2024-03-06

wins

last week’s primary election, 13.2% voted as ‘uncommitted’ following state-wide campaign, while the incumbent president won by 81%

Incumbent President Joe Biden has won the Michigan Democratic primary, per the Associated Press. As of 9:15 p.m. Tuesday, Biden won 79% of the vote.

15.7% of Michiganders voted “uncommitted” in Tuesday’s primary. Voting uncommitted allows voters to express general support for the party without endorsing a specific candidate. The push to vote uncommitted largely came from the Listen to Michigan campaign, which urged people to vote uncommitted in hopes of compelling Biden to call for a cease-fire in Gaza and end unconditional military aid to Israel.

U.S. Rep. Dean Phillips of Minnesota won 2.7% of the vote. Phillips has continued to stay in the race for the Democratic nomination despite underwhelming primary performances so far and massive layoffs to campaign staff. Author Marianne Williamson also

appeared on the ballot, despite suspending her campaign in early February, and won 2.7% of the vote.

Under Michigan law, Secretary of State Jocelyn Benson (D) was required to submit a list of individuals generally regarded to be candidates, unless a court rules otherwise, to appear on the state’s primary election ballots. Biden has focused his reelection campaign on posing a contrast between himself and former President Donald Trump, saying he is committed to protecting democratic values and reproductive rights, as well as enacting economic policies aimed at strengthening the middle class. He has also emphasized his legislative accomplishments over the last three years, including the bipartisan infrastructure deal and health care and climate change legislation.

Following the conclusion of the presidential primaries, the Democratic National Convention will be held in Chicago between Aug. 19 and Aug. 22. Delegates will officially select the party’s nominee for president and vice president, who will move onto the general election on Nov. 5.

Trump wins Michigan Republican presidential primary The former president won 65.6% of the vote, beating out former South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley

court rules otherwise.

Former President Donald Trump won the Michigan Republican primary, per The Associated Press, gaining ground in the race for the Republican presidential nomination.

As of 9:15 p.m. Tuesday, Trump has 65.6% of the vote, a 35 percentage point lead over former South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley, who finished second with 30.1% of the vote. Haley is the first woman of Color to fight for the party’s nomination and Trump’s last remaining challenger after Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis ended his presidential campaign on Jan. 21. Haley has vowed to stay in the race until Super Tuesday despite disappointing primary performances so far, including in her home state of South Carolina.

Doug Burgum, Chris Christie, Ron DeSantis, Asa Hutchinson and Vivek Ramaswamy also appeared on Michigan’s ballot despite suspending their campaigns between Dec. 2023 and Jan. 2024. Under Michigan election law, the secretary of state is required to submit a list of individuals generally advocated by the national news media to be presidential candidates unless a

Trump has centered his third presidential bid around many of the same policies of his previous campaigns. In particular, he has focused on cracking down on immigration at the U.S.–Mexico border, implementing tax cuts and eliminating federal regulations. The former president has also continued to claim the 2020 was stolen, despite no evidence of election fraud.

Trump is also the first presidential candidate in U.S. history to face criminal indictments. He had been charged in New York with 34 counts of falsifying business records, including hush-money payments to two women and a doorman in 2016. Trump was indicted in June 2023 after the FBI found more than 300 classified national security documents at his Mara-Lago residence in Florida. The former president has also been indicted in two cases regarding his alleged interference in the 2020 election: one by the U.S. Department of Justice and the other by Fulton County District Attorney Fani Willis in Georgia. Michigan’s Republican Party Convention will take place in Detroit on Mar. 2. Three days later, 17 states and territories will hold primary elections or caucuses on what is commonly called Super Tuesday.

Ann Arbor community members gathered in the City Council chambers for the swearing-in of Andre Anderson, Ann Arbor’s new police chief, Wednesday afternoon. Anderson replaced Patrick Maguire, the interim police chief, becoming the first permanent police chief since July 2022. Anderson served as the assistant police chief in Tempe, Ariz. from 2021 to 2023 and the

executive deputy police chief of Rochester, N.Y. In a press release, Anderson said he plans to build trust in the community and turn the Ann Arbor Police Department into the nation’s model police agency. “I believe the city of Ann Arbor is working collaboratively to implement plans to enhance an environment where community policing, the community and city government serve as problemsolving participatory partners,” Anderson said. “I am committed to building mutual trust and public safety while creating a shared vision and leadership

approach that sets our agency apart and revered as the nation’s model police agency.”

In a speech at the event, City Administrator Milton Dohoney Jr. said the City Council decided to hire Anderson because of his ability to connect with the Ann Arbor community.

“We choose our leaders not absent (from) the context of the environment in which they will serve,” Dohoney Jr. said. “The police department must have a leader that is comfortable engaging with every person that is a member of the Ann Arbor community. Ann Arbor should

have a leader in the police department that knows what it means to accept authority with humility. Andre Anderson gets that.”

At the ceremony, Anderson told the crowd that his primary goal as chief will be combating racial injustice in Ann Arbor.

“Not too far from here, President Lyndon B. Johnson formally launched his Great Society program (at) the University of Michigan,” Anderson said. “His goal was the elimination of racial injustice. This is a goal that has always resonated close to me with

respect to how I feel, what I believe and how I should chief. It allows someone like me to be here today.”

In the opening remarks of the event, Ann Arbor Mayor Christopher Taylor said that police departments have recently faced increased scrutiny, leaving officers to serve in difficult roles.

“We don’t do enough for each other, and we do too much to each other,” Taylor said.

“We ask the police to serve in a cultural environment where the profession is under intense scrutiny — where community

members, hurt and outraged by injustice, and injustices there are, direct their frustration at the officer in front of them. It is the officer’s job to take that in with discipline and poise.”

In her speech at the event, U.S. Rep. Debbie Dingell, D-Mich, said the entire police department plays an important role in the safety of the community.

“Law enforcement is the backbone of our communities,” Dingell said. “The purpose of the government is to make sure we are providing certain public goods and keeping our citizens safe.”

U-M Museum of Natural History opens new dinosaur exhibit

The exhibit, ‘Dinosaur Discoveries: Ancient Fossils, New Ideas’ dispels notions that dinosaurs are only 700-foot tall, sharp-toothed reptiles

When people think of dinosaurs, images of 700-foot tall, sharptoothed reptiles may come to mind.

But the University of Michigan Museum of Natural History dispels the preconceived notion that all dinosaurs look like this with their newest exhibit, “Dinosaur Discoveries: Ancient Fossils, New Ideas.” This traveling exhibit from the American Museum of Natural History is open until Sept. 15 and features recent paleontological research from the AMNH.

In an interview with The Michigan Daily, Dawn Johnson, associate director for Operations & Revenue at U-M Museum of Natural History, said she was excited to see the exhibit arrive at the museum after delays due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

“(The UMMNH has) been working for years with the American Museum of Natural History in New York, who organized this traveling exhibition in collaboration with a number of other museums,” Johnson said. “It was originally going to visit us around the time of the pandemic, so we’re really excited to now have it coming to fruition.”

The exhibit highlights different areas of research including dinosaur biomechanics, behavior and extinction events. A small part of the exhibit is dedicated to research from Jeffrey Wilson Mantilla, U-M earth and environmental sciences professor, which focused on his discovery of a small sauropod, a herbivorous dinosaur.

At the exhibit, viewers can read about Wilson Mantilla’s research or interact with a touchscreen to learn more. Wilson Mantilla told The Daily his team investigated whether a small fossil they discovered in

Original Cottage Inn closes after 75 years

The original Cottage Inn location has closed and the location has been sold to a new restaurant, Coratti’s Pizzeria Bar and Bocce

business was closing in an interview with The Michigan Daily.

Jordan was a juvenile or full-grown sauropod. “We cut the femur bone and made a thin section that when you polish it thin enough, light will pass through it and you can see microscopic details of the bone cells and the growth record of that animal,” Wilson Mantilla said. “That growth record tells us this is an animal that is done growing, so it’s a small adult and evolutionary dwarf animal.”

Another part of the exhibit focuses on the evolutionary relationship between birds and dinosaurs. Wilson Mantilla said this hypothesis reemerged during the Dinosaur Renaissance in the late 1960s and 70s and was supported by fossils with some of their integumentary, or outer, layer intact from a site in Liaoning Province in China.

“In that area … there were some of the first fossils that gave us insights into some of the integumentary

structures of dinosaurs,” Wilson Mantilla said. “So they are some of the first dinosaurs preserved with feathers.”

In addition to visual displays, the exhibit includes an interactive component using a hands-on discovery cart, an aspect of several Natural History Museum exhibits that allows visitors to touch real artifacts or replicas. Jake Downey, LSA junior and Natural History Museum docent who helped develop a cart for the exhibit, told The Daily he hopes to use the cart to challenge previous assumptions about dinosaurs and teach visitors something new.

“A big focus of this cart was showing how we have these preconceived notions, but a lot of the modern day science is challenging that, which I think is an overall focus of this new gallery,” Downey said.

Winterfest broomball tournament raises more than $225,000 for charity

The annual tournament raised money for Autism Alliance of Michigan, Fisher House Foundation and the Women’s Center of Southeastern Michigan

Cottage Inn, a popular local pizza chain, has closed its original location on East William Street after 75 years in downtown Ann Arbor. As one of the first pizzerias in Ann Arbor, the original location opened in 1948 and began expanding nationwide in 1975. The restaurant now has over 50 locations and has been a notable Ann Arbor landmark to locals and University of Michigan community members. As of Feb. 7, the location has been sold to a new restaurant, Coratti’s Pizzeria Bar and Bocce.

The restaurant is known not just for its popular pizza, but also for Italian and Greek dishes and as a place to celebrate many occasions. This year, the business has collaborated with other Ann Arbor businesses to provide free Thanksgiving meals to those

“I was shocked,” Essig said. “I thought it was such a staple in Ann Arbor, so the original location closing is surprising. We used it for sorority recruitment catering, so I would go and pick up about 40 boxes of pizza from them. They are super nice.”

In an interview with The Daily, Kinesiology junior Maddie Bray said she was also sad to learn about the closure.

“It’s a staple in my household, and we get it all of the time,” Bray said. “Everyone knows what the (Original) Cottage Inn is when you drive by, and it’s sad to see it close ….”

Both students said they believed that the closure of the Original Cottage Inn reflects a broader change in local businesses in the area. Essig said she will miss its welcoming environment and sense

in need. The Michos family, original owners of the familyowned business, operated the original location, which was run independently from other franchise locations. Jim Michos, Cottage Inn managing partner, explained that with the decision to close, he has begun thinking about officially retiring. In a Facebook statement, the Michos family expressed their gratitude for the many years of being able to serve the Ann Arbor community and continue their family legacy.

“Bringing smiles to people’s faces and contributing to the community has been incredibly meaningful for all of us,” the family wrote.

The Michos family said they are working with the new owners to continue their legacy and traditions while also taking care of the employees.

“We have collaborated closely with the new owners,” the family wrote. “Ensuring the employees are well taken care of is a top priority for us. The new owners are handson and we’re confident they’ll carry on our success in this restaurant venture.”

Kinesiology junior Brooke Essig reflected on the impact Cottage Inn has had on her college experience and overall Ann Arbor community. She spoke about learning that the

of community.

“The original location was the coolest one and had a unique atmosphere, as it was not just fast food but also a place to hang out and feel a sense of community,” Essig said. Bray said she was concerned the closure could affect other small businesses, mentioning the closing of Angelo’s in December.

“The closure could impact other local businesses starting up and also places that have been in Ann Arbor for a long time,” Bray said.

Corratti’s will open before graduation weekend after undergoing renovations. On Facebook, the Michos family shared sincere gratitude for their employees, guests and the Ann Arbor community in their statement.

“We want to express our sincere gratitude for our exceptional managers, chefs, and both front of the house and back of the house staff employees,” the family wrote. “The loyalty and hard work of our team have been remarkable, and we’re truly thankful for that. We wish for the continued success of all our employees and express deep gratitude for your dedicated efforts. Our guests have meant the world to us. Thank you, once again, for your unwavering support.”

Spectators crowded around a temporary wooden rink at the Sigma Nu fraternity house on Saturday for the annual Winterfest broomball tournament. The event, organized by the Sigma Nu Fraternity in cooperation with the U-M Interfraternity Council and the U-M chapter of the Panhellenic Association, has raised more than $225,000 so far for Autism Alliance of Michigan, Fisher House Foundation and the Women’s Center of Southeastern Michigan. Donations for this year will be accepted until Sunday, Feb. 25.

Broomball is a game similar to hockey, but without ice, in which players attempt to score goals with a rubber ball and a broom-shaped stick. At Winterfest, teams of six players competed in a singleelimination tournament. The players on each team were from a single fraternity or sorority on campus. Like hockey, broomball is a highly physical game, with players occasionally engaging in fights. Referees and security were on-site at the event to ensure participant safety.

LSA sophomore Lee FingarMyers, philanthropy chairman at Sigma Nu and lead organizer for Winterfest, said planning and implementing the event was complicated.

“A lot of people don’t realize how much goes into Winterfest, between contracting private security, as well as police, as well as photographers, as well as just the little things like reaching out to sponsors, getting port-a-potties there, getting hay there, as well as building the entire rink,” FingarMyers said.

According to Fingar-Myers, safety was a priority for Sigma Nu in planning Winterfest. Police, security and sober monitors — fraternity members required to remain sober — were all present.

“Ten police officers were there patrolling Hill Street making sure it was safe,” Fingar-Myers said. “We hired 35 private security guards

to attend the event. … We had over 20 sober monitors this year for the event, strictly from Sigma Nu. … All those people, the police, private security, as well as the monitors, are always in communication about the event.”

LSA senior Parker Holland competed in the tournament for the Delta Tau Delta fraternity. In an interview with The Michigan Daily, Holland said the Delta Tau Delta team was excited to return to broomball after winning last year’s tournament in a double-overtime victory over Theta Xi. “It was a battle,” Holland said. “Respect to Xi — got a lot of good guys in there. But … I guess (there is) something magical about that Delt team. We just get it done in overtime. We find a way.”

