When I called my mom last
week, she said: “You should not
come back at this moment. Stay
safe and stay warm.” I knew
how much they miss me as I
haven’t been home for a year.
A home I can’t come back and
a family can’t reunion. That’s
how
coronavirus
separated
thousands of families in China.
68,500 is the number who
got infected by coronavirus,
and 1,665 is the number of
deaths caused by coronavirus,
with the oldest aged 89 and the
youngest aged 1 months. What
people read from the news
are just emotionless numbers,
but beneath those numbers
are those patients’ stories and
sufferings. If people don’t know
their helplessness, sadness and
fear, they are just numbers.
Numbers can be emotionless,
objective and calm. But humans
can’t be.
The 7-month-old baby girl is
just ready to see the beautiful
view
in
the
world
while
coronavirus attacked her. All her
family members got infected.
She, on her own, stays in the
ICU. Every breath she takes is
a fight to her fate. The beautiful
and sweet angel is taking the
biggest challenge in her life.
Will she grow up safe and
sound?
I hope.
A 90-year-old woman kneels
to beg the doctors to save her
65-year-old son who is dying
because of coronavirus.
“Please stay alive, my boy.”
Her sight can’t leave her son
until they shut the door of the
ward.
The long goodbye.
Will the son see his mother
again?
I hope.
An eight-year-old boy was left
home alone because his parents
are doctors who were sent to
help in Wuhan. While others are
busy blaming his irresponsible
parents, what they don’t know is
how desperate and difficult the
situation is, causing his parents
to make this choice. But there
are thousands of children at
their son’s age, screaming and
begging, waiting for doctors to
save their lives. At that moment,
their identities were not just
parents, but also doctors. Do
they worry about their own son?
Of course, they do. Do they ever
have a choice? No, they don’t.
“I never consider myself
as noble. It just I have never
become a deserter in my life and
neither did this time,” his father
said.
Will his parents come back
soon?
I hope.
While on the other side of
the world, another fear attacked
the Chinese, or more broadly,
Asians.
As long as people who have
yellow skin, black eyes and black
hair, and as long as they wear face
masks to protect themselves,
they are considered to be people
who carry coronavirus and they
get attacked because of how
they look.
“We don’t accept Chinese
customers for Coronavirus.” An
announcement of a nail salon in
the United States.
“Chinese kids should stay
home and isolated.” An Australia
back-to-school plea.
“Coronavirus is made in
China.” A headline of a German
newspaper.
A German-Asian man got
attacked
by
strangers
just
because he was Asian, but he
hasn’t been back to China for
almost thirty years.
A
13-year-old
Chinese
football player was cursed by
his contestants, “I wish you got
sick,” in a spring football match
in Milan. He cried and left but
was ignored by the judge.
What is wrong with this
world?
Everyone
can
get
sick,
and people should never feel
ashamed because they are sick.
On one side of the world,
people were attacked by this
virus; on other sides of the
world, people were attacked
by people. When it comes to
disaster, the real fear is not the
disaster itself but always to be
humane.
Virus kills life but racism kills
mind.
The next time when I call my
mom; I hope her answer is “It’s
time for you to come home.”
The 7-month-old baby could
open her eyes to see the world.
The 65-year-old man could
embrace his mother. The eight-
year-old boy could stay with his
parents. And, every Asian living
abroad could have a normal and
peaceful life.
And I hope all this will
happen in the near future.
After watching the Netflix
miniseries, When They See Us,
I was brought to tears by the
manipulation of innocence and
infuriated with the acceptance
of injustice. The episodes invited
me to understand the story of the
Exonerated Five beyond a news
headline and reshaped my view
of the carceral state.
When I heard that one of the
members of the Exonerated Five,
Yusef Salaam, was coming to the
University of Michigan to give a
lecture, I cleared my schedule
and anticipated the moment I
would finally meet the person
whose story I was so familiar
with. I was eager to absorb all
the knowledge Salaam acquired
through
his
extraordinary
experiences, and I awaited a
stimulating
discussion
about
incarceration
and
wrongful
convictions.
My
expectations
were limited to what I saw in
the Netflix series and I did not
anticipate that I would resonate
with Salaam’s lecture to the
extent that I did.
Salaam
began
his
lecture
narrating his perspective of
the story depicted in When
They See Us, and sharing other
aspects of his experience that
weren’t
televised.
He
then
went on to discuss his life
through another lens. Salaam
is a practicing Muslim and he
made sure to establish that
aspect of his identity during the
lecture.
