I have understood the power 

of words since a young age. I 
distinctly recall the first time I 
published a piece at age 13, and 
the apprehension with which 
I described my sentiments as 
a 
bi-ethnic 
second-generation 

Tibetan in exile.

Since then, I have approached 

writing with extreme caution. 
As with many Tibetans in the 
diaspora, 
speaking 
publicly 

about my identity has significant 
ramifications. By writing these 
words, however, I recognize I 
have great privilege in being able 
to share my experiences — such a 
luxury is not an option for many 
Tibetans in exile. Despite this, I 
have hesitated on many occasions 
to approach platforms such as 
Michigan in Color. I did not have 
the confidence to express the acute 
sense of loss, generational trauma 
and injustice that is so familiar to 
those who hold identities that are 
viscerally under attack.

Throughout 
the 
past 
year, 

engaging in activism on campus 
has been both encouraging and 
painful for me. Though I have 
found great support and inspiration 
in my peers, my resolve to approach 
MiC 
was 
strengthened 
by 

witnessing the active silencing of 
narratives such as mine within the 
Asian/Pacific Islander-American 
communities on campus. In these 
spaces — ones that claim to be 
inclusive of all A/PIAs — I have 
observed indifference, hesitation 
and 
outright 
hostility 
toward 

discussing histories and identities 
that are deemed too “divisive,” 
“political” and “inconvenient.” The 
greatest irony in this suppression is 
that these spaces were never meant 
to be comfortable.

Histories 
of 
oppression 

are not easy to acknowledge, 
particularly by those who inflict 
structural violence. But comfort, 
as history tells it, preserves the 
status quo. Comfort reinforces 
the mechanisms of subjugation. 
And there is a pressing need to 
recognize this, particularly in 
spaces that claim to be proponents 

of social justice.

In my time on campus, MiC has 

been an outlet through which I have 
engaged with narratives that have 
made me deeply uncomfortable 
with systemic norms, institutional 
silencing and my own complicity. 
As a staff member, I hope to 
navigate this space with intention 
and conscience as a proud Tibetan/
Indian-American, even as forces 
beyond me invalidate my Tibetan 
identity and discount me on 
the basis of my bi-ethnicity. To 
some degree, I write these words 
knowing that I am subjecting 
myself to the scrutiny of institutions 
that are antagonized by my very 
existence and willingness to assert 
the validity of my experiences.

Yet, everything that I write 

is from my lived experience. I 
encourage those — even individuals 
who do not have the privilege of a 
public platform — to speak their 
truths and stand behind their 
realities. That is why I mobilize 
myself and my words, and it is 
because of these hopes that I have 
joined MiC.

The very first occupation I 

was interested in becoming was a 
police officer; whenever one was 
around, I could not take my eyes 
off of their gleaming badges. For 
an assignment in school during 
kindergarten, I was asked what I 
wanted to be when I grow up and 
why. I wrote: “A police officer so 
I can arrest people.” My family 

found it humorous, but when I 
think back to the assignment now, 
all I feel is shame. 

This feeling began after the 

Trayvon Martin shooting of 2012. 
The Black community was furious; 
surely this was not the first time a 
white person had unfairly shot and 
killed a Black male. However, this 
was the final straw. I remember 
the climate so vividly, the utter 
disgust. The unrest was palpable. 
During the following years, there 
was a sharp increase in the number 

of deaths in the Black community 
at the hands of white cops, all 
while on camera.

Whether it was because I was 

paying more attention or because 
times had truly become much 
worse, the bloodshed seemed to 
multiply out of nowhere, and now 
as a young Black teenage male, I 
became more and more afraid with 
every newscast. Turning off the 
TV didn’t fix the problem; my life 
at home was beginning to fall apart 
as well. In 2011, my parents had 
filed for divorce, and since then 
my parents have both moved from 
our home in Detroit to Southfield 
(where they “consequently” found 
apartment buildings across the 
street from one another).

