The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Opinion
Wednesday, February 16, 2022 — 13
PAIGE HODDER
Managing Editor
Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building
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Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.
JASMIN LEE
Editor in Chief
JULIAN BARNARD
AND SHUBHUM GIROTI
Editorial Page Editors
ficial position of The Daily’s Editorial Board.
All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
Julian Barnard
Zack Blumberg
Emily Considine
Brandon Cowit
Jess D’Agostino
Zoe Phillips
Ben Davis
Andrew Gerace
Shubhum Giroti
Min Soo Kim
Jessie Mitchell
Mary Rolfes
Nikhil Sharma
Jack Tumpowsky
Joel Weiner
Erin White
Anna Tupiano
W
hen the Board of Regents
fired former University
of Michigan President
Mark Schlissel, The Michigan Daily
Editorial Board was focused on the
regents themselves. The regents —
who serve unpaid for eight-year terms
and are elected by Michigan residents
— approve the yearly budget, appoint
the president, oversee the University’s
$17 billion endowment and regulate
all three U-M campuses through the
Regents’ Ordinance. They answer to
Michigan voters, not the University
community. How can the regents
meet the needs of students, faculty
and staff when those groups have
little to no control over the board’s
membership, and when regency itself
is only a voluntary, part-time position?
The board has clearly made
mistakes with its power, particularly
in the last couple of years. In the
words of the Editorial Board, “many
of the trademark bad decisions made
by Schlissel were directed, or at least
directly influenced, by the board
(of regents).” The regents’ decision
to reopen student housing in the
fall of 2020 is specifically cited. In
the same month, the regents failed
to
temper
the
administration’s
aggressive response to the GEO strike
or act on the Faculty Senate’s historic
vote of no-confidence on Schlissel.
One University’s fight to provide
the Flint and Dearborn campuses
with equitable resources also faces
resistance from the regents. More
recently, the regents didn’t stop
Schlissel from returning to campus
as a tenured professor — despite an
ongoing investigation into his actions.
And, as the Editorial Board points
out, the regents have also historically
failed to address sexual misconduct
throughout the University with any
sort of vigor.
The regents were also criticized
for raising tuition in the summer of
both 2020, where it failed the first
time it was proposed, and 2021. Each
increase added just under $300 to
in-state tuition and nearly $1,000
to out-of-state tuition. Financial aid
awards were increased for low and
middle-income
in-state
students,
so many, myself included, weren’t
impacted by the increase. Additional
aid was not awarded to out-of-state
students, who already paid the
highest out-of-state tuition of any
public university in the country.
Despite their importance to the
University as a whole — out-of-state
students make up nearly half of all
undergraduate students and their
experiences and ideas are invaluable
to the growth of in-state students
— out-of-state students suffered the
brunt of recent tuition increases
engineered by a board they have
no say in electing. In fact, they have
no say over how the University’s
highest authority handles any of
the controversial issues impacting
students. Moreover, because the
board
appoints
the
president,
and the president fills most high
administrative positions, out-of-state
students’ lack of input extends to the
entire University administration.
Representation is only marginally
better for in-state students and
staff because they share electoral
responsibilities with millions of
other voters, most of whom have
no vested interest in the University.
The fact that University voices are
drowned out was evident after the
2020 election, when former Regent
Shauna Ryder-Diggs (D), one of two
regents to oppose the 2020 tuition
increase, narrowly lost reelection to
current Regent Sarah Hubbard (R).
Even by acting clearly in the interest
of students, Ryder-Diggs was not able
to keep her seat.
Because the average Michigan
voter
isn’t
involved
with
the
University,
and
because
down-
ballot races often draw careless
decision-making, the board has
become dominated by powerful,
recognizable figures. Regent Denise
Ilitch (D) is the daughter of the late
Mike Illich, the founder of Little
Caesars Pizza and owner of Detroit’s
baseball and hockey teams. Regents
Mark Bernstein (D), Jordan Acker
(D) and Michael Behm (D) each
come from prominent family law
firms (Bernstein’s commercials have
plagued my television my entire life).
And, of course, Regent Ron Weiser,
famous in part for calling Michigan’s
top three state officials “witches,” is
Chair of the Michigan Republican
Party and a large Ann Arbor property
owner.
The board members, who all have
obligations elsewhere, aren’t paid
either. That has two implications: the
University will always come second
to the regents’ paid obligations, and
those without ample resources might
not be able to serve on the board at all.