According to Fingar-Myers, the event’s charitable component made it particularly meaningful. FingarMyers said it felt gratifying to know that he was making a difference in his community.

“I’ve had all of the charities reach out to me and thank Sigma Nu and all of Greek life,” FingarMyers said. “For example, Autism Alliance said, ‘We cannot do the projects and the work that we do to help the community without you guys.’ ”

LSA freshman Peyton Ng attended Winterfest in support of her sorority, Alpha Gamma Delta. Ng said she felt a positive atmosphere and sense of community at the event.

“It’s super cool seeing everyone cheer for other teams,” Ng said. “Even if you get (eliminated), you’re always supporting a team out there. It’s so cool seeing everyone come together.”

Fingar-Myers said his role as lead organizer was highly demanding, but seeing the U-M community come together made the effort he put into planning and running the event feel worthwhile.

“After planning this event for three months, just watching it the day of and seeing all of the community that was coming, and how everyone had so much fun, it was just really rewarding at the end,” Fingar-Myers said.

St. Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1327 734-418-4115 www.michigandaily.com

DANA ELOBAID and SAMANTHA RICH Co-Editors in Chief eic@michigandaily.com

ELLA THOMPSON Business Manager business@michigandaily.com

NEWS TIPS tipline@michigandaily.com

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR tothedaily@michigandaily.com

EDITORIAL PAGE opinion@michigandaily.com

PHOTOGRAPHY SECTION photo@michigandaily.com

NEWSROOM news@michigandaily.com CORRECTIONS corrections@michigandaily.com

ARTS SECTION arts@michigandaily.com

SPORTS SECTION sports@michigandaily.com

NOAH KINGSLEY and REKHA LEONARD Managing Sports Editors sports@michigandaily.com

Senior Sports Editors: John Tondora, Lindsay Budin, Liza Cushnir, Lys Goldman, Remi Williamson, Zach Edwards

ANDREW

COLE

We spend our entire lives waiting for epiphanies: what to major in, who to love, when to leave. The wait can feel like wandering through a dark forest, stumbling over what we hope is the right path to where we’re meant to end up. In reality, we have no idea where we’re headed until the divine light of epiphany illuminates the road ahead. It determines which way we go, what alternate futures we leave behind and who we become at the end of the line. Sometimes, it finds us early without fuss. Other

times, it only appears after we’ve seen the same tree for the fifth time or when we’re screaming and clawing for the light to shine in the darkness. Who would we have been if it only came sooner? What might we have morphed into if we had never seen it at all?

The deafness works on both sides. Epiphany might have left breadcrumbs toward the light that we simply stomped over on our way down the wrong path we were too stubborn to get off. It might have come in the form of a dead end in the tree maze, turning us away until we bring our sharpest ax to take it down.

Dead ends might appear again and again until we’re too tired to lift the blade anymore. Oh, what

catharsis it brings to drop the ax altogether.

There is an infinity of epiphanies to be had in a lifetime, one for each possible path born of each possible decision we could make from where to go for dinner to what classes to enroll in. It

Last semester, I was growing intensely overwhelmed by college and reconsidering my entire future. Like many of my peers, I steadily began spending my days sleeping in to avoid my responsibilities and my nights catching up when I eventually felt guilty enough to do my work on time (or as close to “on time” as it could be at that point). Getting grades in all the letters of the alphabet but “A” can grow to be ridiculously disheartening — especially when you’re pre-med and they’ll determine your entire future.

So, almost every single night around 11 p.m., I would stand on my soapbox and complain to my roommate that I had no idea what I was doing other than my best.

But, of course, grades aren’t the only problem a college student in their 20s goes through. As the semester went on, the complaints would grow increasingly existential, from simple things like forgetfully missing an assignment to wondering if I’d have time to be with friends or if I should be with friends at all. Wondering if anything I was doing would matter in 20 years, if I was making the right decision pursuing healthcare like I’ve wanted to; if it would be possible to make more hours in a day so I could do everything I wanted to do before I feel it’s too late, if it was already too late. These questions would flood my mind

until I’d eventually fall asleep only to find them haunting my dreams. I cannot emphasize enough how little I knew what I was doing. And now, as much as I know it to be true, it’s absurd to imagine that no one else knows what they’re doing either.

At some point, my roommate recommended that we watch “The Good Place” together. At first, I wasn’t super interested — she described it as “‘The Office for Gen-Z,” and I’ve never been much of a sitcom person. Not only that, I didn’t like watching shows with a lot of episodes if I wasn’t caught up

with them already, so it was a double whammy of disinterest. It admittedly took her showing me an image of Chidi Anagonye (William Jackson Harper, “The Resort”) to convince me to sit down for the first episode. After that, though, I was immediately hooked. I was expecting to witness more existential comedy — that’s how my roommate described it — but even without it, the hilarity of the show and the characters inevitably pulled me in.

In the first season, I couldn’t help but appreciate seeing Eleanor Shellstrop (Kristen Bell, “House of

Lies”) grow past who she was. I slowly found myself wanting to grow with her. Sure, I wasn’t Arizona trash, but I understood the feeling of wanting to be better than you are and not always knowing where, how or when to begin. The show made it seem simple: You begin anywhere, with anything, as soon as you can. I remember when my roommate and I had finished our first binging session and I had the sudden inclination to re-organize my desk for the first time in ages. I constantly felt like there was no time to do that — no time for me to improve upon myself

or even have fun — so I had to give it up for as long as necessary. Through the show’s initial message, I became more comfortable with working to improve things as they came — with understanding that my best was enough.

I would come to pick up more and more life lessons as the show went on; there’s a big difference between hearing that “healing isn’t linear” and seeing through beloved characters how certain aspects of yourself that you initially thought you had resolved resurface in unexpected ways. It made me feel more secure in that understanding and helped me show kindness to myself and others when I see the same mistakes show themselves over and over. I’ve learned to focus instead on the time between those mistakes, on seeing myself gradually improve and recognizing when things are getting bad again. It helps a lot more to sit in my feelings and work from there than to spiral within them, and it still baffles me that it took a sitcom for me to realize how much of a problem I had with that. Time and finality also posed a major source of anxiety for me; nothing would make me more nervous than an upcoming deadline for a major decision in my life, and I would often ruminate on these feelings for days or even months before making a decision. I was doubtful when my roommate recommended this show to me. I’d ask her over and over: “Are you sure this’ll make me feel better? I can’t imagine it doing much.” She would repeatedly

respond: “You don’t get it; we haven’t gotten there yet.”

It wasn’t until the latter half that I understood what she meant. It cemented “The Good Place” as one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. I had recognized from the first two seasons that years upon years had passed of the main cast being put through literal hell, but even when they had 800 years of not-quite life, they weren’t “perfect” people. It suddenly hit me that expecting human characters to exist without flaws would be ridiculous and robotic in all aspects. It would rob the characters of who they were. That’s when it clicked: I have all the time in the world to be the person I want to be. I have all the time in the world to continue to do better, and selling myself short will only make life harder to live. There were times in my life to enjoy certain things and I needed to take full advantage of that. I can’t help but smile when I think about this, and I hope you think about it and smile too. Watching “The Good Place” led me to a way of thinking where I could have a newfound hope and excitement for life. This quote alone was able to slingshot me into being more open and taking more risks: “What matters isn’t if people are good or bad. What matters is if they’re trying to be better today than they were yesterday.” I can’t wait to continue getting better with my friends, with myself, with everyone around me. I’m building my own “Good Place” through the people in my life, and I can only say it gets better and better each day.

Karlheinz Stierle’s “Baudelaire and the Tradition of the Tableau de Paris,” a short chapter in the 11th volume, second edition, of the New Literary History journal, has changed my life forever. I’ve been chasing that high ever since.

We need some further context for this story, though. I have always been a reader. My parents were both great readers and they passed the tradition down to me. As they wanted my English to improve from an early age, all of us being secondlanguage English speakers in a nonEnglish speaking country, they also passed on books in English for me to enjoy. I fondly remember receiving a copy of “Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief” while at the beach for Christmas break, reading as chimes softly rang and sea breeze tinged the air. Just as I had been advised to watch all of my cartoons in the original English dub (and learned to work my way around the finicky settings menu to find such a broadcast), untranslated

versions of young adult classics found their way onto my lap as a similar exercise in learning.

I quickly became a great student, perhaps too great of a student. To this day my mother reminds me I really should read more in Spanish, advice that began to appear when, at around 8 years old, I began to routinely borrow and devour several books from the library a week — all in English, of course.

My library-borrowing tendencies even led me into a small spot of trouble once when we were moving countries for the second time, and I forgot to put the library book I was reading at home in my backpack before my second-to-last day of school, as I had yet to finish it. When I returned home that day, I found that all my books and toys had been packed up into several boxes, including Scott Peterson’s “Phineas and Ferb’s Guide to Life,” a title very much due the very next day. My mom, understandably exasperated, compromised at only opening three of the several boxes occupying my room. After that, she would — as we now say, “take the L” — pay the small fee for a lost book. Thankfully, we found it atop the third box. I moved

with a thankfully unbesmirched library record and a diploma for most books read in my second-grade class.

It would be a few years until my first minor epiphany struck. I consider it more of a discovery than an epiphany, but a discovery in the sense of finding something already well-known to others. More of an enlightenment than a grand epiphany — it did not feel like a seismic shift in perspective, but more like the easy sway of slotting into place.

It was the first few weeks of sixth grade, which meant I had moved from my school’s primary school location to its middle and high school version, roughly on the other side of the city and much closer to my house.

A (physically) new school meant new friends, classes, locations and, most importantly, new books. Having read the tippy-top of recommended reading for advanced learners, I was ready to dive into big-boy books — genuine literary artifacts. This should have proven hard given that I didn’t know the word “literary” nor understood what “literature” actually was. That was, of course, until one of my first visits to this brand-new library that amazed me so. It had two floors, polished

wooden desks for study and a monitor for one to look up a book’s reference number independently, without the librarian’s help. It was quite the sight. Walking along the shoulder-height shelves of the middle school section, my eye was caught by a book on a small stand directly at eye height, showcasing one of the popular titles the librarians had picked out as part of their monthly suggestions. Before me, in all its cartoony glory, stood a copy of Rainbow Rowell’s “Fangirl.”

By this point in my life, I was already an avid fan-fiction reader. It would be about two more years until I actually made a Tumblr account for myself, but I had been looking at reposts on Pinterest and had been a frequent visitor of FF.net for a while now, so I did identify with the book’s title. Within the first introductory sentences for its lead, Rowell casually mentioned that she was an English and creative writing major. My decision to also become one was almost instantaneous. I was hesitant on the “creative writing” part — I was actively adding to Wattpad’s wide catalog at this point but I didn’t see much fruit in such labor. The English part though … I hadn’t realized you could study a language past just its words, but instead study its work. As Rowell had just taught me, literature was also a source of great study. I informed my parents of my newfound decision soon after. It was met with enthusiasm at my dedication to humanities and a reminder that mechanical engineering or business are also very viable career paths. My father bought me Benjamin Dreyer’s style guide and I proceeded to implement all its tips and tricks without question. I had made my bed and was now snuggling in it quite comfortably. Reaching the latter years of high school, I chose to take the International Baccalaureate’s English Higher Level classes in hopes of readying myself for college. They were very helpful, to be sure, requiring analysis of Robert Frost’s works, classic fables and even Bob Dylan’s discography. I learned a lot that I still apply in college to this day,

but my greatest epiphany came from a slightly different source.

For the final essay of our IB course — our highly dreaded internal assessment paper — we were required to take a set of readings from class to compare and contrast. I, being charmed by his lyricism and also the fact that his works were short, chose some of Charles Baudelaire’s poems. Though we were not to use scholarly sources in the actual paper, our teacher told us we could go on JSTOR if we felt so inclined, noting that a lot of the readings might need some contextualization to help elucidate their meaning.

Having a particularly boring night in (courtesy of the global pandemic which prevented me from attending in-person classes for both my junior and senior

years), I decided to take him up on the suggestion. It was that evening, as the dark gray sky clouded my room, I found Stierle’s journal article.

To say I was enraptured would be an understatement. For all its content, we rarely ever had scholarly sources in my English class, reading from summaries that accompanied text or listening to our teacher explain a historical link with a reading was the extent of depth we usually reached. Here, though, as I basked in the blue light that washed over my body, I took in everything. Every single detail. The Parisian streets from almost two centuries prior splayed before me amidst never-before-seen terms.

I have, at different points in my life, identified as all parts of L, G, B and T. Despite this, I avoided “coming out” with as much effort as I could muster as a kid. The ideal form of coming out has always gone something like this in my head: After considering it for a long time, a kid probably aged 14 or 15 takes a parent aside, and, with a bit of awkwardness, can tell them that for as long as they can remember, they’ve felt a little different. In happy stories, there’s a reconciliation, a “no matter what I will always love you” speech accompanied by a hug. In sad stories, there’s a blow-up, a denial or something of the sort. There’s special emphasis given to this as a state change. When you come out, you realize who you are, embracing yourself in front of the world.

The catch here is that this isn’t really how it goes for everyone. Again, I have come out as most things one can come out as and I never got any of that. The first time I tried to make my sexuality

known was in sixth grade. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t want to make a scene of it; so, instead, I inserted it awkwardly as a side note into a conversation about an unrelated topic. “Yeah, I don’t even think that, and I’m gay!” Everyone froze, stared at me for a few seconds and continued the conversation. I was worried they hadn’t even heard me. That was my big coming-out story.

The irony is that I was not sure what I was saying was true. I was in sixth grade, had less than no romantic experience and didn’t really like like anyone anyway. Immediately after coming out, I became terrified that I was wrong, that I had misjudged. In a frenzy, upon getting home I googled “how to become gay” like 100 times. I knew, of course, that one cannot “un-come out,” and now my best bet would probably be to never speak to anyone ever again for this unforgivable crime.

The trouble came because I could feel something was off within myself but the words weren’t there, so I reached for the first thing I could — a quintessential coming out story — and hoped the rest would fall into place.

