7-Opinion

Opinion
Wednesday, January 27, 2021 — 11
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

ZOE ZHANG | CONTACT CARTOONIST AT ZOEZHANG@UMICH.EDU.

O

n the overcast day of 
Nov. 22, 2020, like 
most 
occupants 
of 

the University of Michigan’s 
residence halls, I stuffed my 
belongings 
into 
cardboard 

boxes and dragged them to my 
mother’s car outside Bursley 
Residence 
Hall’s 
entrance. 

Once finished, I began the 
journey back home. 

Typically, college freshmen 

would be distraught at the 
prospect of leaving campus, 
their friends and newfound 
freedom. 
However, 
all 
I 

felt was relief. I especially 
took comfort in the fact 
that I wouldn’t be receiving 
the 
dreaded 
daily 
emails 

informing me that my building 
had multiple COVID-19 cases. 

The emails came at about 

10 a.m. Often, they arrived 
during 
classes, 
with 
the 

“Notification 
of 
Positive 

COVID-19 Case in Bursley” 
subject 
line 
making 
me 

involuntarily 
grimace 
on 

Zoom calls. While reading 
the emails, I’d pray under my 
breath for no more cases to be 
found within my hall. 

Every time I left my room 

to get meals, I felt anxious 
knowing the virus was found 
at multiple locations in the 
building. Even going to the 
bathroom felt terrifying. If I 
saw someone brushing their 
teeth at the same time as me, 
anxiety spiked. Wanting to 
keep safe, I strictly adhered 
to 
COVID-19 
restrictions, 

making it difficult to get to 
know people in my hall, which 
made the entire experience 
more taxing — it felt like 
our health was in strangers’ 
hands. 

According 
to 
the 

University’s 
Campus 

Blueprint, there have been 
687 reported cases in the 
residence halls since March 
8, 2020. Bursley Hall had 38 
reported cases, while South 
Quad Residence Hall and 
Mary 
Markley 
Residence 

Hall had 158 and 160 reported 
cases, respectively. 

Over the summer, when 

I was deciding whether to 
live on-campus in the fall, 
it seemed obvious to stay in 
the residence halls. Everyone 
in my family was fighting 
for space at home and online 
classes felt incredibly taxing 
from my childhood bedroom. 
Although I was nervous about 
COVID-19, I convinced myself 
that 
University 
Housing’s 

plans would be safe — I was 
desperate 
to 
move 
after 

staying 
in 
isolation 
with 

my family for so long. If I 
followed housing rules and 
used enough hand sanitizer, I 
would be fine. Right? 

Wrong. The University’s 

seeming lack of a public health 
plan with little to no regular 
COVID-19 testing caused a 
public health disaster in the 
residence halls, jeopardizing 
students’ 
and 
community 

members’ 
physical 
health. 

In fact, another side effect 
of the housing situation was 
extremely 
strained 
mental 

health, both for myself and 
many other college students. 

The 
regular 
freshman 

feelings of loneliness and 
confusion 
were 
magnified 

— in a study conducted by 
Texas 
A&M 
University, 

71% of students indicated 
increased stress and anxiety 
due to a COVID-19 outbreak. 
Such stress and anxiety can 
only be exacerbated by being 
confined to a tiny, enclosed 
room while trying to finish 
difficult online classes. LSA 
freshman Ayden Makar notes 
that “(residence hall life) was 

often lonely … and it got much 
worse once it got cold and 
dark outside.” 

While leaving my room 

felt horrifying, staying inside 
was the opposite — hollow. I 
was completely alone — like 
many others, I was assigned 
to a double, but my intended 
roommate chose to remain at 
home. I spent my days entirely 
by 
myself, 
hiding 
away 

from the chaos outside and 
repeating my days in a hazy 
blur. I spent all of my time 
trying to pass difficult yet 
intellectually 
unstimulating 

online classes. People only 
existed on a screen. I was 
lonely and unhappy.

Towards the end of the 

fall semester, the University 
announced that they wouldn’t 
reopen residence halls for 
the winter semester except 
for students with necessary 
circumstances. 
Residence 

halls would only be single 
residences. Additionally, the 
University finally decided to 
start mandatory COVID-19 
testing for all residents once 
a week. 

