The most worthwhile aim 

of director George Tillman, 
Jr.’s (“Notorious”) ambitious 
adaption of Angie Thomas’s 
multifaceted 2017 YA novel 
“The Hate U Give” is its 
complex portrayal of modern-
day 
activism. 
Though 
the 

film often struggles against 
the 
constraints 
of 
homage 

to its source text, the film 
still succeeds in making this 
eloquent political statement all 
its own, and such a statement 
could not have come at a better 
time. In an era where the socio-
political climate ask questions 
like “What do Americans stand 
for?” and “Can we believe 
anything we see or hear?” the 
film refuses to shy away from 
them. In its brashness, it works 
to rebuild the reputation of 
American civil society and 
restore needed momentum to 
truth. 

Riffing on Tupac’s “Thug 

Life” — i.e. “The Hate U 
Give 
Little 
Infants 
Fucks 

Everybody” 
— 
the 
film 

follows Black teenager Starr 
Carter 
(Amandla 
Stenberg, 

“Everything, Everything”) as 
she reels from this hate with 
which she has been given since 
birth. The narrative addresses 
the range of this hate, from 
the micro-aggressions Starr 
endures 
at 
the 
hands 
of 

her 
predominantly 
white 

classmates at the elite prep 
school she attends, to the 
explicit racism at the turning 
point of the film: when Starr is 
the sole witness to the murder 
of her childhood friend Khalil 
(Algee Smith, “Detroit”) at the 
hands of a white cop. 

The latter trauma forces 

Starr to undertake an agonizing 
but vital journey in pursuit 
of 
a 
genuine, 
productive, 

justice-centered 
breed 
of 

activism that will be familiar 
to some audience members 
but epiphanic to others. Along 

the way, she gains exposure 
to ideal, real and counterfeit 
activism 
— 
alongside 
the 

confidence to build her own 
vision thereof.

Lawyer April Ofrah (Issa 

Rae, “Insecure”), who mentors 
Starr as she decides whether 
she will testify before the 
grand jury that will determine 
whether the cop who killed 
Khalil will be indicted, is the 
representative of ideal activism. 

While some characters in the 
film came across as little more 
than mouthpieces to articulate 
themes the storytellers hadn’t 
the time to convey through 
characters’ 
action, 
Rae’s 

performance stands out. Her 
speeches are among the most 
memorable 
points 
in 
the 

film’s 2:12 runtime, especially 
her impassioned defense of 
nonviolent protest as an ideal 
protest at Khalil’s funeral. She 
raises a particularly resonant 
question in this speech as well: 
How can Black people ever be 
seen as unarmed if their skin is 
considered a weapon? She thus 
charges the media with the 
task of deescalating violence, 
challenging the media to stop 
weaponizing race.

Tillman, Jr. also stresses 

the oft-distorted realities of 
activism through ground-level 
shots of protest scenes. These 
unmediated scenes reimagine 
resistance. In one, resistance 
is chanting the names of the 
unjustly killed in the streets. 
In 
another, 
resistance 
is 

holding up your cell phone 
— nonviolently policing the 
police. In a climactic scene 

and affirmation of Stenberg’s 
talent, resistance is standing 
on the hood of a car, screaming 
a eulogy of your murdered 
friend 
into 
a 
megaphone 

while police ready the tear 
gas. One constant, heartening 
variable across these scenes of 
resistance is the instrumental 
role youth play in them.

Imposter activism appears 

in two forms. First, we see it 
in those who selfishly pretend 
to stand for just causes. Starr’s 
white classmates embody this 
treachery in a particularly 
sickening 
scene 
where 

Starr’s 
friends 
reveal 
that 

their primary motivation for 
attending a protest for Khalil’s 
case is so they can leave school 
early. The second form appears 
in those who misrepresent 
protest efforts to undermine 
it. 
Tillman, 
Jr. 
carefully 

juxtaposes the raw scenes of 
civil disobedience with the 
media-packaging 
thereof, 

exposing 
the 
disparities 

between 
activism 
and 
its 

imposter dominating television 
news.