The decision to bring students back
to campus in fall 2020, for example,
was allegedly influenced by Weiser’s
extensive property interests. He went
as far as donating $30 million to the
University days before it announced
it would reopen. All told, the board’s
mistakes are due in part to regency’s
part-time
nature
and
because
those affected are, at best, weakly
represented.
The board has taken an important
step by including students, faculty
and staff in the Presidential Search
Committee. Even then, University
stakeholders shouldn’t have to rely
on the board’s generosity to have
representation.
Changing
how
regents are chosen so that all relevant
University stakeholders are always
represented — while maintaining
the centuries-old relationship the
University
has
with
Michigan
voters — is the best way to tackle
the University’s ongoing struggles.
Current graduate and undergraduate
students, members of the Faculty
Senate and other University staff
(including
lecturers,
MHousing
and MDining employees and other
support staff) should each be allowed
to elect one regent. Terms should also
be limited to two years instead of
eight, encouraging the board to evolve
with the campus population — or face
a challenging reelection fight.
For the 2022 fiscal year, student
tuition will account for $1.8 billion of
the University’s budget, far more than
the $322 million Michigan taxpayers
will contribute. The University’s
world-class faculty is critical not
only to our institution’s prestige but
to its ability to bring innovation to
Michigan as a whole. And, of course,
without additional staff, the entire
campus would quickly grind to a
halt. These three groups make major
contributions to the University and
as employees and attendees are most
intimately impacted by the board’s
decisions. It stands to reason that
they should be allowed to directly
pick at least a minority of the board’s
members.
The Board of Regents doesn’t represent
UMich stakeholders; it’s time they do
F
ormer
Miami
Dolphins
coach
Brian
Flores
announced Feb. 1 that he had
filed a class-action lawsuit against
the NFL and three of its teams. He
alleged racial discrimination in
league hiring practices as well as
tanking — a practice by which teams
intentionally lose to amass greater
draft capital, among other charges.
Flores’s lawsuit calls into question
the legitimacy of the “Rooney Rule,”
which requires all NFL teams to
interview at least two external
minority candidates for coaching
and general manager vacancies.
Flores, however, is essentially
calling the rule a sham. He claims
that multiple teams engaged him
in sham interviews meant only to
satisfy the Rooney Rule, and he
was not a serious candidate for
those jobs. He brought receipts;
the lawsuit contained screenshots
of a text exchange between Flores
and Patriots coach Bill Belichick,
whom Flores worked for in New
England before taking the Dolphins’
job. Belichick evidently believed he
was texting his current offensive
coordinator,
Brian
Daboll,
to
congratulate him on being hired as
coach of the New York Giants. But
the text went to Flores, who was
set to interview for the Giants’ job
himself three days later. Flores did
have his interview as scheduled,
and shortly thereafter the Giants
introduced their new coach: Brian
Daboll.
Flores’s claims come with instant
credibility, both because of the state
of racial representation in the league
and because of Flores’s stature
as a coach. There are only three
active black coaches in the NFL —
Pittsburgh Steelers’ Mike Tomlin;
the Dolphins’ new coach, Mike
McDaniel; and Lovie Smith with the
Houston Texans — after Flores and
Texans coach David Culley were
fired after this season. That alone is
a pretty bad look for the league, but
context makes it worse. The Texans
have a longstanding reputation
of institutional racism and those
allegations have been repeatedly
substantiated.
Late Texans owner Bob McNair
even faced severe backlash from his
own players for racist comments he
made in 2017. Racism seems to be
hereditary in the McNair family. Bob
McNair’s son Cal, current owner of
the team, is no stranger to racially
charged controversy himself, and
recent rumors have been swirling
that Houston was dead-set on hiring
former NFL quarterback Josh
McCown as coach. They didn’t, but
the fact that they were considering a
white man in his early 40s with no
coaching experience with people
like Flores out there is indicative of
the larger problem, even if McCown
wasn’t ultimately hired.
Flores’s
lawyers,
justifiably,
accused McNair of only hiring
Smith to thwart allegations of
institutional racism in light of the
class-action
suit.
ESPN’s
NFL
Insider Adam Schefter chimed in
as well, saying “I think (Flores’s
lawsuit) changed this (NFL coach-
hiring) cycle,” on the network’s
Super Bowl LVI “SportsCenter”
special on Feb 9. “I think the
Texans were tracking — tracking
— to hire Josh McCown, and the
environment
and
atmosphere
changed once that lawsuit was
filed. And I think it would’ve been
very difficult for them to hire a guy
they, I think, were very interested
in, and they ended up hiring Lovie
Smith instead.” Given the way
the McNair family has spoken —
publicly — about minorities, it’s hard
to disagree with Flores’s lawyers
here. From the outside, it looks like
they’re racists using Culley and now
Smith as pawns to try to throw fans
off the scent.
