2-News

 Monday, August 31, 2020 — 9
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

T

he time to act is now. 
While COVID-19 may 
feel like it is pulling 

focus away from the issues 
that we care about, making it 
harder to communicate and 
plan actions and exhausting us 
emotionally and intellectually, 
there has never been a time 
where student action at the 
University 
of 
Michigan, 

especially 
collective 
action, 

will be as effective as it will 
be right now. The fundamental 
disruption 
COVID-19 
has 

caused 
to 
the 
four-year, 

traditional college model is 
the perfect storm for holding 
institutions accountable and 
making institutional change. 

The four-year college model 

is a contrived but carefully 
curated system of educational 
and social experience designed 
to 
sequester 
money 
from 

students while theoretically 
providing them avenues for 
personal 
and 
educational 

growth. This model relies on the 
expectation that students will 
be focused on themselves rather 
than the larger community. 
Known for its brand strength 
and disappointing track record 
on issues of transparency and 
social change, the University 
uses this model to keep student 
voices quiet during their time 
at the University. After two 
years of personal experience 
and conversations with friends, 
classmates, alumni and others 
I’ve 
distilled 
the 
general 

University of Michigan college 
experience into this theory: The 
U-M undergraduate experience 
is designed so that students 
only have one year of focused 
activism and social awareness 
before they graduate. 

Freshman year, the year 

of many firsts, is when the 
University 
plunges 
students 

into 
the 
deep 
maize-and-

blue sea of unwavering school 
pride. 
Summer 
orientation 

in East Quad Residence Hall, 
Convocation 
at 
the 
Crisler 

Center, the thrill of life away 
from parents, a fall of Michigan 
Football games, UMixes on 
weekends, 
fraternity 
and 

sorority rush, basement band 
shows and other quintessential 
dreams of freshman year leave 
little room to look around 
at the systemic injustices at 
the University. At its core, 
freshman year is spent learning 
how to go to college and being 
taught to unequivocally love 
the University of Michigan. 

Sophomore year, the year 

where the initial shine fades, 
is 
a 
time 
when 
students 

actually begin to learn and to 
open their eyes to the systems 
around them. The stresses of 
living off-campus, declaring 
a major, saving grade point 
averages and moving beyond 
freshman-year friendships, all 
begin to crack both the student 
and the facade created by the 
University. Students observe 
what appear to be isolated 
incidents: Administration and 
faculty members being accused 
of 
sexual 
misconduct, 
the 

University making decisions 
on important policy behind 
suspiciously 
closed 
doors 

and whispers of inequality 
at the Dearborn and Flint 
satellite 
campuses. 
With 

freshly 
awakened 
senses, 

the University begins to fear 
sophomores. 

Junior year: the year of 

awakening. While there are 
students both cognizant of 

the deep-seated institutional 
flaws and working to fight 
them throughout their entire 
career at the University, I’ve 
observed junior year is the 
year of change for most. No 
longer needing acclimation to 
college, and having spent two 
years at the University, many 
students open their eyes to the 
systemic problems that plague 
the administration. Two years 
of life at the University of 
Michigan is generally enough 
time to tear down the facade 
of compassion and community 
the University spends so much 
time and money cultivating 
our freshman year. Years of 
mistreatment, malpractice and 
lack of transparency shows that 
these are not isolated incidents 
but patterns of negligence, 
lack of care and betrayal. This 
realization leads many juniors 
to join activist groups, speak 
out about their experiences, and 
pressure the administration to 
make substantive change. Two 
years is enough for students 
to realize that the University 
does not have a commitment 
to 
transparency 
or 
action 

surrounding sexual assault and 
misconduct as seen through 
the need for the WilmerHale 
report 
and 
SMTD 
Climate 

Survey, and the allegations 
surrounding 
David 
Daniels, 

Stephen Shipps and Martin 
Philbert. Two years is enough 
for students to realize that the 
University does not commit 
to making itself do anything 
more than appear to care about 
Diversity, Equity and Inclusion 
(DEI) initiatives, as evidenced 
by the constant mistreatment 
of the University of Michigan-
Flint and the University of 
Michigan-Dearborn, 
lack 
of 

substantive action on racial 
justice in the wake of the 
murder of George Floyd and 
Breonna Taylor and allowing 
Division of Public Safety and 
Security officers to remain 
armed. Two years is long 
enough for students to realize 
their voices will not be sought 
out 
when 
making 
critical 

and long-term decisions that 
affect them, especially the 
voices of disabled students, 
evidenced 
through 
the 

Michigan Union redesign and 
COVID-19 precautions. Two 
years is enough for many to 
realize 
the 
administration 

just 
doesn’t 
care, 
through 

actions like raising tuition 
during a pandemic and holding 
a University Board of Regents 
meeting 
without 
public 

comments when making this 
decision. 