Herein lies a weakness in 

the film, however. While some 
of its deliberate ambiguities 
were 
productive 
— 
for 

instance, the moral ambiguity 
of every character subverted 
the mass media’s reliance on 
simply casting figures as good 
and evil to neglect the more 
complex systems of evil which 
individuals 
either 
consent 

to or resist — others were 
detrimental. 
An 
inordinate 

number of subplots (the most 
confounding of which focused 
on Starr’s white boyfriend) and 
contrived scenes that served 
as little more than an homage 
to Thomas’ novel ate up time, 
leaving audiences in want of 
more direct evaluations of the 
media’s role in systemic issues. 

Nonetheless, the necessity of 

the film’s well-argued message 
about activism renders it a 
film not only worth seeing but 
perhaps obligatory if we hope 
to reinvigorate civil society.

“Let’s cry and watch shitty 

Netflix shows together,” my best 
friend texted me on Oct. 6th, the 
same day that the full Senate 
voted on the nomination of Judge 
Brett Kavanaugh for Supreme 
Court Justice. Any other day, 
poking fun at less than average 
actors and oddly placed camera 
angles while sobbing into a bowl 
of Ben and Jerry’s would’ve cured 
my sadness almost instantly. 
But as I cuddled next to my best 
friend, a woman I knew had 
been a victim to the same type of 
sexual assault our new Supreme 
Court Justice was accused of, I 
could only feel the sadness and 
anger I held within myself even 
more viscerally. The days that 
followed that Oct. 6th nomination 
were days I spent listening to 
survivors of sexual assault. I 
couldn’t believe that nearly all 
of my female identifying friends 
had experienced sexual assault 
in one way or another. Actually, 
now that I think about, it really 
isn’t that hard for me to believe.

I decided that I wanted to 

create a space where my friends 
could talk to one another about 
their experiences as a woman in 
the United States of America. On 
one Friday afternoon, I invited 
them over to my house for coffee. 
We sat down and listened to 
each other, in the way that Dr. 
Christine Blasey Ford should’ve 
been listened to. We didn’t just 
listen —but we believed.

We shared stories about our 

bottoms being grabbed without 
consent while dancing at parties. 
We talked about being cat called 
while walking to lecture. Of our 
male teachers asking us to stay 
for a little too long after class, 
looking too closely at new blouses 
that had been purchased. My 
Black friends shared stories about 
them going on dates with boys 
who fetishized their Blackness, 
saying “I’ve only ever dated 
white girls before. You’re pretty 
exotic.” We talked to one another 
for nearly four hours that day, and 
at the end of the conversation, 

the walls of my room seemed to 
sigh with us in exhaustion after 
having listened to all we have 
gone through. We reached one 
unfortunate conclusion with our 
discussion: There didn’t seem 
to be much hope of anything 
getting better. Especially, when 
this man, who has publicly been 

accused of committing the same 
type of violence toward women 
we experience daily, holds one of 
the highest and most respected 
positions in our government.

As women, how are we to 

believe that we are respected 
when the men who have openly 
shown blatant disrespect toward 
us have all of the power in our 
politics? Often times, I feel that 
people separate politics and the 
human condition. I hear a lot that 
“political views don’t define a 
person as good or bad.” I believe 
that in some cases this can be 
true. However, I find it difficult to 
look at my older brother, an open 
supporter of Brett Kavanaugh, 
and believe that he respects 
me and my place as a woman in 
this society. I don’t want to see 

my brother, someone I love, as 
someone who does not see me as 
a human being worthy of being 
listened to. But I worry that if 
I approached him and told him 
of that one time in high school, 
when a boy held my thigh for a 
little too long and that escalated 
to the boy holding other parts of 
me for way too long, would my 
brother believe me when I told 
him I didn’t want it? Would my 
brother tell me my skirt was too 
short? Would he tell me I got too 
drunk that night? That I had too 
much beer? Would he follow the 
same logic that Brett Kavanaugh 
and the rest of the Republican 
Party seems to follow when 
excusing themselves for their 
actions against women? I’m not 
sure I want to know the answer.