Tomlin is the league’s longest-
tenured coach, and he coaches the
franchise owned by the Rooney
family, the namesake of the Rooney
Rule. None of that is to say Tomlin’s
continued presence in Pittsburgh
is due to his race. He has long been
an elite NFL coach, and the Steelers
would be universally ridiculed for
firing him. Having said that, Flores
had begun to establish himself as an
elite coach as well, and his firing by
the Dolphins this offseason came
as a massive shock both within the
league and in the media. He was
known as one of the league’s most
popular coaches within his own
locker room, and is often spoken of
as the epitome of a “player’s coach.”
Flores led the Dolphins to their first
back-to-back winning seasons since
2002 and 2003, and had restored
hope to one of the league’s most
success-starved franchises.
Flores’s status as a rising star —
one who was already producing
winning seasons after taking over a
franchise mired in two decades of
complete and utter irrelevance — is
significant. If Flores was a first-time
coach who was fired with a record
7-10 games under .500, you could
argue that he was just a sore loser
seeking to capitalize on America’s
racial tensions. But Flores led one
of the league’s most perennially
embarrassing
franchises
to
a
24-25 record in three seasons,
including 19-13 the last two seasons.
Whether Flores’s firing and/or his
interview experiences were racially
influenced remains to be seen, but
firing him was so objectively stupid
that you almost have to wonder
whether the decision may not have
been entirely football-related. With
the league’s record on race, from
blackballing Colin Kaepernick to the
conspicuous snubbing of qualified
black candidates, all of this is enough
to raise an eyebrow or two.
That last point isn’t some kind
of abstract conjecture. There are
multiple
well-known
African-
American coordinators who should
be coaches right now, and their lack
of opportunities is glaring. Schefter
noted later in the “SportsCenter”
special that the Pittsburgh Steelers’
new defensive coordinator has
interviewed for 10 coaching jobs,
and hasn’t gotten one of them.
Teryl Austin is a respected and
experienced coach who is clearly
worthy of a chance to lead an
organization. Is it that much of a
reach to say anybody who’s been
asked to interview 10 times for a
coaching job is probably qualified
for one? Eric Bieniemy, the offensive
coordinator for the Kansas City
Chiefs, has overseen one of the
most prolific offenses of all time,
with two Super Bowl appearances
and one championship to his name.
He has interviewed for multiple
vacancies over multiple years. He’s
still a coordinator. Bieniemy and
Flores were passed over for the New
Orleans Saints job, too. New Orleans
chose to promote from within
earlier this month, going with their
defensive coordinator, Dennis Allen.
That seems sensible on its
face — to maintain stability in an
organization which just lost its
legendary longtime coach in Sean
Payton. After all, Allen had been
with the organization since 2015;
has coaching experience, like Flores
but unlike Bieniemy; and was seen
as Payton’s right-hand man in recent
years. That sounds great on paper,
but Allen was 8-28 with zero playoff
appearances in three years as coach
of the Raiders. He gets another
chance in the big chair before Flores,
who’s had more recent (and far more
successful) coaching experience?
He gets the nod over Bieniemy, the
architect of Patrick Mahomes’s
development into an all-time great
quarterback? Bieniemy and Flores
were passed over for a job that they
were both more qualified for than
Read more at
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T
he
stereotype
of
the
“iPad
baby”
has
become one of the most
detestable
and
looked-down-
upon images in recent history.
We as a society tend to look on in
disgust at the parents of sticky-
handed,
wide-eyed
children
at restaurants, their toddler
connected mind, body and soul
to their overly screen-protected
and intensely loud iPad as you
try to enjoy dinner with your
family. Whether it be the catchy
songs of “CoComelon” or the
bright-colored pictures and toys
of the YouTube channel “Ryan’s
World,” toddlers of this day and
age are seemingly obsessed with
technology. They just can’t seem
to take their eyes (and hands, and
mouths) off of it.
Sure, members of Generation Z
are met with similar arguments,
whether it be complaints that we
are “always on Insta-space-ta-
gram” (one of my dad’s personal
favorites), or that one day we
will eventually lose our eyesight
from the perpetual blue light or
get “tech” or “text” neck. These
comments don’t scare us, and
we continue to text, tweet and
post because it’s what we know.
