The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Thursday, March 23, 2017 — 3A
I began my freshman year the
way most people do: completely
unsure of what classes to take. I
decided to take a class that would
fulfill the Race and Ethnicity
requirement so I would not have to
take it again in my undergraduate
career. I took a class on the history
of Islam in South Asia because it
fit my schedule. And though the
class was informative overall as a
history class, it had little to do with
my experiences as a South Asian
woman and nothing to do with
inequities as they exist relating to
ethnicity. This class, along with
many of the other options for the
requirement, does not fit with the
original intent of the requirement,
which was made as a response
to a request made by the student
group Black Action Movement III
in 1990.
The
race
and
ethnicity
curriculum has been criticized on
multiple occasions in the past, but
to no avail. There are still many
classes that, despite fulfilling the
requirement, are not in line with
the goal of teaching students the
value of new perspectives. Thus,
students can still graduate without
having taken a course that truly
challenges them to think about
issues of race and ethnicity in a
new way, and the requirement
is often viewed as an obligation,
rather than an opportunity to
learn more about different ethnic
and cultural communities. The
University of Michigan also has
yet to extend the requirement to
other schools outside of LSA and
Art & Design.
It was not until I started taking
courses in the School of Education
that I saw what the Race and
Ethnicity requirement should look
like. My “Education: Schooling
and
Multicultural
Society”
course not only taught about
racial and economic inequities,
but also teaches how to take
that knowledge and use it in the
classroom and careers. The class
is discussion- and activity-based
and focuses on discussing some
of the nuances of these issues.
This is a model that the Race and
Ethnicity required classes should
all be based on, so that not only
are issues being taught, but they
are also being discussed in a larger
group.
This model is also particularly
important when thinking about
other disciplines which do not
require students to take courses
that both fulfill the Race and
Ethnicity requirement and pertain
to eradicating inequities in their
own future career paths. Every
class in the Race and Ethnicity
requirement should be carefully
selected so students leave the class
feeling well-informed on issues of
race and ethnicity that are timely
and are equipped with the tools
they need to inquire about these
issues and be lifelong learners.
Refining the Race and Ethnicity
requirement is just one of many
possible proactive steps to create
a more inclusive environment
on campus, but it is still only an
attempt to educate students on
issues they should have learned
about long before attending the
University. And yet, since the
truth of the state of American
education currently is that many
children do not get the education
they need about race and ethnicity,
ensuring students recieve this
education in college has become
even more important. Refining the
requirement will also help take
the burden off minority students
who are expected to provide
education to other students on
diversity, which can sometimes
encourage the tokenization of
these students, who should not
bear this responsibility in the first
place.
And yet, it should be a
collective effort to ensure that all
students at the University get an
education where current issues
of diversity are being discussed
in all classrooms, not just those
that fit the “Race and Ethnicity”
requirement. This is something
that some student leaders have
discussed, but also one that
students complain about when
there is discrimination on campus
that is not being discussed in
the classroom. The University’s
faculty should be educated on
issues of diversity and should try
to build curricula with this ideal
built in wherever it fits. Professors
should not fear bringing up these
issues, for it is the fear of discussing
diversity that ultimately keeps
open discussions from happening.
It would not be difficult for a
student to go through their entire
academic career at the University
without learning about diversity
in a classroom setting. University
administration has to react to an
issue. The University must create a
culture that fosters this discussion
so diversity does not only come up
as a reaction to hatred.
In the MiC Spotlight series, our
editors and contributors reflect on
the reasons they joined MiC and
their hopes for their work and the
section.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be
an author.
As a perpetually insecure child,
I never started a journal or a diary,
never wrote outside of coursework,
and never actually took any of the
steps that would have made me a
writer. I didn’t think anything I
had to say was important or worth
immortalizing. But still I kept my
dream of being a writer tucked in
my pocket, so no one could see it
but I could feel safe knowing it was
there. I always promised I would
start writing when I got smart
enough, talented enough, inspired
enough.
