When I was much younger, I thought Catholic university students were
all alike. I stereotyped them as young, white, Catholic, middle-class or
wealthy, straight, and backed by generations of college graduates.
As
we see at Madonna, that stereotype doesn't hold. We're young, old,
white, black, Asian, South American, European, Catholic, Muslim, Jewish,
Buddhist, Hindu, or Agnostic. We come from all socioeconomic levels,
and some of us are members of the LGBTQ community. This presidential
election, we didn't all vote for the same candidate.
We're
such an unlikely mix here, so what pulls us together? I hope
it's our humanistic, Franciscan values, values that extend far beyond
whichever theology one subscribes to (or doesn't). They include 1)
respect for the dignity of each person, 2) peace and justice, 3)
reverence for creation, and 4) education for truth and service. I'd like
to focus on the first value listed.
It's essential to
focus on the dignity of each person, especially now. As of November 18,
the Southern Poverty Law Center reported 867 hate incidents since the
presidential election (Miller & Werner Winslow, 2016). These attacks
have targeted Muslims, Hispanics, Jews, blacks, Asians, individuals
with disabilities, immigrants, and the LGBTQ community. Racists and
xenophobes are slithering out from under their rocks, erroneously
believing that anyone who isn't exactly like them isn't a "real American." White nationalist groups like the Ku Klux Klan are
emboldened, trying to revive myths of racial superiority.
As
a values-driven community, we need to stand up to the bullies. When we
hear racial/ethnic/religious slurs, we need to stop them without
hesitation. If we see someone being harassed, we need to intervene or
call someone who will (the number for Public Safety is 734-432-5442).
And yes, this is our business. Irish political philosopher Edmund Burke wrote, “The
only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men [and
women] to do nothing.” If we live our values, "doing nothing" in these
circumstances is not an option.
For
all our differences--and they are many--surely we can agree that fear
and intimidation are not humanistic values. Let's keep the poisons of
racism, xenophobia, harassment and debasement out of our discourse and
out of our Madonna community.
If we stand for anything, let's stand for each other.
To report a hate incident to the Southern Poverty Law Center, fill out this form: https://www.splcenter.org/reporthate
-- Frances E. FitzGerald, Editor
Reference
Miller, C., & Werner-Winslow, A. (2016). Ten days after: Harassment and intimidation 10 days after the election. Southern Poverty Law Center. Retrieved from https://www.splcenter.org/20161129/ten-days-after-harassment-and-intimidation-aftermath-election
MU Voices fall 2016
Friday, December 2, 2016
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Gift of Life (Time Travel), by Joshua Johnson
Creative
people dream of traveling through time and space. It turns out people have a
better chance of landing on the Saturn than traveling through time. However,
that does not mean it is entirely impossible. The chances are about one in a billion.
Over Christmas break, that number didn’t seem so large after noticing the
changes that had been done after successfully time traveling. For this to happen
to me at a young age that goes to show the ratio is just a group of numbers
meant to inhibit people from believing.
Around
late December on Cambridge Street, everyone was pleased to know Christmas was
around the corner and was well known as the most delightful time of the year. Much
like every other year for me, the days were spent thinking of my past misdeeds.
It was nearly impossible to remain well behaved for a month, let alone a year
only to learn about financial problems on the on Christmas Day. My days were
spent playing outside.
One
day while playing outside in the six inch deep snow, cousin Nickolas came
riding in the back seat of his mom’s car, excited to see me. My mom welcomed his
mom (my aunt), with a cup of egg nog while Nick decided to stay outside and
frolic in the snow with me. Once the women walked away, Nick revealed his moms
spare car key and an unusual ticket which Nick immediately gave to me as a
present. We put our phones in the snow to avoid pocket dialing while we took
the car for a joy ride around the neighborhood. Nick parked the car on the side
of a building and we continued on foot. We made it to a sign that clearly read
“Danger Ahead!”. We both continued over the gate confusing the words “Danger Ahead!”
with “Dessert Ahead” and thought this was a must.
Once
both of our feet were planted safely on the ground, nothing seemed right. My
cousin vanished in thin air and the atmosphere changed instantly from safe to
sorry. At that moment it was assumed hallucinations were responsible for what
was being seen right before my eyes. Comparable to a hologram, misdeeds were
being presented in a surrounding grey glowing cloud. Since it was happening one
by one, and sat about six feet away before the next event took place, it was
stopped it and the following event appeared in its place.
After
feeling confident to take on the next few problems, Nick reappeared in
confusion, put a tight grip on my arm and we both reappeared in a small
closed-in box. The only sounds we heard were each other’s strong breathing
pattern and wind hitting up against the side of the box as if we were soaring
through the sky. The wind grew silent. Then everything became completely silent
which made me paranoid. Nick had fainted about an hour after and getting some
sleep seemed the only logical idea to help the ever increasing anxiety.
We
both woke up to the sounds of kids running down a flight stairs. They were
screaming what they wanted to see once they opened their presents. Two little girls opened the one we were in
and oddly, we were just as surprised as they were because the girls were our
mothers about 20 years ago. The ticket that I had in my pocket was now attached
to the present we were slowly making our out of. As our mother took a few steps
back, that’s when we made a break for the front door. After jumping off the
porch as fast as we could, we became at ease once we found ourselves getting up
from the snow where we had left our phones three hours ago. Our stories were
very much alike. However, the car was still parked in the same place while my
ticket and Nick’s mom’s spare keys were gone.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Through an umpire's eyes, by Brett Hebel
“Strike three! You’re
out!” This was something I didn’t have shouted to me as often as others, but
when I did, I was the first person to blame the umpire for making a bad call. I
wasn’t the type of player who liked getting called out on strikes, but then
again, who is?
