The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
 
 
 
 
 
 
4C — Fall 2018 

When Justice Isn’t Served

NARMEEN REHMAN
MiC Contributor

 I pin my scarf around my 
hair until it feels secure. The 
night is still as the call for 
prayer (athan) sings through 
my phone — I close my eyes 
and take a deep breath of 
the warm June air. I exhale 
to the cadence of the athan, 
renewing a sense of calm and 
strength in my body after 
a long day of fasting. As I 
walked down the road to my 
mosque, I reflect on the feel-
ing of security underneath 
the crescent moon of a Rama-
dan night. 
I’m sure Nabra Hassanen felt
the same. 

The headlights of a car 
zipping around the corner 
interrupt my daze and I pick 
up my pace in a small panic, 
remembering the heartbreak 
that occurred almost a year 
ago.
Earlier that day, I came 
across a video of Nabra 

Hassanen’s father responding 
to questions about the brutal 
murder of his daughter. My 
heart ached for him and I 
could see my own father in 
his cries. Last Ramadan, she 
was killed by Darwin Torres 
while walking to her mosque 
after an early morning suhoor 
(breakfast) with her friends at 
McDonald’s, a spot my friends 
have frequented at the brink 
of dawn during our Ramadan 
nights. That could’ve been 
any of my friends leaving the 
McDonald’s parking lot to 
not return again. This cut felt 
deep. It was personal.
It has been almost one year 
since Nabra Hassanen’s father 
called for justice in the name 
of his daughter, believing 
there is no doubt that she was 
targeted because she wears 
hijab.
Instead, the news was 
quick to call it “road rage.” 
Torres grabbed a bat from 

his car and furiously beat her 
face unrecognizable and the 
news said it was “it wasn’t 
about her.”
He ripped her hijab off, 
carried her limp body deep 
into the woods to assault her, 
and the police were quick to 
state it was “not a hate crime.”
sure, it could have been 
road rage — but it also could 
have been the same rage that 
prompted an individual to set 
her memorial ablaze.
This incident is far from 
isolated. It reminded me 
of years ago when bullets 
ripped through the home 
of three Muslims in North 
Carolina: Deah, Yusor, and 
Razan. Their execution-
style deaths were attributed 
to a parking dispute. When 
you witness and experience 
discrimination firsthand, 
these terms of prosecution 
begin to seem naive.
This insidious hatred 
doesn’t only target Muslim 
communities, but those 
marginalized across the 
nation.
In order for a crime to be 
classified as a hate crime, it 
must show that the crime 
clearly targets an individual 
due to their characteristics. 
However, to be a minority 
in America is to know that 
discrimination does not need 
to be overt or blatantly stated 
to be felt. To be a minority 
in America is to watch as 
the brutal murders of people 
who look like us are lessened 
to “coincidences” and are 
abandoned in the rule of law.
We know damn well it’s no 
coincidence.
We feel ourselves, our 
families, and our friends 
in each name that quickly 
passes through the ticker 
at the bottom of the news 
screen. How many lives will 
our communities lose to 
ignorance and hatred that 
will be labeled as else? Does 
America sweep the targeting 
of individuals on the basis 
of religion, race, and sexual 
identity under the rug so we 
don’t have to address the 

greater issue of toxic biases 
in America? Why do we bury 
hate under legal euphemisms 
instead of calling it out as it 
is?
In a call of remembrance 
for Nabra and justice for the 
many minorities that are 
targeted on a daily basis in 
America, I make a case for 
the hate crime. There are 
a number of reasons why 
America is uncomfortable 
labeling these offenses 
as driven by hate. This 
discomfort in itself is a sign 
that we need to debate and 
explore the semantics of them 
more.
Legally, it is complicated. 
Once it carries the label 
of a hate crime, it elevates 
a normal crime to a more 
serious offense, requiring 
greater attention from law 
enforcement. Police often 
aren’t trained on these 
matters and there is no 
uniform method to track and 
handle these crimes.
Socially, it is a symbol. Hate 
crimes say to criminals that 
bigotry will not be permitted 
in this community, state 
or nation. To communities 
targeted, it says that they 
are heard, respected and 
protected by the rule of law.
This begs the question — is 
there a reason why we don’t 
take the extra steps to make 
minority communities feel 
more safe and welcome?
One wrong interaction, 
one wrong person to cross 
paths with — this is all it 
takes. When stories of hate 
crimes air on the news, 
they’re often followed by 
my parent’s “This is why we 
tell you to be careful.” But, 
we both understand that no 
matter how careful I am, I 
can’t control those around 
me. I can’t control someone 
who wants to meet my beliefs 
with a bullet, who sees my 
brother’s skin color as a bulls-
eye or who wishes my friend’s 
hijab were a noose. I’m afraid, 
our communities are afraid 
and it’s about time our laws 
step up to protect us.

