You’re American but you’re

too Black.

You’re Black but you’re too

African.

You’re African but you’re too

dark.

I’m sick of being told what I

am and what I am not.

You say I’m too much of that

but not enough of this.

Just because my looks don’t

fit your stereotyped definition

of what I should be.

Who are you to tell me who I

should be.

Whoever gave you the right to

put me in a box anyway.

You sort, prioritize, and fixate

on the different parts of me.

You think you can strip me

down until I’m no longer whole.

You fail to realize those

disparate
pieces
of
me
fit

together to make me me.

They’ve
so
specifically

shaped my worldview.

With every experience one

piece stands out from the rest

But you don’t see that.

You can only see the most

salient piece of me.

And that’s the piece you

decide to label me as.

Your lens is so narrow you

think
my
being
one
thing

automatically
makes
me

something else.

You
fail
to
see
the

intersections that make me

more than just one thing.

No one is just one thing.

I am a scholar, visionary, and

advocate.

A writer and student.

I am a fashionista and lover of

the finer things in life.

A wonderer and loyal friend.

I am adventurous, curious,

and a little unpredictable.

Intelligent and still manage

to make a fool of myself.

I am brave yet still afraid.

Because I know you watch my

every steps in dismay.

Just waiting for me to slip

up and prove to you that I am

nothing more than a mistake.

That you can erase several

bullets at a time.

So everyday while you put on

your vest to protect yourself

From my just living life, trying

to do me, ever so freighting to

you self

I put on a smile, wear school

apparel, avoid dark hoodies, and

keep my hands where you can

see them

In hopes that your loaded gun

doesn’t see my dark skin as a

threat.

To the Black men I love and

have never met, I see you.

I saw this tweet today.

“a young Black man was

LYNCHED. yes, in America. yes,

in 2018. yes, for real. no, it wasn’t

covered by the media. no, it’s not

trending on Twitter. no, it wasn’t

an accident. SAY HIS NAME:

DANYE JONES. SAY HIS NAME:

DANYE JONES. SAY HIS NAME:

DANYE JONES.”

I’m struggling to put into words

or writing what I think about this.

The words, along with the image

that I didn’t see of Danye’s body,

float around in my mind. I am

unable to grasp any of them. Danye

Jones, the son of a prominent

Black activist in Ferguson, Mo.,

was found hanging from a tree

in his mother’s backyard. I am

both surprised and not surprised

that something as horrible as this

has happened. Just the other day

two Black people were shot in

a grocery store, just because they

were Black. The killer said to a

white man who stood up to him

that he didn’t have to worry about

getting killed because “whites

don’t kill whites.” What?

So now I have one more thing

to think about when I’m in a

public space and white people are

present.

Am I just a person, or am I a

target that day?

Now, I have a lynching to add

into my internal list of reasons to

feel uneasy in public. I thought … I

don’t know what I thought.

I just never thought I’d read

about someone being lynched

today. That’s a piece of news that

I never thought would be current

in my lifetime. However, a small

part of me feared something like

this could happen after the 2016

presidential election, but a bigger

part of me thought things could

never get this bad.

At the people who voted for

Donald Trump: Yes, I’m still mad

at you. Why? Because you gave

someone power who didn’t need

it. His power and support of white

supremacists has brought these

people into the light in a way

where they don’t feel exposed,

they just feel accepted and

empowered. Instead of allowing

them to be the ones with fear, you

have brought new fears to me.

On some days it feels silly to even

worry about how my race may

affect my safety; yet on others, it’s

a prominent thought.

Do you, Trump Voter, ever

have to experience any days like

this? My guess is no. What are the

reasons people gave to explain

why you guys voted that way?

You were poor??? That was your

reason for letting this happen?

Self-interest? Oh wait, no —

maybe you weren’t poor. Maybe

you were in business, and despite

literally any single negative fact

about Trump, you thought voting

for him was a good decision.

You rejoiced at the end of the

night during the 2016 election

when your man, your white

supremacist, your sexist, your

rapist in chief, Donald J. Trump,

won the 2016 election.

