The Daily Princetonian
page 6
Monday may 11, 2014
Be Brave Michael D. Phillips ’90
Morgan Jerkins
Guest Contributor
columnist
In response to Tal Fortgang
D
ear Tal Fortgang and the Princeton University Community: Welcome to the fun house world of American mainstream media’s obsession with caricatured versions of campus identity politics. In this world, the small groups of genuinely left-wing or minority students who are outspoken in their criticism of society on campus are seen as some sort of thought police who stif le open debate in that critical agora of the mind, the academy. You are the latest in a sequence of young white males (and one Asian of Indian descent, among the stars of this long-running drama) selected as the hero-martyr of a discourse that began in the 1960s. If you don’t relish the idea of being a kind of Ivy League political and moral Pepto-Bismol for the middling, middle-brow and comfortable for the remainder of your life — well, then, I have a suggestion: study history, not politics. American history, ideally. The reason for this is simple. You wrote in your essay about your grandparents: “It was their privilege to come to a country that grants equal protection under the law to its citizens, that cares not about religion or race, but the content of your character .” I find this quotation fascinating. You seem to genuinely believe that the United States in the 1940s was a country that granted equal protection to its citizens. And cared neither about religion nor race. It may come as a shock to you to learn that far from “caring not about religion nor race,” the United States in the 1940s was a country in which it was assumed that not just a white male, but only a white male Protestant could become President (the catastrophe of Al Smith’s 1928 campaign was still a fresh memory then). It was a country in which it was perfectly legal to write into the deed for one’s home, or an entire new subdivision of homes, an enforceable legal covenant that said “No Jews.” Or Blacks, or “Orientals,” perhaps here and there even “no Catholics.” The United States was a country in which Catskills resorts like Grossinger’s f lourished in part because older, more prestigious resorts like Mohonk Mountain House simply didn’t allow Jews, much less people of color, to come stay. A country in which most stores on 125th Street in Harlem didn’t allow “coloreds” to patronize those stores, adjacent to the largest and most prestigious African-American neighborhood in the country. Your grandparents gratefully came to a country that wanted to believe itself a shining beacon to the world and the fulfillment of the prophecy built into our founding documents of a near-utopian society without injustice. There is nothing wrong indeed in being inspired by these 18th-century ideals and their application today. But the reason your grandparents were able to come here at all is the then-tremendous guilt about America’s indifference to the persecution of Jews in Europe before and during the Holocaust. It was the vindication of New Deal liberal interventionists after 1945 that made possible new laws on refugees, laws that were written to conform American law to codes developed by the newly founded United Nations and its promise of morality over national self-interest. That made an exception to highly racist, quite extreme limits on U.S. immigration legislated in the 1920s that were designed to keep Jewish (and Catholic, and southern European) immigrants from coming here. Perhaps it is now time for you to open your eyes to all the history that explains the argument you find yourself naively inserted into now, ingenuously pure in your belief in an America that might exist one day, but that exists now (and I write this more admiringly than critically) almost wholly in your imagination. Bring that imagination into contact with reality, and perhaps you can make that dream a bit more real. But please don’t help along those who would lie to us and themselves and say this has been the American reality all along, telling us to shut up and accept that we already live in a “best of all possible worlds.” We don’t.
I
wanted to remain in denial a little while longer, even though I knew this moment had been coming for quite some time. It is cliché to say that time has gone by really quickly, but it truly has. I’m about to embark on another chapter of my life and enter in a new stage of adulthood, but there is something that I have to do first before I leave. I’d like to give some advice to all opinion writers who are thinking about putting their work out there for the first time or are in the process of doing so. Publicizing your thoughts isn’t easy. But by doing so, you get to see just how thick-skinned and brave you really are or are destined to be. Although my journey as a writer has been through a lot of ups and downs, the process has made me a stronger person, and I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Growing pains are necessary when honing your craft, and there’s no other way to improve than enduring the
Your objective is never to please the readers, but to make your voice known. Any opinion is problematic. process. I thank campus publications like The Daily Princetonian, The Stripes and The Nassau Literary Review for giving me the opportunity to share my voice with all of you. So without further ado, I will impart some knowledge that I’ve learned throughout the years.
First: You’re going to offend
someone. There is no way to get around it, especially if you talk about controversial issues like rape or hookup culture. The sooner you absorb this truth, the better your writing will become. If you focus too much on what other people think rather than pay attention to your voice, your words will suffer. Now, that’s not to say you should be careless and not take into consideration the many different angles in which your words may be interpreted, but acknowledge the fact that you cannot please everyone. Then again, your objective is never to please the readers, but to make your voice known. Any opinion is problematic. Our views are shaped by our background and experiences, and sometimes there are those out there who believe that your opinion is a personal attack on their lives. And at times, a single word or phrase can turn an otherwise harmless idea into a polemical one. Intent does not always match result. The best thing you can do is read each word carefully, consider the opposing side and use your best judgment to decide how to construct your argument accordingly. You’ll be damned if you do and damned if you don’t, so you might as well write what you think. Second: Have your arsenal ready. Your weaponry is your evidence. Whenever you make a claim, you have to be ready and able to substantiate it with facts, statistics and anecdotes. This point may sound like a no-brainer, but it is very easy to create an argument based on passion alone, when reason and logic need to support it. You cannot craft an argument using only your emotions. Anything that would not hold up in regular discourse will not hold up in a column. A strong argument necessitates critical thinking. Do your research. Third: Most importantly — be brave. Be very brave even when you are afraid — and this goes especially for my minority writers. You will be subjected to vitriol and ad hominem attacks for your race, gender or sexual-
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ity. But don’t let these things stop you. Do not pay attention to those who attack you rather than your argument. Most times they should be ignored anyway. The things you’re most afraid of speaking up about are the things that deserve to be released out into the world. Have confidence in the fact that whatever you have to say is important. Take the sign of “cold feet” as proof that what you feel matters. Vulnerability
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You will be subjected to vitriol and ad hominem attacks for your race, gender, or sexuality.
