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