Creatives of Color: A 
revolution in creative 

When Drew Metcalf, an 
LSA junior studying screen 
arts and culture, submitted 
his 
project 
proposal 
to 
optiMize’s Social Innovation 
Challenge, he had no idea 
he would end up forming 
a 
creative 
expression 
showcase that would impact 
more than 150 students. 
With a strong passion for 
creativity and art, Metcalf 
has a natural drive for 
building 
community, 
cultural understanding and 
confidence — all through 
the power of expression. 
With his new organization, 
Creatives of Color, Metcalf 
is using art to revolutionize 
how students of color come 
together.
The purpose of Creatives of 
Color is to foster connections 
among artists of color by 
providing opportunities for 
collaboration, 
expression, 
and networking. Its platform 
is centered around providing 
support and resources to 
give students the freedom 
and means to pursue their 
creative initiatives.
Metcalf got his start from 
optiMize, a social innovation 
organization 
dedicated 
to 
inspiring 
students 
to 
initiate self-driven products 
to work toward a more 
sustainable world. Through 
optiMize, Metcalf received 
mentor support, visioning 
workshops and an expansive 
network to help him make 
his mission a tangible reality. 
To formally introduce his 
organization, Metcalf held a 
creative showcase April 11.
The showcase featured an 
expansive range of art, such 
as photography, animation, 
singing, dance, and poetry. 
It featured projects from 
25 participants of varying 
cultures, ages and majors, 
adding to the diverse makeup 
of projects presented.
In preparation for the 
showcase, 
Metcalf 
said 
he and his team randomly 
paired 
students 
together 
as he wanted to explore 
the 
creative 
capacity 
that 
could 
come 
from 
strangers. Metcalf and his 
team 
provided 
guidance 
and assistance to student 
teams. He hoped students 
would 
feel 
encouraged 
and confident enough to 

pursue creative means not 
traditionally explored.
“We wanted to showcase 
all kinds of art. When people 
think of creative work, they 
jump to music, poetry, and 
dance. But, we also have 
committees for other written 
art, 
like 
journalism 
and 
creative writing,” he said. 
Though 
the 
showcase 
received 
an 
immensely 
positive response, it did not 
occur without setbacks and 
moments of discouragement. 
As the term went on, more 
and more groups dropped 
out due to academic demands 
and other time restraints.
However, Metcalf stayed 
optimistic, 
commenting 
even if two people showed 
up to the showcase, as long 
as everyone had fun, the 
work would not go to waste.
“There were a couple of 
times that I wanted to throw 
in the towel … But my team 
kept me grounded,” he said.
Drew’s 
project 
was 
received 
so 
well 
that 
it 
solidified 
additional 
funding, which will allow 
the organization to continue 
active 
development 
over 
the summer. His summer 
project 
will 
consist 
of 
building the social network 
of professional and aspiring 
creatives, striving to bridge 
the gap between access to 
resources and mentors.
With 
this 
amount 
of 
momentum, 
it 
is 
clear 
that 
Creatives 
of 
Color 
has a bright and eventful 
future ahead. Future plans 
include creative workshops, 
collaborations, 
exhibitions 
and youth outreach. As the 
organization is still in its 
infancy, the possibilities are 
wide open, and Metcalf is 
ready to take them head-on.
“The cool thing about 
(this project) is that there’s 
so much room for creativity 
and innovation. There are so 
many things we can we can 
do with this organization, 
and the ideas keep coming. 
I’m interested to see what 
comes of it,” he said while 
smiling.
Anyone 
interested 
in 
getting 
involved 
with 
Creatives of Color can join 
their 
Maizepage 
group, 
contact the group directly at 
thecreativesofcolor@gmail.
com or fill out their EBoard 
application. 

