The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Monday, September 30, 2019 — 3A
ILLUSTRATION COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
ILLUSTRATION COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
I
used
this
print
for
a
collaboration with a local apparel
brand. I was excited when a
friend reached out to me asking
if he could print the design onto
hoodies to sell, especially because
it had a message behind it that
was important to me. He later
got back to me, saying his boss
was hesitant about the print, that
the Arabic was controversial and
would exclude many customers,
which I honestly found laughable
and
ironic.
The
text
reads
‘assalam ‘alaykum’ which literally
means ‘peace be with you’ and
is used as a formal greeting.
Still, someone found the fact of
the Arabic language inherently
uncomfortable and controversial.
I’m really grateful that I’m able
to elevate my voice through art
but can’t help being disappointed
and even shocked that this kind of
mentality persists.
This design was initially a
screenprint, created at the height
of the ongoing Syrian Refugee
Crisis of 2016. As a Palestinian
living in the diaspora, and with
close family ties to Syria, I felt
compelled to create work that
speaks to this humanitarian issue.
The text reads, in Arabic,
‘peace be with you,’ a phrase
often used when entering a room,
before beginning a speech, or as a
formal greeting. In other words,
welcome.
Coupled with the symbol of
intertwined arms centered on a
full circle, this artwork symbolizes
peace and acceptance of others
despite perceived differences.
I’m a wolf of the streets, I
smell your fear.
A bright sun looms over
me, dressed up in some
new clothes I had bought
for the semester, I walk
to class. Right on time, I
make my way into Mason
and lower the volume on
my headphones. The halls
are buzzing per usual and
I sense an ordinary day in
the making. My lecture hall
is lively and there are busy,
moving students all around
me as the professor prepares
his notes for the class. The
projector
luminates
the
wall in front of the room
with the introductory slide
to
his
PowerPoint.
What
seems to be the last group
of students enter through
the doors dispersing as they
please. Almost all the seats
in the lecture hall were filled
with different people from
different places. I may have
been on campus for years but
the sight of so many faces
will always be overwhelming
to me.
After putting away my
phone, I began taking out my
notebook, journal, and pens.
There’s a growing sense of
gratefulness within me as
the class begins. My water
bottle rolls to the end of my
row while I lie my backpack
down. It’s not within arm’s
reach but there’s nobody who
offers a hand. I chuckle—
there’s nobody around me
to chuckle back. My row is
empty. I forgot— I should’ve
expected it if it was any
other day. I wonder, what’s
so wrong with me? To not be
worthy enough for a single
person in this school to
willfully want to sit next to
me. I sigh, and as expected,
a couple of my fellow white
classmates turn and look
In the last several years —
for a multitude of different
reasons — many prestigious
education
institutions
and
organizations
have
made
diversity
a
higher
priority
on their to-do list. This isn’t
something these institutions
should receive too much praise
for, considering their role in
the lack of diversity in the
first place. However, the effort
is
still
respectable.
These
universities — which have
historically been a medium
of separation between white
people and people of color —
are now trying to reverse that
reputation and the societal
inequities that have resulted
from it. It almost gives the
impression that a new era of
equality is amongst us.
Though
the
future
for
the treatment of racial and
ethnic minorities in higher
education
seems
bright,
elements of the past still rear
their heads. There have been
times in which I have walked
into environments that were
relatively diverse, yet I still
saw the same segregation that
I was told disintegrated with
the Civil Rights Movement.
I have been in spaces that
have claimed to value the
experiences
of
different
types of people and have still
encountered people who were
not willing to consider ideas
that strayed from their own
accepted
narrative.
Even
in classes that spend time
focusing on aspects of the Black
experience, my perspective as
a Black woman has still been
devalued by people who have
never walked a day in my skin.
Me being able to walk through
the door did not guarantee my
ability to get through to the
people sitting on the other side
of them.
This is where the problem
lies.
We’ve
always
seen
diversity in terms of numbers
— specifically, the percentage
of each racial group in the
student
body.
What
we’ve
failed to realize though, is that
numbers say nothing about
the experience. One can be
in a place that is diverse and
still not receives the benefits
of being around people with
different
backgrounds
and
perspectives. This is, quite
frankly, why diversity will
never be enough. Another key
process must be incorporated
— integration.
Integration is more than
just allowing people of color to
occupy white spaces. It is also
inviting our cultures and our
opinions to have a seat at the
table. Integration is a mixture
— of what you know and what
you don’t. It is supposed to
combine — or integrate — what
people who look like you have
to offer, as well as the offerings
of everyone else who doesn’t.
Having a healthy ratio of every
race and ethnicity doesn’t cut
it.
So
far,
in
this
current
progression
towards
equal
access, we’ve turned equality
into a numbers game. But
sometimes, that game tends to
play us.
I spend a lot of time on campus
wishing that I was anywhere else.