I started playing
baseball when I was just five years old on a t-ball team in my local community.
The first team I was on was the Pittsburgh Pirates t-ball team, where I learned
a lot about the new game I was getting into. However, there are no umpires in t-ball
because there is no need for them at that age. When I grew older and got into
kid pitch leagues, that’s when umpires became needed. That’s where it all
started.
The umpires who my local
community used were high school kids with a strong baseball IQ for the most
part. As a young player, I wasn’t focused on the umpires or what and how they
did their job. As much as I didn’t pay attention to the umpires, I did always
think to myself, “I bet I could do that. I am very knowledgeable about the game
of baseball, and how hard could it really be to call balls and strikes or safe
and outs?” Even though I had said those things, never did I think I’d ever
become an umpire. Little did I know, my baseball life was going to forever
change some years down the road.
I became an umpire in
the summer going into my freshman year of high school. Becoming an umpire
completely changed my point of view on how the game of baseball is played, run,
and called. It showed me how difficult it actually is to call a game and
deal with arguments from players, coaches, and even parents.
To start, honestly, the
biggest reason that I originally decided to become an umpire was because I was
looking to get a job. I did not want to work at a fast food restaurant like
some of my friends. So since my dad was on the baseball board for my
community league, we already knew the umpire coordinator, which meant I was
guaranteed the job if I wanted it. There were many positives to the job, such
as only two-hour games, I was paid $40.00 per game, I was outside in the fresh
air, I was around the game I loved and grew up playing, and I was getting paid
twice what my friends were making at a greasy fast food restaurant per hour, along
with not having to pay taxes. It almost seemed like the perfect job for me.
I was field umpire for a
nine- and ten-year-old league. I was super nervous going in, but once it got
started, I grew comfortable with my role and did it well. Even the coaches told
me after the game that I made some great, tough calls out there, which helped
with my confidence. My first game working behind the plate was a little
different experience, though. It was tougher than I ever thought, walking onto
the field where I once played as a kid, waiting for the umpire to start the
game to now having these kids do the same. This time I was the behind the plate
making the calls. The game didn’t go terribly, but it took some time for me to
get the feel of being back there and making the correct calls, which lead to
little chattering from coaches. However, that game was a great learning
experience, and I finally had my first one under my belt. I thought to
myself, “It can only get easier from here right?”
Next, I learned to see
baseball from another point of view. As an umpire, I had to deal with arguments
from players, coaches, and even parents. This is without a doubt the worst
thing about being an umpire. Dealing with arguments can get out of control. As
crazy as it may sound, the parents are the worst. Being a five-year veteran
umpire, I’ve fielded plenty of arguments. Most arguments that come from the
parents are only for a few reasons. Often it’s because their kid had something
called against them. Parents think they know more about the game than the
umpires, or they just flat out don’t like that umpire. I’ve had to give many
parents warnings to calm down over my five years of umping. The one question
that I always get, asked by people when they find out that I am an umpire, is whether
I’ve ever had to throw anybody out of a game. The answer was “no” until this
past summer.
I umpired in Hartland,
which is where I live. Every year they hold a travel baseball tournament for
divisions starting at age eight, all the way up to 15, called “The Hartland
Blast Tournament.” It’s a three-day tournament that starts Friday night and
ends Sunday afternoon. Well, over those three days, I was scheduled to ump nine
games, including two championship games. All the games went perfectly fine until
Sunday. It was the nine-year-old travel playoffs. The first game was the Riverdogs
vs the Grasshoppers. The winner went on to face the Eagles in the championship.
I was the plate umpire. The game went great; the coaches had no problems with
me. Riverdogs won 20-4, so it was the Riverdogs vs the Eagles for the
championship. I was umping that game also. That’s when it happened. In the
fourth inning, the Riverdogs were frustrated because they were losing. A play
at the plate happened to end the inning. The Riverdogs’ third-base coach sent
his player from second home on a single, but the Eagles got the ball to the
plate in time to get the runner out by two steps.
The Riverdogs’ first-base
coach came running over and yelled in my face that the catcher was blocking the
plate, which he was allowed to do if he had the ball. He told me I had messed
up five calls and hit me on the chest. That’s when I drew the line and tossed
him out of the game. Then he proceeded to accuse me of getting paid to call the
game in the Eagles’ favor. I told him to leave now or his team would forfeit.
That’s when he finally left. The game resumed and the Eagles ended up winning
it all, which they deserved, and I was off to umpire the ten-year-old championship
game. So now when people ask that question, the answer is yes.
Overall, becoming an
umpire completely changed my point of view about the game of baseball. I’ve
learned so much about baseball from being an umpire. Now I know what it is like
not only as the player, but as the umpire. Everything relied on me to call the
game to the best of my ability. As hard as it is to be an umpire, I would never
give it up. If it wasn’t hard, then everybody would do it.
Bells & branches, by Delvonta’ Pinkston
I see a forest stretched out before
me.
Attached to its branches are bells
ringing in the wind.
Corresponding sounds echoing
against one another
Sounds vibrating on a frequency I
can’t understand, yet am desperately yearning to.
Never in my life have I been able
to see the forest for the trees, but here I don’t have to.
The bells serve as my guide and the
branches as my comfort to lean on.
Spread out throughout time and full
of color, the bells exist as interdependent fixtures that are manifestations of
thoughts of those that wonder.
Each is a different shade of a
different color and each shape corresponds to another.
Stretching out against the gravity
of time, these branches know no bounds
but here I stand stuck in the
trenches of
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