Opinion
ZM/vNebraskan
Since 1901
Editor. Sarah Baker
Opinion Page Editor: Samuel McKewon
Managing Editor: Bradley Davis
Safe space?
Abel's pink triangle is
. just a hollow image :
We think gay students are safer in Abel
Residence Hall because of the pink triangle
stuck on the hall’s office door. We also believe
the religious zealots outside the union are
really Catholic priests, and Tom Green may
just get asked back for another homecoming
pep rally.
Come on. This is Abel Residence Hall, peo
ple, the party dorm. The place where mom
didn’t want you to live and the dorm that
reminded dad of his college days.
This is Abel, where Saturday mornings usu
ally mean alcohol-induced vomiting in the
bathroom.
This is Abel, where words such as inclusion
take a backseat to, say, keg stand.
Yet, last Tuesday, the Abel Residence
Association passed a bill that made the dorm
an Allies safe space, a place
These kind that, in theory, is supposed to
of attitudes be accepting of gays.
are exactly This despite the fact that
why Abel Abel does not exactly exude an
Hall and a aura °f welcoming to gay stu
pink dents.
triangle go The pink triangle posted on
together the Abel office door is sup
like a posed to promote a spirit of
square peg acceptance.
in a round It is a hollow symbol, even a
hole. false one. Abel Hall isn’t a safe
space.
It isn’t inclusive. It’s just a
Nebraska residence hall with a little bit of a
wild streak and, we’re sure, its fair share of
people who do not accept sexual orientations
that are different from their own.
By posting a pink triangle and calling the
residence hall a safe space, members of the
Abel Residence Association are doing both
residents and NU’s gay, lesbian, bisexual and
transgendered community a disservice.
The pink triangle is unfair to everyone.
High school seniors unsure of their sexuality
may visit Abel, see the pink triangle and mis
takenly believe the residence hall is accepting.
Students would quickly become disen
chanted when they realized the safe space
envisioned does not exist.
In addition, we know many Abel dwellers
do not want the pink triangle anywhere near
their residence hall.
This fact was more or less confirmed by
Kate Grafel, the Abel senator who wrote the
bill and then amended it so the pink triangle
would be displayed only on the office door
and not on all entrances as previously desired.
Why, you ask?
“Some people were worried that Abel
would be labeled as a gay dorm, and nobody
would want to live there,” Grafel said.
These kind of attitudes are why Abel and a
pink triangle go together like a square peg in a
round hole.
Let’s save the safe-space designation for
deserving places, places more openly com
mitted to gay rights.
We’re talking about places that actually
care about the meaning behind the pink tri
angle, places the opposite of Abel, where there
is no deeper meaning.
The triangle is little more than a shape at
Abel, a sign. It’s a sign that will be heeded
about as much as the signs demanding resi
dents attend floor meetings and not have
alcohol in their rooms.
Editorial Board
Sarah Baker, Bradley Davis, Josh Funk, Matthew Hansen,
Samuel McKewon, Dane Stickney, Kimberly Sweet
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NealObermeyer/DN
Wheels a privilege
This is in reply to a letter by Patrick Hesse in the
Sept. 25 edition of the DN.
Imagine this, Patrick: A University of Nebraska
student is on his way to class when he decides to
pick up a copy of the Monday Daily Nebraskan.
Flipping to the Opinion page, the student notices a
short letter to the editor from an industrial engi
neering major.
Hoping to gain some knowledge from such a
well-educated source, the student reads a heart
wrenching story about a fellow responsible UNL
student who was refused service by NU on Wheels
because “he doesn’t have his ID with him.” Yet, the
reader is somewhat confused as to how a student
“trying to be responsible” has “drank way too
much to drive himself or anyone else home.”
Furthermore, the reader is perplexed as to why
the student did not just bring his ID in the first
place.
See the irony Patrick? NU on Wheels is a privi
lege, not a right.
Furthermore, the program was not started to
provide you with an excuse to get wasted on
Saturday nights and then complain about not hav
ing a ride.
The program has undoubtedly saved many
responsible UNL students from DUIs and other
charges, all the while making both the streets of
downtown and the campus safer places.
NU on Wheels has advertised many times that
you need to have your ID with you to show the
driver that you are in fact a UNL student and not
just some free-riding person.
Next, I suppose you will request that NU on
Wheels provide you a cell phone to make your
drunken requests for a ride.
Rory Kay
Political Science and Business Administration
Junior
Body chemistry
Contrary to the thoughts of simple broadcast
ing “major” Tony Bock, chemical engineers are
DAMN sexy!
Jessica Cepek
Chemical Engineering
Senior
Pride and prejudice
I am constantly amazed at how much people
do not get what heterosexism and homophobia
are about, or that there is a distinction between
prejudice and discrimination.
