Tuesday, September 4, 2018 — 9A
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
The existence of a woman of
color is in and of itself an act of
resistance.
These are my words. Sound nice
don’t they? Sound... empowering?
Or maybe it sounds like the
faux deep mantra of a girl who’s
trying to convince herself that
she’s a good social justice activist.
It may sound like beautiful
words that give an accurate
reflection of what it means to be
a woman of color, but to me...it
sounds like an excuse.
It was my excuse when my
parents commented on how I
was leaving a STEM field when
I switched majors, a field that
is historically unkind to people
who aren’t male or white. In
retaliation,
I
showed
them
statistics about the number of
non-white
female
producers
in television and film. Shonda
Rhimes and Mindy Kaling are
big names, but they are still only
two names I said. I’d be helping to
pioneer a path for other girls if I
pursued my Comm Studies major,
I said.
It still didn’t stop me from
feeling like a hypocrite after all
the impassioned speeches I’d
given about women in STEM.
The existence of a woman of
color is in and of itself an act of
resistance.
It sounds like a way to allow
all women of color to participate
in social justice without some of
the pitfalls of the “Social Justice”
community, but to me...it sounds
like an excuse.
It was my excuse whenever
someone asked why I wasn’t
attending a protest or signing a
petition. I’d explain how there
are many different forms of
activism, and that I participated
in what I could when I could.
I’d explain how I wasn’t really a
‘slacktivist’ because I was doing
the little things in my day to day
life like instigating dialogues
with people who are unaware
of their privilege. Or engaging
in conversations with my white
male housemates about issues
women of color face.
It still didn’t stop me from
feeling like a fraud every time I
was too burnt out to educate and
advocate.
The existence of a woman of
color is in and of itself an act of
resistance.
It sounds like a lovely way to
support women of color with
whatever they choose to do but to
me...it sounds like an excuse.
It was my excuse whenever
a friend asked why I engaged
with
anything
problematic.
The Marvel movies don’t have
great representation but Tess
Thompson just showed up in
Thor 3, I’d claim. My favorite
kpop group getting international
fame is breaking cultural barriers
despite the occasional cultural
appropriation, I’d insist. Wearing
makeup isn’t for anyone else,
but for me, I’d cry. If I can only
participate in things that are
ethical and moral and just, then I
won’t get to enjoy anything at all,
I’d argue.
It didn’t stop me from feeling
like a liar any time I’d get called
out for my interests and hobbies
But as much as I may feel
like a hypocrite, a fraud, a liar, I
resist white supremacy and the
patriarchy by choosing to exist
and learn and grow and thrive.
The problem with the existence
of a woman of color being an act
of resistance is that it is my very
existence that is questioned and
policed and entirely undermined.
My existence does not only reflect
my own self but is then forced to
reflect anyone who looks remotely
like me. I am not allowed to simply
exist, but I do anyway. I take up
space, physical and vocal. I smile
when I am happy, cry when I’m
sad, rant when I’m angry, eat
when I’m hungry and rest when
I’m tired. I support other women
of color. I try to be a good ally and
a better activist.
The existence of a woman of
color is in and of itself an act of
resistance.
It’s not an excuse - it’s my battle
chant.
Because I resist to exist.
Because I exist and I have no
choice but to resist.
Because I am a woman of color.
I exist.
I resist.
AKANKSHA SAHAY
MiC Contributor
Yoni Ki Baat 2018: Bad Activist
gay and brown
and black and blue all over
sapphire eyes to blue niles
pouring down
ruby lips to scarlet blood spilling
over
gay and brown
and black and blue all over
I am scared
and I am sad
I am gay and brown
and black and blue all over
and I am angry
angry that my brown has been
the foundation for hatred
angry that my blood that yearns
for women makes me a sin
i am so, incredibly, angry
yet i am so incredibly sad
gay and brown
and black and blue all over
the red white and blue
the colors of a nation that
turns its back to its people of
color
its turned its back to me
but I will not turn my back to it
because I am gay and brown
and black and blue all over
and I belong here.
LORRAINE FURTADO
MiC Contributor
YKB 2018: Not cleared for landing
I like to think I’m a sexy
woman. In fact, I know I’m a
sexy woman. But, the problem is
sex stresses me out. Not the stuff
leading up to it. Not the hot make
outs or the slow stripping. Just
the bit where every bit of clothing
is off and things are about to
inserted in places and honestly
it’s almost more stressful than
midterm week. Almost.
Because
the
thing
is,
sexiness takes effort. Aside
from the usual routines of
makeup and well fit outfits, I
have to go the extra mile. I’ve
inherited gorgeous brown skin
and beautiful black hair....that
grows everywhere. Becoming
sexy requires shaving my legs,
using nair for my arms if the
occasion is important enough,
waxing off sideburns and upper
lip hair and cheek hair and chin
hair and of course, getting my
eyebrows threaded. But then
there’s that final, final step that
terrifies me: nether region hair
removal.
So the science says that
you really shouldn’t remove
your pubic hair – it’s there for
a reason. But for a girl who’s
heard so much shit about the
hair that grows everywhere
else...hair down there seems
like an invitation for mockery.
I mean, I’ve had a girl howl at
me in the hallways at school,
call me a werewolf because of
the hair on my arms. Another
boy made a comment about me
having a mustache and I don’t
think I’ll ever forget the sudden
deep shame I felt. The shame I
still manage to feel. I’m more
ashamed of my body hair than I
could ever be about sex.
But anyway, the point is, my
yoni just seems like another
body part on a list of body parts
that has more hair than it needs.
I mean so far I haven’t had any
complaints about it but I always
feel the need to warn anyone who
ventures down there. It’s a bush,
a forest, don’t get lost, keep your
arms and legs in the vehicle at
all times thank you, and now if
we look a bit further south you
can see the oasis you’ve been
searching for. Whoa there, not
that far south.
And, it’s not like I haven’t
considered my options --- waxing
is painful as fuck. Like, literally
spreading hot wax around my
vulva then using it to rip out
hair by the follicles just so I feel
comfortable enough for sex?
In my opinion, the cost benefit
analysis doesn’t work out, despite
my mother’s teachings of “no
pain, no gain.” Using a sharp
blade down there doesn’t sound
any better, not to mention the
fact that my hair grows fast and
I’d rather not give anyone carpet
burn.
Yes, I can trim things but it
doesn’t achieve the same effect of
smooth hairlessness; I imagine it
would feel much like the silkiness
of my legs when I finally find a
reason to shave in the winter.
Or maybe it’ll just reveal more
imperfections, like the breakouts
and pores I find after removing
the hair on my face. It seems I’ll
never learn what it’s like to have
a hairless pussy.
I suppose I’m just stuck for
now.
A sex-stressed sexy woman.
Say that five times fast.
AKANKSHA SAHAY
MiC Contributor
Bruised
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