That
dream
has
mutated
throughout my life. Ten-year-old
me was convinced she was going
to write a novel when she grew
up; 15-year-old me knew that
journalism was where she needed
to be; 20-year-old me has accepted
that she wants writing to be
important to her career and refuses
to stress about the specifics.
As my romantic notion of
being an author shifted, so did
my understanding of myself and
my identity as a young Muslim
woman. It’s not that I woke up one
day shocked that I was brown and
Muslim — it was that I realized
that the experiences I had were
not common among all people.
Not everyone had normalized
the idea that the government
may be listening to their private
conversations and not everyone
stayed away from calling things
“the bomb” unless they were telling
a joke.
It became clear that the faint
suspicions I had felt toward my
novels were because I wasn’t seeing
my story being told. And then I
started thinking about what other
stories weren’t being told. And then
I started wondering why those
stories might not be told. And then
I thought about why it was those
stories — often full of corruption
and negligence and -isms. And then
I started wondering what I could
do to fix that. And then I decided
to pursue a career in policy and
stopped actively dreaming about
being a writer.
But to write is to claim agency
and ownership of a narrative that,
for many people of color, has been
dominated by the stories of others.
To write is to give yourself and your
community a voice, a platform, a
moment to say: “I was here. I felt this.
It was real and it was important.” To
write is to be selfish and selfless, all
at once. To write is to resist, on some
level, the idea that who you are and
what you experience is not valid and
valuable and worth reading.
And so I’ve joined Michigan
in Color as an editor as part of an
attempt to return to that dream.
It is an honor to be part of a
section that works so clearly to
elevate the stories that are often
untold or unheard, and I hope to
use my time here engaging with
writers to do just that. I hope that,
in reading and writing our stories,
you can find meaning, purpose,
strength and solidarity as I often do.
- AREEBA HAIDER
Reflecting upon my upbringing,
I realize how incredibly lucky I am
to be writing this. As a transracial
adoptee from Vietnam who came
from a small province and a family
that was deathly ill, I am grateful
for and I am proud to raise my voice.
Growing up, I had trouble raising my
voice in challenging environments,
because of my personal insecurities
and often times not knowing where
I stand. I was an agreeable giver,
someone who gave myself to others
while letting conflicting voices
trample my own.
Since being involved in Michigan
Community
Scholars
Program,
Intergroup Relations, the Center
for Positive Organizations and A/
PIA activist communities, I have
grown to be strong in letting my
voice be heard, because I have
found spaces where I flourish. This
strength has pushed me to navigate
difficult conversations surrounding
racial
discrimination
and
the
current social climate, primarily
surrounding Asian and Pacific
Islander American civil rights. As an
Asian American, I am tired of being
forced into the gray middle ground
in the race conversation. Media
often portrays us as wedge groups
to be model examples to society, but
we are far too often silenced as soon
as we gain the confidence to speak.
Joining MiC was something
I’ve longed for since I arrived to
campus. The stories MiC publishes
are
powerful.
MiC
gives
an
unapologetic space for people of
color to have their voices elevated.
Personally, I remember reading
Elise Jayakar’s article on her biracial
experience. That piece inspired
me to write, because it touched me
in a way that will never leave me.
So, my contribution will be giving
myself wholly to a community that
was built on being a deviant to the
norm. I was given the extraordinary
privilege to grow up in the United
States and I am using every breath
to elevate the voices, stories and
narratives of those that have been
silenced by the dominant narrative.
- ADAM BRODNAX
I’ve been told by others that I
never hesitate to speak my mind.
Since I was very young, I have
always been able to unapologetically
express my thoughts and feelings.
I used to simply think that it was
because I was bold or determined.
However, as I grew older, I saw
that many of my peers, especially
those who were people of color,
were unable to voice their opinions
and were frequently disregarded.