As part of the move, I was also 

forced to start sixth grade in a 
new school. In an attempt to make 
friends I became swept up in 
staying up-to-date with the most 
current music. I dove headfirst 
into the pop music of 2010, and 
what I gravitated to most was hip-

hop. It allowed me to look at people 
who looked like me and hear them 
talking about things I too had 
experienced. I saw the beauty 
behind rap through Frank Ocean, 
as well as its anger and passion 
concerning issues of the Black 
man in America when listening to 
artists such as J. Cole and Kendrick 
Lamar. A few friends suggested I 
try writing myself, and ever since, 
I have been documenting my 
feelings in the form of raps, poems, 
essays and the occasional angrily 
scribbled rant. 

I joined Michigan in Color 

because I believe my voice speaks 
for not only myself but everyone 
who is able to share my thoughts, 
emotions and experiences. Being a 
person of color at a predominantly 
white institution in 2018 is a 
journey, one full of pleasant 
surprises as well as shocking 
disappointment. When I write for 
MiC, I want everyone reading to 
feel as if we are on this journey 
together.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Monday, January 8, 2018— 3A

I’ve always loved storytelling 

and I’m always searching for new 
ways to tell stories. I love singing, 
performing, 
art, 
music 
and, 

most relevantly, writing. Since 
I’ve started college, I’ve added 
some new passions to my list. 
I’ve started to write poetry as a 
way to express my thoughts and 
feelings. I’ve also expanded the 
genres of stories I read to include 
plays, articles and magazines.

When I discovered Michigan 

in Color, I was quickly able to 
add it to my list of passions. The 
concept of MiC was completely 
foreign to me, but I immediately 
fell in love with it — a section in 
a newspaper dedicated solely 
to people of color to share their 
experiences 
and 
identities. 

Though I’ve always enjoyed 

writing, my identity as a person 
of color has never been the topic 
of my writing, or something I’ve 
even considered writing about.

My 
identity 
has 
always 

been something with which 
I’ve struggled. Growing up in 
a mostly homogenous society, 
I’ve had trouble feeling like I 
fit in. In high school, because 
almost everyone around me was 
white, my main goal was to just 
blend in. I never brought up my 
Nigerian heritage, my identity as 
a black person, my Muslim and 
Christian religious backgrounds, 
because I was trying my hardest 
to make sure everyone forgot 
them (secretly with the hopes 
that I would too).

But since I’ve come to college, 

I’ve begun to see my identity, 
especially as a person of color, 
as something of which to be 
proud. I’ve met so many people 
that have helped me realize my 

different identities are things 
to uphold instead of hiding. 
What I love about Michigan 
in Color is its ability to elevate 
people of the identities they are 
typically shamed for. I love how 
it’s a space for people to be open 
and vulnerable, to share the 
hardships and triumphs they face 
as a person of color for people to 
resonate with and learn from.

I still have a long way to go in 

embracing who I am, but I know 
Michigan in Color is definitely a 
step in the right direction. And 
not only is it an opportunity to 
help me accept my identities, it’s 
a privilege. I have been given the 
privilege to help others embrace 
their 
own 
identities 
while 

educating others about these 
identities at the same time. I’m so 
lucky to be given this privilege, 
and as an assistant editor, I will 
make sure it never goes to waste.

Growing up, I always loved 

to read. Some of my fondest 
childhood 
memories 
include 

going to the library with my 
mom to pick out books, and then 
reading them together. As I got 
older, I developed a passion for 
writing as well, finding my voice 
and feeling the true power the 
written word can hold. I enjoyed 
writing in my English classes, and 
I also wrote and continue to write 
in a journal as an outlet for my 
frustrations and emotions. I have 
never really considered sharing 
any of my writing, as I was never 
confident enough and never really 

felt like I had something very 
important or progressive to say. 
Stumbling upon this opportunity 
has opened my eyes to what could 
be, and I intend to make the most 
of it as I navigate my way through 
college as an Arab-American, 
Muslim woman.

