EDITORIAL/OP-ED
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The Essayist. . .
A watchdog for the Temple University community since 1921. Emily Rolen, Editor-in-Chief EJ Smith, Managing Editor Joe Brandt, Chief Copy Editor Steve Bohnel, News Editor Paige Gross, Opinion Editor Michaela Winberg, Lifestyle Editor Ryan Deming, Web Manager Victoria Mier, Arts & Entertainment Editor Julie Christie, Web Editor Michael Guise, Sports Editor Jenny Kerrigan, Photography Editor Lian Parsons, Asst. News Editor Margo Reed, Asst. Photography Editor Owen McCue, Asst. Sports Editor Donna Fanelle, Design Editor Jenny Roberts, Asst. Lifestyle Editor Finnian Saylor, Asst. Designer Eamon Dreisbach, Asst. Arts & Entertainment Ian Berman, Advertising Manager Editor Grayson Holladay, Business Manager Harrison Brink, Multimedia Editor Jeanie Davey, Marketing Manager Aaron Windhorst, Asst. Multimedia Editor
The Temple News is an editorially independent weekly publication serving the Temple University community. Unsigned editorial content represents the opinion of The Temple News. Adjacent commentary is reflective of their authors, not The Temple News. Visit us online at temple-news.com. Send submissions to letters@temple-news.com. The Temple News is located at: Student Center, Room 243 1755 N. 13th St. Philadelphia, PA 19122
EDITORIALS
Let answers be heard Protestors asking questions should be eager and prepared to listen to the answers. Student protest is part of the history of our university—dating back to the late ‘60s when Philadelphia students walked out of classes across the city and marched to the School District of Philadelphia demanding better facilities, African-American history courses and the right to wear traditional African attire in school. You can read more about this in the April 2014 story, “A History of Protest.” History may repeat itself this academic year, however it may not be as organized 50 years later. Protesters were present at the December 2015 Board of Trustees meeting, at the
on the lack of structure and focus exhibited by protesters, namely mentions of police brutality and minimum wage concerns in a dialogue about the stadium. But we’re worried about more than just that. Our biggest concern is the seemingly indifferent nature of the protesters to pursue educated answers to their concerns. The Temple News has been reporting on the proposed stadium since October—the very day it was announced. Other media outlets in the city are doing it well, too, and there are nameless students searching for these answers independently. We were anxious for the
Our biggest concern is the “ seemingly indifferent nature of
the protesters to pursue educated answers.
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student forum last week and again at yesterday’s Board meeting. Chanting, expletives and rattling fences have become commonplace for any meeting between administration and students. Lack of focus and disorganization yet again presented itself at yesterday’s meeting, only making it harder to understand the real discussion at hand. We believe student protest is important. It keeps the university grounded in a sort of social checks and balances. Whenever there is a protest on campus that is fair and organized, students can be sure student journalists will be there to let their voices be heard by administrators. But the protests we’ve observed lately are problematic. The Temple News has previously editorialized
Temple Student Government student forum last week. We hoped it would ease our concerns, as well as the protesters. While there, we heard students clapping, chanting and shouting expletives in demand of answers from President Theobald and Athletic Director Pat Kraft. What we failed to hear, however, was a moment of silence for administrators to answer these questions. We were listening, and hopeful for answers. It’s discouraging when students pose questions, and fail to look for answers. The Temple News is in search of the answers and we hope you—student, faculty, staff and community members— will come to us for them in the midst of the proposed plan for an on-campus stadium.
CORRECTIONS In the article “Future Uptown Theater uncertain, $7 million needed” that ran Feb. 2, 2016, it incorrectly stated that Yumy Odom arrived in Philadelphia in 1998, but he actually arrived in 1988. In an article “Ban on Yik Yak unlikely” that ran Feb. 2, it was stated the Election Frontier Foundation wrote a letter suggesting all universities ban apps like Yik Yak on their campuses. They wrote an article saying they opposed this stance, which was previously stated in another letter by a separate coalition of organizations. In the article “For new cafe, a focus on on the neighborhood” that ran in print Feb. 2, Scott Schroeder was said to have opened American Sardine Bar and the South Philadelphia Tap Room. In fact, Schroeder was instead hired as a chef after the openings. In the article “‘Built upon diversity,’” that ran Feb. 2, LeAnn Erickson’s outreach organization “Reel Girls” was misidentified as “Real Girls.” The Temple News strives to be a newspaper of record by printing factually correct and balanced articles. Accuracy is our business, so when a mistake is made, we’ll correct it as soon as possible. Anyone with inquiries about content in this newspaper can contact Editor-inChief Emily Rolen at editor@temple-news.com or 215.204.6737.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 2016 & listen online at temple-news.com
This special issue of The Temple News explores the personal experiences of five staff members.
Quarreling with a childhood love When football is tarnished by new medical findings, a life-long lover reconsiders the game.