But then again, there is nothing like experience
to make something real. Yes, everyone has the right
to be prejudiced. No, that does not give people the
right to discriminate (unless of course, you are the
Boy Scouts or it is based on your religion).
The reason why heterosexism is a problem is,
well, if you are heterosexual you are entitled to all
kinds of rights granted by the government, institu
tions, etc. So, you don’t like being called homopho
bic just because you don’t like gay people or think
they deserve equal rights.
The reason you find the word a problem is
because gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered
people and their families and friends are tired of
the discrimination and are speaking up.
Believe what you will and extend everyone the
same rights, privileges and respect and presto ...
homophobia & heterosexism won’t be a problem
anymore.
At the same time, we live in a state with the
motto “equality under the law” that is trying to
amend the constitution to make sure that glbt peo
ple are not treated equally under the law. Go figure.
PatTetreault
UNL Staff Member
Temporal musings on life
A brief nod to my accom
panist, I set my oboe to my
lips, and I begin the count
down.
4-e-&-a-l-e-& ... The
notes are familiar to me. I note
the accents, the crescendos
and accelerandos. I am so
familiar, my mind begins to
wander. I think not just about
the music but also the pur
pose of it, the pacifist senti
Jake
Glazeski
ment of the composer, the recurrence of the minor
second-major-sixth interval throughout the work, the
necessity for wide dynamic contrast throughout.
Also: The purpose of this exercise. A Sunday
evening, pounding out a few notes with an accompa
nist I have worked with so long we understand each
other non-verbally. Further: to prepare for a competi
tion and later, a recital in October. Beyond that, I don’t
know.
Hold this note longer, look at Kim and... nod. Now.
Wait for the high G, tune down, accent, play the fives
like so...
Being a music major isn’t all fun and games. I’m
not talking about the long hours in the practice room
(or for the oboist, the reed room), or the furiously sub
jective homework assignments. (How many times I
have wished for something as easy as fill-in-the
blank!) I’m talking about beyond.
No one is listening to the music I’m learning to
play any more. Or a smaller number are. With federal
funding decreasing, there’s less money out there and
fewer orchestras, and the ones that remain pay less.
But universities still pump out students, flooding the
market, and I am but a tuna in the deluge, if that.
Du-uh da dummmm.... accent, short on the last
note of the triplet... come down to crescendo later,
accent, lots of air for the low grace notes, prepare the low
D.
Not that I didn’t flirt with other majors. Five years is
a long time to ask yourself “Why’s” and “How’s,” and I
have had more than my share. But yet, I have
remained with music. It is the ultimate in vicarious liv
ing - the musician doesn’t need to have a social life,
because he encounters the same emotions everyone
else does through the involvement with music, and
perhaps with 10 times as much color.
In the back of all this is the notion of the “life
work,” where every action is made to achieve a higher,
beautiful goal of life. As a sculptor may take away from
a marble block while creating the beautiful figure of a
man, I might take or add from my own life so as to cre
ate a not-so-beautiful man’s elegant portrait.
In the end, I will ask, “Was it worth it?” I want the
X
answer to be unequivocally: Yes.
Yes, Kim, keep up the tempo. Watch ahead one bar
here. Staccato, staccati-ti-ti-issssimo, quick breathe
out!And in!ACCent!
And in the end, there is no denying that, no matter
how aesthetically satisfying it is to create art for a liv
ing, I must still satisfy my corporeal needs.
Despite Beethoven’s aspirations to the contrary, at
base all art is driven by two human needs: the need for
food and the need for sex. How one satisfies those
needs, that is the essence of the life-work.
And while the endeavor of living may prove more
challenging for someone who is bound to have a
McDonald’s-equivalent salary, I suppose it is some
thing we all must face, regardless of major. Do we have
what it takes? Are we getting the tools we need to cre
ate a life worth living?
Damn, missed that spot again. I’ll have to relearn
that. Keep loud, keep support up as you go down...
shhh.Okay,3-e-&...
I suppose there’s only one thing for me, for any of
us, to do and that is to prepare. Life seems a bit like a
performance, then. You prepare as best you can and
then you walk out onto the stage of the real world. You
recite your lines, you move your hands, you sing with
excellent diction and take it all as it comes.
Performances are never perfect. There are always
regrets, mistakes made that shouldn’t have been
made, last-minute revelations that might have
changed the course of the evening.
And in the end, there is a judge - mystical or psy
chological - which will assess it all and rank you cold
ly. Did you succeed in your attempts, or did you fail?
For lack of an hour, an evening could be lost.
Waltz, and such a weird waltz. Watch the cues, trust
your ear. Rrrrruuubato. Slow down more, but keep
rhythmic integrity; subdivide.
So the only thing to do, in anticipation for that
assessment, is to prepare, prepare, prepare. The only
cure to stage fright is to perform. You cannot fear life,
you can only live it.