But what exactly did you think

it would lead to?

Did you think it would lead to

a lynching?

I did.

“Oh but that’s ridiculous, there’s

checks and balances for this kind

of thing. You don’t need to worry.

He won’t get out of hand.” Is

that really true? What about the

people who feel empowered by

him? Who’s keeping any of those

people in check? Does it matter

to you, Trump Voter, what I’m

going through? What any person

in the United States who is not a

Brad or Chad is going through?

Does it matter to you, 53 percent

of white women who voted for

Trump, the news I read today

about Danye Jones’ lynching?

Your identity as women will

come with oppression, but your

whiteness brings a relative sense

of security that I don’t have. What

do you think about when you

hear that information? A part of

me sinks every time I hear about

another Black person being killed

in the news. There are times when

I have to take a break from the

news because I can’t keep seeing

over and over that no matter how

many times we insist that it does,

my life does not matter.

But how do you react? Do you

care?

Do you revel in this information,

appearing to care online yet

silently smiling to yourself when

you read the headlines? Do you

outwardly proclaim your hate for

anyone who isn’t white? Are you

happy? Was it worth this? Was

protecting … essentially nothing,

honestly, more important than

Danye Jones’ life? To you it was.

And you are to blame. Did you

hang anyone? No.

But you did.

Almost a week ago, in an

assignment for my screenwriting

class, each student had to post

two ideas and two comments on

the class Canvas page for a short

script that we hoped to write. My

class is overwhelmingly white

and male and so, just to shake the

table a bit, I made one of my ideas

the almost autobiographical tale

of a burnt-out grad and her gay

part-Black best friend. It would, I

hoped, in an ambitious 10 pages,

cover the questions of success,

failure and identity, but frankly,

aside from the extensiveness

of the plot, I had doubts about

posting the idea at all. Mostly, I

was afraid, especially as the sole

Black person in my class (I’m one

of at most four Black people in

ALL of my classes this semester),

to be the person who makes it

all about race. Yet everything is

about race — a fact of which I

would soon be reminded as I

completed the task.

As I scrolled through everyone

else’s idea posts, looking for a

place to leave my remarks, I came

across one of my classmates’

submissions and stopped scrolling

instinctively, guffawing. When

a
Black
frontierswoman
is

terrorized
by
ex-Confederate

soldiers in the Wild West, began

the student, whom we can call

Justin for now, she must choose

between fleeing or fighting alone.

Objectively, I didn’t have an issue

with the script, except for the

fact that Justin is a white male.

Subjectively, I wondered aloud,

again, why people wrote from

perspectives they didn’t know.

Now, this isn’t to say that writing

from any identity outside of your

own is off-limits — it isn’t. But

when I realized Justin would

most likely be using the n-word in

his script, for “authenticity,” I felt

the writing of oppression should

be left to those who experience

that type of oppression.

Explaining
this
thought

requires the question: Can white

people make a race-based film?

The answer is yes, but only if

we’re not necessitating it to be

a nuanced or sophisticated one.

Consider the films “Detroit” by

Kathryn Bigelow and “Django

Unchained”
by
Quentin

Tarantino — both are innovative

and
interesting
works
but

neither really say something

new of racial strife, only serving

to remind the people that they

are central players in historical

oppression, in graphic form. For

a racial group that, despite their

intentions, can only ever be on

the “winning” end of racism,

writing about race and racists

initiates the regeneration of one-

dimensionally racist characters

— old white men with old white

minds, unabashed Neo-Nazis

and unafraid wizards of the Ku

Klux Klan — a dangerous pattern

that obscures the shape-shifting

manifestations of racism in the

current day.

For
white
people,
racial

oppression is an easy plot device

that instantly makes a movie

“deeper.” For Black people, racial

oppression is an everyday reality

that we don’t have to go see

on screen. Unless it’s like “Get

Out,” a movie written for Black

people by Black people to show

the intricacy of racism with an

unmatched sensitivity, there’s

nothing new that can be said in

a movie about the twisted past

and present of racism as long as

it’s not working to write racists

with nuance, who, if we’re

being completely candid with

ourselves, are most likely people

a lot like Justin.