NA’KIA CHANNEY
MiC Senior Editor

When standing up to white supremacy, every step matters

Every morning, I find myself 
walking to class listening to 
my favorite songs, watching 
squirrels as they finesse food 
from passersby and moving 
around white people walking 
in 
my 
direction 
on 
the 
sidewalks. Before I noticed 
this disturbing pattern of 
mine, I always thought that 
stepping out of the way for 
oncoming 
pedestrians 
was 
just the polite thing to do. 
However, I recently noticed 
that the oncoming traffic, 
specifically when the person 
was 
white, 
would 
never 
return the common courtesy 
of stepping to the side when 
I walked by. I began to ask 
myself questions and wonder 
if I was carrying out the same 
subconscious behavior with 
people of other races. So, I 
decided to experiment a bit. 
Whenever a person of color 
walked by, I made space — 
while carefully watching if 
they would do the same. I 
tried doing this with people 
of color in large groups, small 

groups and by themselves. 
Each occurrence led to the 
same outcome: mutual respect 
for sidewalk space. This data 
then led me to the belief that 
this was a natural behavior 
of only white people, notably 
among white women.
After 
coming 
to 
such 
conclusion, I decided to try 
something even riskier: not 
move at all when white people 
passed by. I thought perhaps 
the confidence of a large, 
stocky Black woman standing 
her ground would make a 
difference and would be a 
call for change. But hell, was 
I wrong. Instead of change, 
I got shoulder bumped and 
glared at, commonly followed 
by snarky remarks such as, 
“Watch where you’re going,” 
“Wow that was rude” or “I 
can’t believe she just did 
that.” Of them all, it was the 
repetitive comment of “I can’t 
believe she just did THAT.” 
Confused on what “that” was 
referring to. 
As 
I 
continued 
my 
investigation of this behavior, 
I became aware of some 
not-so-surprising history of 

racial tensions and practices 
of white supremacy. I was in 
Associate Professor Stephen 
Berrey’s 
American 
South 
course when he started the 
lecture by talking about the 
more blatant and explicit 
forms 
of 
Jim 
Crow 
and 
racial superiority. He then 
clicked on a slide informing 
the class about more subtle 
practices in Southern states. 
He went on to state that “the 
expectation that Black people 
would step off the sidewalk 
for approaching white people 
was a common custom across 
the South that had extended 
back into the days of slavery 
(in which enslaved people 
were expected to step off). 
The incident (that exemplifies 
this was) in Danville, Va., 
in 1883 during an election 
year in which many white 
people were alarmed over 
growing Black political power 
and fears that Black people 
considered 
themselves 
the 
social equal of white people 
— as evidenced by the refusal 
to perform expected roles.” 
And 
many 
decades 
later, 
during the Jim Crow era, 

Black people continued to 
step off the sidewalk when a 
white person were to walk in 
their direction. Otherwise as 
noted previously, if a Black 
person failed to do so, they 
were acting as defiant, uppity 
and downright disrespectful. 
Now 
it 
all 
makes 
sense. 
This 
demonstration 
of 
subservience during such a 
simple thing like walking on 
the sidewalk was not and is 
not my fault. Instead, it is 
deep-rooted racism and white 
supremacy 
among 
white 
people that led me to feel 
inferior, just as my ancestors 
felt during the Jim Crow era, 
and much earlier.
But wait — there’s more.
I didn’t just notice this flat-
out disrespect and sense of 
superiority on the University 
of Michigan’s campus.
I’ve experienced it in the 
halls of high schools, where 
younger 
white 
students 
would do the same thing. 
I’ve experienced it walking 
downtown Detroit, a place 
where many white people 
dramatically state that they 
are afraid to go, yet there they 
are, subtly enforcing white 
supremacy. I’ve experienced 
it in grocery stores, malls 
and just about anywhere you 
could think of.
But now, I don’t move. I 
don’t budge. I don’t care. I 
don’t care whose shoulder I 
bump into, whose avocado 
matcha smoothie I spill or 
whose day I ruin. Why? 
Because every day that this 
continues to happen to other 
students, 
especially 
Black 
students, the more embedded 
and unnoticed it becomes, 
and the further it goes. So 
now when you see me walking 
and I don’t move, do not think 
it is because I am just another 
stuck up Black girl with an 
attitude, know it’s because I’m 
sick and tired and a change is 
bound to come. One step at a 
time.

ROSEANNE CHAO / DAILY

CHARDE MADOULA-BEY
MiC Contributor