Come senior year, many are 

either burned out and ready to 
leave or holding on as tightly 
as possible to the college 
experience vanishing before 
their eyes. Alumni I spoke 
to reflected on focusing on 
post-graduate plans or doing a 
highlight reel of their favorite 
experiences at the University, 

pivoting away from the drive 
and focus of their junior year 
work. Understandably, senior 
year is a time to begin parting 
ways with the University of 
Michigan. 

This 
model 
comforts 

the administration as they 
generally only bear the full 
brunt of a student’s activism 
and attention for one year. 
However, 
COVID-19 
has 

substantially 
disrupted 
this 

model for the first time in 
recent memory with students 
making the decision to take 
gap semesters, take classes 
fully remote and therefore 
become more distanced from 
the University. Student groups 
and activists must work to 
collectivize their efforts, push 
for broader support amongst 
the student body and apply as 
much pressure as possible on 
the administration. For the 
foreseeable future, all attention 
can and should be focused on the 
failings of the administration. 
No longer can the veil of game 
days, tailgates, late dinners in 
the dining hall with friends, 
on-campus events, musicals, 
Guy Fieri night at Mosher-
Jordan 
Hall 
and 
weekend 

ragers cloud the student body’s 
vision of the failings of the 
University administration. No 
“Go Blue” blinder will be put 
over the incoming freshman 
class’s eyes, this group being 
welcomed not by pageantry and 
celebration, but with increased 
tuition during a pandemic. 
We must turn their focus and 
anger towards the University’s 
mishandling 
of 
COVID-19 

that will likely affect them 
for years to come. We must 
propel sophomores to turn 
their nervous energy and stress 
into a driving force for the 
movement, no longer needing 
the year to fully realize the 
systemic issues behind their 
isolated observations. Finally, 
no longer will seniors be able 
to relive their previous years 
on campus or be distracted 
by endless and extensive job 
searches. We must turn their 
focus and frustration towards 
leaving the University a better 
place than it was when they 
arrived for leadership for the 
initial push. 

Already 
groups 
and 
pages 

like 
@blackatmichigan, 

@FightBackUMich, 
@

AbolishMichiganIFCandPanhel, 
@HowCouldWeTrustUM 
and 

Students Demand Representation 
have been making appeals to 
both the student body and 
administration, 
cognizant 

of 
the 
critical 
window 
of 

opportunity to make change. 
Collectivizing these missions 
into coalition-like efforts will 
make these ripples into waves. 
Activist groups must seize this 
time to get their message out 
and consolidate their efforts, 
and work with other groups to 
mobilize action, even across 
seemingly 
disparate 
fields. 

The intersectionality between 
issues of racial justice, sexual 
assault 
and 
misconduct, 

COVID-19 care and general 
transparency issues will make 
collective 
efforts 
effective 

during this unprecedented and 
limited window of action. The 
time is now. Let’s work hard, 
work together and teach our 
leadership how to be Leaders 
and The Best.

Dear student activists

ANDREW GERACE | COLUMNIST

T

he first thing I ever 
thrift shopped for was a 
University of Michigan 

sweatshirt. For just six dollars, 
I got the opportunity to wear 
the block M on my sleeve for the 
first time — and as I would find 
out about a year later, it wasn’t 
the last. Getting to rep my dream 
school wasn’t the only reason I 
showed off that sweatshirt for 
months. I thought that, because I 
thrifted it, I was single-handedly 
saving the planet, the next best 
thing to personally picking every 
piece of plastic out of the ocean 
and closing the hole in the ozone 
layer myself. 

But what was I actually 

doing? In terms of the bigger 
picture of saving the planet, the 
answer is honestly “nothing.” 
The idea of “shopping ethically” 
is everywhere in the world of 
fashion, where it’s marketed as 
the alternative to fast fashion. 
Defined 
by 
Investopedia 
as 

designs that “move quickly from 
the catwalk to stores to meet new 
trends,” fast fashion comprises 
the majority of the retail market. 
Despite the evidence that fast 
fashion, made from microfibers 
that don’t decay, is harming our 
planet in more ways than one, 
it was worth $35 billion in 2015. 
This figure can seem absurd at 
first glance, but it makes sense 
given how many iconic stores are 
classified as fast fashion, many of 
them adorned by college students. 
There are the obvious ones like 
Fashion Nova, H&M and Forever 
21, as well as Romwe, Shein and 
Urban Outfitters, the latter of 
which has operated a location on 
the first floor of the historic The 
State Theatre for years. 