I’m not gonna lie, I love

Bollywood’s masala movies as

much as the next person. But it

wasn’t until I watched a non-

commercial film that I realized

how much my perception of the

industry is shaped by those in

power. I was just in India for a

couple weeks and while I was there

I watched a movie that I had never

heard of before: AndhaDhun didn’t

feature any stars that I would

consider “big”, yet the entire cast

is very experienced and critically-

acclaimed. The movie itself is one

of the best I’ve seen come out of

Bollywood in ages.

I watch Hindi movies to stay

connected to my roots. But it

wasn’t until I saw Andhadhun

that I realized I have a singular

idea of what Bollywood and “my

roots” look like. I decide which

Hindi films I want to watch based

on who is in the movie, rather

than what the movie is about. The

big players in the industry - the

Khans, the Kapoors, and anyone

that Karan Johar casts in a film

- influence which movies I deem

worth seeing.

This may not be problematic

in itself - naturally, you’re going

to watch the movies that feature

celebrities you like. However, it’s

important to examine exactly why

you like those particular actors

over others. My favorite actors are

the ones in the movies I grew up

watching: Hrithik Roshan, Kajol,

Kareena Kapoor, Madhuri Dixit,

Aamir Khan, Priyanka Chopra,

and Preity Zinta … they’re the big

stars of the 90s and early 2000s

and the movies they starred in are

the ones I watch when I’m sick,

when I’m bored, and when I’m

just feeling nostalgic. But, I didn’t

decide who my favorite actors of

the current generation are based

on their acting ability - I love

Ranveer Singh, Deepika Padukone,

Siddharth Malhotra, and Aditya

Roy Kapoor because they were in

commercial movies and they were

interviewed on Koffee with Karan.

They’re
not
terrible
actors…

in fact, I would argue Ranveer

Singh is an excellent actor! Yet,

Rajkumar Rao, Kangana Ranaut,

Radhika Apte, and Ayushmann

Khurrana (the main actor in

AndhaDhun) most definitely have

incredible acting skills. Yet, when I

think of my favorites celebrities, or

even Bollywood as a whole, their

names don’t come to mind.

Because of this, I have most

likely deprived myself of so many

great films. I’m so focused on

getting myself to the movie theater

to see the commercial films with

the big name actors that I never

even realized that I’m missing out

on some really great content. The

fault isn’t entirely mine though -

the bigger stars have more money,

more industry connections, and

more name recognition (thank

you nepotism) so their movies

get advertised here in the United

States more than movies with not

so famous actors. Yet, the movie

theaters make their decisions

based on what the audience wants.

So, if I make a more dedicated

effort to actually go to the theater

and watch the movies that don’t

feature a Kapoor or a Khan,

then maybe the theaters will

start promoting them more and

they’ll be more popular. Watching

AndhaDhun has made me decide

to prioritize the quality of films

over who is in them. And I hope

Bollywood’s audience will also

move in this direction as well. I see

this happening a little bit already,

as movies like AndhaDhun did

better at the box office than

Namaste England, which featured

two stars born into prominent

Bollywood families. It may not be

an immediate shift, but I hope this

means more high-quality films -

featuring actors who worked their

way into the industry instead of

being born into it - are advertised

more and actually premiered in

theaters in the United States, so I

can go watch them!

On the intersection of complicity, racism, and violence in America

Yoni Ki Baat Showcase: Through the lens of your gun

Bollywood elitism & AndhaDhun
People of Color’s oppression

shouldn’t be your creative tool

MICHELLE FAN/Daily

AAREL CALHOUN
MiC Contributor

ZAINAB BHINDARWALA
MiC Senior Editor

KAI MASON
MiC Blogger

HALIMAT OLANIYAN
MiC Blogger

3A — Monday, November 12, 2018
Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

a lynching in
2018