Answers are something I have 

been looking for a lot since early 
Oct. One question in particular 
I wish I could answer was 
asked to me the very night of 
the nomination. I tried to make 
my arms into a fort that would 
protect my best friend as she 
quivered beneath my embrace, 
but I don’t think I have the power 
to save her from a nation that 
refuses to even acknowledge 
she has anything to be saved 
from. She cried into my shoulder, 
and the question I wish I could 
resolve emerged in between her 
tears:

“If they didn’t believe her, 

when she gave that kind of a 
speech, when she has those kind 
of degrees, when all of America is 
watching, why in the hell would 
anyone ever believe me?”

I believed her, though. That 

isn’t enough, but, in that moment, 
it needed to be. The women 
sitting in my bedroom the 
following week believed her. And 
maybe we don’t have any power 
right now. Maybe we don’t have 
any voice that people want to 
hear. Maybe our country doesn’t 
view us beyond a sexual object. 
Maybe 
we 
aren’t 
respected, 

or listened to or believed right 
now. But we will be. We need to 
be. This shouldn’t be a battle we 
have to fight, but it is. We need to 
believe one another. We need to 
believe her. I believe her. Do you?

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
b-side
Thursday, October 25, 2018 — 5B

In the 2018 fashion scene, 

what you’re wearing is either 
conformity 
or 
rebellion. 

Laws of fashion hold us to 
this standard, but in wake of 
changes in political climate, 
tensions in our government 
are shaping the fashion world 
as well. Or rather, the fashion 
world is contributing to the 
shape politics are taking today. 
With primaries under our belts, 
midterms on the horizon and 
a new Supreme Court Justice 
sworn in, among other world 
altering events, it seems as 
though we will never be able to 
keep up with these variations 
and their effects on our political 
system. As new movements 
and conflicts rise and fall, the 
fashion world follows suit. And 
although hard to believe, new 

trends in everyday fashion are 
seriously 
impacting 
politics 

and how we share our views, as 
we can quite literally wear our 
opinions on our sleeves. 

The 
prominence 
of 
the 

t-shirt has been present in 
fashion since the beginning of 
time. Its simplicity, practicality 
and comfort have upheld this 
iconic design as a staple in style 
and fashion. But, as fashion 
has evolved and trends have 
changed, so has the t-shirt. 
In recent years, graphic tees 
have centered themselves as 
a pinnacle of a very curated, 
eclectic, 
carefree 
aesthetic. 

Starting in the ’70s with the 
popularity of repping band 
logos, the graphic tee has since 
only evolved to reach corners 
of all industries beyond just 
music. 

They have worked their way 

into everyday wardrobes, they 

can be dressed up or down and 
there is certainly no limit to 
content that can be printed on 
a t-shirt. In just single stores 
alone, whole sections have 
become dedicated to the trend 
of graphic tees. The curated 
aesthetic created by centering 
an outfit around a graphic tee 
is one many teens and young 
people strive for, sometimes 
perhaps without even realizing 
what message they are sending 
by wearing certain graphics. 
As graphics have seeped their 
way into the closets of style 
gurus everywhere, so they have 
also headed up many political 
movements, completely altering 
the way these movements are 
viewed.

The clearest example has to 

be the women’s movement. In 
the 2017 Women’s March on 
Washington, 
tees 
imprinted 

with “Nasty Woman”, “Raise 

I believe Dr. Ford

URBAN OUTFITTERS

STYLE NOTEBOOK

Graphic tees and wearing 
your voice on your sleeve

MARGARET SHERIDAN

Daily Arts Writer

PERSONAL NOTEBOOK

ALIX CURNOW

For the Daily

Boys and Girls the Same Way” 
and “This Pussy Grabs Back” 
made the amount of voice 
coming from the event almost 
double, as the presence of 
these words on shirts serve 
as a constant visual reminder 
of these women’s rightfully 
justified 
angerwith 
our 

government and president in 
addition to their conversations 
surrounding gender equality in 
politics. 