This made me ask myself why other
people could not just say what they
wanted to. It took me quite a while
to find the answer to that question.
I recognize that I have an
incredible amount of privilege
as an upper-middle-class, South
Asian woman. Quite often, people
will take my word over that of
others because I am assumed to
be more hardworking and rational
than other people of color. Unlike
many of my peers, I rarely feel
unsafe due to my ethnicity or
religion. Furthermore, I grew up
in an environment that was very
supportive and encouraged me to
be confident in myself. I can only
hope to provide other people with
a fraction of the opportunities that
allowed me to find my voice.
I have been involved in social
justice organizations, including the
South Asian Awareness Network
and Uncover: A/PIA, in the hopes
that I can use my privilege to
help bring about social change
on campus. Likewise, I wish to
continue to use my privilege in
order to bring about awareness
through writing. As a senior editor
of Michigan in Color, I want to
help provide a space for people of
color to share their stories and life
experiences. I, along with the other
editors of Michigan in Color, will
always work to amplify your voices
and to make your voices echo for
others to hear.
I have shared my story and have
been heard. Now, it’s your turn to
speak up. If you have something to
say, just let me know and I’ll be sure
to pass you the MiC.
- SIVANTHY VASANTHAN
I learned, pretty early on, that
mainstream media does not make
books, TV shows or movies for my
consumption. I gave up on writing
as a career a long time ago, before
I ever really gave myself a fair shot
at it, because I thought no one else
would either. South Asian voices
in media are reduced to archaic
stereotypes
or
exoticized;
our
experiences are never our own
— they are constructed through
the lenses of those who don’t care
enough to tell our stories without
embarrassing us. Even when they
are, prominent mainstream South
Asian creators, such as Mindy
Kaling and Priyanka Chopra, refuse
to acknowledge their backgrounds,
cultures and histories without
sounding tone-deaf and ignorant.
That is why I joined MiC. I might
not be a seasoned writer or an active
member of the creative community
anymore, but this forum is one
of the few places I feel capable of
taking charge of my own story:
because I get to tell it.
- TANYA MADHANI
In my last Spotlight, I wrote
about how finding my voice as a
Filipino-American, removing my
shame as one and strongly wanting
to help other people of color do the
same is why I joined Michigan in
Color. All of that still remains the
same. Working for Michigan in
Color has been without a doubt one
of the most rewarding experiences
of my life, because I got to do exactly
what I sought out to do.
When I think about why I return
to Michigan in Color, I can’t help
but be reminded of the wonderful
people who have helped me along
the way: former Michigan in Color
managing
editors
Toni
Wang
and Demario Longmire. Their
hard work and activism has truly
inspired me to raise up my voice
as
a
Filipino-American.
They
would never hesitate to ensure that
whatever experience or emotion
I and the other contributors and
fellow MiC editors felt on any
particular day, hour or minute
was completely OK and valid.
They took the time to critically
unpack anything problematic so no
privileged stone was left unturned
and unchecked. I also want to take
this moment to say that they are
hilarious people. I would also like
to give a special shoutout to Sabrina
Bilimoria and Alyssa Brandon
— past senior editors who also
are doing #work on campus and
beyond that are absolutely amazing.
They have helped cultivate a sense
of community that I may not have
thought I deserved, but definitely
needed.
It is important to me that I
continue that legacy.
I return to Michigan in Color
because it is not solely about doing
work I enjoy. It is about doing
the work I think is critical at this
point in time. I want to continue
to foster the sense of belonging for
people of color that others have
done provided for me. I find it so
necessary to document the complex
experiences of those marginalized
so that we never forget but to also
extend our solidarity to others who
may feel a similar way. I am here to
pass down the MiC to fellow people
of color to share their stories during
every step of the process.
In another year at Michigan
in Color, I want to say this to all
people of color reading this, YOU
AND
YOUR
EXPERIENCES
ARE VALID AND DON’T LET
ANYONE OR ANYTHING TELL
YOU OTHERWISE.
