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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Jan. 25, 2001)
Opinion ZMvNebraskan Since 1901 Editor Sarah Baker Opinion Page Editor Jake Glazeski Managing Editor Bradley Davis Hear all sides Attempt to railroad fetal tissue ban hurtful to everyone They promised. The day the most controversial bill of the 2000 legislative session was pulled from the Nebraska Legislature's agenda, senators pledged they would come back again this year armed with a better bill that would effectively end the use of fetal tissue in research any where in the state of Nebraska. They didn’t go against their word. Sen. Dwite Pedersen of Elkhom proposed LB 462, which would make it illegal to use fetal tissue in research that the University of Nebraska Medical Center officials say could result in a cure to Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases. We weren’t surprised when the bill was introduced. However, we were shocked and disappointed when Sen. Kermit Brashear of Omaha introduced a motion to suspend debate and the opportunity to make amendments to the bill It’s obvious Brashear wants to rush the bill through the Legislature, avoiding a likely fili buster by Sen. Ernie Chambers of Omaha. Chambers’ filibuster threats were what origi nally caused the bill to be pulled from last year’s agenda in the first place. Dili no matter now passionate one is aoout ending the use of fetal tissue in research at Nebraska, it is hard to believe anyone, whether they are part of the anti-abortion or pro-abortion rights camp, would advocate quashing debate and bypassing all legislative processes to pass such a bill. Like the rest of the nation, many Nebraskans are polarized on the issue of whether abortion is right or wrong, and some stand in the middle, not knowing where their moral compass is leading them. The issue becomes even cloudier when it comes to using the aborted tissue to come up with a cure for Alzheimer's and Parkinson’s diseases, two devastating diseases that will become even more prevalent in the state as a great number of the residents age to the point of becoming at risk. To deny the opportunity for citizens of the state to hear both sides of the debate in the interest of ramming the bill through the Legislature is undemocratic. And it hurts both sides of the cause. Both sides have an opportunity to educate citizens and gain supporters through the process of debating legislation. Those who sit on the fence of the issue, or even those who think they have made up their mind, may be persuaded to one side of the issue. It the bill is passed through without any debate, it will only serve to further polarize Nebraskans on the issue of abortion and fetal tissue research. Without any attempt to come to some sort of compromise, supporters of fetal tissue research will surely feel left out of a debate that should go on without excluding any views of the subject. Despite the state's strong conservative stance on social issues, the state’s population is surprisingly split closely on whether the research should go on. Denying the views and voices of a hearty portion of the state is taking away a funda mental right. It also skews the democratic principles that should be embedded in the legislative process. Editorial Board Sarah Baker, Jeff Bloom, Bradley Davis, Jake Glazeski, Matthew Hansen, Samuel McKewon, Kimberly Sweet Letters Policy The Daly Nebraskan welcomes briefs, letters to the editor and guest columns, but does not guar antes their publcation. The Daly Nebraskan retains the r#a to edit or reject any material submitted. Submitted material becomes property ol the Daily Nebraskan and cannot be retained. Anonymous submtosiooe wi not be pubished. Those submit letters must identify themselves by name, year in school, major antVor group affiliation, if any. Submit material to: Daly Nebraskan, 20 Nebraska Union, 1400 R St Lincoln, NE 68588-0448. E mak letteraOunlnfo.iri.edu. Editorial PoRcy Unsigned editorials are the opinions of the Fall 2000 Daily Nebraskan. They do not necessarily reflect the views of the University of Nebraska-Uncoln, its employees, its student body or the University of Nebraska Board of Regents. A column is solely the opinion of its author; a cartoon ie solely the opinion of fla artist The Boart of Regents acts as publisher of the Daly Nebraskan; pol cy ie set by toe Daly Nebraskan EdMorial Board. The UNL Publications Board, estabiehed by the regents, supervises the production of the paper. According to policy 9et by the regents, reeponsi UKy tor the adttorU content of the newspaper ies solely in the hands of Ns employees. |N THF SPWT Of |4<*EST7 1, UKF THF \ 17AILV N)£8£ASI^ANi, MUST Cff&£ ) co^emotgs. - F^ST orF TH£ ^ST TUX? 0/= TAie T^XA5 7 pip mctt <?