This repeated beat for beat the next year when, in a still-frenzied state of damage control, I came out as pansexual. I didn’t feel pansexual, of course, but it was about middle school politics. Now, this story is cute on its own because no one really understands anything about themselves in middle school, but that’s not really the takeaway for me. Even as I’ve gotten older, the words have never been there when I needed them. To develop a more exact idea of myself, I had to have conversations and expose myself to the resulting options. You just can’t do that without coming

out to someone first. Everyone’s doomed to mess it up once if they’re lucky, or like 15 times if they’re me. Coming out as trans did, on some level, feel like a final great breakthrough on what exactly was going on in my head. Despite this, I kept it to myself for years. I told myself I would be transgender, just later. I didn’t know yet. I was sure that this was it; but I was waiting for the epiphany, the big moment that fuels the fire. I needed something to portray to people. Coming out is a production, or if you prefer, a performance.

The Michigan Daily Crossword Puzzle

While I was busy waiting for the epiphany — the big click where I could finally communicate this formless idea — I realized that just by being around my friends, we all started to understand each other. I didn’t do my signature “awkwardly insert into conversation” technique because we were already starting to connect on a level deeper than all that. For the first time, I had to confront that coming out was secondary to the real human connection there. It was a label on what I was doing, but the labeling itself made no difference in my mind.

I had good friends, of course, but I wasn’t so close with everyone. I have never come out to my dad. Don’t get me wrong, he knows, but I never told him any of it. Indeed, the time I took building up to an important conversation with my dad is greater than the time I spent as a gay boy, a pansexual tween and an adult woman. I didn’t even ever tell him I was trans. He figured it out; he calls me Holly and his daughter, and it took years for all that to happen because I never once spoke clearly with him about it. Maybe the takeaway here is that coming out is completely

How

made me

incidental, and if you just do your thing, eventually everyone will figure it out.

I don’t think that’s always true, though. It’s impossible to balance all these things at once. I was scared of how my dad would react and I could tell that I wasn’t done yet — that I would have something else, hopefully something more accurate to tell him in just a few more months. It’s hard when you start thinking about what’s next, trying to project your current self into the future and guess where you’re going to be. It’s daunting. It’s scary. On the one hand, I’ve gotten stronger and braver, but on the other, these things don’t come to us in words.

Epiphanies don’t come to us in words, they come to us in messy tangles of emotion. We can try to describe them, but underneath, that’s not really what people are. We cannot quite be just what we call ourselves. Whether cis or trans, gay or straight, woman or man, our brains are made of the same miserable, complicated emotions. We are all the same social monsters, and we learn from conversation, not announcement.

who I was

If I were to rank my favorite places to be, “on a plane” would fall somewhere between “at a Taylor Swift concert” and “in my room.” It’s high up there. I’m not one of those people who pays for the plane wifi; I am the exact opposite. I take the opportunity of a flight to completely leave my online life behind and cherish the hours spent not having to worry about anything other than what I would do if I needed to use the restroom and the person next to me was asleep. Airplanes are sacred spaces where I’ve done some of my best thinking, overthinking, worrying, panicking, reflecting and moviewatching. Maybe it was because I watched it on a plane or because four years had passed since I saw it for the first time (and people can change a lot in four years), but my second time watching Greta Gerwig’s “Little Women” made me question the person I was the first time around. Luckily, as I was on a plane, I had nothing but time to sit with my thoughts.

The first time I watched “Little Women” I loved it and truly thought I understood it. At the ripe age of 16, living out the best of my high school years in the only place in which I had ever resided, I’m not surprised I thought my understanding was complete. My world had been a bubble of consistency and protection, and I was naive enough to think I had everything figured out. I saw myself in Jo (Saoirse Ronan, “Lady Bird”) and related to her fiercest goal of making something of herself. I was a junior in high school; my priorities were a) get As in all of my classes b) do well on the SAT and c) as a result, get into (a good) college. At the time, getting into a good college was the only thing I deemed worthy of caring about, so perfecting myself and my applications was the only thing I devoted any time toward. Truly, I was in constant fear that the update I would make to my Instagram bio within the next year that ended with “’25” would be one I was disappointed in. I couldn’t imagine working as

hard as I had been for that little tagline to become something I had no pride in. So, naturally, I thought I was Jo. Like her, I was willing to do whatever was necessary to reach my goals and I thought the validation of success would make it all worth it.

And if I was a Jo girl, that meant I most certainly was not an Amy (Florence Pugh, “Midsommar”) girl. I ridiculed Amy for the same reasons Jo did; Amy was vain and entitled and selfish in ways the other girls were not. She found great value in material possessions, judged people based on their wealth, gave up when things didn’t work out for her quickly, acted rashly without considering the implications of her actions and always, always got her way. In simpler terms, she was everything Jo was not and I scorned her for it.

My biggest critique of the movie was not that Laurie (Timothée Chalamet, “Wonka”) ended up with Amy (which I absolutely took issue with) but that Jo didn’t end up alone. I thought the proposal scene was the most beautifully tragic and perfectly emotional thing I had ever seen, so I felt betrayed when someone whom I bonded with over never experiencing romantic love would abandon her independence and marry some guy.

Honestly, I don’t think I got much out of the movie the first time other than a love for Jo — that I now know I didn’t fully understand — and exposure to Timothée Chalamet. There was so much that I was missing about the film’s characters and the overall commentary it was making about the experience of womanhood; I can only assume it was because of who I was at the time when I watched it.

To some extent, whenever I decide to re-watch a movie or re-read a book (if not because I forget the plot when I put it down for more than a day) it’s because I want to see how my opinions of characters and plots have changed. I want to go back and put the puzzle together now that I know what the final picture is supposed to look like, to appreciate the full intentionality behind each of an author’s choices.

Upholding our duty: A call to action for the Muslim community in support of Palestine

It has been over four months since the escalation of Israel’s genocide and apartheid violence, and for many of us, these past months have been among the toughest we’ve faced. We are witnessing death — uncensored. Real death.

After being continuously subjected to the violence and loss of life in Gaza, many of us are experiencing declining mental health.

There’s no sugarcoating it. What we are witnessing is traumatic. The plight of the people of Palestine is traumatic. Some of us are grappling with vicarious trauma, which arises when we are exposed to the trauma of others. Symptoms mirroring those of actual trauma survivors can arise including emotional distress, intrusive thoughts and heightened stress levels. Prophet Muhammed (PBUH) said that “… Muslims are like one body of a person; if one part of the body aches, the whole body aches.” Even from an ocean away, we too feel the pain and injustice.

Amid this, loss of motivation occurs as we begin to question the purpose of our actions when tangible outcomes seem elusive. This is where the Islamic principle of sabr, or patience, comes into play. We must persevere, continue to share, voice our pain, protest and boycott. This article was inspired by a podcast with

Sami Hamdi, who highlighted that patience isn’t passive or idle waiting; instead, it involves active engagement and trust in the process. It means acknowledging that outcomes are ultimately determined by Allah while also making continuous efforts toward our goal of liberation for all oppressed people. Even if the effects aren’t immediately visible, every action matters. Islam teaches us to have faith in Allah, trusting that our efforts will ultimately lead to the best. Just as you trust in Allah to respond to your prayers, so too should you trust that, by the will of Allah, Palestine will be liberated.

We must draw strength from the resilience of the people of Palestine. If they can endure, why can’t we? Blessed with safety, food, education and freedom from the fear of being bombed, we owe it to Allah — and to them — to persevere. While you might be experiencing fatigue, it’s crucial that we don’t halt our efforts. We must persist and continue onward. We are an ummah , a community, and we stand with one another. As an ummah , we advocate for justice, and we do everything in our power to show that we do not accept the injustices of oppression.

There are many actions you can take to advocate for change, to raise your voice against oppression. On Judgment Day, when you face Allah and He questions what you did to support the oppressed, will you be able to respond that you did everything in your power

to stand by your brothers and sisters? As we enter the month of Sha’ban with Ramadan less than 30 days away, it’s essential to find ways to strengthen our imaan and taqwa , faith and consciousness of Allah respectively. Advocacy, when conducted in accordance with Islamic principles, is now more crucial than ever as part of this preparation.

Prophet Muhammed (PBUH) said that “He who amongst you sees something abominable should modify it with the help of his hand; and if he has not strength enough to do it, then he should do it with his tongue, and if he has not strength enough to do it, (even) then he should (abhor it) from his heart, and that is the least of faith.” We have a moral obligation to do everything in our power to stand up against oppression with Islamic etiquette and wisdom.

Participating in ethical consumption and boycotting represents an accessible action individuals can take to advocate. Islam emphasizes ethical consumption, a concept largely disregarded by capitalism. In Islamic terms, ethical consumption entails concern not only for the final product but also for its process of production. Capitalism doesn’t align with this principle; it prioritizes the final product and profit with no regards to the process. As Muslims, it’s imperative that we conduct thorough research and acquire the necessary knowledge needed to be ethical consumers.

Is being cautious about our purchases challenging, especially when many products are monopolized by companies that support Israel? Yes. However, as Muslims, we understand that we are rewarded for enduring hardships. Not having access to your instant Amazon Prime delivery and having to wait a week instead of two days and opting for patience instead of instant gratification, could be rewarded by Allah, if God wills. Verifying whether products you purchase are not on the boycott list can be time-consuming. However, if God wills, He will reward our efforts and the time we invest in ensuring that our money doesn’t support oppressors. Take the time to learn about the Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions movement. Utilize the resources others have made to ease the boycotting process such as the No Thanks app. By making a conscious effort, you’re actively refusing to support entities that contribute to the slaughter of our brothers and sisters, which is a crucial part of taking action. When action is taken with the right intention, there will be benefit for us in the hereafter and will benefit the ummah in this life, inshAllah. The notion that “it won’t make a difference” doesn’t absolve us of responsibility. Allah will hold us accountable for our actions regardless of their outcome. As Muslims, we should not justify inaction to satisfy our materialistic and capitalist desires. We have a

responsibility to use our wealth for good, not harm, a principle that lies at the heart of zakat. Allah reminds us in the Quran that “the Day is approaching when every soul shall find itself confronted with whatever good it has done and whatever evil it has wrought. It will then wish there is a wide space between it and the Day! Allah warns you to beware of Him; He is most tender towards His servants.” (3:30).

Another action one can take is to leverage social media to our advantage. With live coverage and decentralized media, where information is not controlled by a few sources, we have direct access to primary sources themselves. Individuals like Motaz Aziz, Bisan Owda, Saleh Al Jafarawi, Wael El Dahdouh and many others provide firsthand insights. By actively engaging with and reposting Palestinian-based content, and by making it gain traction within algorithms, we contribute to the newfound centering of Palestinian voices and the ongoing narrative shift that is taking place. Also, exercise caution in selecting your sources of information, favoring those genuinely committed to the issue rather than those merely jumping on a trend. Connect with creators who are dedicated to the cause and prioritize amplifying authentic voices. This applies to all contemporary issues confronting our ummah , not limited to Palestine alone.

Social media serves as a link to the struggles of the

oppressed. Without it, our ummah might have remained unaware. We have not freed Palestine, but it is Palestine that has freed us, an echoed sentiment. Palestine has revealed our enslavement to the system rather than to Allah. It has unveiled the numbness of our hearts. For countless individuals, Palestine has revitalized our faith, our hearts and our sense of purpose. With the blessing of Allah, social media has catalyzed a transformation within the Muslim ummah , prompting us to finally react and learn how to stand up in the face of injustice. As a Muslim ummah , let us unite in purpose, fervently advocating for justice, amplifying our voices and taking decisive action to enact meaningful change in our communities and beyond. By harnessing the blessings bestowed upon us by Allah, and with sincere intentions, inshAllah, we can achieve success. When it comes to standing up for oppressed people, you can’t selectively choose whom to support. Whether it’s Palestine, Sudan, Armenia, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Uyghur Muslims in China, Kashmir or any other oppressed group, may Allah guide us to stand with justice for all. Our struggle for liberation encompasses not just Palestine, but all oppressed peoples, as we strive for collective liberation and justice for all. May Allah free the oppressed people all over the world.

A bag of take-out ramenthe plastic lantern aflame in my palmsburning not green nor blueyet its Heart seeps golden vaporthat drapes around my shoulderslike the labor of lovetailored to my Beingwoven togetherinto a declamationthat I discover the Milky WayWho lives over tall grassunclouded by lightI cradle the bagand wear the markand become the skypreciouslyjust as I cup the stars that burstwhen the Soulsee itselfin a versesTrue

ARWA HASSABALLA

MiC Contributor

Alifa Chowdhury/MiC

MiC

A love letter to the mothers who raised me

My khala taught me how to braid on a blond Barbie doll when I was 11 years old. Divide the hair evenly into three sections.

My older sister, me and my younger brother. Take the left strand and cross it over the middle strand.

I’ve gone my whole life musing about the kind of love everyone talked of. How everyone else was in this endless pursuit for their other half. I was lucky. I never had to look that far. My other half grew up with me.

We grew up making space for each other, flourishing in fields the other hadn’t yet occupied. I knew how to french braid. She knew how to do a cut crease. She taught me how to put a pad on for the first time. I taught her how to do eyeliner. My sister taught me how to have a voice. I taught her to respect herself.

Pull the strands taught, smoothing out the sections, making sure no hairs are out of place.

My nani taught me to be strong, to be self-sufficient, to trust myself, to stand on my own two feet when I have no one else. She raised five daughters on her own as a single mother with no income.

My eldest khala gave me a taste for chai toast breakfasts

in the morning. All 12 of us cousins, spilling over the dining table and onto the kitchen counter, fighting over chairs and the last pieces of toast. Something about her house was always magical. It always grew to make space for others. My eldest khala taught me to make room in my heart, to be selfless, to give without bounds. My second khala was always considered the most precious of the five daughters. Perhaps that was because she had the most to overcome. My second khala taught me how to cling onto my faith in spite of seemingly hopeless situations.