However, 
their 
efforts 

were too little, too late. The 
University 
is 
now 
known 

for its poor public health-
based decisions made by both 
the administration and its 
students that resulted in a 
massive outbreak. Many first-
year students moved back 
home with distrust in the 
institution. 

First-generation 
and 

low-income 
students 

will undoubtedly feel the 
results of this emotionally 
isolating 
and 
physically 

dangerous 
experience 
the 

most. According to a report 
by Ruffalo Noel Levitz, a 
higher education consulting 
firm, COVID-19 has changed 
the ability of at least 22% of 
families to pay for college. Due 
to the pandemic’s economic 
effects, 
many 
people 
are 

struggling 
to 
provide 
for 

themselves, 
let 
alone 
pay 

hefty increased tuition and 
room and board bills. More 
families are in a financially 
vulnerable 
position, 
and 

when the college experience 
received is of such low quality, 
many feel discouraged from 
going back to college. 

Lastly, 
the 
“freshman 

experience” is often discussed 
as a shared experience where 
people experience their first 
taste 
of 
freedom, 
attend 

parties and start discovering 
their identities. The current 
freshman class won’t get to 
enjoy this experience, and 
our entire college experience 
will be significantly changed 
because of COVID-19 — to us, 
the University of Michigan 
has 
started 
to 
symbolize 

something 
different. 
The 

Class 
of 
2024 
knows 
of 

the University not for its 
stellar 
academics, 
student 

life or sports, but rather 
its public health disasters, 
poor treatment of Graduate 
Student 
Instructors 
and 

difficult online classes. 

The 
University 
is 
in 

uncharted 
territory, 
and 

their recent policies — or lack 
thereof — have had terrible 
effects. It’s impossible to rely 
on the University to assure 
one’s safety and well-being. 
Now, it is the University’s 
job to earn back student and 
community trust by ensuring 
that our health and mental 
wellbeing is being addressed 
and supported to their best 
ability.

The aftershock of a 
COVID-19 semester

MEERA KUMAR | COLUMNIST

Meera Kumar can be reached at 

kmeera@umich.edu. 
 

Design by Lauren Kuzee

A

s we enter the new year 
of 2021, there is a unique 
energy in the air. It feels 

like the entire universe and cosmos 
are 
collaboratively 
wishing 
for 

concerts, crowded planes to faraway 
places 
and 
intimate 
reunions 

with loved ones devoid of this 
overarching 
fear 
of 
contraction 

and spread of disease. With the 
hope of widespread vaccinations 
and eventual development of herd 
immunity, this future has become a 
much more tangible reality; escaping 
the confinement of a quarantined, 
TikTok-heavy summer of wishful 
thinking, the new year resurrects 
the possibility of a return to a pre-
COVID-19 
yesterday, 
or 
better 

yet, a COVID-19-free tomorrow. 
This concurrence with a dawn of a 
new year introduces something in 
desperate need of analysis: New Year’s 
resolutions. 

New 
Year’s 
resolutions 
are 

commonly 
considered 
the 

opportunity to change your way of 
life; when a new year begins, it creates 
a faux blank slate on which new 
habits or hopes can be established. 
A great majority of resolutions 
are 
wellness 
or 
fitness-related, 

which sparks controversy among 
some who argue that a goal to lose 
weight or adopt a “healthy lifestyle” 
is merely a manifestation of the 
societally-perpetuated skinny ideal 
— something that has been shoved 

down our throats since the beginning 
of time. 

However, I argue that it is time 

to normalize wanting to change 
your habits as long as it is for a 
justifiable reason far beyond that of 
conforming to a societal standard. 
Arguably even more important than 
a person’s motivation is their chosen 
methodology for achieving this goal. 
Further, if it is a matter of choosing 
healthier foods, striving to workout 
and increasing daily hydration, that 
should not be shunned by hardcore 
#BodyPositivity 
influencers. 