Coming to the University from 

my predominantly Arab/Muslim 
city of Dearborn has been an 
awakening experience. I have 
been challenged and changed 
in ways I would never have 
thought of before. Throughout 
my first semester, I have met so 
many amazing, passionate and 
inspiring people, and learned 
their stories. I have encountered 
issues that have instilled me with 
anger, moved me with passion 

and inspired me to become an 
active part of the stories around 
me. Being a part of the Michigan 
Community Scholars Program 
and the Arab Student Association 
has helped me get to know people 
with 
different 
backgrounds 

while simultaneously connecting 
with those of similar social 
identities. The constant, ever-
changing climate of social issues 
and problems that need to be 
addressed compel me to try and 
find ways to make an impact, big 
or small.

I enter MiC as an assistant 

editor with high hopes. Hopes of 
speaking my truths and becoming 
more confident in doing so. 
Hopes of learning the stories and 
struggles of other brave and bright 
students of color, all with unique 
experiences and stories waiting 
to be heard. Hopes of helping 
to create and maintain the fun, 
serious, loving space so fondly 
described by previous and current 
MiC members. Hopes of building 
meaningful friendships with the 
wonderful fellow editors. Words 
hold power, words have weight, 
words can teach and connect 
and inspire and heal. I hope to 
do my part in a space that allows 
the words of people of color to be 
heard because our stories arereal, 
valid and important.

Growing up, Nick at Nite was 

somewhat of childhood pastime 
as shows like “George Lopez,” 
“The 
Nanny” 
and 
“Family 

Matters” were the focus of my 
attention. I found particular 
fondness in “Family Matters” 
because of Steve Urkel’s famous 
tagline, “Did I do that?” Though 
Steve Urkel was great, it was 
the sentimental moments that 
also caught my attention. In one 
of the episodes, Laura wanted 
to buy a VCR, so she sold her 
grandmother’s quilt. Later, she 
finds out the quilt was in the 
family for over 200 years.

Slowly I came to idolize 

minorities in the mainstream 
media. 
Shows 
like 
“Family 

Matters” proved there was a 
market for loving a non-white 
history. 
However, 
it 
never 

seemed like Arab history was 
profitable enough to make the 
cut. Though my family went 
to the Middle East for months 
every summer, I identified as 
American. Thus, I quickly heard 
terms like “whitewashed” as I 
joined the Boy Scouts and other 
typical “American” pastimes. 
Meanwhile, I was never white, 
so I still faced problems with 
being a person of color. Growing 
up, I felt that being Arab or 
American were two mutually 
exclusive concepts because we 

act like they are.

That is what lead me to 

Michigan in Color. The Arab 
culture 
that 
I 
have 
been 

surrounded by my entire life is 
important to me, and I wanted 
to 
express 
its 
significance 

while helping others do the 
same. This is my first step to 
creating my own quilt which I 
lost many years ago, or maybe 
it’s finding the blanket I never 
knew existed. For me, I may 
not be actively involved in the 
Arab community, but I am still 
Arab and American. Every day, 
I used to watch Nick at Nite and 
see people of varied skin tones, 
but none of those skin tones 
were mine. Even today, I don’t 
think I have any Arab-American 
idols that are represented in 
media. It’s easy to sell your 
culture in exchange for a job, 
to buy that fancy VCR or social 
acceptance. However, it starts 
with me to pick up the thread 
and create something that can 
last 200 years. Someday, I just 
hope to look back at my amazing 
work with Michigan in Color 
and think, “Did I do that?” It’s 
questions like those that keep me 
trying to prove my lineage does 
not cancel the program of my 
future. My activities shouldn’t 
disconnect me from my original 
storyline.

Why I joined MiC: Efe Osagie
Why I joined MiC: Priya Judge

Why I joined MiC: Angelo McCoy

Why I joined MiC: Maya Mokh
Why I joined MiC: Kareem Shunnar

EFE OSAGIE

MiC Assistant Editor

MAYA MOKH

MiC Assistant Editor

KAREEM SHUNNAR

MiC Assistant Editor

PRIYA JUDGE

MiC Assistant Editor

ANGELO MCCOY
MiC Assistant Editor