STATEMENT

Bus routes along the Washtenaw wealth gap

AVA BURZYCKI Statement Columnist

This past year, I’ve spent an almost uncomfortable amount of time waiting for the bus, running after the bus and, finally, riding the bus. It takes around a half-hour to get from my Pittsfield Township apartment to downtown Ann Arbor, and I spend the majority of this time stuck in a locked gaze, inspecting both inside and out of the wide window panes. Each ride is a new mix of personalities — some are quiet, some rowdy and some strictly full of discomfort. The Pittsfield scenery tends to be more uniform, with only business closures and outlandish weather provoking new curiosity. But there is one clear and unchanging linearity I see when riding the bus from Ypsilanti to Ann Arbor — the poverty lessens, and the homes and businesses become more extravagant.

Most often, I take route five. Across from my apartment, the bus stop waits on the other side of Packard’s potholes and faded dash lines. Extending from Ann Arbor to Ypsilanti, even Packard begins to crumble as it moves away from Ann Arbor’s wealth. Immediately upon stepping out, the outside air reeks of gasoline and cigarettes. The road is crumbled and well-littered with the only bits of beauty being a handful of sturdy maple trees. There is no sense of comfort or humanity, just impersonal and uniform suburbanbrutalist street planning. Here, the world simply looks cement-gray and holds nothing but bleakness. This is an area built to hold the working class, their workplaces and their cars, not to build community or enrich the lives of its citizens.

These types of underfunded communities are not scarce in Michigan, but Ypsilanti’s economic position is situated uniquely in comparison to the adjoining city of Ann Arbor. With Washtenaw county resting at a lowly 80th of 83 Michigan counties for income equality, the significantly aboveaverage economic disparities practically define the area. The main divide exists between Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti — the former being closer to a standard homogeneity of the well-educated and white upper class, and the latter being a more diverse group of working-class individuals. One city is allowed the resources to flourish above the basic necessities, and the other is barely given enough to survive, if that.

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Washtenaw has a visible wealth inequality problem — this is inarguable.

Even in the businesses I see, there is a clear assumption about the locals being made: Ypsilanti is built for lowincome groups and Ann Arbor pushes a high-end narrative. On route four, I see Big Lots turn into Whole Foods, and General Dollar into Lululemon. This business divide impacts food as well: Ypsilanti holds a plethora of cheap fast food options whereas Ann Arbor leans into a higher price tag and higher quality options. As a poor commuter, if I don’t pack a lunch then I simply cannot afford to eat. The biggest difference between storefronts and production, however, stems from the simple existence of business — in Ypsilanti, there are significantly more barren buildings, broken windows and crowded housing options.

Once the bus stops at the Blake Transit Center, the buildings slowly turn from rotting wood to beautiful planes of brick, the nature almost built into the city planning. These two stops sit in completely different worlds — my low-income apartment and surrounding area were not built for beauty and comfort in the same way Ann Arbor is. Libraries, restaurants, public museums and outdoor areas are all reflections of the investment in quality of life that Ann Arbor gives to its residents. Often, it is rated one of the best places to live not despite its cost, but because of it. The high price-tag investments create a colorful city that only its target demographic, affluent students and professionals, can afford. This community investment contrasts heavily with Ypsilanti. Despite also housing a university, Eastern Michigan University, it is not afforded the same cushions and living standards as wealthy Ann Arbor residents are. It is simply built to physically house poor residents, nothing more and nothing less. Ann Arbor is built as an individualoriented city, but only for those who can afford it.

As potentially the most influencing factor in creating Ann Arbor’s population demographic, the University of Michigan implicitly enables and perpetuates this predicament.

Among public universities, the University has one of the highest proportions of students from the top 1%, but is also deemed as one of the most affordable for poor and rural Michigan students because of the Go Blue Guarantee, which offers free tuition and tuition support for families with incomes below $65,000. In many ways, it can be difficult to sit with this dissonance: The technicality of funding is there, but the entire system and culture of the University are screaming at its poor students to leave.

Beach reads and the construction of a guilty pleasure

KAYA GINSKY Statement Correspondent

To some, the idea of a “beach read” fits the dictionary definition: “A book you can take on holiday, which is good enough to keep you engaged but not so serious it will spoil your holiday.” Romance fanatics like myself have a different definition, one more like The New York Times “American summer novel,” one featuring a whirlwind romantic story in a vacation spot far from a character or reader’s reality. From its conception in 19th century middle-class vacation culture by authors like Louisa May Alcott, the American summer novel genre has been owned by women. While immensely popular with readers and placing at the top of “summer reading lists,” critics soon dismissed the genre as “light reading.”

My “beach reads” contain worlds limited to coastal islands and vacation hotspots. They feature beautiful romances — books like “Beach Read” (Emily Henry) and the many works of Mary Alice Monroe. Complex dramas, often involving small-town or family life and its eccentricities or a troubled past with love, make the novels long, emotional and turbulent — like “Sex and Vanity” (Kevin Kwan) or the iconic body of work by Elin Hilderbrand. While extremely “whirlwind” in their narratives, every beach read must have a happy ending — or at least hint at one.

Another element of the genre of “beach reads” is its aesthetic and artistic perception — critics and readers (including myself) treat the entire genre as if it were sinful and distasteful, calling the books “guilty pleasures” or “indulgences.” I admit to hiding the books at the bottom of my beach bag, under sand and pentup shame, only opening the wellworn pages on an empty beach with my toes in the sand.

In unpacking my convoluted views around my reading habits, I looked to the late media critic and activist bell hooks. In her novel, “All About Love”, hooks writes that “Male fantasy is seen as something that can create reality, whereas female fantasy is regarded as pure escape.” Women authors, female protagonists and increasingly feminist themes have begun to dominate the beach read genre. The reader base of all “romantic fiction” is primarily female, with 82% of surveyed romance readers in 2017 identifying as such. hooks continues: “The romance novel remains the only domain in which women speak of love with any degree of authority. However, when men appropriate the romance genre, their work is far more rewarded.” For many women, controlling narratives in love are but a fantasy reserved for fiction writing. In beach reads, a female protagonist often takes control of her love life and finds her truest self through it.