However, if the chosen method even 
minorly involves excessive restriction 
or disordered eating, that reflects a far 
different problem than just resolving 
to lose weight. 

While 
#BodyPositivity 
and 

#Fitspiration aim to empower their 
largely female audience to be proud 
and confident in their own skin, there 
lies severely harmful rhetoric within 
the less prevalent communities like 
#thinspiration or #proAna internet 
bases. This must be underscored and 
understood. 

Thinspiration and Pro-Ana (pro-

anorexia) groups on the internet are 
extremely harmful and social media 
platforms like Instagram have taken 
steps to ban hashtags and block posts 
that perpetuate this movement. 
However, the mere existence of these 
communities represents deep-seated 
problems that society has propagated 

through many different vessels. The 
problem lies here: #BodyPositivity 
should be the freedom to choose how 
to feel in your body. Stretch marks, 
loose skin and all — it should not be a 
matter of comparison to determine 
your 
self-worth. 
Frankly, 
the 

underlying message is an important 
reminder I have to give myself as 
I traverse the artificial world of 
Snapchat filters that reduce the size 
of my nose and editing applications 
that can clear any imperfections on 
my skin. 

While I would argue the majority 

of #BodyPositivity members are 
aligned 
with 
these 
“healthier” 

ideologies, there are members of this 
community who judge and degrade 
other women who post their weight 
loss goals and results. They are told 
that you cannot be body positive 
and simultaneously want to change 
something about yourself. This is 
inherently untrue. Every time I 
enter the gym, I do so with the goal 
of gaining strength and endurance. 
However, I would be lying if I said I 
did not also leave the gym with the 
hopes that my efforts will provide 
me comfort in my clothes and a toned 
appearance. 

The 
imperative 
nature 
of 

differentiating between health and 
aesthetics must be emphasized. 
In a world where people strive to 
look like celebrities, we must first 
acknowledge that beauty media icons 

like the Kardashians or Jenners did 
not achieve the results we see on their 
Instagram feed with merely a hard 
workout or a good facial. 

We cannot resolve to achieve 

these results without recognizing 
that they were obtained through 
expensive 
and 
time-consuming 

means. Having said this, there is 
nothing wrong with getting plastic 
surgery as long as it is medically 
safe. This fits within my belief that 
the ability to change something 
is a part of what #BodyPositivity 
really means. I strive to argue on 
a moral basis that the ability to 
change something about yourself is 
not mutually exclusive from loving 
who you are. It is human nature to 
want to better yourself and it is your 
choice alone how or if that applies to 
you. 

As we enter this new year, it is the 

choice of each individual what they 
opt to leave behind in 2020 and how 
they choose to enter 2021. Whether 
that means you are content as you 
are, or you want to get Botox or you 
want to swear off makeup altogether, 
#BodyPositivity should allow and 
encourage the freedom to choose. As 
long as the methods taken are healthy 
and the justification is for more than 
conforming to a societal norm, why 
should anybody else have a say? 

T

his past summer marked 
a period of time in which 
support of the Black Lives 

Matter movement reached a focal 
point. We all saw the outpouring 
of support on Twitter, Instagram 
stories and news platforms, but fast 
forward to today and Black Lives 
Matter has simply become a slogan 
for many young people.

Black and minority populations 

in 
the 
United 
States 
have 

historically been both oppressed 
and suppressed. Many of these 
injustices came to light during 
the summer, leading many young 
people to take to the streets and 
demand 
equality 
— 
especially 

when it came to police brutality. 
However, many people neglected 
to acknowledge there was anything 
deeper than the injustices these 
groups face at the hands of the 
police. While police brutality is an 
important and legitimate part of the 
structural racism in this country, 
there are other factors that are just 
as important. 

Much of the overlooked inequity 

lies in redlining, Jim Crow laws, 
education policy, food deserts, 
gentrification, 
criminal 
justice 

discrepancies and, most currently, 
COVID-19 and the treatment of 
Black people within the American 
health care system. 