- CHRISTIAN PANEDA
Storytelling has been a powerful
force through my life. As a child, it
was through listening to narratives
from my parents and grandmother
— all of whom immigrated to the
United States from India in the
early 1990s — that I was able to
learn about my roots and heritage.
Storytelling did what none of my
elementary
school
classrooms
could do by eliciting a vivid sense
of curiosity and appreciation for my
culture.
Now, as a student at the
University of Michigan, I reflect
on both the spoken and unspoken
stories of our campus. I am
grateful to have had a multitude of
opportunities to learn about social
justice, identities and activism: My
participation as a peer educator
in the Sexual Assault Prevention
and Awareness Center’s primary
prevention program has heightened
my understanding of the ways in
which sexual and domestic violence
pervade our society. Since my first
year, Alternative Spring Break has
challenged me to think critically
about what it means to ethically
engage with different communities
around me and address the savior-
ism that often surrounds service.
These opportunities have been and
continue to be incredibly important
in shaping my understanding of
social justice.
But these organizations focus
primarily on how we practice
activism and prevent harm. This is
not to say that these pillars are not
important; on the contrary, they are
essential if we wish to understand
how
communities
can
come
together and challenge systems
of oppression and harm. Indeed,
these organizations are driven by a
different kind of passion than that
found in the written word.
Serving as a senior editor for
Michigan in Color provides a
unique opportunity to hear from
those members of our campus
community
who
have
been
harmed by these systems, whose
hearts are brimming with stories
— raw, intimate and unapologetic
ones — that need to be listened
to. I am honored to step into this
role and learn, not only from my
fellow editors, but also from the
contributors who bravely allow
their truths to soar. If my presence
in MiC makes it even slightly more
possible for you to be heard, then I
have done my duty.
- NEEL SWAMY
My absolute favorite thing has
always been to sing. When I was
7, my brother helped me express
my love of singing through song
writing. From then on, creative
writing became an outlet for all
of my passions. I began to write
fantasies and dramas to express
myself. I grew up taking honors
and AP English classes but I did not
enjoy writing academically. When
I took my first English class at the
University of Michigan, I began
to see writing in a different light.
I became an activist through my
writing and I realized the power my
words had to inspire and empower
others. Writing was a means of self-
discovery for me.
I have recently been thinking
a lot about identities. Growing
up, I never felt like I belonged to a
specific category. I was constantly
juggling between my identities as a
Nigerian, American, Black, Muslim
woman with sickle cell anemia.
Then I started learning about the
intersection of identities. I began to
realize that no one fits into simply
one group but rather we all belong
at the intersection of multiple. My
involvement with the educational
theater company showed me that
our identities create the lens through
which we perceive the world around
us. I realize that I am so much more
than a race, religion or disease — yet
these are the identities I think about
the most.
To celebrate Martin Luther King
Jr. Day, I went to a one-woman
multimedia
performance
called
“One Drop of Love,” by Fanshen
Cox DiGiovanni. She acted out her
life, even the painful moments, to an
audience of strangers because she
believes her story needs to be told. I
started sharing my story for a similar
reason. I wrote how I felt to better
cope with and understand what I
was feeling. Along the way I realized
my story could move others the way
Fanshen’s moved me.
I joined MiC because I was
inspired by the people I knew who
were involved. I resonated with the
passion they had for the work they
were doing. They presented MiC
to me as a place where my presence
would be welcomed, my voice would
be heard, and my story would be
praised. When I started writing I
knew MiC would be the best place
to publish. MiC editors helped me
harness my voice by making sure
my words accurately portrayed the
message I wanted to get across. I
was incredibly happy and proud of
the finished product they helped me
create. After my first publication, I
knew that if I were given the chance,
I would want to do what they did for
me for someone else. Now, as a senior
editor for MiC, I hope I can help
others find and share their voices. I
acknowledge how hard it can be to
share your story, but I promise I will
uphold it and you with the greatest
respect. Your story is welcomed
here. This is part of mine, so I invite
you to share yours.
