemic with very few disruptions if any at all, as suggested by the 21 percent of survey respondents who expressed no significant changes in their lives due to the coronavirus. Some students may be forced with the decision to withdraw from their studies. Many students will lose loved ones. We are not, in fact, all in it together. This is perhaps something we forgot amid the confusion of President Donald Trump’s response to the coronavirus, the shuffling closure of many public places like libraries or restaurants or the bizarre frenzy of the supermarket rush for — of all things — toilet paper. Everyone has someone who cares about them and would love to hear from them (from afar — seriously, please stay at home). It would be foolish to expect our attempts at social interaction in quarantine to be as good or as valuable as the genuine sense of fulfillment that comes with getting to see your favorite people. It might as well be a law of physics that Chex Mix’s imitation puppy chow will never taste like my roommate’s, but I eat it nonetheless. I still go to my online classes, despite the lingering feeling of loss that is palpable among students who have ceased to see their friends, go to work or leave their houses. Do what you have to do. As one of my favorite professors once said in her newly-online office hours, “Be gentle with yourself.” Try to make new memories, good ones. 5 — Monday, April 13, 2020 Opinion The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com ALLISON PUJOL | COLUMN Love, your new favorite online college student Allison Pujol can be reached at ampmich@umich.edu. O utside of the Louvre, a guard stands in front of the endless queue, controlling eager tourists and admitting them in an orderly fashion. Somewhere around noon, he will cut the queue and close the entrance, then tell that unfortunate traveler who was just cut, “Sorry, come back tomorrow.” These days, when no one can actually get into the Louvre, I feel like that unfortunate traveler. This is about when the entire country draws the line right in front of you. Amid the crisis, I am living in the United States as an Asian and a foreigner. It would take an hour for me to explain how this situation has unleashed racist sentiment against Asian people, but there is another important aspect: How COVID-19 has forced me to recognize my position here in the U.S. At the White House press conference on March 17, a reporter pointed out that President Donald Trump’s use of the term “Chinese Virus” is racist against Chinese Americans. It is not even worth discussing his remark, but the phrasing of the question itself was upsetting. She criticized him for being insensitive to the discrimination against “Asian Americans,” not Asians in general. Other media coverage also addresses this as an Asian American matter. At first, I wasn’t sure if I read them correctly. What about Asians in this country who are not Americans? I have been living in the U.S. for almost two years as a “Korean Korean.” Observing American reactions to coronavirus-related racism, I felt like the queue was cut right in front of me. Even when being discriminated against, there is a priority to be recognized as a victim. If there was a queue to enter the category of victimhood, they let Asian Americans in, but not us. The most depressing part is that even the journalists and so-called liberals who claim to defend minorities against the current administration draw the line to first recognize “their people” as victims. Intersectionality creates different tiers of “minority-hood.” While Asian Americans are prioritized over Asian foreigners, racists attack both groups on the same basis. If we are not even recognized as victims, who will care about us? The ugliest part of this intersectionality is that our nationality alienates us institutionally. In other words, if someone says “If you don’t like it, just go back to your own country,” I have nothing to say, unlike those who are “from here.” This devastating reality becomes even more apparent during hard times. Canada closed its border and decided to only let their citizens and permanent residents in. The University pushes all students to go home, but there is no guarantee that international students can return to the U.S. someday. What I see from this panic is the priority of inclusion. Of course, I am aware that U.S. citizens have always been entitled to more rights in the first place. For instance, in the Supreme Court case Kleindienst v. Mandel (1972), it is decided that foreign nationals are not entitled to the same degree of due process as citizens when entering the U.S. It is institutionally accepted that foreigners are not even second-class “citizens.” However, when it comes to a national emergency, aside from my value judgment of whether this is right or wrong, countries prioritize their citizens even more explicitly. To clarify, what I am pointing out here is the priority of recognition, not the priority of privilege. I don’t expect the same degree of legal privilege with the people who have no other country than the U.S. that will protect them. I, too, have my own country that will take care of me as much as, or even more than, the U.S. does to its people. But by choosing to stay in Ann Arbor, I am denying myself that opportunity by my will. However, that doesn’t mean that I am willing to risk more than what I would have received in my country of origin. As long as I am living here, paying more than any domestic students would, as well as taxes, I want the same degree of respect as a member of this community. At least, I want the recognition as a victim who needs protection from racist attacks. Maybe my analogy to the Louvre was wrong: It is more like a queue rushing into a tornado shelter. This is a more serious and desperate situation, where no one should be left outside. So, don’t draw the line. Don’t draw the line SUNGMIN CHO | COLUMN Sungmin Cho can be reached at csungmin@umich.edu. T his Letter to the Editor is written in response to a news article written by Angelina Brede titled “Students, faculty question spring, summer tuition costs, quality of remote learning.” Though I understand the frustration with the University of Michigan’s refusal to reduce tuition costs for the spring and summer terms, I cannot agree with the sentiment entirely. Tuition is about so much more than paying to be on campus for classes and community. First and foremost: Spring and summer terms are incredibly different from what occurred during this winter term. They are optional — nobody is expected to take courses during these terms. Additionally, they were moved online a month in advance of the courses starting. This gives instructors substantially more time to convert the courses than there was during this term, and thus, these courses should be of substantially higher quality in comparison. Beyond this, students are making an informed decision. We were told the classes would be remote far in advance. Unlike this term, nobody is being blindsided by this change. Furthermore, though buildings are on lockdown, University resources are fighting to go remote for the benefit of students. I understand we’re losing the “campus experience” by not being in Ann Arbor, but we are not losing all of the resources of student and University organizations. The library has made an additional 1150 books free-to-read online. Many organizations, including The Daily, First Generation, LSA Opportunity Hub and LSA Honors, have offered online events for their members and/or the broader University community. Though these resources are compromised, it’s demeaning to erase the labor of countless people in complaints about losing the “campus experience” by insinuating that we have lost them entirely. The University is more than its buildings. Spring and summer tuition will support the additional labor of faculty and staff who are working tirelessly to give us the opportunities we are so scared of losing. BETH DEVLIN | LETTER TO THE EDITOR Beth Devlin is a freshman in the College of Literature, Science & the Arts and can be reached at bldevlin@umich.edu. Everyone has someone who cares about them and would love to hear from them. It is institutionally accepted that foreigners are not even second-class “citizens.”