<? to tH£ SMit^Sonian!. -^Y ui^F; iNi B^T, CAPlURSP 7 -- i 5VX 7mKTU£ l<fa(rANO A£ir <50OL. AM im PRPStVGNl OF TH&fA AtU 6PSIL0N, , 'pM, SMV&IFORD Wn71i f&ALUY 8LAMZ1THIS SEASON S f&LfOfitfMC£ ON PROFESSIONAL Wf&STUN&. HA]0 Yoti S££N HiS cowne&Ais? ^ Hcrrymr AN? FINALS, VZNM5 SMITH IS NdJ JcftjS A lAftC* SAOPTTBP H&APP/&SS - {jj£AfZ!Nir &F PURS EVIL X'\J£ N£\J£K SEEn HtM IaEAK A HEAP PRESS. NmI Dhprmpupr/nM You're the one, the only one Was that You who winked at me when you were up on that stage in Lawrence, Kansas? The Granada, I'll never forget that night. I had wait ed in the alley with my scared neart Dealing, watcn- Yasmin ing all the pretty girls crowd McSunn around and push their sexi ness into your arms, and I was sure you really would walk right past me. Only you stopped and smiled. I was with someone, but you could tell, couldn’t you, that I had it bad for you. That's why you smiled and came over to me, took my hand and intro duced yourself; this entitled me to nasty looks from your hair-sprayed entourage. But baby, it was you, and I would have smoked a joint with you, would have been your slutty groupie girl, but that’s just not who I am, and you would never have bought it anyway, something told me. So I let you move on into your smoky bus with the last-chance girls, and me wishing, aching, wanting, saying goodbye to my obsession. Or was it You who sent me the flowers with the card that rainy day that said, "You made me drop the football.” I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t buy that line, nor could I last through the cheesy cards and phone calls. We lasted only a couple months - or, was it only a couple of weeks - before you got on my nerves, and I finally hung up the phone. Maybe, it was You who rode all the way to Texas with me, our arms and shoulders entwined. Our kisses leapt out and laughed at the jeers from our friends on the tour bus making fun of us. We held hands everywhere we went, even when we were singing. We rode all of the roller coasters at Six Flags together, shared Turkey Drumsticks and sloppy buttery Corn Cobs; the butter dripped down the corner of my mouth and you sucked it up. It was downright nauseating how connected we were. Then when we came back to school, I looked around, I looked at you and I thought this has got to end. And it did. I thought it was You for sure when we met at the bus station at 4 in the morning. You were starting to get scared and wondered if the Navy really was such a good idea. I brought my mother's silk shawl heavily doused with my “Eternity” perfume to give you for the trip. “The Navy will be good to you,” I assured, as we embraced in the cool of the dawn. Your beating heart was doing triple time, and I sang you that song you loved by the Indigo Girls, then we both cried as the bus pulled out. Heard you were on a ship somewhere watching Dolphins and Whales jump high in the air. Maybe someday, maybe someday. You, my Gabrielle, I’ll wait for you and you alone, my angel. You did make an appearance once, when I was really sick after coming back from Cancun. You rang my doorbell and said, ?I brought you a dou ble fudge brownie sundae from Dairy Queen.” Big smile. But I didn’t want it. Instead we sat in the base ment on the couch, my Vick’s humidifier funneled medicated fumes into the air as we sat and watched 60 Minutes. For some reason, your religious devotion really scared me. Then you drove me to a new house you had just bought without telling me. We got out, you put your arm around me and said, “We’re home.” Obviously it wasn’t you, or I would have stayed. But I remember a long time ago You used to call me your “Woman.” You rode an old black motorcycle and wore faded Levi's with a white T-shirt And the first time you came over, you had so much cologne on that the flies appeared out of nowhere to buzz around your slick-gelled hair, and they dodged your swat ting hand. I remember you played "The Pusher” for me by your new favorite band, “Steppenwolf,” as I sat on the couch with my blushing twelve-year-old sister who said you were "Hot!” You had just gotten out of rehab. But then you tried to go too far and even mentioned you wanted me to have your baby, your “bambino,” you said. I was only 16, so I said I had to go. I heard from someone you were working assembly-line over at Goodyear. Your mouth tasted of fresh minty toothpaste. You were a neat freak which I had decided was more of an attribute than a fault, and you had just gotten your own cruiser. So I bet on you ’cause you were a cop and said you could never lie. But then I saw you at a dance club with your arms wrapped around a plump blonde. I knew then it was not you. I am certain it was You who I flew to San Diego to see. But then you started tripping on acid. No wait, I know when it was you. * It was You who I talked to for hours at a late night party. We both loved “The Great Gatsby.” You confessed that in high school you had a crush on Daisy. I playfully scoffed, and you playfully looked hurt. So we did lunch for a few months. Sometimes you would be looking into my eyes as I spoke passionately about a Cormac McCarthy novel I had just finished reading, and when I asked you a question you would smile devilishly and say, “I’m sorry, what?” That shy-boy smile of yours got to me every time, and we drove fast when we rode in my maroon Saab. I parked in the rain, and I can still see you waiting outside the bookstore and hear the soft rap of your knuckles on the hood just before you got in and rested your arm on the back of my seat. Then