- HALIMAT OLANIYAN
Re-defining the Race and
Ethnicity Requirement
RABAB JAFRI
MiC Columnist
Please stop asking Black boys
why they don’t play sports
MiC Spotlight: Senior Editors
We are currently in the thick
of March Madness, a time of year
when it seems as though everyone
is an expert in all things basketball.
People are filling out brackets,
making
bets
and
anxiously
watching as many games as they
possibly can. This time, more than
ever, I am reminded of one of the
things that annoyed me most during
my childhood, along with being
the cause of a lot of anxiety and
decreased self-esteem. When I met
new people, usually adults, or saw
family members whom I did not see
on a regular basis, they would ask
me, “Do you play any sports?” Now
this in itself is harmless. Every given
year, I was one of the tallest people
in my grade. After my awkward pre-
teen phase, I slimmed down and
started to work out at my mom’s gym
occasionally. It was not unusual for
people to comment on my “athletic”
physique, and the affirmation was a
positive reinforcement. It really was
no surprise that people thought I
would be an athlete.
In reply to the aforementioned
question, “Do you play any sports?”
I would simply say no and smile.
However awkward, all of this is
fine and completely normal. Sports
are a big part of American culture
and most of my peers played them.
So what was the issue? It lay in one
word: Why?
Now this always seemed like a
very loaded question, and I never
knew exactly how to respond. I
would say, “I’m just not into them,”
or something of the sort. If I was
lucky, they would leave it at that;
however, sometimes they would say
some pretty demoralizing things.
One family member even told me
that I was “a waste of height and
size.” This comment bothered me
for obvious reasons, but mostly
because it seemed like people were
never interested in all of my other
qualities and interests. I enjoyed
reading
books
on
presidential
history, catching up on politics and
cooking new foods.
For a short period in middle
school, I played baseball and ran
track. Though I liked the challenge
and opportunity to spend time
with my friends outside of school,
I knew that I was not an athlete. I
actually fractured my ankle sliding
into home base and was forced to
wear a cast and then a boot for the
better part of a year. Nonetheless,
this piece is not at all my attempt
at criticizing athletes or organized
sports. I am not oblivious to the
many positive effects that sports can
have on youth: the ability to bond as
a team, have a sense of responsibility
and opportunity to compete with
peers by constructive means are
just some of the benefits. In more
urban communities, specifically,
sports can be pivotal in establishing
a relationship between a coach and
his players where many of them
may not have a paternal figure in
their lives. Sports can also give an
out to students looking to escape
violence and other disadvantageous
situations.
However,
in
the
Black
community, sports are sometimes
viewed
as
the
only
way
to
prosperity. This could be because
the entertainment industry has
for so long capitalized on the
athletic ambitions of Black boys
in conjunction with the general
public’s appetite to consume such
media. This, all the while collecting
the lion’s share of multi-million
dollar profits. For example, about
three in four NBA players are Black;
however, owners in the league are
almost exclusively white.
I want my point to be clear:
Stop asking Black boys why they
don’t play sports because it is
in turn reducing them to your
entertainment. Instead, start seeing
Black boys as intellectuals. Start
seeing Black boys as artists, public
servants and CEOs.
Let’s encourage more Black youth
to code, draw and write columns for
their school paper. The world needs
more Black leaders, and today’s kids
have to be inspired to chase those
dreams. And with all of that being
said, it is crucial to still acknowledge
that kids can be whatever they want
in life. So, if after you’ve encouraged
him to be ambitious, and that Black
boy wants to be a basketball player,
go to the bleachers and cheer him
on.
MICHAEL HEYWARD
MiC Columnist
MIC SENIOR EDITORS