A few weeks ago, I had the
pleasure of visiting the Pan-African
Pulp exhibition at the University
of Michigan Museum of Arts. This
part of the museum showcases art
by Meleko Mogosi, a South African
painter. Now, his art was nowhere
near mediocre. Each piece revealed
a different layer of the nuanced topic
that is the black experience. Some
parts of the exhibit paid tribute
to a magazine comic that shed
light on the different oppressions
that were common across Africa.
Another showcased the many black
women who have contributed to
the progression of the Pan-African
movement. Seeing the history and
culture of my people depicted so
intricately and colorfully caused me
to stand in awe. As I continued to take
in my surroundings though, the tour
guide pointed out one piece of the
exhibit that she didn’t give the same
in depth analyzation of.
This picture piece (part of which
is pictured above) was, in my opinion,
almost like multiple paintings in one.
One part of the picture portrayed
two men wrestling while two others
watched. Though I admired the
artistic skill needed to draw the detail
in their muscles, the connection that
these fighting men had to the larger
idea of the black struggle wasn’t
clear to me initially. Apparently I
wasn’t the only one because someone
else asked the tour guide for an
interpretation. The guide responded
with, “I’m not sure, I think it just
represents ritual spectator sport,
maybe it’s a ritual in certain parts
of the continent.” Some might have
been underwhelmed by this answer,
but I was personally intrigued. This
simplistic
interpretation
of
this
part of the painting highlighted
something that is missing from
mainstream visual art - black people
just living their lives.
As I reflected on this, I realized
that
this
same
sentiment
also
translates to Black representation in
media and film. In the same way in
which we are regularly exposed to
romantic comedies, fairytale dramas,
and action movies starring other
races of people, we do not get that
same variety when it comes to movies
with a predominantly Black cast.
Most of the recent movies that have a
noticeable Black presence are stories
about the struggles of being Black.
When I approached the tour
guide after the presentation was
over, we talked more about the
partial simplicity of this piece. We
agreed that while stories about
the Black experience still need to
be told, it is still frustrating to only
be able to see Black people on the
screen when we’re “performing our
race” and racial traumas for other
people’s entertainment. There needs
to be a balance. A balance between
Black struggles and Black smiles, a
reminder to everyone that we don’t
always have to be a superhero to be
worth the time of day. A sentiment
that goes far beyond Hollywood.
In a world that still tells us that
we have to be twice as good to get
half as much, it would be nice if
Hollywood didn’t reiterate the same
message. The tour guide told me that
contemporary discourse calls the
need for more regular depiction of
Black people as “the need for more
Black mediocrity.”
Though the plethora of recent
movies about people of my race
overcoming struggles has immensely
fueled my sense of hope, I think
that we’ll never truly be at a point
of holistic, all-encompassing Black
representation until we are able
to normalize “black mediocrity”
depicted in black art.
In the midst of the 10-year
anniversary of League of Legends,
a multiplayer online battle arena
(MOBA) game by Riot Games, I
find myself reflecting on the too
many hours that I’ve spent on
LoL alongside its other 80-million
monthly players. When my cousin
introduced me to the game in 2011,
the champion (LoL’s name for its
characters) Ahri, an overly seductive,
spellcasting representation of Korea’s
mythic nine-tailed fox, had just been
released. She blew sparkly pink kisses
as weapons, quickly became an icon
for furries and e-girls everywhere,
and was essentially a sex-positive
woman of color, so I had to start
playing as her immediately. Eight
years and eight Ahri skins later, I’ve
returned to occasional nights spent
on League of Legends for the same
reasons that I began: bonding with
my friends as I developed my online
literacy skills within the most toxic
environment possible.
Not only was I the ripe age of
eleven when I started playing LoL
with my cousin and his friends,
but I was also a 4-foot-something,
unintimidating
fairy
of
a
boy.
Although personal information is
completely hidden from other players
on LoL, your in-game performance
may make you a target for users
to verbally harass you based on
sheer assumptions about your play
style and character. Like any other
competitive activity, playing LoL
meant that you sometimes played not
so well. When you don’t play well, you
can be guaranteed that the other nine
anonymous players in the game are
eager to flame you with their highly
inappropriate arsenal of identity-
based insults, threats to report you
after the game, and general offensive
language that seems to be accessible
to people who can’t seem to act right
in real life. As I honed my skills, I
became increasingly desensitized to
whatever may be said in the in-game
chat room, eventually learning that
rather than any lack of game playing
skills, many players haven’t quite
leveled up their online social skills.
