As a fourth grader, my afternoon 

routine was simple. After getting 
off the bus, I’d make myself some 
microwavable macaroni & cheese 
and settle in with a copy of The 
Detroit Free Press. I’d usually start 
with the sports section (no one 
knew the Pistons like I did) before 
moving on to the news section, 
film reviews and, finally, the 
comics. The day the Freep stopped 

delivering to my household was 
a dark one and I unconvincingly 
pleaded with my parents to pay 
for the new, much more expensive 
special delivery fee.

My love of the news didn’t 

stop as I grew older (even if daily 
newspaper deliveries did). In high 
school, I joined my school paper 
and fell in love with being on the 
other side of the business. While 
the readership was small, I relished 
the power of a platform and its 
ability to shape conversation. This 
led me to join The Michigan Daily 
where I found my way to Michigan 

in Color — the section of The Daily 
dedicated to uplifting voices of 
color.

However, as a member of MiC, 

my rosy view of the journalism 
industry began to dim. MiC was 
founded because The Daily lacked 
the voices of students of color, which 
led to the mischaracterization 
and oftentimes racist depictions 
of students of color. The founders 
of MiC felt they couldn’t trust 
journalists to properly convey the 
real experiences of people of color, 
so they created a section where we 
would write for ourselves.

Fast forward to a week ago. 

Since I first heard about the 
Newseum, I’ve been intrigued. The 
museum is intended as a testament 
to the First Amendment — freedom 
of the press, speech, religion and 
petition — and its importance to 
a thriving society. From my first 
steps into the building, I felt the 
weight and responsibility the 
press puts on itself. Famous quotes 
about the importance of the First 
Amendment, and the press in 
particular, covered the walls while 
exhibits contained information 
and old news clips explaining the 
role of the press in the Civil Rights 
Movement, the Vietnam War 
and uncovering injustice around 
the world. Highlights included 
a timeline of front pages of 
newspapers from pivotal points in 
history and the sobering memorial 
to journalists murdered for their 
work in pursuing justice.

The Newseum is a glorification 

of the press. In these hallowed 
halls, the press is always on the 
right side of history — always 
there to stand up for the rights of 
the oppressed, always objective, 
always the hero. However, I take 
issue with this the lack of nuance, 
and honestly, the reality of the 
building. The Newseum ignored 
one of the tenets of good journalism: 
Always tell the whole story. For 
all the headlines the Newseum 
showcased that exalted the Civil 
Rights Movement, they missed 

the ones decrying its protesters 
as “troublemakers” or “rioters.” 
The Newseum can cherry-pick 
the front pages for the ones that 
portray the press 
in a good light, but 
it doesn’t erase 
the harmful work 
that has occurred 
and continues to 
this day.

For its faults, 

I cannot entirely 
dislike 
the 

Newseum 
or 

the 
industry 

and values it so 
lovingly portrays. 
The press is a 
vital 
institution 

for a fair society 
and 
historically 

it has been a part 
of social change 
and 
progress. 

However, 
for 

all 
its 
virtues, 

members of the 
media must come 
to 
terms 
with 

the harm those 
same actions can 
cause. For all the 
Watergates 
and 

Pentagon Papers 
journalism unveils, it does not 
mitigate that the news industry 
was the main driver of associating 
Islam with terrorism.

As the “first rough draft of 

history,” the news often shapes 
what and how people think. When 
the only stories of people of color 
are negative, how will society 

react? When Black 
people who march 
are rioters but white 
people who march 
are protesters, what 
will society think? 
I want to be clear, 
this isn’t a critique 
of 
the 
Breitbarts 

of the world. This 
is a critique of the 
New York Times, 
Washington Posts, 
and 
Michigan 

Dailys — papers that 
strive for greatness 
but either ignorantly 
or willfully continue 
the marginalization 
of 
vulnerable 

populations. It’s easy 
to rest on the laurels 
of 
journalism’s 

success, 
but 
we 

cannot 
act 
like 

journalism 
is 

immune 
to 
the 

racism, 
sexism 

and 
bigotry 
that 

permeates 
society. 