Though it seems like fast 

fashion is here to stay, sustainable 
brands such as well-established 
Patagonia, Levi’s and newcomers 
like 
The 
Reformation 
and 

Everlane, have risen in popularity 
as people make the decision to 
shop ethically. These brands 
have become as popular as they 
are because — to a former Shein 
customer, for example — they’re 
refreshing in their approach 
to 
garment-making. 
More 

often than not, many of these 
sustainable brands are based 
in the United States and are 
transparent about the processes 
behind their clothes. As more 
and more people indicate that 
they would be willing to pay more 
for sustainable fashion, they’ve 
become forces in the fashion 
industry in their own right, not 
just an alternative but a first 
choice.

A first choice among thin 

consumers with money, that is.

One of the major criticisms 

of sustainable fashion is how it 
lacks inclusivity. From the Good 
Trade’s list of sustainable brands, 
only three carry sizes above a 2XL, 
equivalent to a 20/22. Most carry 
up to XL, capping their styles at 
a size 14. Think about that. In an 
era where the average American 
woman is between a size 16 and 18, 
many sustainable brands act like 
those sizes don’t even exist. 

Even if a customer is lucky 

enough to fit into limited size 
ranges, they still face the obstacle 
of just how expensive these brands 
are. Though they’re pricey for good 
reason, not everyone can afford to 
spend $74 on a blouse. Growing up 
low-income, I was always taught to 
“make money stretch.” The $98.00 
spent on a pair of skinny jeans from 
Levi’s, I was told, could be taken to 
H&M instead, where I could buy 
five pairs of the same jeans. For 
many other low-income folks using 
the same logic, shopping from 
sustainable brands just doesn’t 
make sense. For us, the immense 
relative cost simply outweighs the 
environmental benefits.

“If you can’t afford it, why not 

thrift?” is something I’ve heard 
and unfortunately said myself. 
From the moment I bought my 
sweatshirt, I began playing into 
the assumption that thrifting is 
somehow the perfect way to shop 
ethically and sustainably. But 
the concern of accessibility with 
buying from sustainable brands 
applies to thrifting, too. Contrary 
to popular belief, thrifting isn’t so 
affordable anymore. Giants like 
Goodwill and Salvation Army 
have raised prices in response to 
the rising interest in their stores 

stoked by thrift haul videos like 
these. Money isn’t the only issue 
in terms of affordability — low-
income folks can’t afford the time 
required to comb through racks 
of clothes to find something that 
fits. For people working multiple 
jobs or long hours at just one, 
thrifting is nearly impossible. 
This is especially true if they’re 
plus-sized, where an already 
limited 
stock 
of 
plus-sized 

clothing is often bought by thin 
people riding the trend of the 
oversized t-shirt. 

So what are we supposed to 

do? If both of our sustainable 
options are bad and fast fashion 
is worse, where are we supposed 
to buy clothes?

Truth be told, there’s no 

answer to this question. There’s 
no “one size fits all” solution 
to the issue of fast fashion 
because of how diverse we are as 
consumers and as people. I think 
it’s easy to dismiss all of this by 
saying there is no ethical form 
of consumption in late-stage 
capitalism, so obviously people 
should just buy what they want, 
but that isn’t quite right either. 
It’s true that it’s impossible to live 
in a consumer society without 
causing harm in some way, but 
that means our goal should be to 
reduce this harm to the best of 
our individual abilities. 

Though I wasn’t doing much 

by buying just one sweatshirt, I 
was doing what I could. I whad 
the time and money to thrift, so 
I did, and I wore that sweatshirt 
for almost two years. When I 
no longer loved it the same way 
I had when I first saw it back in 
November of 2018, I sold it in 
Depop and gave it to another girl 
who loves the University as much 
as I did then.

So the next time you go to 

buy a new pair of jeans for a 
Friday night or a suit jacket for 
an interview, I want you to think 
about your options. I can’t tell you 
which is best, but I can ask you to 
think about this: Who loses from 
what you gain?

ERIN WHITE
Managing Editor

Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

 tothedaily@michigandaily.com

Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.

ELIZABETH LAWRENCE

Editor in Chief
BRITTANY BOWMAN AND 

EMILY CONSIDINE

Editorial Page Editors

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

JESS D’AGOSTINO | COLUMN

2020: The importance of perspective

T

his year has been a 
memorable 
one 
in 

arguably too many ways. 

As a political science student, it 
has definitely been uncomfortably 
uneasy to be such an active part 
of writing history, unable to flip 
a few pages and read how it will 
all play out. We crave certainty, 
answers — something concrete 
to reassure us that the chaos will 
come to an end. However, as the 
summer continues, I’ve done a 
lot of personal reflection. Is 2020 
really just continuously sucking, 
or is some part of this a result of 
my own perspective? Naturally, as 
one does, I took to the internet. It 
turns out that there is a great deal 
of research indicating that there 
are both positives and negatives to 
the “2020 strikes again” rhetoric. 
As a society, we need to start 
acknowledging both positions in 
order to preserve our own mental 
health and awareness as the year 
comes to a close. 