A year after I started playing,
Riot Games introduced their Honor
system with the purpose of rewarding
players’ positive behavior in the form
of points across three categories:
Stayed Cool, Great Shotcalling, and
GG <3. During a game, I don’t usually
say a lot to anybody that I’m playing,
save for the occasional “good job” and
“thank u,” because typing will take
me further out of the game as if I’m
not already blasting Blackpink in my
AirPods while I fled from the enemy
team. It amazed me just how often
that I’m honored by my teammates
as a result of being nothing more than
civil. The most “honorable” games
that I’ve played have been when
my team has cooperated with each
other without any negative judgment
upon our mistakes or missed plays.
When your team is comprised of
your friends, honor is second as to
having fun. Trolling only becomes
kinda funny once you figure out
that someone is trolling… and if that
someone is you.
With time, I learned how to master
my champion and how to stay calm in
LoL: just play. Hating the player won’t
lead to them doing any better — if
anything, they’ll perform even worse.
Hating the game defeats the entire
purpose of playing. After all, if you’re
not having fun, why are you playing?
And if you’re playing alongside a
user named “Kendall Janna,” then /
all gg <3
You know the drill: On the first day
of class, you go through some less-
than-stellar icebreaker, you try not to
fall asleep as the professor reads the
syllabus, you count the minutes until
you can be let out early. Depending
on how long the professor spends
on the syllabus, you could leave ten
minutes early or thirty minutes early
or an hour early.
Some
instructors
—
in
my
experience, two graduate students
and one tenured professor — spend
extra time discussing diversity,
equity, and inclusion; accessibility;
Title IX; and mental health, all of
which I appreciate, because have
you seen the standard LS&A blurbs
on these issues? They’re scant, one-
paragraph descriptions that barely
scratch the surface of these concerns.
Some instructors don’t bother to add
the bare minimum into their syllabi
at all.
And on the opposite end, you have
the professors who go out of their
way to tell you about why they didn’t
add something onto the syllabus,
namely, content or trigger warnings.
This happened once my freshman
year in a history class and once this
semester in an English class. In my
history course, after the professor
went on a short rant on how trigger
warnings coddled students, a few
people in the class argued with
him, which eventually turned into a
thirty-minute discussion on trigger
warnings. In my English course, the
professor explained he didn’t add
content or trigger warnings to the
syllabus because they would spoil the
books we would be reading.
Of
course,
you
can’t
avoid
harrowing topics that have already
occurred in history or that have been
published in print forever. People
respond to triggers differently, too;
it could be a smell or a color, rather
than the name of the subject itself,
that pulls the person out of the
moment and into an anxiety or panic
attack, or worse.
But that doesn’t mean that
content/trigger warnings shouldn’t
be present in syllabi. To the
argument about how they insulate
students from hard-hitting topics:
it isn’t like content warnings make
it mandatory that students avoid
the topic (although I recognize that
some students will take advantage
of this to just skip some readings; but
don’t we do that already anyways?).
Rather, they’re supposed to function
as warnings, as the name suggests,
to be aware that a particular week’s
reading or lecture will touch upon an
issue that could be mentally harmful
for the student. If the warnings are
meant for those who have already
experienced the trauma at hand,
then the coddling argument becomes
a bit porous, since students who
have undergone trauma are far from
having been insulated, and have
experienced something that can’t be
taught in a classroom.
As for the argument about spoilers
in the English classroom — the
content warning doesn’t have to go
into great detail about what happens
in the book. It could be as general as
“this novel touches upon issues of
racial and sexual violence,” which is
something you might already find in
a summary or book review. If you’re
really concerned about spoilers over
students’ mental health and well-
being, then you could go even more
general than that and say, “this
novel touches upon issues that may
be disturbing or triggering for some
students.”
Exploring alternative
femininity through the
Asian Baby Girl
A term that gets thrown
around a lot in the Asian
American
community
is
“Asian Baby Girl,” or “ABG”
for short. An ABG is known
to frequent raves, have bleach
blonde tips, sport tattoos,
date b-boys and, without
hesitation,
fight
anyone
talking
smack
about
her.
Some people jokingly describe
themselves as ABGs while
others aspire to be them.
My feelings about the ABG
have been complicated. I grew
up in a mostly traditional
Vietnamese household, where
I was taught that femininity
was exemplified by softness
and reservation, which really
meant
being
submissive
in practice. I always held
my tongue around elders
(including a cousin who was
only six months older than
I was) because they were
supposed to know best. Out
of “respect” for myself and
those
surrounding
me,
I
had to uphold a modest and
natural appearance — I was
not allowed to dye my hair or
wear makeup. I never would
have dreamed about doing
any of the things associated
with the ABG lifestyle lest my
family disown me.