Salaam
emphasized
his use of religion as a means to
remain hopeful throughout his
incarceration and as a reason
to be grateful for his wrongful
conviction. He told the audience
how his name predicted his
future, sharing the story in the
Quran about Prophet Yusef, a
man who was imprisoned for a
rape he didn’t commit, and was
later exonerated.
I felt chills throughout my
body the moment Salaam recited
the shahada (Muslim profession
of faith), “la ilaha illa llah.”
Salaam was not ashamed of his
faith and he did not try to silence
his spirituality. As a Muslim
woman of color, I rarely hear my
identity spoken about in that way.
Hearing Salaam celebrate my
religion to a crowd that wasn’t
predominantly Muslim was so
encouraging.
The
confidence
he exuded for his Islamic faith
was especially inspiring to me
as I have always tried to limit
outward expression of my faith.
Though this event made me
proud of my religion, it also
led me to realize a key element
missing from my life.
This one and a half-hour
lecture was one of the most
positive
representations
that
I have had for my religious
identity in my life. It was also
one of the only times I have
seen another Muslim profess
their faith to a crowd this large,
aside from a Mosque or Islamic
event. Salaam’s confidence has
encouraged me to express my
love for my religion freely, but
more importantly, to address the
lack of accurate representation
that Muslims face. Growing up,
I witnessed the media alienate
Muslim Americans and portray
them as separate from American
society.
After
listening
to
Salaam speak about Islam, I felt
American. Despite every lie told
about my religion, the lecture
made me feel as if I belonged.
This was an unusual feeling;
yet, it allowed me to understand
how important representation
is for Muslim Americans. In
order for Muslims to feel that
they belong in America, they
must see a diversified, human
representation of themselves in
media, politics, and everyday life.
I came to Yusef Salaam’s
lecture to learn more about one
of the men featured in When
They See Us. I was not prepared
to learn so much about my own
identity.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Monday, February 24, 2020 — 3A
When I See You
XINYUAN LUO
MiC Contributor
NOOR MOUGHNI
MiC Columnist
I waded in the ocean as a prayer to wash my soul clean.
I honored the idea that salt might stick to my wounds, might mend the flesh, let me be holy.
Time sometimes feels as though it slows in South America, like it is consumed by the ebb and flow of my life.
Like I control it, like maybe I could consume it - let it drip into me.
I saw the sun rise and set over the Atlantic Ocean.
This university.
The Brooklyn Bridge.
I saw it from behind hospital walls.
Maybe that was home. I spent four seasons here with the sun.
I felt life itself discard me, venture beyond me dragging me through, and, also, I felt it coming to a complete halt.
I swam in the Atlantic under the moon.
I looked in the mirror and I didn’t recognize myself. I looked in the mirror and I fell in love with myself.
I learned to seek a home in what I value. I learned gratitude.
That feeling of empty helplessness that sometimes weighs heavy on my stomach, and the euphoria of losing
myself to the sun and to my soul share the same weight. They create me.
Every second on this earth: lungs inhaling, palms stretched toward the sun, it all matters immensely.
I create my own hope.
I create my own strength.
I am the master of my reality.
ANA MARIA SANCHEZ-CASTILO
MiC Co-Managing Editor
Photo courtesy of the author
Illustration from Gabrielle Union’s Instagram.
Portrait of the Wade Family, originally posted on Gabrielle Union’s Instagram.
“Sanctum”
I N O U R U N I V E R S E
FINE-
TUNING
FRED C.ADAMS
Ta-You Wu Collegiate Professor of
Physics and Professor of Astronomy
T H E D E G R E E O F
FEBRUARY 25, 2020
4:00PM
PALMER COMMONS
FORUM HALL
A public lecture and reception.
For information please call (734) 615-6667.
“What’s the point of being on
this earth if you’re going to try to
be someone you’re not?” - Zaya
Wade
I felt a true form of Black
joy this past week when I
watched Zaya Wade speak her
truth. She’s the daughter of the
legendary
actress,
Gabrielle
Union, and former NBA player,
Dwayne Wade. On February
11th, during an interview on the
Ellen Degeneres Show, Dwayne
shared with the world that his
daughter’s name is now Zaya and
her pronouns are she/her.
Later that same day, Zaya’s
mom posted a video of her where
she shared some powerful words
with her dad. I admire Zaya’s
power of knowing who she is
and being able to express that to
the world in the face of racism,
homophobia,
and
now
the
transphobia that this 12-year-old
has faced by thousands of people
online. This is a courageous act
of bravery. Of love.