Each second passes with the stamp of your signa
ture; can you be proud of every moment with your
name on it?
Polka, then resolution. Big atom bombs, play loud
and listen for the piano. Resolution in destruction,
opening the world up for healing and opportunity,
albeit with dried tears on our cheeks.
The question occurs: I value the musical life at the
cost of the social life; will I value that assessment later?
Could it be the decisions I am making now are actual
ly hurting me and my final life-work assessment?
What values, finally, are absolute?
Is there room for doubt in performance?
Ah well. That’s what Schumann is for.
>- *
Seriousness
of the word
'ridiculous'
I have a 3-year
old nephew who is
just learning the
difference between
opposites.
He started off
with black and
white, then wrong
and right. His
favorite opposite
Dane
Stickney
now is contrasting
the ridiculous with the serious. He often
can be heard saying, “This is redicweous”
then “This is surius.”
I asked him if there was anything
between ridiculous and serious or if there
was anything that could be both serious
and ridiculous.
He just looked up at me, shrugged his
shoulders, knitted his brow and said, "I
don’t know.” Then he played with little
metal tractors.
* * *
I prepared for chilly weather as I
walked out of Andrews Hall, but what I
immediately noticed was yelling.
“Can’t you see?” a loud female voice
said. “You are all going to hell.”
Students walked by her. Some laughed,
some sneered, others just looked straight
ahead. I felt compelled to walk towards her
even though I should have been walking
the other way.
“You want to learn at college?” she says
to people walking by. “We’re standing right
here with the answers. Jesus Christ is the
answer.” The lady was wearing a white shirt
with bright pink nylon pants. She had
blonde hair, and her possibly calm features
became gnarled when she spoke. She was
holding a large wooden cross with a hinge
so it could be folded up.
I walked by her, but she didnt look at
me or speak to me.
As I began to walk toward the union, I
heard a loud male voice shout: “Shut the
fuck up!” Then he laughed. I shook my
head.
TWo girls with their ponytails protrud
ing out the back of their hats - one from the
Gap and the other from American Eagle -
looked at the lady shouting. One of them
tipped her chin toward her chest and said,
“Nice snowpants.” They both laughed with
wide smiles, an antithesis to the lady with
the cross.
When I reached the cement area in
front of the Nebraska Union, the scenes
were taken to a higher level. A man with
camouflaged pants, a black shirt and a blue
hat turned backwards was standing at the
bottom of a massive sign. He had one of the
sign’s yellow poles in his hand and a
woman held the other pole. In large letters,
the sign read: “All that matters - you are
headed to hell.”
He was talking about how people cheer
when a football inflated with air moved up
and down a football field, but laughed at a
religious man full of God’s knowledge.
Once the words left his mouth, a stu
dent started chanting, “Go Big Red! Go Big
Red!" Other students joined in. Others
laughed.
“See, your heads are filled with air, and
you have no integrity,” the man holding the
sign shouted. “Do you think Jesus doesn’t
know that?” He then proceeded to contin
ue to talk about similar topics, while a large
group of students began to gather. “You use
unclean speech and you have unclean
morals,” he said, his stoic expression never
moving.
A group of four male students stood a
ways away from the man holding the sign
and laughed. They nudged each other and
laughed. One student pretended to hold a
sign that was blowing in the wind, and he
laughed.
At that moment, an overweight stu
dent wearing a gray Nebraska football
sweatshirt, turned toward me and gestured
to the path near Love Library.
“Look,” he said. “Crazy chick is back.”
The woman in the pink pants walked
up the path with her wooden cross slung
over her shoulder. Every few steps, she'd
hand a piece of paper out to a student pass
ing by.
I walked toward her and asked her
what religion she was representing.
"There’s no religion, just Jesus Christ.”
Then I asked her where she was from.
Defensively, she replied, “From a higher
kingdom.” She turned her head.
When I looked back toward the man
with the big sign, I couldn’t see him, only
the sign. A crowd of nearly 100 students
had congregated around him. A girl in a
blue shirt was yelling at the lady holding
the other pole of the sign. A male student
with long, pink hair was standing face to
face with the man holding the sign yelling,
“Look me in the eye and tell me I’m going
to hell.”
IWo Asian students walked toward the
scene. The man posed in front of the sign,
while the woman snapped a picture. He
looked at the sign and gave a thumbs up. A
pencil came flying from the crowd and
almost hit the man holding the sign. A half
eaten pear then flew by and came to rest
near the feet of the lady holding the sign.
A student whom I lived near last year
broke my attention. “Man, can you believe
this?” he asked. I shook my head.
He chuckled and said, “This is ridicu
lous.”
I turned from the scene, ready to leave.
“This is serious,” I muttered.
% *
