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Michigan in Color 
Monday, February 5, 2018 — 3A

NATALIA SANCHEZ

MiC Contributor

Please, tell me where I’m from

“Do you celebrate the Day of 

the Dead?”

The first (and, let it be known, 

only) time that someone asked 
me that, I was more than ready to 
start a hissy fit. My jaw fell open, 
my face contorted into a “did you 
really just ask me that?” type of 
look, my hands balled into a fist, 
nails digging so deeply into my 
palms I could have drawn blood, 
knuckles turning whiter by the 
second — waiting and itching 
and aching to just be driven 
through that ignorant fool’s nose 
because anyone who dares to so 
much as whisper detrimental, 
xenophobic or bigoted comments 
about my culture will, without a 
doubt, receive una bien merecida 
pescozá.

The issue is not so much 

the question or the curiosity 
that prompted the inquiry. I’m 
proud to call myself Latina, 
boricua and a puertorra. I wear 
my history with honor, I speak 
my first language with pride 
and every day I strive to prove 
myself because it isn’t just about 
me; it’s about what my native 
dialect represents, about how 
my actions, words and attitudes 
make or break a group of humans 
that have been marginalized 
and wrongfully stereotyped for 
years. 

I’ll gladly talk about my 

heritage and my home with 
anyone 
who 
is 
genuinely 

interested to learn. I can go on for 
hours about the lovely wonders 

hidden in Puerto Rico: La Isla 
del Encanto (about how delicious 
tostones are; how there’s a party 
around every corner and on every 
street, always; how the holidays 
start in Thanksgiving and end 
during the last week of January; 
how the natives love human 
interactions and connections, 
how pleasant conversations can 
start anywhere…). 

So why was I bothered then?
Because the only country that 

celebrates Día de Los Muertos 
is Mexico, and, no, not all 
Latinos that come to the U.S. are 
Mexican.

I 
was 
irritated 
because 

schools in the U.S. fail to explain 
Latin history and culture; fail 
to teach Spanish that surpasses 
elementary level “Hola, me llamo 
___”; fail to communicate the fact 
that there are more than 58.6 
million Hispanics in the United 
States; fail to mention that we’re 
the biggest and fastest growing 
“minority”; fail to indicate that 
Spanish is the second most 
spoken language in the world; 
fail to explain how “America” 
encompasses Hispanic countries 
located below the border...

They fail, fail and fail, time 

and time again, and I’m so 
exhausted from having to clarify 
what the differences between 
my culture and someone else’s 
are. How would you feel if I were 
to ask you: “Are you the guys that 
are famous for making maple 
syrup?” or “Everyone plays 
hockey here, right?”

It’s those micro-aggressions 

(those 
quick 
snide 
remarks 

that you don’t realize actually 
hurt and slash and burn until 

a while after they’re said) that 
make up part of the foundation 
of the bigger issue. When they 
accumulate and spill over the 
top, when they’re asked and 
said with such normalcy that 
they’re not considered incorrect, 
the ground is laid for the bigger 
societal acts of abhorrence and 
prejudice to flourish. 

Why is there so much hate and 

discrimination among racially, 
ethnically 
and 
religiously 

different groups? Why do so 
many U.S. men and women 
condemn and marginalize these 
groups, calling them thieves, 
rapists and criminals? Why does 
the media continuously portray 
them as such (as less than what 
they are; as less than any human 
should 
ever 
be), 
throwing 

wood into a fire that needs to 
be extinguished? Why, even 
though it is clearly written in 
the supreme law of the country 
that all men are created equal, 
all men, women and children are 
not treated equally?

It’s 
because 
people 
have 

grown used to not worrying 
about how their small comments 
and questions (just like: Do you 
celebrate the day of the dead?) 
can amount to the bigger picture, 
can evolve and transform into the 
larger issues. They’re missing, 
ignoring and not making the 
conscious 
effort 
to 
surpass 

the small step of learning and 
understanding that leads to 
assimilation and acceptance. 

Let’s be honest and frank here: 

A country created by immigrants 
should be more understanding, 
helpful, respectful and open to 
other immigrants.

A/PIA Community Spotlight

This post is a part of a series of 

Community Spotlights. If your 
cultural organization would like 
to be featured, please email us at 
michiganincolor@umich.edu.

Asian/Pacific 
Islander 

American 
Heritage 
Month 

is 
a 
nationwide, 
month-long 

celebration of A/PIA culture, 
traditions and history. Though it is 
typically celebrated in the month 
of May, the University of Michigan 
celebrates it throughout March 
and April because our academic 
year ends before May. Every 
year, United Asian American 

Organizations, 
the 
umbrella 

organization for several A/PIA-
interest organizations on campus, 
partners with the Office of Multi-
Ethnic Students Affairs to plan 
this month of events.