The press often acts 

as an accountability measure for 
governments and corporations — 
it’s time we shined that spotlight 
on ourselves.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Monday, March 5. 2018 — 3A

Visiting the Newseum: The power of the press

Defining “presidential” Drawing power from my 

name: Reclaiming Nada

The roommate selection process 

involved months of calculated 
messages, 
trying 
to 
finesse 

conversation, hoping the girl I met 
on Facebook would think I was 
super cool and ask to room with 
me. After painful awkwardness 
and anxiety, as well as the culture 
shock of a small town southern girl 
trying to keep up with the big-city 
New Yorker, we sealed the deal.

During our mini interview 

process, I remember explaining to 
her that I was Muslim and would 
probably need part of the room to 
pray, clarifying that if she had issues 
with that I totally understood and 
she could room with someone else. 
For some reason, it felt natural for 
me to be on the defense about my 
religion, but coming from New 
York and being a generally good 
person, she was entirely unfazed. 
That was one hurdle that I passed 
with ease.

The next hurdle was more 

difficult for some reason. I finally 
asked her for her number, which 
seemed out of order because 
we 
were 
already 
established 

as roommates, but I took the 
opportunity of a new conversation 
platform to slip this in.

Nada:
“Also, this is way overdue but it’s 

pronounced Nedduh.”

Lizzy:
“Lol oh nooo I’ve been thinking 

Nahdah this whole time.”

And who could blame her. I was 

kicking myself for letting this girl 
who I was going to be sleeping five 
feet away from not know my name 
after months of talking.

I was brought back to elementary 

school, introducing myself by 
my 
American 
pronunciation, 

Nah-dah; to my own sister not 
pronouncing my Arabic name until 
middle school; to taking Spanish 

for the first time and getting 
chuckles from the whole class at 
my teacher’s confusion during roll.

Nada 
means 
“nothing” 
in 

three different languages. Even 
knowing this, it was easy to just 
go with everyone’s assumptions 
and introduce myself this way. 

Poet Emily Dickinson wrote, “I 
am nobody. Who are you? Are you 
nobody too?” But I was worse than 
nobody. I was nothing.

The longer I introduced myself 

as nothing, the more nothingness 
became the foundation of my 
identity. There was a part of me that 
I associated with inadequacy and 
not being enough. Introductions 
became a source of anxiety, so 
I stopped making an effort to 
meet people. I started hating my 
parents for naming me Nada and 
my country for making that a 
possibility.

Then, the summer before high 

school brought me a beautiful new 
opportunity. New classmates. In 

what could have potentially been 
an awkward arranged playdate 
between 
another 
incoming 

freshman and me, I was delighted 
when my sister introduced me 
before I could sabotage myself. 
My new friend had no problem 
saying my name correctly, and 
she told me point-blank that I 
couldn’t let people continue to 
mispronounce my name. That 
would be misrepresenting who 
I was. She had a point; a country 
where children were taught to 
say Einstein, Guggenheim and 
Aristotle could surely manage two 
simple syllables.

Together, she and I created a 

sort of script that stuck with me 
from then on.

“Hi, my name is Nada. It’s like 

Ned, from the hit 2000s teen 
television show Ned’s Declassified, 
and then you add an –uh.”

“Okay so like *insert horribly 

mispronounced name here*?”

Cue the pause and slight squint. 

This is where I gave them a chance 
to try again, usually to no avail.

“Yeah, that’s close enough.”
This was a source of frustration 

for those close to me, when I would 
give up just to save someone else 
the effort of trying harder. I soon 
found out that the later realization 
of their mistake was even more 
embarrassing, 
especially 
when 

they heard someone else saying 
it correctly, usually prompting a 
“Why didn’t you tell me!”

While my initial insistence on 

people saying my name correctly 
stemmed from a desire to save 
others of future uneasiness, I 
realized recently that I should have 
wanted that for myself, not for 
anyone else.