It is no secret that Black 

people in this country have been 
discriminated against in health 
care due to various individual 
biases and structural issues. A 
study conducted by The Health 
Care Financing Review found 
that there have historically been 
inequities in the health care system 

which have contributed to systemic 
racism, 
highlighted 
by 
higher 

rates of morbidity and mortality 
among Black people than among 
white people for most indicators of 
physical health. 

These 
inequities 
have 
been 

accentuated 
by 
the 
ongoing 

pandemic. Researchers at the Mayo 
Clinic found that Black Americans 
are 4.7 times more likely to be 
infected with the coronavirus than 
white Americans, putting them 
at an increased risk of serious 
illness or death, not to mention 
disproportionately exposing them 
to long term impacts and economic 
insecurity. This increased risk 
derives from the inequities in care 
traditionally afforded to Black 
patients versus white patients, such 
as denying pain medication and 
rushing through their care, as well 
as the comparatively high rate of 
Black Americans who suffer from 
preexisting conditions. 

Remember last summer when 

your friends posted a black square 
on their Instagram feeds to show 
their support for the movement, 
followed by maskless selfies with a 
new friend every day? The irony is 
evident. 

The same people who would 
preach about the importance 

of protecting Black lives often 
had no intention of taking any 
substantive action to accomplish 
that goal. Instead, they were putting 
the people they purported to be 
advocating for in grave danger. 
Those who continue to disregard 
the pandemic can no longer claim 
to be allies to the movement when 
they play a key role in perpetuating 

structural racism in this country. 

When we returned to school 

in August, the problems only 
worsened. It is no secret that 
the University of Michigan has 
struggled to contain the virus — 
numerous articles have highlighted 
the role of both students and the 
University in this failure. Once 
students came back to campus, 
massive parties quickly ensued. 

Under normal circumstances, 

this would merely be another 
weekend at the University. However, 
this semester, those parties were 
superspreader events which led 
to a surge in cases, some of which 
ended up permanently harming 
members of our community. I’m 
sure we can all name at least one 
individual who posted “Black Lives 
Matter” over the summer on their 
Instagram story and then, just three 
months later, posted pictures in a 
jam-packed living room kicking 
CDC guidelines to the curb in 
exchange for a little bit of fun with 
their friends. While they may not 
suffer any hardship from the virus 
themselves, many minorities in 
the community do not have this 
privilege and are more susceptible 
to negative outcomes. 

This begs the question, do 

individuals actually support this 
movement? Or is it merely a slogan 
to them, one that they can flaunt so 
they look good on social media? One 
of the biggest actions individuals 
can take right now, if they truly 
believe that Black lives matter, 
would be following CDC guidelines: 
Stay 
away 
from 
large 
social 

gatherings, wear a mask and allow 
health care professionals to allocate 

resources to the communities who 
need it the most. 

Since the advent of social media, 

the prevalence of performative 
activism 
has 
been 
pervasive. 

Because of this, the events this 
summer rubbed me and many 
others the wrong way. Performative 
activism is loosely defined as being 
an advocate on social media or in 
conversation, but not following 
through with those platitudes in 
their actions. 

It was almost universally agreed 

upon among people our age that 
police brutality and racism have 
no place in this country. However, 
when it was time for many to 
finally step up for the minority 
communities 
disproportionately 

affected by COVID-19 by following 
CDC guidelines, they prioritized 
themselves and their own pleasure 
over the pain of others. This is 
textbook performative activism and 
selfishness. 

It is time for people to realize that 

when they disregard guidelines, 
they are endangering human life, 
deepening the racial divide in this 
country and saying that Black lives, 
in fact, do not matter to them — all 
so they could get drunk in a dimly 
lit room with people they will never 
see again after four years. 

The question one must ask 

themselves is whether their support 
for Black Americans stops when it 
inconveniences them, or if they truly 
intend to be an ally to a historically 
marginalized community. If so, 
then they should act accordingly.

Shubhum Giroti can be reached at 

sgiroti@umich.edu. 

If you genuinely care about BLM, follow CDC guidelines

SHUBHUM GIROTI | COLUMNIST

Jess D’Agostino can be reached at 

jessdag@umich.edu. 

Validate body positive change in 2021

JESS D’AGOSTINO | COLUMNIST