We have grown up in the age of
social media, and it is our way
to communicate our thoughts
and express ourselves. But, as
opposed to the toddlers of this
generation, we grew up reading
picture books for fun, watching
“Dora the Explorer” in the
comfort of our own homes and
coloring on the paper placemats
at
restaurants
with
chunky
crayons: there were no iPads in
sight.
I don’t mean to sound like a
total “well, back in my day…”
kind of person, but, yeah, “back
in my day” (meaning, of course,
the late 2000s and early 2010s),
we didn’t bring technology to the
table. Growing up, my first access
to technology was my green iPod
Shuffle, which I shared with
my sister, and it solely played
the soundtrack to High School
Musical. I would have never
thought to use it at family times
because, honestly, things felt
different about technology back
then, in the early childhood of
Generation Z. At that moment
in my personal and emotional
development, I was not reliant on
technology as a form of comfort
or entertainment.
With this having been said,
going through the last two years
of a global pandemic has possibly
changed
my
perspective
on
the phenomena of this elusive
“iPad baby,” and this constant
dependency on media. Now,
I may even understand the
placative qualities that this huge
screen provides to its user, and
empathize with the cause.
The pandemic has brought
many of us back to old pleasures
we may have had in the past,
or given us the opportunity to
try out new ones. Whether it be
reading all those books you forgot
about on your shelf, knitting
dozens of (unwanted) scarves
for your family, trying out that
baking recipe you keep forgetting
to do or binge-watching all of
the programs and films you’ve
missed out on because of work
or school, we’ve all found ways
to cope with the constant state
of uncertainty with the help of
light-hearted distraction, and
more importantly, media.
I have personally (and rather
unashamedly)
found
myself
clutching to any sort media
possible in the last two years,
including rewatching comfort
television shows, reading piles
of novels and getting through
3,000 levels of Candy Crush.
I am constantly scrolling my
TikTok “For You” page, and I
am religiously up to date with
my “Goodreads” and “Serializd”
accounts. I’ve become dependent
upon my phone and laptop to
provide me the perfect elixir
of distraction from real life,
whether that be school, politics
or the pandemic. In all honesty,
it has worked in the long run for
the better of my mental health.
Psychological studies tend to
say the same thing. In a report
from Common Sense Media,
it was found that 21% of young
people said that using social
media helped them feel “less
alone” amid the pandemic (up
from 15% in 2018), and 43% of
respondents, aged 14 to 22, found
that social media has eased nerves
and the likelihood of depressive
episodes.
The
upwards
tilt
in the usage of social media
platforms, video-call services
and streaming platforms is not
unexplained by psychologists
and media analysts: it has helped
young people everywhere feel
better about themselves and
their surroundings, especially
in such isolating and distressing
circumstances.
As a society, we have deemed
a reliance on media to be
unbecoming
and
antisocial.
Anyone who binges one too many
episodes on Netflix is considered
to be lazy, and anyone who likes
one too many posts on Instagram
is considered an addict. This
stigma, especially in the age
of
the
COVID-19
pandemic
and the pandemic-influenced
world, is incredibly damaging.
It makes people who see media
consumption as a form of comfort
feel poorly about their coping
mechanisms, that they should
instead be “doing something
with their lives.” Well, in the year
2022, I happen to believe that just
getting through your day is doing
something, and it shouldn’t go
unnoticed, no matter how many
times you may have stopped to
send out a tweet or sat down to
watch a movie to do it. It’s still
getting by.We look down on the
“iPad baby” since it’s unnatural
to us. At their age, we were
comforted in different ways. But
being a toddler in the pandemic is
hard in and of itself, and we can’t
help but sympathize with them
and their cries of emotional pain
when their mother takes away
their tablet, because inside, each
of us is, in our own way, a toddler;
we feel this same codependency.
The pandemic has made each of
us reliant on technology to cope:
the bright screen of an iPhone
filling up that isolating void of
quarantine and uncertainty. We
must realize that, deep down,
we are just like those sticky and
drooly toddlers, because we too
need the help of a screen at times.
How the pandemic has made each of us toddlers
LINDSEY SPENCER
Opinion Columnist
QUIN ZAPOLI
Opinion Columnist
The NFL has a big race problem, and it is showing
JACK ROSHCO
Opinion Columnist
The cold is here
Design by Libby Chambers
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