We 
see 
these 
graphics 

stating “Black Lives Matter,” 
“#MeToo,” 
the 
LGBTQ 

movement and even the t-shirt 
Frank Ocean wore to the 
Panorama Music festival called 
on audiences to just be quiet 
before being racist, sexist or 
homophobic. 

These examples don’t cover 

even half of the political content 
that graphic tees have begun 
to cover in recent years. It is a 
beautiful concept, to have the 
ability to take ownership over 
one’s political views and raise 
awareness about movements 
for change is an extremely 
empowering concept, one that 
is allowing more and more 
people to be included in the 
groups represented by these 
shirts and graphics. To be able 
to incorporate political views 
into everyday wardrobe truly 
combines the best of both 
politics and fashion, but while 
this stylish alternative seems 
oh-so-chic, there’s a fine line 

between the intersectionalities 
that 
lie 
within 
this 

incorporation 
of 
graphics 

and politics that can make 
for a challenging difference 
between representing political 
views 
and 
movements 
and 

just wearing certain tops as 
an accessory rather than for 
raising actual awareness and 
culminating change. 

Graphic tees serve as a 

great opportunity for raising 
political awareness, but with 
so many of them circulating 
the fashion world, the purpose 
of this fashion staple has 
very 
quickly 
become 
more 

of a solely aesthetic choice 
or form of bandwagoning as 
opposed to an actual effort to 
benefit political movements. 
The consumer or producer 
cannot take the blame for this 
strange cycle; it’s practically 
impossible 
to 
avoid 
when 

stores like Urban Outfitters 
have added “Vote” tees to 
their graphic tee collection, 
inviting young people to start 
purchasing them, with half of 
them not even sure if they’re 
registered to vote. Graphic tees 
make it so easy to get behind a 
moment, creating a challenging 
double-edged sword to grapple 
with. To truly take ownership 
and proudly wear a “Nasty 
Woman” t-shirt, be prepared 
to vote, participate in marches 
and stay in the loop about 
current events is completely 

different from purchasing the 
shirt solely because you saw 
another girl looking cute in 
it on Instagram. With social 
media shaping politics, there 
is a certain vulnerability that 
comes with sharing political 
views 
or 
rallying 
behind 

movements. Sometimes it can 
make people feel as though 
they need to prove themselves 
in 
a 
certain 
way, 
hence 

causing 
over-compensation 

in items like graphic tees for 
various movements, even if 
it isn’t something the person 
is 
completely 
invested 
or 

educated in.

Both 
extremely 
powerful 

tools 
in 
society, 
fashion 

and social media are truly 
influencing 
the 
way 
we 

perceive politics. With both 
of these platforms, we as 
individuals are now, more than 
ever, more capable of making 
politics an inclusive topic, one 
where we can help others learn 
about things they might not 
be as familiar with in order to 
benefit the greater good and 
truly change our government. 
So let’s selectively choose those 
graphic tees, and curate them 
to things we truly know about, 
encouraging our friends to 
become politically aware and 
create inclusive spaces in a field 
that can sometimes seem so 
uninviting and confusing. Let 
us fashionably make a change 
in politics. 

“The Hate U 

Give”

Ann Arbor 20 + 

IMAX

20th Century Fox

20TH CENTURY FOX

‘The Hate U Give’ makes 
civil disobedience cool

JULIANNA MORANO

For the Daily

FILM REVIEW

As women, how 
are we to believe 

that we are 

respected when 
the men who’ve 
openly shown 

blatant disrespect 

toward us have 

all of the power in 

our politics?