Too much of this time ends up being
spent on Instagram, where the world
on my feed looks pinker, cutesier,
and dreamier than how most people
would see it. Instead of being an
attempt to distort the truth about my
life for likes, my Instagram feed has
become a creative outlet for my own
form of queer worldmaking.
Social media is an artificial view
of reality, in which individuals post
only the best of themselves (save for
the less than flattering and nudes
on “finstas” that I might show you
later, if we get that close). Instagram
is especially centered around sheer
aesthetic value. Many of its users,
including yeah, myself, care a great
deal about their online appearances.
When I initially began cultivating
a “theme” for my Instagram feed,
I sought to pink-wash Michigan
via an obviously saturated, highly
edited haze of filters. While it
brought me slight satisfaction to see
the collection of pictures that I had
assembled together, I quickly grew
bored of both the artificiality and
superficiality involved within my
process of picking my posts.
Lone
Wolf
Diversity isn’t
enough
ROBERTO SANCHEZ
MiC Columnist
KAYLA THOMAS
MiC Blogger
SEAN TRAN
MiC Blogger
ELIZABETH HO
MiC Blogger
Last year, the singular
Asian movie in the U.S.
was Crazy Rich Asians, a
fact agreed upon by public
consensus.
This
year,
the choice hasn’t been so
easy. Always Be My Maybe
(starring Ali Wong and
Randall Park) made waves
in
the
Asian
American
community as one of the
first American rom-coms
to star Asians. Bold and
with
appearances
from
familiar faces like Keanu
Reeves, it’s an obvious
frontrunner. But the film
that I feel best represents
my
Asian
American
experience is The Farewell.
A small film with a budget
of only $3 million, it may
not look like much, but it
has real feeling and soul.
Directed
by
Chinese
director Lulu Wang, The
Farewell is a sobering story
about how a grandmother’s
terminal diagnosis leads
the entire family to visit
her from abroad and, out
of love, hide the terrible
truth.
Perhaps
what
makes the premise and the
ensuing drama so magnetic
is the unpretentious reality
infused it is infused with.
The Farewell takes place
mostly in the industrial
city of Changchun, China.
Like many places in China,
in Changchun, you’ll want
to boil your water before
drinking it – something
we’re reminded of as soon
as the family arrives at the
hotel. The hotel rooms are
decorated
in
something
not
quite
as
cold
and
impersonal as an American
hotel, but there’s still a
faded grandeur. All told, we
arrive at an unmistakably
Chinese setting, with most
of the movie’s dialogue
being in Mandarin (with
English subtitles for a non-
native speaking audience).
And yet we view all of
this through a distinctly
Chinese
American
perspective.
Billi,
the
granddaughter
and
protagonist
(played
by
Awkwafina), occasionally
fumbles
with
her
Mandarin in a way that I
can relate to. Like Billi,
I can scrape by in light
conversation, but anything
deeper than that can pose
some
major
translation
issues. More than simply
the language barrier, the
cultural barrier is one that
proves challenging. When
her family decides to not
tell the grandmother about
her diagnosis, Billi feels
like the family’s deceit is
inherently wrong and that
it won’t bring about true
closure. However, her more
Chinese parents and uncle
and aunt make it clear that
not saying anything is a
blessing: the grandmother
will be able to live out her
final days peacefully, not
fearing death.
The
differences
and
similarities
between
Chinese
and
Chinese
Americans
are
at
the
heart of the movie. The
Farewell
demonstrates
how Chinese Americans
dance that line between
Chinese
and
American,
landing them in a no-man’s
land. Moreover, the movie
answers the hard question
of which to choose: You
can
choose
both,
and
though it can sometimes be
alienating, being American
and being Chinese aren’t
incompatible
with
each
other.
By talking about death,
The Farewell succeeds in
being a celebration of life.
Its authentic presentation
of the lives of average Asian
Americans makes it shine
brightly as one of the best
Asian American movies of
2019 and perhaps, as one of
the best movies in 2019 in
general.
Vulnerable, authentic
representation in
The Farewell
ZOYA ZALATIMO
MiC Featured Artist
ILLUSTRATION COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
at me from top to bottom.
They’re
disgusted,
who
allowed me to exhale in
such a manor.
You’re staring… I see the
side-eye, and the scared
glances but they bounce
off me. My rebuttal glares,
they pierce you however, in
an instant you look away in
disbelief. How dare I have
done the same thing. Keep
turning if you must, if your
angst continues, then you’ll
only notice my attempts to
look as repulsed as you do.
A diverse school and one
with tens of thousands of
students, yet again, I feel
so alone. Every day. Every
class. Every bus ride. The
only progress being made is
in the velocity I can make
them shy away from me.
Finally, mentioning it to my
brothers, I realize I’m far
from alone in the abyss of
solitude. I won’t change the
way I dress, how I talk, how
I walk, we don’t care about
fitting an imposed mold.
Our brown skin has been
shunned on what seems to
be a consensus and we’ve
unknowingly
been
alone
— together, this whole time.