Last year, A/PIA Heritage 

Month featured many large-
scale events like the Generation 
Asian Pacific American Cultural 
Show (GenAPA) and the Midwest 
Asian American Student Union 
2017 Spring Conference. Other 
Heritage Month events included 
Uncover: A/PIA and UAAO’s 
#SayMyName photo and video 
campaign, Yoni Ki Baat’s annual 
monologue show, a film screening 
of Curtis Chin’s “Tested”, That 
Brown Show, and Chroma — a 

show 
exhibiting 
artwork 
by 

people of color. Finally, every year 
Heritage Month is ended by a 
closing ceremony to recognize the 
achievements of A/PIA students 
on campus. Below are some 
photos from different events that 
happened during A/PIA Heritage 
Month last year.

This year, UAAO and Office 

of Multi-Ethnic Student Affairs 
are looking for people to work on 
a committee in various areas to 
showcase A/PIA culture. There 
are no interviews! We just want 
to hear from interested folks who 
are able to commit their time 
to helping plan A/PIA Heritage 
Month.

SIVANTHY VASANTHAN

MiC Contributor

I contemplate 
an early exit
in sparkly,
 
silver

 
shoes.

Heart over head 
and hand over heart –
I look
 
so American.

And you,
standing 
across the way,
 
are small

with humility.
Your callused fingers,
 
bathed

in sunlight and industry,
 
touch me

with a softness
I can never return.

Bless fragility.
Its anxious self
 
quaking 

behind the ego. 
The quiver,
the tremble
cracking open my lips.
 
A fault

from which
the gargled vowels erupt.

Words spill out 
over all
the pretty 
 
conventions,

then settle,
holding us 
here
in this moment
where we are briefly 
 
familiar.

You,
my mother,
who keeps 
the crow’s feet
to remind her 
of flight,
whose freckles
 
punctuate 

the summer sky,
who knows 
more tones
than the pianist,
 
speak 

with bars
between your teeth.
Songs 
of mangrove trees
and lotus ponds. 
 
Yes,

bless the summer.

And I,
your incomprehensible 
child,

tongue-twisted 
and teary-eyed,
have only
broken language 
to offer.
But bless this language,
its ebb and flow.
How it shrinks 
 
from the mouth

to grow
 
in the ear,

unapologetically 
 
incomplete,

slicing,
dicing,
clipping 
 
the old 

 
ends off,

pushing,
pulling,
 
perverting, 

the speech
into something 
 
wholly

 
new.

May its sound
always evolve 
but its color 
stain
 
forever. 

 
Bless it despite its ugliness.

Bless it 
 
anyway.

Every year, the Arab Students 

Association hosts Arab Xpressions 
— a cultural show dedicated to 
featuring the beauty of Arab 
culture. Join us Feb. 17 to enjoy 
traditional Arab dances, music, 
clothing, poetry and more. As we 
explore the unique experiences of 
Arab Americans through detailed 
displays and hilarious skits, we 
hope to provide a powerful and 
entertaining night for you and your 
family. The following spoken words 
were presented at Arab Xpressions 
2017:

Who am I?

A Bearded face, A Handsome 

face

Brown Eyes, Caring Eyes

Dark Hair, Silky Hair

Tanned Skin, Exotic Skin

Child’s 
thoughts, 
Loving 

Thoughts

Pause

Who am I?

Bearded face, Shady gaze

Brown Eyes, Menacing plans

Dark Hair, Wicked thoughts

Tanned Skin, distinct Skin

Bad thoughts, My Thoughts
When did I learn to fear myself?

-Tariq Mekkaoui

***
I look in the mirror.

And within me, I see my 

grandmothers. My sito marrying 
into the Arab culture, choosing 
to embody both worlds. My tata, 
raising five children within a civil 
war. And within me I see strength. 
They are not submissive.

I see my mother. Fueling her 

passion for education while doing 
everything in her power for my 
own. And within me, I feel her 
spirit. She is not passive.

These Arab women. Defying 

the stereotype unrightfully placed 
upon them every day.

They have inspired me. They 

have inspired me to redefine what 
being an Arab means to me. They 
are my role 
models. They are 

my heroes.

-Rasha Jawad

***

My hero.

My dad was 20 when he first 

set foot in America. He had little 
money, no backup plan and a 
mountain of dreams. Sacrificing 
everything to start a life in America, 
it was here that he really did start a 
life. It was here he found love. It was 
here he started a family. And it was 
here that he set an example that my 
siblings and I strive to follow every 
day. This is the embodiment of the 
American Dream. A dream that is 
still alive today, more than ever.

Although as Arabs we may face 

some hard times, let’s not forget the 
journey.

For it is only through facing 

difficulties that we see ourselves 
grow, and it’s only through adversity 
that we see communities unite. Let’s 
not forget the honor and privilege it 
is to be where we are.

For as proud as I am to call myself 

Arab, I am equally proud to call 
myself American. And more than 
happy to be Arab American.

-Bassel Salka

Our experiences in our words

Out of many, one

ELIZABETH LE

MiC Contributor

Illustration by Hannah Myers

For more pictures and content visit 

www.michigandaily.com/section/mic

RASHA 
JAWAD, 
BASSEL 

SALKA & TARIQ MEKKAOUI

MiC Contributors