During my college years,
however, I learned to see the
ABG’s way of life not as an
antithesis to femininity but
as a valid, alternative form of
it. Her glam makeup defies
conservative
Asian
beauty
standards and affirms the
presence of people of color in
the cosmetic industry, whose
products
and
techniques
have long been created to
specifically
complement
white women’s features. At
the same time, her knowledge
of American pop culture and
taste for streetwear are a
reminder that she grew up
in the States and that this is
her home too. In short, the
ABG exudes a uniquely Asian
American sense of femininity.
I admire the ABG for being
unapologetic about herself
and her interests.
Recently, after a family
friend witnessed an argument
between me and my father,
she asked my father if he
regretted having a daughter,
suggesting that I had failed
as one when I challenged his
beliefs and reinforcing the
old idea that the best way to
be feminine is to be invisible.
This was a case in which a
woman was upholding the
patriarchy by keeping another
woman (me) in line, and it
made me realize that I had
been doing something similar
by dismissing the ABG for
being a “bad woman” (and
not “bad” as in attractive or
amazing, but “bad” as in the
opposite of good).
Now, do not misunderstand
me — I am not saying that
the
ABG
is
the
perfect
woman, either. I am merely
trying to show that there is
some merit in what the ABG
represents, that she is not
rebellious just for the sake of
rebellion. Though the ABG
has her faults (we should
not
go
around
throwing
punches at the first person
who
speaks
unfavorably
about us), it is refreshing to
see that a woman can defend
herself and be revered for it.
Further, those characteristics
traditionally associated with
femininity are not inherently
problematic. I do think that
I am soft, for example, but I
regard my softness as more of
a strength than a weakness. It
usually makes me empathetic
and is why, in my pre-medical
education, I care so much
about bedside manner (i.e.,
I believe that doctors should
be sensitive to their patients’
emotional needs). I do not
have to abandon the qualities
that make me who I am to
appreciate alternative forms
of femininity. Instead, I retain
the qualities that I take pride
and work to develop those that
I admire in other women. True
feminine power is exhibited
when a woman lives her life
according to her own values,
and while we should praise
women who are able to do so,
we should also be cognizant
of the social and structural
forces at play.
When you do it,
it’s not funny
/all gg
Content warning or spoiler?
May 4th, a Saturday. I was
preparing for the dorm move
out, wrapping up my first year
of college. I was waiting in
line in front of the community
center to receive a temporary
key to use over the weekend.
Residential assistants asked a
white student in front of me
if his room went through the
final inspection. He answered,
“yes, an Asian guy checked my
room.” After a short awkward
silence, the RA’s confirmed
the
inspector’s
name.
He
asked the RA’s, “was that
un-PC?” They answered, “no,
we all understand what you’re
saying.” Until then it was all
fine, but then he added, “what
if I said like slanty eyes?” The
RA’s chuckled and answered,
“oh, then it’d be tragic.”
What’s really tragic is the fact
that I couldn’t do anything
but rant about the incident
over the phone to my friend.
So-called “Hipster Racism”
refers to something racist
done in a ‘sarcastic’ way. Its
supposed point is being a
satire of racism, not racism
itself.
Sometimes,
Asians
make satires that appropriate
and reverse racist remarks
against Asians. However, if
you are not of that identity,
that context does not apply
and excuse you from making
such
remarks.
It
is
still
racism.
Listening to his words, I
felt as if all my values and
possibilities were reduced to
“slanty eyes.” For instance, I
am an international student
studying
Political
Science
and Art, writing for the Daily
and
serving
the
Student
Government. But to him, I
was nothing but “slanty eyes.”
This kind of speech tends
to disregard multiple layers
and facets of our identity,
disrespect
our
ambition,
dream, and effort. It has been
exactly a year since I came
to the United States and I
encountered
plain
racism
many times. However, even
if it is done in a satirical way,
it is just as offensive as plain
racism. Yes, I do get it, but
when you do it, it’s not funny.
SUNGMIN CHO
MiC Columnist
MONICA KIM
MiC Columnist
SEAN TRAN
MiC Blogger
We need more Black
mediocrity
KAYLA THOMAS
MiC Blogger
ELIZABETH LE
MiC Columnist
Read more online at
michigandaily.com
COURTESY OF MELEKO MOKGOSI’S WEBSITE
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Monday, November 4, 2019 — 3A