My third khala showed me how to pleat a sari. She taught me the difference between chaand baalis, jhumkas and jhumars. She taught me what kind of jewelry best absorbs betrayal and what color lipstick best compliments scorn. My third khala taught me how to carry myself with grace, to be vulnerable with my wounds and look beautiful wearing them. My youngest khala fed me Maggi on the couch, while I watched “Tom and Jerry” on the little box TV we had in the living room in India. My mom would drop us off for the whole day, and my youngest khala

would take care of us as if we were her own children. She took hundreds of photos of us as babies and arranged them all into photo albums for us to see later. My youngest khala taught me to document my past and cherish my history as a means to invest into a future.

My mother has always been loud, boisterous and blunt, but pretty enough to get away with it. She’s been in love with my father since she was fourteen. I’ve watched her love and be made fun of for it. I’ve watched her love people she shouldn’t have, for longer than she should have, but still be unafraid to

Omaima Uddin/MiC

do it all over again. My lovely mother taught me how to love loudly, to love unapologetically and to love unconditionally.

I’ve always been proud to say I was raised by a matriarchy, a sisterhood of strong-willed and stubborn women, an intricate system in which many of us did falter, but there were always other women there to catch them when they hung in the balance. As you braid, you hold two strands, and the third one is always supported as long as they’re weaved tightly enough together.

I weave their stories into my own hair,

I love my 1920 dorm radiator

Spinning the fibers of their lessons into my own experience as a woman.

Now repeat the same motion.

Take the right strand and cross it over the middle strand.

My third khala moved to my town when I was nine years old. She had two little girls, aged two and three. I gave them all 22 of my Barbie dolls. I taught them how to braid. I passed down the anarkalis and ghararas that I inherited from their mother.

I held their hands as I taught them to take their first steps and learned how many minutes to warm up their milk. Now I pick the both of them up from school, and take them to Sephora to buy Sol de Jainero perfumes and scream Taylor Swift on the way home.

I FaceTime my niece every day, making sure she knows how to recognize me as she grows older. She was born on my birthday.

Repeat the same steps until the braid is thick and full. Make sure there are no more loose strands.

I stand as a living composition of the women before me. I carry on the love that was gifted to me, the love that raised me, and find it my duty to pass it down to the next women ahead of me. Each woman contributes to the overall tapestry of my existence, their stories all strands of the same braid, weaving a complex narrative that defines who I am.

Design by Sara Wong

A few minutes ago, for probably the 100th time since I took residence in this dorm, my radiator has started warming the room. I know this because she’s kind of old — her name is Barbra, named after the dorm’s namesake Betsy Barbour — so she takes a bit of clicking here, some hissing there and vibrating all around to start up.

If I’m being honest, Barbra has seen better days. She’s black, rusted and harbors dust from all sorts of dimensions. She is loud, obnoxious and omits a wellwater odor, so potent that it often convinces me to shut her off and freeze for a few days. As I sit at my desk, eating home-cooked lentils with rice that my mom packed me for the week, I listen to the slow dripping of water from my radiator. And despite my creaky bed and my small room, the thin walls and overwhelming dust, and yes, despite Barbra, I understand just how lucky I am. My past year has been consumed with everything Michigan. Beginning in January when I was deferred and continuing after I was waitlisted,

I vowed to devote my every day in hopes of an acceptance letter. Hours spent studying to achieve the perfect last semester, emailing admissions officers and weaving together a strong letter of continued interest, praying every night to read the “Congratulations!” I had yet to see. Finally, on June 29, the maize and blue confetti showered my phone screen, and all my dreams came true. As a freshman, everything excited me, from the “M” engraved on my dorm bed to waking up hours before my lecture on the first day of classes. I couldn’t help but smile walking down State Street or staying up late studying at Hatcher Graduate Library. Even Barbra began to grow on me, in all her dusty glory. This all changed after Oct. 7. Realizing that your school is inherently against you is a difficult pill to swallow, but it is simply impossible to pretend the University’s response was anything but horrifying.

As an Arab-American from Dearborn, the first Arab-majority city in America, I must admit that I was incredibly sheltered. I grew up surrounded by my native language, my culture, my people. After just one semester away, the familiar veil has been

torn down by a harsh reality. The University of Michigan, a school that prides itself on equitable and inclusive policies and practices, a campus I was just beginning to love, harbors the same systemic marginalization and discriminatory narrative that permeates all of our nation’s institutions. An institution of higher learning such as this must be held accountable to represent the neutral spaces of civil liberties that this country was founded on — especially when those civil liberties are being practiced in a peaceful, law-abiding manner. Such high standards, however, have not once been met by the University, continuously failing to protect and acknowledge its Arab students.

It first began with the emails.

University President Santa Ono has sent four of these so far, all of which have roughly regurgitated the same biased, marginalizing messages. Ono, like much of the press, uses special vocabulary: Islamic, terrorists, attack, condemn, violence, antisemitic, barbaric. After one of these emails received heavy backlash, he then decided to include Palestinians and campus safety among the points he hoped to address. But it was too late, as the University had already made its stance: funding

for Israel, sympathy for Jewish students and condemnation of Hamas. We — Middle Eastern, Arab students, the Palestinian people — are an afterthought.

Ono’s words on campus safety were particularly controversial, confidently assuring the community that acts of violence or hate would not be tolerated by or against any students. His address was both calculated and ambiguous, clearly implying the by group and the against group. This was even after Israel had begun their full military siege on Palestinian children and families, violating international laws of war.

Ono only solidified the former lesson I’d learned: Acts of violence or hate don’t matter when they are against Arab students. Just before winter break, 40 students were arrested for peacefully protesting in a public space. Unreasonable aggression and force were used against the University’s students, displayed in surfacing videos.

Pro-Palestinian protesting students are advised to wear some sort of facial covering in hopes of protecting them from onlookers waiting to dox them. We are constantly warned of websites like Canary Mission, where students and University employees find their full names and photos

posted publicly with claims of terrorism and antisemitism just for protesting.

Feb. 18, 2024, marks the 134th day since Israel declared war on Hamas and the 76th year that Israel continues to ethnically cleanse the Palestinian people. Seventy-six years of genocide, apartheid and a never-ending death toll. Since Oct. 7, Israel has murdered over 28,000 Palestinians — a number projected to be significantly larger due to the amount of civilians stuck under the rubble of their own homes. Imagine one-fourth of the spectators attending a game at the Big House murdered. In the time it will take you to read this article, another life was put to an end. There is more blood spilled in Gaza than water available to drink. Palestinians in Gaza are unable to properly mourn their dead due to the number of bodies piling up in the morgues, hospitals, streets and alreadyfilled mass graves. During the past few months, I have watched the Arab organizations on campus crumble under the weight of what is happening in Gaza. I have witnessed students lose relatives and watched phone screens erupt while they check for updates. I cannot help but think of everything I sacrificed, every plan

with friends, every application edit, every prayer, every day I am away from home, for a school that neglects to acknowledge the students watching their people die.

So here I sit, curled up on my cushioned spinning chair, eating my mother’s warm food. I’ve finished my exams, I’ve read all my books, my friends have gone back home already. I refrain from opening Instagram and Twitter, for I know what I will find. Photos upon photos of dead, bloodied Palestinian children. Clips of homes on fire, collapsing on top of the people within them. Israel Defense Forces soldiers laughing as they fire bombs at apartment buildings, with Israeli politicians rationalizing their behavior by calling Palestinians “inhuman animals.” Videos of my own country, cameras aimed at the bombs Israel showers on South Lebanon. They are so familiar, so repetitive, that if you aren’t careful with your thinking, you begin to think that what’s happening is normal. As Barbra begins to creak several decibels louder, I cannot help but think of the children, mothers and fathers overseas praying for warmth and running water, for electricity and food, for the basic human rights we never thought of appreciating until now.

Edited

SAMANTHA RICH AND DANA ELOBAID Co-Editors in Chief

ZHANE YAMIN AND LINDSEY SPENCER Editorial Page Editors

SHANIA BAWEJA AND ABBY SCHRECK Managing

Battling the blue: Reforming mental health awareness at UMich

I’ve suffered from seasonal depression most of my life. For me, it starts after the excitement of December celebrations passes into January and the cold doesn’t seem as magical as it once did. That is why this semester has been particularly difficult for my mental health, despite being halfway in. I blame part of it on my rigorous class and work schedule, and part of it on my severe Vitamin D deficiency.

As I have gotten older, I have been able to catch glimpses of the silver lining.

The emotional turmoil I have to endure is only confined to a specific season, unlike the relentlessness of year-round depression others are forced to endure. This realization does not diminish the validity of my own struggles, but it does help me find solace in knowing that my challenges are merely temporary. This relief is often elusive to people who struggle more consistently with depression, especially students. Given this, the University of Michigan needs to improve its advocacy for mental health awareness and providing accessible services to students.

After researching how the University provides resources for those navigating mental health obstacles, I came across the University’s Counseling and Psychological Services, which provides information and care for students struggling with their mental health. Although they work tirelessly to harbor a safe and welcoming environment for students on campus, CAPS has continuously cried out to the University’s administration for change, as insufficient funding limits their capacity to provide support for students.

As a multitude of requests for competitive salaries remain unanswered by administration, the University’s lack of reception to a relentless crisis makes it abundantly clear that the emotional well-being of its students is not a top priority.

This indifference to an everevolving issue is dangerous in front of the facts: Depression and suicide rates are increasing at an alarming rate, and they don’t look to be slowing down any time soon. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, self-harm death rates are at the highest they’ve ever been — and this is especially true among students.

Given this recent surge, it is crucial for the University to enhance accessibility to

mental health services. While the University does host events for students to unwind and provides mental health resources, I was only able to find about them through the few professors who provided information on their syllabi at the beginning of the semester, most of which are not referenced again. But students who are struggling may lack either the energy or the interest to find help on their own. They may also internalize negative stigma surrounding mental health, deterring them from reaching out for help. These resources and events should be made readily available around campus, thus normalizing mental health awareness.

This information needs to be in front of us at all times, relentlessly pushed — the same way mental health issues persistently affect students.

Wolverine Support Network is a student organization on campus that strives to do just that: break the stigma surrounding mental health and promote resources and peerled support groups that work to embrace their motto, “Because Life Happens.”

In an interview with The Michigan Daily, Engineering senior Sarah Skaggs, WSN executive director, addressed the ways in which the University might better support students across campus.

“From the University, we would ask for them to continue putting emphasis and resources toward improving student well-being in a timely manner,” Skaggs said.

Building a support system of students on campus who are experiencing similar struggles would be extremely beneficial. Yet, it seems as though these kinds of studentrun networks are taking the job of advocacy more seriously than the University ever has. The University needs to recognize and place a higher importance on their responsibility of providing a more comprehensive, inclusive support system as well as resources for its student body. The mental health crisis is not unique to the University of Michigan, with universities across the country struggling as well. The University of California system, however, has already taken steps toward reform. The UC system has launched many different campaigns — “Each Mind Matters,” “Know the Signs” and “#SaySomething,” to name a few — that work to harbor a safe environment for students. These approaches to mental health awareness reduce the stigma and normalize getting help as a positive thing rather

than an admission of weakness. As these approaches continue to evolve, it is almost comical that the University has yet to dedicate time to mental health awareness as they continue to face backlash time and again for their mental health initiatives, or lack thereof.

Making mental health resources “accessible” requires more than Student Life sending weekly emails about “unwinding” activities at the recreational buildings or brief periods of group counseling CAPS offers weekly. Accessibility means affordability, physical usability and cultural competence — all things that have been severely neglected. As our society adapts, so do our forms of treatment. The University should use its resources to launch new, innovative mental health initiatives, such as apps that provide virtual assistance and counseling, events with service animals and mental health first aid training.

This kind of training is especially imperative for students as they embark on new academic journeys.

The Community Matters curriculum is an online course required for all U-M students that discusses the topics of substance abuse, sexual assault and overall well-being. But anyone who has actually taken the course knows that “wellbeing” is tacked on to the end, and only briefly discussed with lists of resources. Even though the initiative is there, it is not enough.

Community Matters has the exact platform needed to provide students with information on how to help themselves or others. These modules should include training on how to recognize signs of mental health issues, how to offer support to others and ultimately break down the stigma in order for an individual to feel comfortable getting help for themselves. They could look like interactive workshops that focus on awareness, positivity, empathy and effective communication as ways to optimize support. By using real-life scenarios within the training, Community Matters would be able to better engage students and promote an inclusive environment that prioritizes accessible support.

Mental health for people everywhere, especially our community here in Ann Arbor, is important, and we need to work together to break the stigma surrounding it. To the University’s administration: Your students are crying out for change — this should be the semester you finally listen.

If you’re on TikTok, there’s a good chance you’ve heard this: “Hey guys, today I’m going to be sharing my new favorite *insert product* that I’ve been obsessed with lately. This is the *names product they’re being paid to promote* … Click the link in the video to purchase!” Then, hundreds of people flood the comments saying things like “omg need” and “just ordered now!” I’ll be completely honest, I’ve fallen victim to this type of marketing one too many times, because the shiny reviews from people my age seem to spark my utmost interest in a product. TikTok knows exactly what it’s doing when it has college-aged influencers promote trendy products through their relatively new TikTok shop. Starting in September 2023, TikTok added an extension called “TikTok Shop,” meant to keep up with current trends and skyrocketing consumerism. According to Forbes magazine, online influencers and creators are the main way about half of Gen Z discovers new products. This comes as no surprise to me: Everyone I know owns at least a few products that they saw on TikTok, like the viral Stanley Tumbler, Summer Friday’s lip balm and Drunk Elephant skincare products. While this level of spending enhances the economy, at what point do we look at this blatant consumerism and see a problem?

The issue of peak consumerism runs much deeper than just bad quality and is rooted in the capitalist veins of American society. Consumerism has always been a key factor in keeping the marketplace alive — the dollar only has value if we spend it. According to BBC Correspondent Kerryn Higgs, “frugality and thrift” were among common practices before

the 20th century in times of bare survival. In late 18th century England, spending culture and materialism took off and has since, slowly but surely, shaped Western consumerism into what it is today.