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here’s a small, plastic, white football about the size of a light bulb that’s been in my possession literally since I was born. Glimpses of it can be seen on home videos in my crib, it emerged as a mainstay in my childhood photos and proved to be a catalyst to my love for America’s most popular sport. To say football has been a cornerstone of my life may actually be an understatement. My father played college football, and used it as a vehicle to obtain a higher education, which he then used to become a teacher, a vice principal and a high school head coach. Because of this, I truly loved the game. I gave my dad made-up plays for Christmas, spent my childhood Friday nights on sidelines cheering my dad’s team on, daydreamed about my future as a quarterback and spent my summers going to camps to improve my skills. My days playing high school football taught me invaluable lessons about accountability, character and hard work. I got my first job from a teammate’s dad, many of my lifelong friends were made between the lines and the story of my mudcovered jersey and disfigured pinky-finger against a crosstown rival is one of my fondest high-school memories. Stories about former professional and college players killing themselves and being diagnosed with Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy—a
By EJ Smith disease found in people who suffer a high volume of brain trauma, often from contact sports—have effectively shattered what was an unconditional adoration for the game. On Jan. 26, the New York Times reported that Tyler Sash, a 27-year-old safety who killed himself three years after finishing his two-year career in the NFL, suffered from CTE. His family told stories of his personality
Finn
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discovery of the disease and his fight against the NFL to recognize its effects. A few weeks after I saw the movie, I asked my dad if he’d seen it. He hadn’t, and wouldn’t. It scared him. We discussed the violent nature of the game and the possible impact the disease could have on both of us. It was a question I had never asked before, but a harrowing one nonetheless: “Could my dad have CTE?” He has told me stories about multiple
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changing, the strug- gles he endured because of a combination of physical ailments keeping him from manual labor jobs, painkillers and the disease making it impossible to stay focused during a desk job. Months before his suicide, a movie named “Concussion” came out, telling the story of Dr. Bennet Omalu’s
concussions he suffered during his high school and college football days. There have been at least four, according to him. “Could I have CTE?” I was never officially diagnosed with a concussion, but I have blacked out on a football field before. As an offensive tackle, I’ve had my fair share of head-to-head
contact. What about my old teammates? The friend who stumbled to the wrong sideline after taking a big hit from a linebacker? The one who was medevaced after an open-field tackle? The scariest part: this wasn’t professional football, it was nothing but middling, small-town high school football. Watching the game has taken on a different meaning now. I watched win-orgo-home contests between powerful men, smashing into each other with my dad, and we shared a national outrage, watching Pittsburgh Steelers receiver Antonio Brown fall to the ground in January unconscious after being hit in the helmet while jumping for a catch. After the game, a member of the opposing team questioned the legitimacy of Brown’s injury and only apologized after Brown was ruled ineligible to play the next week due to a head injury. These are the moments that sour the game for me. These instances change the game I obsessed over as a child into the game I won’t allow my future children to play. Without football, I wouldn’t live in the same house, have the same resources or be the same person, but it’s a game in which the consequences outweigh the rewards. * esmith@temple.edu T @ejsmitty17
When sibling instinct went sour After a fight, a student questions her relationship with her brother.
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’ve questioned the existence of unconditional love once. My brother and I were on the way to a family reunion about an hour from where we live. It was the summer after his first year in college and I was a sophomore in high school. We were about 20 minutes away from the house, driving down the main street of the neighboring town. In the passenger side seat, I got to spend the whole trip looking out the windows. It was when the speed limit changed from 35 to 25 miles per hour that I saw them. There were two people fighting in their driveway. One of them fell to the ground and got back up, swinging at the other. “Wait, wait, Steven, slow down,” I said. I had the map, so he must have thought the street we were supposed to turn onto was approaching. “They’re fighting. Look, there’s a couple fighting. We need to—oh my god.” There were actually three people. A man, a woman and a screaming 2-yearold. He had white-blonde hair and even from the car I could tell his eyes were a piercing blue. He was being held by a man I assumed was his father while his mother tried to scratch the man’s face and pulled on his shirt, causing him to stagger. I had never seen a couple fight like that before. I sometimes heard my parents arguing at night, but they never got loud enough for me to actually understand what they were saying. But these people were trying to hurt each other, and that little boy was in harm’s way. His face was bright red and I could see him taking huge gulps of air to sustain his screaming. His face sparkled a little
By Julie Christie bit from the reflection of the sun in the tears rolling down his cheeks. The woman straightened up and took another swing and the man turned his body so she connected with his shoulder and not his son. “I’m not getting involved,” my brother said, putting his foot back on the gas and starting to approach the speed limit. “That’s their business.” I started shouting that we had to do
the man who had taught me wrestling moves and how to use my middle finger in case somebody tried to give me a hard time when he wasn’t there. He was the one who hugged me in the movie theater when the last Hobbit movie came out because I couldn’t handle the ending of my favorite story, or how poorly it had been interpreted on screen. He’s the one who treats the kitchen at home like it’s a restaurant because he believes anything hot or sharp can and will burn or cut you. It took a lot of puzzling over that
behavior was the complete opposite of “theThis fiercely protective older brother I knew he was. ”
something and that he was a horrible person for not wanting to do something. The moment I unbuckled, he locked the doors because he knew I was going to try to jump out. By this point we were several hundred feet past the couple and I twisted around, trying to keep them in sight, but when we turned a corner, they were gone. It took me a long time to forgive my brother for not stopping that day. I didn’t think I could ever proudly consider him my brother after that because he had let somebody else get hurt. How could he leave that little boy in the arms of a man dodging punches? This behavior was the complete opposite of the fiercely protective older brother I knew he was. He was
weird change in behavior for me to get it. I was going to jump out of a moving car and throw myself into a full-on domestic fight. It wasn’t long and careful consideration that made him lock the doors and drive away, it was the same instinct that urged me to want to do something. It was my chance to try to protect that little boy, but he had his job as a big brother to protect me. It was uncomfortable to question how much I could really love my brother, because I had completely forgotten that he loves me too. * julie.christie@temple.edu T @ChristieJules