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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