While Higgs’ entire piece is fascinating, the most fascinatingly applicable part is about historian William Leach’s “Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture” — a book regarding American society from 1890 to 1930. The book details how “acquisition and consumption” have become means of achieving happiness, which is scarily applicable to today. Instead of ordering the one blush they heard about on the radio a few weeks ago, consumers are now ordering multiple lip glosses that they saw on TikTok that same day. And if we don’t excessively consume, then we’re silently deemed, or believe we are, inferior to the aesthetic posts and ads we see on our feed. Consumption trends are usually geared toward women. The products we own and consume on a daily basis must be hot and new.

TikTok has seen a surge of storytime videos from Sephora employees expressing their concerns for girls as young as 9 years old coming into the store asking about Drunk Elephant retinol, which is a popular brand that rose through social media marketing. Retinol itself is commonly used as an antiaging mechanism, yet there are children now interested in buying it. I’ve seen with my own eyes middle schoolers in Sephora, multiple times, getting stressed out when the worker tells them they’re out of that product that they wanted. Not only is this development a sign of the times, but it’s also sad. The billion-dollar industries capitalism has facilitated fester off the fear of lacking beauty. Spending copious amounts

of money on beauty is not only normalized but is also encouraged. Making matters worse, instead of these marketing tactics being pushed on adults who can make their own choices regarding skin care, beauty, clothing and trends, children are now also feeling the pressures and wrath of this next-level consumerism. Unfortunately, this is not an accident. In fact, this is exactly the way the system has been set up. Teaching kids to over-consume at an early age is not only bad for the environment but also teaches them that their worth is tied to material items. I recently saw a TikTok video of a mom ranting about how her fourth grade daughter was bullied at school for not having a name-brand water bottle. The daughter had picked out a water bottle she liked at Walmart for $9.98, and she received it as a Christmas present. When she got back to school after break, the other kids made fun of her for not having a Stanley water bottle. The mom didn’t want her daughter to feel left out so she ended up purchasing the Stanley but told the camera things like this should never happen. And she’s right, they shouldn’t. When 8 and 9 year olds are bullying each other for not having a $35 water bottle, it’s time wwto take a look at how we as adults are failing them.

So, what can we do to combat this? Should we boycott spending all together? Or should we overwhelm the system with so many orders that eventually production crashes and burns, and we’re back to buying locally? These ideas seem extreme and unrealistic because they are. The basic cost of living has drastically increased over the past couple years which has led some to cut out their daily $7 coffee but seemingly, not their chronic Amazon orders.

Design

LUCAS FELLER Opinion Columnist

The University of Michigan Consumer Sentiment survey, a national record of American consumer’s feelings on the health of the economy, is finally recovering from the COVID-19 pandemic and catching up with the reality of declining inflation and low unemployment.

There is only one problem: This should have happened months ago. Inflation, as measured by the Consumer Price Index, has steadily declined since late 2022 and is currently at 3.1% — the lowest it’s been since March 2021. Unemployment, despite the predictions of many prominent economists, has remained relatively low since 2021. 2023 consumer spending was robust in the face of rising interest rates, staving off a nationwide recession. Gross domestic product, the measure of all goods and services an economy produces in a given year, rose by 3.1% during 2023. Based on all indicators of actual economic performance, consumer sentiment should have already

You don’t understand the economy

responded to these positive trends. Why did it only recover now? People don’t view the economy accurately. To many consumers, the macroeconomy is an abstract construct, and they base their sentiment on individual perceptions instead of real developments. People reach for the information most visible to them, which, too often, has nothing to do with reliable economic indicators. For instance, evidence strongly suggests stock market performance, rather than economic measures like unemployment and inflation, drives consumer sentiment. As it happens, the recent rebound in sentiment coincides with a market rally, as the S&P 500 Index recently reached a new record high. A 1999 Federal Reserve analysis explains that individuals see a rising stock market as a leading indicator of a positive economy. In other words, consumers believe increasing stock prices are a sign that good times lay ahead, and vice versa. This view, however, is misguided.

In a 1966 article for Newsweek magazine, eminent economist Paul Samuelson joked that the stock market has predicted

nine of the last five recessions, understating the market’s inability to precisely anticipate recessions. The 13 bear markets in the post-war era have led to only seven recessions within a 12-month time frame. Consumer sentiment has failed to reflect the real economy in other instances as well. On the infamous Black Monday, an unexplained 22.6% plunge in the Dow Jones induced a massive fall in consumer sentiment, despite a lack of change in economic factors like unemployment or inflation. If sentiment was responsive to the real macroeconomy rather than equity values, no decline would have occurred. One explanation for the market’s inability to represent the economy is that share prices are driven more by human emotion than changes in the real economy. Hope that a struggling company’s fortunes will improve, or irrational fear regarding the fate of an industry, often causes stocks to arbitrarily rise and fall. In his book “Irrational Exuberance,” Economics Nobel Laureate Robert Shille mentions investor overconfidence and “magical thinking” as key reasons equity values diverge from what might be considered rational.

Investors think they know more than they actually do, while also believing that others are likely to mirror their own actions. Further, investors often make uncertain judgments by assuming that future patterns will resemble past ones — a psychological phenomenon referred to as the representativeness heuristic. But why is it that so many are inclined to mistake the stock market for the real economy? For one, not everyone has the time or opportunity to enroll in an economics class, where they could learn the difference between the two. Even in basic macroeconomics courses, students are instructed on how inflation, unemployment and gross domestic product are all economic indicators. Understanding the components underlying economic growth requires some effort, and that can be difficult to achieve outside an academic setting. However, failure to understand the economy extends beyond education. There is a troubling propensity for individuals to internalize visible information. For most people, the stock market is far more apparent than real economic indicators.

Every iPhone comes with the Stocks app already installed, making the movements of the S&P 500

and other indexes merely a click away. Televisions in restaurants, hotel lobbies and even our own Intramural Sports Building are constantly turned to CNBC, where enthusiastic commentators discuss the latest moves in the market. Being knowledgeable about inflation and unemployment, on the other hand, data requires deliberate desire to be informed.

Mass media only exacerbates the disconnect between people and understanding the economy. News coverage of the economy’s health is often impacted by stock market movements, even if that coverage isn’t necessarily correct. After all, stocks are an easy metric on which economic reporting can be based. It can be natural for news companies to cover an improving economy when investors boost the stock of the companies that compose the economy. If investors think companies are performing better, the logic goes, the real economy must be improving as well. Sure enough, the Federal Reserve Bank of San Fransisco index of daily news sentiment, which tracks the tone of news coverage rather than consumer mood, surged sharply when the current stock rally began. Consumer sentiment

is important. It represents how those affected by the economy feel about their financial security, their prospects for employment and their ability to cover the costs of daily life. It can also decide elections. In 1980, 1992, 2000, 2008 and 2020, the White House changed party hands during times of declining consumer sentiment. Closely connected to consumer mood, S&P 500 returns have correctly predicted each presidential election since 1984. But the actual health of the economy has little to do with consumer sentiment. The economy is real, and its wellbeing depends on how many people are employed, how high prices are and how many goods and services are being produced. But Americans don’t seem to understand this. By intertwining rising equity values with a highperforming economy, consumers have undermined the value of a significant statistic with the power to influence presidential elections. To provide an accurate reflection of the economy, consumers must make more informed and accurate decisions about the information they internalize. You affect the economy. It’s important that you understand it.

Ann Arbor doesn’t need your vote this election season

LARA TINAWI Opinion Columnist

Election season is approaching, and where you vote matters. College students who are United States citizens must choose where they are going to vote, either registering with their student address or using their permanent address. Ann Arbor is a “blue wave” city, well known for its liberal bend. Considering the importance of the upcoming elections, it is imperative that students vote in their hometowns instead of choosing to vote in Ann Arbor. Ann Arbor doesn’t need your vote. In the last presidential election, President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris won Ann Arbor with 72.44% of the vote. Because of this large margin of victory, voting Democrat barely made a dent in the percentage, and voting Republican was insignificant to the results within the city. A Democratic win in Ann Arbor this year — and any year, really — is inevitable. In presidential elections, candidates win states by receiving the majority of the votes and, therefore, winning the state’s Electoral College. Michigan is considered a swing state, voting one way or the other by slim margins for several elections, including the 2020 presidential election. It might seem enticing to vote in Michigan for the presidential election since it is a toss up; but being a voter constitutes more than just voting for a presidential candidate.

On the contrary, it is your local representatives who have some of the most influence on your everyday lives, and their elections deserve your attention and vote.

Ann Arbor is part of Michigan’s 6th district, and U.S Rep. Debbie Dingell, D-Mich., won the Congress seat with 74.71% of the vote in the last election. Gov. Gretchen Whitmer won the election in 2022 with 75.10% of the vote. Despite the overpowering Democratic win — and it not being a presidential election — Ann Arbor students were in line until past 2:00 a.m. to cast their ballots, waiting for up to 6 hours.

This dedication to vote is extremely important, yet largely unnecessary in this city. — students should bring the same dedication and enthusiasm for democracy to their hometowns. In 2020, out-of-state students at the University of Michigan made up 46.35% of the undergraduate population. In an anonymous survey conducted in 2020 by The Michigan Daily, only 15.7% of respondents were registered to vote in another state.

For out-of-state student respondents, 57.54% said they were voting in Ann Arbor. It might seem enticing to students, especially left-leaning ones, to vote in Ann Arbor, knowing the representatives they vote for will more than likely win. Winning and losing in politics has proven to frustrate voters and produce complex effects, especially when it comes to trust in the democratic process.

However, voting in your hometown and participating in the community there can be impactful, especially for students from toss-up counties and states.

Some states can make it extremely difficult to vote absentee, and it is completely understandable why some students might register to vote in Ann Arbor. During

the Opinion-1 2022 November election, a classmate of mine expressed her frustration with how difficult it was for her to register to vote in Texas; she was also worried about her absentee ballot getting rejected, as seen in the primary elections in the same year. She chose to register to vote in Ann Arbor because she never received her absentee ballot, and she wanted to make sure she voted.

With several states having recently passed laws making it more difficult to vote, especially absentee, many might believe that it isn’t worth the hassle. But these states need to hear your voice the most. It might seem

demoralizing to put up with the difficulty of voting at home, but being politically active in the place you call home and making sure your voice is heard is the first step to change. Voting in hometowns is essential for in-state residents as well, since Michigan is considered a swing state. I spent most of my life in Macomb County, about an hour and 15 minutes away from Ann Arbor. Over the past several years, election races between Democrats and Republicans have been extremely close.

In 2022, Macomb’s Congressional representative was decided by 585 votes. U.S.

Rep. John James, R-Mich., won the district with 48.6% of the vote. Gov. Whitmer won the county with only 51.8% of the vote. Voting at home matters, and in Macomb County, U-M voters could have had a sway. The most important part of your participation in the upcoming elections is making the decision to vote in the first place. These races will be tight, with slim margins of victory across the United States, and it is important to have your voice heard. But as you research candidates and receive your ballots in the mail, consider voting in your hometowns — because we all know how Ann

Design by Rumaisa Wajahath

Arbor will vote. Let your vote have a chance of changing an election.

In Michigan, the first election of the year is the presidential primary on Feb. 27, right during our Spring Break. Make sure to register to vote and partake in the elections you can. If you will be at home over Spring Break, visit your local clerk’s office to ensure you have all the correct documentation and request your absentee ballots for future elections. Make it impossible for them to reject your vote because you have the right to care about and participate in your local elections. Mail those ballots in!

MAXIMILIAN SCHENKE Opinion Columnist

Swin big and Sacheen Littlefeather deliver a powerful, impromptu protest of the industry’s depiction of Native Americans. “Titanic” became the second film to win 11 Oscars in 1998, to the awe of 55.25 million viewers. Since this golden age of golden trophies, interest in the ceremony has steadily declined, with a catastrophic collapse of ratings over the past five years in particular. Will Smith slapping Chris Rock — one of the most uproarious moments in the show’s history — only reached a sultry 16.6 million viewers.

This downward spiral in ratings is accelerated by the Oscar’s failed attempts to revamp their show for a modern audience. Showrunners have become increasingly obsessed with “fixing” the ceremony and returning to the glory days of “The Godfather” and “Titanic” by cutting down its runtime. To appeal to our sub goldfish-level attention spans, show runners have sidelined categories such as best original score; but these attempts have done nothing to improve viewership. The academy’s self sabotage is so all-consuming that they have yet to realize times have fundamentally changed. The Oscars can’t be fixed, nor should they be. By attempting to restore the show to its former glory, the academy misses the very point of its titular ceremony: to celebrate those who have elevated the art form to the status it has achieved in society. The writers, directors, actors, production designers, cinematographers and all of the

unnamed thousands who toiled away on your favorite movies are an act of greatness in and of themselves, no matter if those efforts are rewarded with a shiny golden man. By casting aside the brilliance of the creators in favor of an overengineered, Jimmy Kimmel-hosted broadcast for the masses, the academy will only further doom its ceremony to irrelevance in the eyes of the public. Even the academy’s illustrious nominations and winners are filled with flukes, misses and controversies.

While an Oscar nomination itself carries a massive amount of weight, there are too many highly successful directors and actors who’ve never won an Oscar. In spite of the academy, their enduring popularity and talent in the eyes of the masses is what has defined their careers.