you said something about being poor all the time and suddenly moved away. You wrote my mother a letter, instead of to me, and said you wanted to make something of yourself. But Love, damn You! You keep making me search, and drive, and dance, and smile, and cry. But you never seem to stay. I still think it was You in the alley that night Remember? Staring up at the wet, navy blue black sky as I came out of my apartment to walk my dogs. You looked up at me and smiled. We shared something, and I think you wanted me to ask you to come in, even though I had never seen you before. Oddly enough, I wanted to ask you to come in. But we just stood there and smiled at each other for a little longer, then you walked over to your j. car and disap peared. i Jerry Morgan/DN Lesson from school of hard knocks I was going to save this article for next month because that would be the three year anniversary of Mark Zmarzly ray uui, Dili sometimes tim ing does not allow us to wait On Tuesday of last week, former NU defensive coordinator, Charlie McBride, pleaded guilty to driving under the influence of alcohol. On that very same day, UNL wrestler Brad Vering pleaded not guilty to the same offense. Now, I’m not here to speculate on the guilt of these men. I’ve been in their shoes, and they know what they have or have not done. I’m also not here to punish these men for their actions - we'll leave that to the judicial system. What I do hope to do is to show you how you can learn from these men. I empathize with the situations both of these men are in. The fact that they are known individuals on this campus puts them in a rather odd posi tion. Their behavior is scrutinized in a way that is unfamiliar to you or me. When I pleaded guilty to my DUI, my picture was not in the paper. I did not get 10 inches of copy explaining how I got picked up or if I was sorry. I got a 10-word listing buried among the other guilty parties. My intention here is to use these individuals as examples of a behavior that is quite common among the col lege students I know. I hope that by tak ing a look at the serious nature of driv ing under the influence of drugs or alcohol, we might be able to prevent at least one reader from engaging in said behavior. In February of 1998,1 was picked up a few blocks from my apartment for speeding. When the officer came up to my window to talk to me, I’m sure he could smell the alcohol. I’m sure of that fact, now - at the time I believed by smoking and chewing mints, I would be able to fool a trained professional. After my first attempt at the alpha bet ended with R, S, T, U, Z, I asked if I might start over. I made it through the alphabet the second time, but what you don’t realize at the time is that they are not just looking for the correct order but they are listening to pronun ciation. mier mumming uiruugn an ui uie letters, I got to walk a straight line, fol low the pen with my eyes, touch my fingers to my nose, etc.... After failing all of the tests, I was asked to submit to a blood alcohol content test. My BAC was a. 155. Next came the fun S&M stuff (handcuffs) and the ride to detox. Detox kind of reminds me of Disneyland, only Mickey is replaced by a drunken man who’s pissed his pants. There are no rides, but even sitting in a chair when you are drunk feels like a spinning teacup. OK, so maybe it's not exactly like Disneyland, but both places charge for admission, and both have sticky floors. \ So, I hung out in detox for a while until my friends came and picked me up. My license suspension began 30 days after being picked up and lasted a total of 90 days. Court wouldn't come for another three months. I’ll briefly go over my sentencing for you - a $500 fine, six weeks of alco hol classes, one year probation and six Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. With lawyer, drug testing and court fees and other expenditures, I spent $1,100 to try and drive my car home that night The first few weeks after getting picked up, I was in denial. I would think to myself - if I had just taken a different route home that night, I would have been fine. After the license suspension began, I finally came to terms with my situation. I had made a mistake and would have to suffer the conse quences. At this time, I also began to realize how lucky I was I had not hurt myself or others while driving that night. How does an individual feel capable of driv ing a vehicle when they can’t even recite the alphabet? I hope Mr. McBride and Mr. Vering don’t feel as if I'm trying to capitalize on their situations. I truly believe if they can sit down and think about what they are going through, then a level of intro spective learning can occur. By outing the three of us, the University of Nebraska-Lmcoln cam pus has a chance to learn from our mis takes. This is not some dirty little secret you keep buried away and hope nobody discovers. This is a chance to educate others, and I hope that we do so. . In closing, I wish Mr. Vering good luck in court and on the wrestling mat. Mr. McBride, I’m sorry if you didn't enjoy the column, but if you did, then I’d really like one of those Blackshirt sportscoats. I’m a 42 regular.