Whether it be the pandemic, 

the (justifyingly) divisive political 
atmosphere, the looming election, 
a hurricane on the East Coast or 
the raging wildfires on the West 
Coast, it is undeniable that there 
has been what has seemed to be 
unending awfulness to the start 
of the new decade. Speaking on a 
personal note, my entire family 
contracted 
COVID-19 
at 
the 

very beginning of the pandemic, 
likely due to my family members 
working in NYC. Thankfully, we 
all escaped the virus relatively 
unscathed and with the presence 
of antibodies; I tried to count 
my blessings and confront my 
own gratitude for none of my 
seven infected family members 
falling ill enough to be admitted 
to a hospital or be hooked on a 

ventilator. I will admit that this 
positive outlook seemed to not fit 
within the dialogue of 2020. 

If it is all written out and placed 

chronologically, it really does 
seem like the bad news never ends. 
I even saw a TikTok recently that 
described the “best part of 2020” 
as the lack of societal shock to 
literally anything. The TikTok 
user claimed he could convince 
anyone that trees were coming 
alive and attacking people and 
nobody 
would 
be 
surprised. 

Thinking more deeply about this 
perspective and the motivation 
to expect the worst of what 
has already been a historically 
devastating year, it becomes nearly 
impossible to recognize when 
anything not-awful happens.

According 
to 
Dr. 
Susan 

Whitbourne, 
a 
Professor 

Emeritus of Psychological and 
Brain Sciences at the University 
of 
Massachusetts 
Amherst, 

“Cognitive theory predicts that 
the negative beliefs you hold 
about yourself, or your self-
schemas, cause you to view 
your 
experiences 
through 
a 

distorted set of perceptions.” The 
more negatively you anticipate 
something to turn out, the more 
likely you are to recognize the 
negative aspects in anything 
that happens. Of course, this is 
not to undermine or at all lessen 
the severity of so many horrible 
events that have transpired in 
the past eight months. Instead, it 
is perhaps an encouragement we 
societally could benefit from: take 
a deep breath and hope for better 
things ahead. Conversely, there 
is also much to be said about the 
potential benefits of “2020 strikes 
again” rhetoric as a means to 
make light of a really emotionally 

challenging situation. Sometimes, 
making jokes or implementing 
sardonic humor can help lessen 
the weight of a troublesome 
circumstance. Dr. Gil Greengross, 
an 
evolutionary 
psychologist 

from 
Aberystwyth 
University, 

emphasizes, 
however, 
that 
it 

is also important to recognize 
possible negative consequences 
to an over-abundance of “negative 
styles of humor.” 

Over the past few months, I’ve 

accepted my role as a statistic in 
an eternally historical dataset 
of 
positive 
test 
results. 
I’ve 

confronted my white privilege 
as a female in an affluent New 
Jersey suburb. I’ve fought for 
justice, weathered a power-outage 
inducing hurricane, a tornado 
one town over and struggled 
through personal dilemmas with 
relationships and mental health. 
This year has absolutely been 
the worst year I’ve experienced 
thus far in my two decades of 
life. Of course, my experience is 
comparatively minuscule to so 
many individuals and families I 
can’t help but pray for despite my 
lack of faith. 

The year 2020 may go down as 

one of the worst in history, but it’s 
time to try and hope for better. I 
won’t stop laughing at the memes 
or partaking in the depressing, 
cynical humor on occasion. But I 
plan to make a conscious effort to 
watch the undulations of the world 
as it continues to ebb and flow 
through crisis and catastrophe; 
the human race has conquered 
so much in our past, let us now 
have faith in what we hope to be a 
positive future.

Jordan Hunter can be reached at 

jhunterr@umich.edu.

JORDAN HUNTER | COLUMN

A one-size approach fits no one

Zack Blumberg

Brittany Bowman
Emily Considine
Elizabeth Cook
Jess D’Agostino

Jenny Gurung
Cheryn Hong
Krystal Hur
Min Soo Kim
Zoe Phillips

Mary Rolfes

Gabrijela Skoko

Joel Weiner
Erin White

ERIN WHITE
Managing Editor

Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

 tothedaily@michigandaily.com

Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.

ELIZABETH LAWRENCE

Editor in Chief

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

All attention can 

and should be 
focused on the 
failings of the 
administration

Andrew Gerace can be reached at 

agerace@umich.edu.

Jess D’Agostino can be reached at 

jessdag@umich.edu.

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