My name ties me to my Egyptian 

heritage, culture and a language 
where Nada means the dew drops 
coating the earth in the morning. 
After 18 years, I finally learned not 
to compromise my identity or who 
I am for the comfort of others.

I’m about as far from a fine arts 

critic as one can get. I don’t consume 
art and I definitely don’t study art. 
Whenever I go to art museums, 
I usually spend more time on the 
benches than looking at the art. 
For that reason, I was surprised 
by my sentimental reaction to 
President Barack Obama’s official 
Smithsonian portrait.

As I walked toward the back 

of 
the 
presidential 
portraits 

exhibit to see Obama’s painting, 
familiar 
feelings 
of 
boredom 

and restlessness that tend to 
accompany these museum trips 
began to crop up. I passed former 
Franklin Presidents Pierce, James 
Buchanan and Chester Arthur on 
one side of the wall, and James 
Monroe, Grover Cleveland and 
William McKinley on the other. 
Almost all of the paintings were 
from a realistic art style, and all 
of the subjects had a similar pose 
— either sitting or standing with 
a stoic disposition in a plain room. 
Eventually, all of these portraits 
started blending together. As 

a result, the contributions and 
accomplishments of the men in the 
paintings didn’t seem so unique. 
When their official representations 
weren’t 
remarkable, 
their 

administrations didn’t appear to be 
either.

Obama’s painting, however, was 

different.

The green leaves stood in 

stark contrast to the white walls 
(and white faces) of the museum 
surrounding it. Even if someone 
didn’t know anything about the 
Obama administration, he or she 
could easily decipher it was unlike 
any administration the U.S. has 
seen before. Obama’s years at the 
helm were marked by bucked 
traditions — namely, by serving as 
our nation’s first Black president. 
In a nation built by slaves, that is a 
particularly notable achievement.

Admittedly, the first time I saw 

the portrait, I didn’t like it. “This 
isn’t presidential,” I thought as I 
scrolled through my Facebook feed. 
However, after seeing the painting 
with my own eyes, I now realize 
my definition of presidential isn’t 
an objective one; it’s simply based 
on what people in the past deemed 

to be “presidential.” The problem 
with using that standard as a 
criterion is that it was framed by 
a homogenous group of old, white 
men — many of whom upheld the 
institution of slavery and Jim Crow 
segregation.

Going by this standard, it’s easy 

to see why Obama’s portrait can 
come off as “un-presidential.” The 
problem isn’t with the painting, 
it’s with the label. There is nothing 
un-presidential about a man who 
humbly fought for racial, gender 
and marriage equality for eight 
years, just like there’s nothing 
un-presidential about having a 
Black man as a president (even 
though all 43 of his predecessors 
were not Black).

Obama’s presidency represented 

a different type of leadership, 
but it’s important to remember 
different isn’t inherently bad. In 
a similar vein, while Obama’s 
portrait definitely offers a stark 
contrast to the portraits of his 
predecessors, that difference alone 
doesn’t detract from its beauty. 
Obama’s painting — just like his 
presidency — was unique, and 
that’s what makes it so special.

NADA ELDAWY

MiC Contributor

ASHLEY TJHUNG
Managing MiC Editor

Editor Jason Rowland reflects after seeing the National Portrait Gallery 

MiC Editors Ashley Tjhung and Na’kia Channey observe the Journalists Memorial — a tribute to those killed while report-
ing, photographing or broadcasting the news. 

MiC Editor Jason Rowland photographs Barack Obama’s presidential portrait.

SAM SO/Daily

SAM SO/Daily

“I started hating 
my parents for 

naming me 
Nada and my 
country for 

making that a 
possibility.”

“As the first 
rough draft of 

history, the news 

often shapes 
what and how 
people think. 
When the only 
stories of people 

of color are 

negative, how 
will society 

react?”

JASON ROWLAND
Managing MiC Editor

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We are currently looking for contributors to our 
blog and podcast! If interested, please email us at 

michiganincolor@umich.edu.

SADHANA RAMASESHADRI/Daily