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is not synonymous with weakness. Open yourself to the questions that bother you most and explore them to their depths. Honesty is the best characteristic of an op-ed. Remember: there will always be someone out there who agrees with you. And you never know, you may have been the voice to all the sentiments they have felt but never had the courage to say out loud. You never know how much impact you will have on another person’s life. Besides, it feels much better to get things out of your system rather than to hold them in. Trust that your passions are there for a reason. Don’t stifle them. You know yourself better than you think. Seek the help from other writers or friends who can guide your thoughts. Never be afraid to admit that you’ll mess up. Mistakes will happen. Accept them as part of your trajectory and necessary for your evolution as an artist. Good luck out there. You will be fine — trust me. Morgan Jerkins is a comparative literature major from Williamstown, N.J. She can be reached at mjerkins@princeton.edu.
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Princeton is so much more than schooling Aaron Applbaum columnist
I
sat to write this column, my final in this paper, and drew blank after blank. There is simultaneously so much to say about my time at the University and no good way of saying it. We run out of time; we all must leave. This thought, not a purely sad one, created in me a sense of nostalgia. I was tempted to convey these melancholy sentiments here and then felt gross. My final column was not going to resemble a fifth grader’s farewell address to elementary school as his first traces of pubescent emotion settle in. So desperate for inspiration, I asked my friends advice as to what I should write about. The first piece of advice I got was to compose for twenty uninterrupted minutes a list of my most memorable experiences. Most of them had to do with some form of mischief, drugs or sex. Although I do believe rules are meant to be broken, tastefully, I figured my parting words should not advocate breaking the rules. Limits are meant to be pushed, and the sanctity of doors that say “don’t enter” ought to be breached from time to time.
My list did shed light on the fact that my time at Princeton has been about so much more than schooling. Princeton is very much about experiences outside the classroom, adventures that we have to create for ourselves. This thought is not new, and in turn I did not
want this to be the subject of my final piece. So I thought about providing other pieces of advice to future Princetonians. I would let them know classes are important, our professors are amazing and our peers are our most important resources. Again, gross. These thoughts are not unique, and so the advice is not helpful. Maybe I ought to write not about my time at Princeton, but what it means
Princeton is very much about experiences outside the classroom, adventures that we have to create for ourselves. for that time to be ending. After all, only a senior has insight into the road’s end. So if Princeton is not just about schooling, what does it mean for it to end? It is clearly not about fulfilling credits and being handed a paper recognizing that completion. When Princeton ends, what begins? What is graduation? To walk out FitzRandolph Gate 24 hours before commencement would not deprive me of my distinction as a Bachelor of the Arts. There has to be significance to the robes, the scepters, the marching and the Latin. Graduation, I suppose is a ritualized transition ceremony that makes something mundane
quite profound. We are not just done with credits; we are entering a new phase. At this point in my musings I discovered I didn’t have much to say about Princeton ending. So, I thought, perhaps this article should be about that which lies beyond the Orange Bubble. I took a job a couple of days ago; would folks like to know how that feels, to be an employed adult? What do I know about adulthood? I thought about the substance of my newfound maturity; it seems to be about shifting from consumer to a producer. All my life I have consumed people’s time, money and efforts. Graduation seems to usher in a time where I am responsible for myself and for contributing to the productivity of the world. This is a nice idea, but I could have done this all while I was at Princeton. I could have worked, produced and have taken more responsibility. So what changed? I am now forced to do normal things I had simply not done because I didn’t have to? So perhaps my insight into adulthood isn’t that profound either. This article then captures the fact that there is so much to talk about, but so too there is not much left unsaid. It feels as though something momentous and life-changing is happening during graduation, but perhaps it’s really a supremely common experience. Perhaps it is appropriate then, instead of waxing philosophical to spend my time thanking those who have stuck with me these four years. I don’t know who
all of my readers are, but I am grateful to them, and in some perverse way even love them. And if you haven’t stuck with me these four years I still thank you for
The substance of my newfound maturity seems to be about shifting from consumer to a producer. bearing with me for these 800 words. Random musings can be hard to get through. Thank you to my various editors who gave great insight and put up with my often last-minute submissions. Thank you to the friends and family who constantly and consistently helped me come up with column ideas. I could not have done this without their support. I will miss this place and the people in it. I guess it is tough to articulate that, but not everything needs to be said out loud. Goodbye readers. Goodbye Princeton (Ha! As if that were possible with yearly reunions). Goodbye 17 years of schooling. With an eye toward the future: I wish The Daily Princetonian’s opinion section nothing but the best! Aaron Applbaum is a Wilson School major from Oakland, Calif. He can be reached at applbaum@princeton. edu.