The opposite problem occurs for many actors who’ve won an Oscar but unfortunately fade into obscurity soon thereafter. The metrics become even more

unpredictable for the movies themselves, with Oscar best picture nominations or wins rarely proving a film’s perceived quality or aligning with its box office success.For the masses, online movie reviewing sites — with 7.8 million entertaining and divisive reviews left on IMDb alone — have long subsumed the relevance of award nods of the elusive academy. With a comparatively minuscule voting body of roughly 10,000 members, the academy is far less representative of the collective opinion of filmgoing audiences than online reviewing sites. What makes a movie good, great or even the greatest movie of the year is no longer in the hands of a select minority, but instead of every viewer with an internet connection. In a world where deliberations over a film’s quality are democratized, the opinions of professional film critics and the academy pale in comparison to the collective judgment of anyone

with a film opinion. From the film buff to the average Joe, everyone’s opinions, no matter how outlandish, are equally accessible and valuable. The academy’s effort to retain their viewership by adapting to a changing cinematic landscape also represents a broader failure to rope in viewers using widely recognized films. In theory, the academy should be recognizing whichever movies are most deserving of the award, regardless of their popularity. In practice however, by handing out what are essentially participation trophies in the forms of nominations to widely popular films, the Oscars skips over less popular films more deserving of their attention on a yearly basis. Despite the academy’s best efforts, integrating more popular movies hasn’t improved viewership. In 2023, though Oscar ratings reached a threeyear high, ratings were still far below prior numbers. Even if this

gain is attributed exclusively to including more popular movies in the nominations, the academy is trading its already dubious integrity for an insignificant boost in viewership. The credibility and prestige of the film industry doesn’t rest with the Oscars, as the academy seems so hellbent on maintaining. Since the advent of the internet and the Oscars’ continuous slide in ratings, the industry has proven it can exist, and even thrive, in a world far less dominated by the oppressive whims of the academy and its little golden man. With the public dominating the conversation, the unscrupulous shortcomings of critics and the academy are far less significant, and movies are better for it. While the Oscars continue to prioritize the commercial aspects of an award show for its most deserving, viewers of the great medium have moved on to brighter lights and greener screens.

Managed Mayhem

McDaniel, sluggish Michigan offense fall to Ohio State, 84-61

JONATHAN WUCHTER Daily Sports Writer

COLUMBUS — Sophomore guard Dug McDaniel came back, and was supposed to bring the Michigan men’s basketball team’s offense back with him.

But on Sunday, McDaniel proved unable to revitalize the Wolverines’ offense, while his counterpart in Ohio State guard Bruce Thornton precisely operated the Buckeyes’ unit. The result was Michigan’s (8-22 overall, 3-16 Big Ten) program recordtying 22nd loss, falling 84-61 to Ohio State (18-12, 8-11).

From the onset, the Wolverines were more adept at turning the ball over than putting it in the basket. Sophomore forward Tarris Reed Jr.’s opening-possession pass didn’t even graze the hands of his target as the Buckeyes took the ball the other way. And just seven minutes in, Michigan found itself with four turnovers compared to just two points.

The Wolverines needed their head of the snake. And in bursts

WOMEN’S LACROSSE

McDaniel’s prowess shone through, hitting a 3-pointer then driving for a right-side scoop on back-to-back possessions with 12 minutes to play in the half. Even grabbing a long offensive rebound for a putback in the final seconds of the first half, McDaniel kept the struggling Michigan offense within striking distance, down 32-27 at halftime.

“It’s definitely good to have our point guard back,” senior forward Terrance Williams II said.

“Of course, he’s leading us. Scoring, passing and we definitely have a dynamic playmaker. We going to need him in the future to keep playing the way he’s been playing.” Because even if McDaniel only managed glimmers, Ohio State’s offense committed similar mistakes to keep the game close. The Buckeyes’ offense looked as lethargic as the Wolverines’ at times, recording seven turnovers in the first half.

As the Wolverines clawed within one possession twice in the final four minutes of the half

— Ohio State called upon its own leading-scorer. And to Thornton the Buckeyes went, driving inside on both instances. Including a tomahawk dunk in the mix, the six-foot-two Thornton ignited the offense.

“That was impressive. That was impressive,” Ohio State interim coach Jake Diebler said.

“… We’ve talked about how special Bruce is. And I think he doesn’t get credit for the complete athlete that he is because he’s not really making a ton of plays above the rim. But he is a phenomenal athlete.”

By no measure was it a perfect performance, but as Ohio State struggled, Thornton’s timely

shot making and steady presence from the charity stripe uplifted the Buckeyes to a halftime lead. Drawing a foul on McDaniel right out of the break, Thornton continued to win the guard battle. And finally, the Buckeyes followed the lead of their star guard. Ohio State amassed a staggering 42-27 lead before

MEN’S GYMNASTICS

Michigan beats Colorado, 13-8, remaining undefeated

KATIE ROSE For The Daily

After a slow, even-paced first quarter, the No. 6 Michigan women’s lacrosse team changed the momentum of the game with an explosive second quarter against No. 19 Colorado.

The Wolverines (6-0 overall) showed their dominance over the Buffaloes (4-2 overall), easily surmounting them for a 13-8 win to keep their undefeated record intact.

They wasted no time finding the goal as senior midfielder Annabelle Burke scored a free position goal within the first 90 seconds of play. Despite Colorado’s quick response from Eve Hritzuk, Michigan reclaimed its lead with junior midfielder Katharine Merrifield’s unassisted, relatively undefended shot. The first quarter ended with strong defensive plays on both sides, as neither team let the other score any more points, knotting the game at 2-1.

The Wolverines turned the tides and dominated in the second quarter, however, scoring six goals while holding the Buffaloes to just two. Although Colorado tied the game early in the quarter, Michigan’s determination to stay undefeated was obvious as it worked to secure a 7-2 lead with goals from junior attackers Jill Smith, Kaylee Dyer and Jane Fetterolf alongside senior midfielder Josie Gooch.

In the final minute of the first half, the Buffaloes managed to score another goal, narrowing the Wolverines’ lead. However, Michigan managed to regain its previ-

WOMEN’S MEN’S BASKETBALL

ous margin right back with Smith scoring an impressive goal with just five seconds remaining in the first half, sending it into halftime with a comfortable 8-3 lead.

The Wolverines’ communication was evident, helping them secure the large lead at the half. Dyer, who matched her careerhigh five goals against Colorado, highlighted Michigan’s improved communication both on and off the field, something it struggled with in previous games.

and eight goals allowed, its second-most allowed goals in a game.

But its somewhat sloppy play in the second half didn’t get overlooked with the win. Wolverines coach Hannah Nielsen emphasized the need to play complete games, regardless of the scoreboard.

LILA TURNER/Daily

McDaniel scored the Wolverines’ first points of the second half over three and a half minutes in.

Again McDaniel provided flashes, dishing a pass into Reed to cut the deficit to seven points with ten minutes to play. But those flashes remained just that, never creating a lasting spark the same way the Buckeyes’ offense did around Thornton. McDaniel struggled to score enough, failed to facilitate, tallying just 3 assists, and hardly looked worthy of the “head of the snake” moniker.

Of course his 19 total points were still at the forefront of Michigan’s dismal second-half effort. But as the Wolverines shot 10-for-30 in the latter 20 minutes, it didn’t take much to stick out. And in comparison to Thornton who scored nearly as much on less than half the shot attempts, McDaniel wasn’t the force he needed to be.

Because as the Buckeyes found their rhythm offensively and sure-handedly maintained a double digit lead to the buzzer, Michigan continued to look lost — like a snake without its head.

“I think we’ll enjoy (the win) for a little bit and then we got to clean up some of the turnovers,” Nielsen said. “I think we can still shoot a little bit better and maybe just put together a full 60-minute effort.”

With each win, Michigan further establishes that its high ranking is not a fluke but earned.

“We definitely worked on that within the past few days making sure that we’re communicating when we’re getting the ball around making sure we know when we’re starting up the offense,” Dyer said. “And we did a lot better today and I think that showed on the scoreboard for sure.”

The second half of the game was much slower, with each team scoring just five more goals. The Wolverines’ defense struggled in the third quarter when they allowed the Buffaloes to score two goals in a row, bringing the score to 11-6. However, Michigan’s offense remained strong as its tear continued, scoring two more goals in the second half. Although the Wolverines were explosive on offense, their turnovers and defensive capabilities were not up to par. Michigan ended the day with 17 turnovers

Both Nielsen and Dyer acknowledged that in order to stay undefeated, especially against conference rival Ohio State later this week, Michigan will need to keep working hard. With its undefeated record and top-ten ranking, it knows that its opponents are paying attention to its talent, hoping to break the Wolverines’ win streak.

“Understanding that teams are going to want to play their best game against us,” Dyer said. “And we’re not the underdog anymore. We’re still fighting to be one of the top teams and just making sure that we know that every team is going to bring us their best game and so making sure that we’re bringing our best every day.”

The Wolverines’ triumph over Colorado adds another impressive win to their undefeated early season. With each win, Michigan further establishes that its high ranking is not a fluke but earned.

Exhilarated cheers erupted in Cliff Keen Arena when sophomore Fred Richard landed his flawless flyaway dismount off the high bar with a satisfying smack. Richard’s strong performance in the event was one of many in a pivotal win for the No. 4 Michigan men’s gymnastics team (11-1 overall) over No. 1 Oklahoma (7-2 overall) on Saturday, 416.3-409.35. Despite the pressure of competing against the top team in the country, the Wolverines’ performances on their stronger events, namely the still rings, vault and parallel bars, propelled them to a win and a season-high all-around score by 3.8 points.

Michigan knew its strengths and weaknesses. And it knew that in order to beat the Sooners, its strengths needed to be stronger than its weaknesses.

“I think that right now, we have a good vault (and) ring team,” Michigan coach Yuan Xiao said. “We were way below Oklahoma for the floor and the pommel horse, but our ring team really stands out. Our (parallel) bar team is great too, you know. Us and Oklahoma, we have more advantage.”

Beginning on the floor exercise, the Wolverines’ adequate routines lessened repercussions from a fall from junior Lais Najjar and dodgy landings on tumbling passes. The Sooners, who rank first nationally on floor, led by only a 0.7-point margin after the rotation as Michigan made up for its execution flaws with higher difficulty scores.

On pommel horse, both teams scored 67.7, maintaining the allaround difference. Sophomore

Zach Granados fell during his routine, but so did Oklahoma’s Ignacio Yockers. An impressive 14.75 on the apparatus was scored by graduate Paul Juda. His performance injected palpable confidence and energy into the Wolverines, propelling them even further into their later events.

On the sidelines, Michigan never watched the Sooners’ athletes compete. Instead, the Wolverines were locked into teamwide pep talks, lighthearted conversation or games to hone in on what they could control.

“We have this thing called the bubble,” graduate Crew Bold said. “We only focus on our routines, so we get momentum from (those) and it helps us stay in our own heads as opposed to watching another team. It’s always good to stay in our own bubble, looking at our own good routines and getting energy from those.”

With its shakier events on the floor and pommel horse behind them, Michigan stayed focused inside their bubble on the rings. The Wolverines modeled strength and immaculate form, making their athleticism appear easy. Senior Javier Alfonso earned a team-high score of 15.05 to complete the rotation, further increasing morale. Oklahoma fell behind significantly with shaky routines, and Michigan found itself pulling away 206.8-201.45 with three rotations remaining in the meet.

On vault, the Wolverines took their multiple-point lead and ran with it. Notable highs of the event were from junior David Wolma and Juda with scores of 14.9 and 14.65, respectively. Michigan finished the quick fourth rotation on top, 279.3-272.95.

During the penultimate rotation

on the parallel bars, the Wolverines demonstrated strong and clean routines. A fall from Najjar didn’t make a dent on their lead as the Sooners’ performances were messy and contained consequential errors. Bold earned a season-high score of 14.95, and Michigan maintained its sizable lead moving into the final rotation. The considerable nine-point edge Michigan gained over the course of the previous four events allowed it room for error during its time on the high bar. Both sophomore Robert Noll and junior Rithik Puri fell, but the three remaining routines softened the hit on the Wolverines’ score. Top-notch routines from senior Evgeny Siminiuc and Richard, scoring 14.1 and 14.85, respectively, reflected Michigan’s ability to balance out weaker areas with the individual strengths of certain athletes. The Wolverines emerged victorious after the high bar with a finish 6.95 points above Oklahoma.

“We want to see what (there is) between Michigan and the number one team,” Xiao said. “We are treated seriously, (so) we’re going to put it all: our strength, our start value, our execution, and compete in the champion game.”

Michigan’s performances on the rings, vault and parallel bars were the most impactful in pulling off the victory, as they coupled higher start values with excellent execution scores. On the floor, pommel horse, and high bar, they minimized mistakes to keep up against the Sooners. Oklahoma ultimately failed to match the Wolverines’ caliber, who knew their formula and executed it.

Cameron Williams provides crucial offensive start in senior night win over Purdue

ZACH

the Wolverines’ offense to a much needed victory over the Boilermakers.

“It feels great, especially overall to get a team win.” Williams said. “Super important game for us, but on senior night makes it even better.”

Williams made her presence known early, scoring the first four points of the game. Purdue’s defense adjusted, though, switching to a zone to limit the inside touches that Williams could receive. After the Boilermakers’ defensive adjustment, Williams picked up three first-

quarter fouls that benched her for the remainder of the half.

Relegated to watching the back and forth battle from the sidelines, Williams spent her

time on the bench eager to get back in the game. And when Williams made her return to the court four minutes into the third quarter, her impact was immedi-

ate once again. “It definitely takes staying composed during the rest of the game,” Williams said. “… We always try to get the ball into the

JENNA HICKEY/Daily

post and even if I’m not scoring, it’s good inside-out game as well. So I tried to be as aggressive as I can in the post.” Despite having three fouls, Williams maintained her aggressive playstyle and continued to score in the post. She tallied six of the Wolverines’ last eight points of the quarter, becoming the first Michigan player to attain double-digit points in the game and pushing the lead to five entering the final frame.

Williams played all 10 minutes of the final quarter. And even with three fouls, her aggressive play empowered her success. When Michigan moved the ball along on the perimeter and spread out the Purdue defense, Williams was in a prime spot to take advantage of her position. Using creative moves on the high post, like baiting defenders with pump fakes or deploying an underneath move to secure a bucket, she consistently found ways to put points on the board for the Wolverines.

“Cam had a bunch of big ones down the line,” junior guard Laila Phelia said. “Having trust

in her to stay aggressive the entire time, she didn’t shy away.” Williams scored eight points throughout the duration of the fourth quarter. She scored on her own offensive rebound, in transition and by simply overpowering her defender.

“She’s been relentless,” Barnes Arico said. “… We needed her in there because she made an impact even in the first half. So I knew we were gonna need to go to her. … For her to have that night on her senior night was really special.” Williams supplied the offensive spark and consistency that Michigan needed during a game that seemed as if it could never pull away. Although the Wolverines won by just four points, on the back of Williams’ consistent senior night performance, they continually seemed in control.

GABRIELA RODRIGUEZ For The Daily

Designed by Leyla Dumke

IMMERSION EDITION

My SoulCycle challenge:

Pedaling my way to the front of the pack

MOLLY GOLDWASSER Statement Columnist

Sweat is dripping down the side of my face, and there is nothing I can do about it because my complimentary towel has fallen off my bike and onto the floor. With my feet locked into the pedals by rental shoes, I have no choice but to keep cycling. I want to die, or vomit, but mostly I want the instructor to yell out “Arms!” because the arm workout signals that the SoulCycle class is almost over, and I can return to the comfort of real life and a well-lit space.

I am spending my afternoon in a Twerk Tuesday class at SoulCycle, a trendy, spin-exercise company that offers 45 minute sessions led by an instructor, who is sometimes cycling, but always motivating the room of cyclists through their “iconic soulful moment.” The package I purchased for $99 (rental shoes not included) gives me access to one class per day for 14 days. Unfortunately, I do not feel optimistic about the soulful two weeks ahead of me. However, I have timed my start date poorly with Spring Break, so in reality, 11 days of SoulCycle stretch before me.

I have taken a few SoulCycle classes before, but always with a friend much more enthusiastic about it than I am. Everyone seems to know exactly what they are doing; an army of Lululemon-clad girls hop onto their bikes and perform synchronized upper-body movements while still pedal-

ing furiously. I always felt like I was so obviously out of place, marked by my mismatched attire and inability to set up the bike for myself. Despite considering myself to be decently athletic, I emerge from each class feeling a lot worse than anyone else looks.

As someone who enjoys the rush of endorphins after a grueling workout, I want to love SoulCycle. But in the middle of pedaling for my life, the allure eludes me. I wanted to see if the obsession was intrinsic, and thus simply beyond my grasp, or if SoulCycle was something I could learn to love.

The singular SoulCycle studio in Ann Arbor is becoming a new constant in my life. Located under Vic Village North on South University Avenue, I pass the studio almost every day on my way to class. While patting myself on the back for being not just awake, but out of the house, before 9 a.m., the exodus of girls exiting the SoulCycle building, having already completed a workout class, routinely puts me in my place. Now, I will be one of them.

The Ann Arbor SoulCycle studio is packed with more than 40 stationary bikes aligned in neat rows facing a mirrored wall, and the instructor’s bike presides over the room on an altar-like structure facing the rest of the riders. There are also four stationary bikes horizontally facing the instructor, positioned for ample viewing from the rest of the class. These bikes are available for anyone to book, but only the confidence that comes from experience

could propel me to perform the workout akin to the instructor, thus I stay away. The room is kept pitch black during the workout, save for spotlights that illuminate the instructor’s stand (at her discretion) and candles on the ground.

While the room set-up seems standard based on my limited experience, I am struck by how close together the bikes are positioned as I squeeze myself toward the back row. The candles initially seem like an aesthetic choice of mood lighting, and I am amused by their unconventionality. However, on the first day of my SoulCycle challenge, the instructor effortlessly hops off of her bike and weaves through the rows, proffering lit candles to cyclists for them to blow out as they ride. The ritual seems incredibly over the top and unnecessary for a workout, but my incredulity is quickly replaced with anxiety about my ability to blow the candle out in a breath I can’t seem to catch, the timing of the ordeal with my pedaling and how to maneuver my upper body to lean forward. I soon realize that my worries are for naught. With four SoulCycles classes ever under my belt, I am still a neophyte. The candles are reserved for grander milestones; a 25th, 50th or 100th ride.

On Thursday afternoon (day three), I am cycling to the beat of “FratParty Anthems” while performing upper body crunches with my hands propped on the center of the handlebars, my eyes half-closed in anguish. The space is so dark that I struggle to

distinguish my inner eyelids from the room, which contributes to the keen feeling of not being fully conscious. It is in the SoulCycle studio that I learn I am severely uncoordinated. My flailing is interrupted when I find out I am a participating member of one man’s 750th Soul Cycle ride. He is biking in one of the exemplary spots at the front, and, to celebrate his milestone, the rest of the staff run in dancing with neon glow sticks, a source of light that I welcome. However, the momentousness of this man’s milestone is not lost on me in my scrambled state — by my conservative estimate, he has spent more than $15,000 on cycling classes.

It is loyalty like this that lends a hand to SoulCycle’s image as a cult. At its height, SoulCycle was so popular among elite circles in New York City that weekly classes would fill up instantaneously when they opened on Mondays at noon. In Ann Arbor, the cult manifests itself in the close-knit community between cyclists and the instructor. The teachers often know people’s names and they share a personal connection that seems to go beyond the standard student-teacher relationship. At the end of one of the classes I took, a woman thanked the instructor for her fearless leading and the instructor thanked her back for fearlessly letting her lead. I want to remind them that we are cycling on stationary bikes.

RILEY NIEBOER/Daily

RILEY NIEBOER/Daily

I quit tech for a week and escaped the Apple panopticon

EMILY SUN Statement Web Editor & Contributor

Admittedly, I’m not the most representative subject for a no-tech experiment.

My screen time (to find it, I unlocked my phone, promptly forgot what I was doing, and went to messages instead, twice) averaged three hours per day pre experiment. I take notes and read on paper and don’t have social media, unless you count LinkedIn, having deleted Instagram after an embarrassing phishing scam.

I am as pretentious about all this as you’d expect — which makes me a hypocrite because I still reach for my phone compulsively to check texts as soon as I wake up, live by my Google Calendar like it’s gospel, scroll through apps to procrastinate or open the thing for no good reason. I can feel the constant stimuli corrode my cognition: my memory, attention and observation, the mental equivalents of sitting still. Flooded with media, every thought flushed out the

nearest channel, nothing stays, nothing ferments. Efficiency is the spear of technological progress. We want quicker, smoother, easier. What do we lose? I had my suspicions, but they were tinged by the misleading promise of nostalgia.

I wanted an accurate look, and there was one way to get it: quit devices — everything, cold turkey — for a week. I shut down my phone and only opened my computer to finish schoolwork and check email and messages once a day.

12 a.m.

The experiment began. Nerves built up going into it, like separation anxiety. I had planned replacements — printed readings and a paper planner — but my electronics were so entangled with my brain that I was certain I’d missed something. Most nights, I text until I can’t keep my eyes open and slump into bed. That Monday night, I wrote in a journal — one of those things I want to but never do — and, lacking more diversions, slept. 8 a.m.

I blinked awake, reached for my phone on impulse, and, realizing I had powered it off, was at a loss for what to do next. My usual morning routine is atrocious: wake up, check texts, send bleary-eyed messages I’ll barely remember, check email, click through a gamut of news apps, roll over and fall asleep again; wake up for the second time, play Ezra Klein’s podcast, lay there half-listening and fall asleep again; wake up for the third or umpteenth time, check the clock, realize I have once again slept too late for breakfast, debate whether I really need to go to class, decide yes and finally hoist myself out of bed.

Without a phone, I just got up.

Two states became familiar to me over those six days: a reigning quiet and, straining against it, the urge for a dose of sensory stimuli. I felt the itch in between each time I stepped in and out of lecture, whenever I wasn’t occupied. If I let it simmer, it dipped into existential, hollow unease. Think a yawning cavern, crossed between Cookie-Monster voraciousness and Charybdian void. I started to wonder if that dread is

what we’re staving off, all of us with headphones on and heads buried in phones.

Without devices, there were two places I could be — my brain or my immediate, physical surroundings — and I craved a digital enclosure to escape the blandness of the former and the porousness of the latter. Under the discomfort, the quiet gained an allure. I tend to dismiss the boomer hand-wringing over “kids these days and their phones,” but it’s true. My mental health improved when my mental space was entirely mine to manage. No unwelcome notifications, no random browsing. Devices and their tantalizing possibility emit a constant hum, like a lump in the back of my brain that demands picking. With the option foreclosed, the hum stopped and the lump dissolved.

5 p.m.

I exited Angell Hall at sunset. The sun tossed pink on the stone facade, a sparrow waited on a high branch.

Read more at michigandaily.com

RILEY NIEBOER/Daily

I played a concert for The Michigan Daily and my pinkie cramped

MILES ANDERSON Statement Correspondent

Maybe it’s the couple hundred milligrams of caffeine I had or the anxiety I was born with, but I am so goddamn scared of this.

My face has been flushed most of the day because I can’t get the thought of the performance out of my head. Everything that can go wrong is playing incessantly in the back half of my brain. I know that, no matter what, I will be fine, but that does not stop me from being scared. Everyone in the newsroom will be nice no matter how the performance goes. Nonetheless, my mind is racing and my hands are already damp.

It feels so real. I’m actually doing this.

As my co-workers and I set up for the show, everyone at The Michigan Daily is being so kind and supportive. It doesn’t help though. I am scared to a level I have never reached before. Fear is consuming me. My stomach is tying itself into acidic knots. I need an Ibuprofen because the stress is making it feel like my head is compressing into itself. I’m really trying my best to distract myself from my impending fate, or doom, as my mind is telling itself.

The mic and amp are set up. Sound check went as well as it could with our hobbled together audio set up. I’m about to either pass out or vomit — maybe both. I’m just standing up on stage waiting to get the go ahead to start.

There’s no going back now; it is what it is.

The lights are so bright. I can’t see anyone when the main lights are off.

Time to do this.

My musical journey began at 4 years old — listening to the car radio on the way to daycare had inspired something in me, and I wanted to be able to do something like those musicians over the airwaves. I could feel the patterns of the music deep in my adolescent brain. I loved the way the melodies and rhythms blended together to create songs. My parents, music lovers

themselves, were happy to see that I was interested in music. They were more than willing to let me sign up for lessons.

I loved creating something with the piano. It was usually an atonic racket, but I did not care. Each key I pressed launched me into a new world. I knew nothing about music theory, but I still heard how these notes should go together, meshing or clashing like I was putting together a puzzle. I learned how to read music before I could read full sentences, thanks to my wonderful teacher; she was patient and kind, helping me to place my hands correctly and play with dynamics. There was something amazing about being able to create these noises. I truly loved it.

There was one issue, though.

Practice. I absolutely despised practicing — ironic, given my love of playing. I wanted to learn and improve, but I wasn’t willing to put any time in. I thought all things should just come naturally to me, that hard work wasn’t needed. Squirming on the hard piano bench in my house out of boredom was miserable for me.

But time went on and, despite my practice habits, I improved. I moved on from basic arpeggios and playing one painful note at a time to real classical music. At first, I was excited to be playing compositions beyond “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” but I quickly realized that classical music is tedious and boring for a kid. It felt like being forced to eat cauliflower. Sure, it was beneficial for me and would have likely led to better outcomes, but its execution was miserable and left a bad taste in my mouth. The music I played was beautiful, but it was stifling. I kept playing the same composers over and over until all their pieces blended together in an orchestral cacophony. I saw no freedom in classical music; everything seemed predestined and monotonous. I only had so many sonatas in me. The nearly three-hour-long recitals in a stuffy church seemed to be suffocating me every few months. I wanted something different. I wanted to play music I knew and enjoyed.

Out of some sort of divine intervention, my cousin Parker joined something called the Kalamazoo Academy of Rock, a program that let kids in the Kalamazoo area join rock bands and play shows at local venues. I went with my family to support him and I was amazed: Here was this group of kids around my age playing songs people knew, and people actually seemed to enjoy them! It seemed like a perfect way to get back to having fun with music.

So, I joined Kalamazoo Academy of Rock and I started to care about practicing. I could recognize what the songs were supposed to sound like and I wanted to reach the level of perfection I heard on the records. There was a joy in practicing now — something to strive for.

It was exactly what I imagined it would be: performing music people actually knew and enjoyed with a great group of musicians. I was having the

time of my life, playing chords I didn’t even know existed and exploring the endless depths of keyboard patches to try and find the right sound for every song we played. I learned how it felt to completely click with other people to create something together — so different from the previous, drab piano recitals. It’s a feeling unlike anything else, not happy or sad; it simply is.

I also got to play in some of the best venues in Kalamazoo, most of which I wouldn’t be able to legally enter for another eight or nine years.

I spent my first year in Kalamazoo Academy of Rock playing keyboards, but by the end, I had started playing bass and even singing in shows. I also had bandmates relying on me — and if I messed up we all would sound bad — so I was actually practicing, not wanting to let them down.

I got my call up to the big leagues after that year: I was moving to the program’s varsity band. My band prac-

Courtesy of Miles Anderson

Courtesy of Miles Anderson

tice time had doubled and my lessons became more frequent, culminating in what was probably the musically best time of my life. I was passionate about what I was doing; there was an even bigger drive to improve that I never felt before. We played all over Kalamazoo to hundreds of different people — it was amazing. I was learning and growing as a musician, and I was literally able to hear the difference in the quality of my playing.

Over time, the members of my band changed — people got busy or got too old. It was always sad seeing them go. It created little voids in the band, but the new musicians molded their own niches making that void feel a bit less empty. For two solid years, I was in this cycle.

I had started to burn out by the end. School was starting to become more time-consuming. I had just fully healed from a stress fracture in my tibia and came off a long season of sucking at swimming. There was a lot going on and I felt myself starting to drift away from the music. I was practicing less and less, barely getting 15 minutes a day, if that. It was demoralizing; I was being slowly separated from something I adored, but I simply didn’t feel I had the time.

There was a yearning for music that I couldn’t fulfill, so I tried to live

with it. Sure, I was involved in other activities, but abandoning music, something that was integral to my life for so long, felt like abandoning an integral piece of myself. Music filled a part of my soul that nothing else came close to touching.

At the beginning of 2021, I was able to rejoin Kalamazoo Academy of Rock and finish off the last of my high school years with the program. I knew I had missed playing, but I hadn’t realized how much until I started again. My new bandmates were a mix of Kalamazoo Academy of Rock veterans and new faces. I was excited to get jamming with them, and jam we did, gelling together like nothing else I had been a part of.

The summer of 2022 was my final session of Kalamazoo Academy of Rock. It was depressing. I was losing an integral connection to the world of music.

We decided to go out with a bang, though. We filled our setlist with some of our favorite songs. To end it all, we planned to play Lynyrd Skynyrd’s magnum opus “Free Bird” and by god, we did. It was our longest performance ever. We had the time of our lives, despite knowing this would be the end of the road for our Tuesday night band.

I felt a resigned happiness: I wouldn’t play with them again, yes, but I had a hell of a time doing it. I figured I

would continue practicing at college — maybe even find some other people to play with — but I seemed to have lost that spark again. Apparently, it extinguished when I strummed that final note of “Free Bird.”

I could tell I missed playing, but I couldn’t will myself to do it. I found every excuse not to. I kept telling myself I was too busy, or what a hassle it would be to get my guitar out and put it back away or what if I lost all my skill and couldn’t play anymore. I think that I didn’t want to restart my passion for music just for it to go out again.

Last summer, I did not have the chance to play very often. I spent the summer abroad in Dublin, Ireland

where I had the chance to work for a wonderful man named John Brereton, a professional guitarist, magazine editor and David Bowie enthusiast. Under his mentorship at a magazine called The Goo, I learned the ins and outs of the Dublin music scene. That once-extinguished flame of music started to flicker again. I started playing more upon arriving home, making some serious progress, but then school started and classes and writing took up all my time. I did not make time for music, letting it fall to the wayside once again. I refused to make time for myself and anything I enjoyed.

Read more at michigandaily.com

Miles Anderson practices guitar inside his

Miles Anderson performs for a Standing Room

Muay Thai and on being enough of a man

GRACE LAHTI/Daily

DARRIN ZHOU Statement Deputy Editor

Driving there — in the midst of the year’s first snowstorm, an oppressively-dangerous white that reminded you spring was oh, so far away — was like something out of a James Bond film: the battering, violent snow, howling winds, a tree limb narrowly missing the windshield and the car drifting across the road in a way more appropriate for a Tokyo parking garage than State Street. But I’d made it to Final Round — a local fighting gym in Ann Arbor — to dip my toes into the world of Muay Thai, only to find out that, of course, they weren’t doing classes today, because, goddamn, why would they be? I barely made it here alive, why the fuck would they be open?

Maybe I was expecting a bit of magic for a fighter’s rapier to somehow wave away geological axioms like weather. Maybe I rather craved a bit of magic. There’s been a certain type of carnal exhaustion in my recent life from seeing doors clos-

ing in my face and pretending like the windows were just as good as the doors — something I, even if I didn’t want to fully admit it, wanted Final Round to amend, with its halogen white walls and mat-to-shining-mat stretching across the floor. It offered any prospective student the miracle that a well-placed punch brought — a sudden knockout, victory from the jaws of defeat, something real life never seemed to parallel — and the concrete reality of a knuckle ripping through the other person’s jaw. One hits another; the other falls. A punch doesn’t lie to you. I saw the promise of Muay Thai as this; a bit arcane: to smash through closed doors.

Two fists. Two elbows. Two knees and two legs — the art of eight limbs. The vision of knees into the abdomen, elbows smashing through a guard, tibia on tibia, of a pungent, metallic and, can-I-say, strangely attractive bloodlust? Once in a while we just all need to punch something, and I came here to punch things. Well, I’d also be lying if I said there wasn’t some taboo, Goggins-esque desire to become whatever flavor of Greek-

alphabet male is in vogue, to have had the slim physique and quiet determination of a fighter: to become more of a man, whatever that meant to my subconscious at the time.

I was still squarely aware I didn’t belong in the “able to punch things” category during my first public class. Here I was, someone with paintedblack nails and bleach-blonde hair going into a Muay Thai gym; a room full of fighters in bicep-hugging shirts (for Pete’s sake, I write for a literary magazine), throwing weapons with a grace usually reserved for ballerinas. A man commented his legs didn’t feel “rough enough” and someone took a wooden rod and started beating his shins. I started kicking pads and it felt like I hurt myself more than any potential opponent, but it was a first step. A baptism by fire, I suppose.

Regardless, it was time to learn the fundamentals: a fighting stance and the 1-2-3 combo — jab, cross, hook. I did a private session with Thai-Binh Nguyen, a fighter and instructor at the gym, working through the movements: a little bounce in the stance to keep the body fluid, flowing

into the punches. A pivot on the left foot while the right hand comes back to block the face — the body working in synchrony. Soon enough, I was rocking with the bag, with Nguyen’s soft repetition of one, two, three, in the background setting a metronomic rhythm to the whole affair — maybe the ballerina comparison was more apt than I thought. “If you want to punch harder,” Thai said, “focus on speed, not power.” It felt more graceful than it did violent.

“I almost look at it like an art,” Nguyen said. “It’s not so much about who can hit the hardest, but the technique.” Many people, me included, initially get this wrong; paradoxically, the new members tend to be the ones who throw the hardest, with punches that teeter wildly off balance. I think there’s a desire to put everything into it — for the fist hitting the pad to wash you of your sins.

This is probably a good time to mention that if one of your friends, especially a man, has a sudden and inexplicably strong desire to start training a striking martial art, it is probably a cry for help to some ex-

tent. I have only anecdotal evidence, but a breakup, the implosion of a close friend group, finding out HR only exists to protect the company … it’s a pretty damning record.

It’s not difficult to figure out why violence often domineers emotional release for men. “There are, to my mind, strong roots between (masculinity) and this country’s violent past,” writes Ocean Vuong for the Paris Review. America has always siphoned itself from violence: Look at the Native American genocides, the scarred history of the Transatlantic slave trade, the indentured, Chinese “Coolie labor” that drove Westward expansion and the current exploitation of South American migrants. The flag and its 13 colonies are streaks of blood — a crimson hand dragging itself through land that was never its to own. “Because American life was founded on death, it had to make death a kind of praxis, it had to celebrate it. And because death was considered progress, its metaphors soon became the very measurement of life, of the growth of boys. You fucking killed it,” writes Vuong.

Masculinity, or at least the version the American empire has contaminated, becomes realized through conquest, a celebration of domination — of women and of each other. So fighting, the ultimate display of physical domination, became its fundamental datum. To necessitate that

locomotive force was to necessitate manhood as a system of violence instead of a human.

I’m keenly aware of this blood oath, as I’m keenly aware of the fact that American masculinity dreams a dream that does not include me: the racialized, the Queer, the mentally unwell. “To carve out a masculine identity requires whittling away everything that falls outside the norms of boyhood,” writes Sarah Rich for The Atlantic. “At the earliest ages, it’s about external signifiers like favorite colors, TV shows, and clothes. But later, the paring knife cuts away intimate friendships, emotional range, and open communication.” All tangibly grisly, which makes it more grim when I say damned if I don’t want to gouge myself out, to become what it wants, until I am hollow.

I am here at the fighting gym, in Eden, so I can be dreamed of. This was the snake’s promise. I step in, sliding under the ring ropes, and I say to Him, “burn it.”

“Burn it. Burn the wildflowers at Boy Scout camp, burn the nail polish off of my hands, burn those entries out of my journal.” I am at His knees. “Burn the way he looked at the party, sweat bouncing in his sun-curled hair and the little peck he gave on my cheek when he left, not even realizing. Burn the drives in the neighborhood as he stared through the window, as

he rested his head on my car’s center console. Burn it all.”

I am looking at myself through the window. I am looking at myself, in some patch of grass in Eden, flying. Where did this boy go? Who took him and what did you do? I want my things back. I want my sharp tongue, I want the bowls of cut fruit, the swagger and sway of it all in the summer heat. I want to hold another man’s hand, calloused, and I don’t need to love him. I don’t need romance. I just want to hold his hand.

And I beg to Him, “If I can’t have it, then burn it all, because I have been cold for so long. Burn it all to just let me feel its warmth.”

I am slowly settling into tempo with Final Round’s afternoon classes. The twilight haze rests on my windshield as I’m driving there, to the outskirts of Ann Arbor, away from everything else; always slightly late, rushing in through the door. We warm up, the instructor teaches us something — a clinching technique, some new combo, footwork or blocking — then practice and pad work.

We cycle through training with each other, the gym floor like some complicated gearwheel machination as I’m circling with my partner, holding out combinations for them to strike. A 1-2-kick. Elbow-knee. Watch the rotation on the kick, make sure you’re kicking through me, not up:

step outside a bit more. There. Feel that power?

I come to realize that Muay Thai is not a solitary endeavor. “You need someone to help train you, you need people to help work with you, you need support,” Nguyen says. I do rounds with the seasoned fighters of the gym. From the outside, it is largely a man launching a missile of a leg straight at my body, with only a bit of leather and foam to hold me, but there’s no … malice. Straight, perfect kicks, right into the pads, and I don’t worry about being hurt, and can I say it feels intimate?

Can I say that, fuck, I forgot his name, but I feel like I know him better than the people I’ve known for years more at this university, through his staggered breathing, through the way his hook meets the pad on my left forearm as I’m holding it for him?

Years of red tape begin to wash away, and I look at myself. I haven’t cried since high school — three years. I’m not sure if this was genuinely the last time I cried, or if I’ve inadvertently shunted any other memory out of shame. I’m not sure which one is worse. “Somehow the test of manhood, men told me, was the willingness to accept this loss, to not speak it even in private grief,” bell hooks writes in The Will to Change. I don’t know how much I can hide anymore.

GRACE LAHTI/Daily

An introverts nightmare

IRENA TUTUNARI Statement Deputy Editor

I prowled the aisles of my local CVS looking for my next victim, trying to feel like less of a creep. It was around 8:30 p.m. on Jan. 2, fresh into the new year of 2024, and I was in my hometown for Winter Break. My mom was at the self-checkout, purchasing me a pack of silicone earplugs (which should tell you enough about me as a person). The aisles were empty, and I was starting to feel myself grow nervous. My mom reached for her wallet in her purse, indicating that I had maybe 30 seconds to complete my mission and find the person that I was searching for. If only I knew what they might look like.

Finally, after I had circled the candy aisle enough times to feel a preliminary toothache setting in, I saw her. A woman with perhaps the most earthy, mundane outfit I had ever come across was standing by the toilet bowl cleaner. Her coat was beige, her scarf was beige and her hat was beige. I wiped my clammy hands on my pant legs and walked toward her, oozing what I hoped was confidence. Stopping directly in front of her and the Arm & Hammer, I stuttered, “Hi there! Yes, hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, I just wanted to tell you that I absolutely love your hat and scarf combo! It’s really neat!” I smiled brightly.

The woman blinked back at me, then looked down at her own outfit. When she looked back up, she smiled perplexedly. “Well, thank you!”

“Wonderful,” I said. “Have a good night,” I waved. I speed-walked to my mom, who was bagging my super-plus pack of earplugs, oblivious to my expedition. “Let’s get out of here,” I muttered, tearing out the door, my mom fumbling to quickly zip up her jacket and scurry behind in my wake.

Despite the slight perspiration that I experienced, I felt a surge of pride and relief. Mission. Accomplished.

To be clear: My mission was not to find the most unusually dressed person in the pharmacy and give them a somewhat insincere compliment. No, this was just a very lucky coincidence. In actuality, my mission was to have one unlikely conversation with a

stranger per day. Sounds easy enough, right? If you’re sitting there nodding your head and thinking, “Oh totally, I love putting myself out there! I do it all the time; it’s the best thing since sliced bread!” Then, perhaps you are not an introvert like myself.

I am someone who, after a long day, would much rather retire to solitude than go out and about “coffee chatting” and kissing babies or whatever it is that extroverts do in their leisure time — it’s a mystery to me. But feel free to have a chuckle at my expense as I struggle through this social ordeal; someone should, and it definitely won’t be me.

I began this mission on Jan. 1, equipped with the startling realization that I am not a perfect person and could perhaps benefit from the implementation of a resolution or two. My introversion, besides having protected me from potentially uncomfortable social events in which I knew fewer people than I had fingers, was obstructing me from the excitement of new experiences. Even though I spent an absurdly careful amount of time ensuring that I wasn’t in an uncomfortable situation, I also wasn’t necessarily happy with how my life was running its course. I actively wished for something, anything, positive or negative, to shake up

my daily routine; yet, I shied away from even the most minutely precarious situation. I quickly learned that a strict and consistent routine is not customarily a breeding ground for a fun time.

I lacked excitement, I lacked novelty and I lacked the guts to do anything about it. That is, until the hallowed night of Dec. 31, 2023, when I made the decision to wake up the next morning, and every following morning and talk to one stranger per day, leaving my shell at the door right next to my pride and discarded dignity.

This dramatic shift was incredibly forced in the beginning; that much I understood as I doled out insincere compliments the same way Oprah tossed around cars. And one thing became abundantly clear: I had no idea how to talk to strangers. I couldn’t even remember the last time I did such a thing voluntarily. I chalked it up to baby steps, and every day for about the first two weeks of January, I engaged in some pretty mainstream conversations. Unsurprisingly, even the most basic of interactions took a lot of courage from my end. I once complimented the grocery store cashier’s “rockin’ man bun” as my friend tapped her foot impatiently, having just watched me work up the nerve to go speak to

him. Though in my defense, it takes a lot of nerve to say “rockin’ man bun” in public, a phrase I now hope to expunge from my lexicon.

Some days, my Unlikely Conversation Of The Day merely consisted of me responding to the conversational efforts of another person who, months ago, I would have politely dismissed with a tight-lipped smile or a half-hearted chuckle at best.

Other days, my conversations consisted of me singing a Beatles duet with my Uber driver Vladmir, who most certainly received five stars after our ride, despite his pitchiness.

So as I checked days off on my mental calendar, I felt at ease when I accomplished my Unlikely Conversation Of The Day. The fear I felt prior to approaching the woman dressed in beige at CVS was immediately replaced with a rush of adrenaline and excitement as I walked away from a successful conversation, knowing that I put myself in a scary situation and overcame it. As time went by, I stopped giving out random and unfounded compliments as conversation starters; this practice simply did not jell with my values. Instead, I found that conversations seemed to find me naturally.

Read more at michigandaily.com

JEREMY WEINE/Daily