What really stood out to
me about this situation is how
supportive and understanding
her parents and siblings are.
Coming out — or deciding
not to — is a difficult thing
for the vast majority of queer
and trans people, because the
announcement is not always
met with acceptance. LGBTQ+
youth,
especially
young
transgender folks of color, are
disproportionately
abused,
kicked out and left houseless
because their families disown
them. So when Dwayne Wade
said, “Me and my wife… we are
proud parents of a child in the
LGBTQ+ community. And we’re
proud allies as well. And we take
our roles and our responsibilities
as
parents
very
seriously,”
during his Ellen interview, it felt
radical to me. When queer and
trans people are able to stand
up and defend themselves, it’s
powerful but it also sets a great
example for people outside of the
community to proudly provide
support as well.
In addition to that, Zaya’s
brother,
Zaire,
posted
a
heartwarming Instagram post
dedicated to his little sister. He
states, “I’ve told you that I would
lay my life down to make sure
you are ten toes down and happy
on this earth. I don’t care what
they think Z, you are my best
friend and I love you kid, and if
it means anything, just know
there’s no love lost on this side.”
Bring out the tissues right now;
I’m completely in my feelings!
In
all
seriousness,
public
examples
of
unfiltered
acceptance and love for Black
folks are what we need to see
on a regular basis and practice
in all of our lives. I want to
clarify that I do not identify as
transgender or non-binary and
do not claim these identities
in any form. However, I do
know that Black trans women
are disproportionately victims
of
intra-communal
violence
and hate. I do hear how some
Black people, from elders to
kids, degrade LGBTQ+ folks
— especially trans folks. The
transphobic
aggressions
that
Black trans women face, both
systemically
and
personally,
are not few or far-between.
This is definitely not a problem
that is unique to just the Black
community
but
happens
to
people within all racial groups.
This opens up the larger issue
of highlighting the intersections
of problems within communities.
We
desperately
need
the
privileged
(yes,
cisgender
heterosexual men and women
of color, you do have privilege)
to lift up those who are more
marginalized and silenced. We
need to pay attention to all issues
pertaining to gaining power
by centering those within the
community who have the least
power.
That is why seeing an example
of Black heterosexual, cisgender
folks fully accepting and loving
their Black trans family member
is so beautiful to me. They are
setting an example for families
to listen to one another. To take
the time to educate themselves.
To have an open mind. They are
proudly sharing their journey of
growing as a family and loving
each
other
unconditionally
through this process. As a
community as a whole, I believe
Black folks need to look at the
ways in which we can do better
at supporting the marginalized
people
within
our
already
marginalized community. We
have to love one another in
celebration of our differences.
Black life can’t matter until ALL
Black lives matter, including
Black trans girls. You are not free
until we’re ALL free.
CAMILLE MOORE
MiC “Off the Record” Blogger
Unconditional Black Love
Here I am, cooking in my
apartment’s
kitchen.
My
heart beats joyfully with
the rhythm of stirring. My
boyfriend slurps the rib soup
to check if it’s ready. Wait,
why did you start eating?
It’s New Year’s Eve.
Here we are, sitting at a
round table. The steam of
sticky rice ribs billows from
the dish. I hear someone’s
stomach rumbling. Oops, it’s
mine.
We have no idea what is
behind the facade of peace.
Jan. 23, Wuhan closed
the whole city due to a
coronavirus
outbreak.
I
was shocked. Never had I
imagined that China would
face such a serious condition
after SARS. Why? Because
we were told we were safe.
A few weeks ago, 8 people
were
arrested
in
Wuhan
because they were spreading
“rumors” about the disease.
What’s next? 14 doctors were
infected by their patients
because they knew nothing
about the virus.
Here
we
are,
enjoying
the
big
dinner
while
checking the news updates.
A title catches my eye: “An
employee in China Customs
retained the donated masks
for Wuhan.” A few moments
later, the news disappears.
Quiet.
The same thing happens
everyday.
Again.
AND
AGAIN.
The
death
toll
increases everyday, and it
hurts. What hurts even more
is
our
government
keeps
hiding the real number from
us. What if people find out
the truth of the death from
someone they love? In the
so-called suspected cases,
how
many
of
them
are
already in the past tense?
A citizen in Wuhan visited
every major hospital in the
city and posted what he
saw online. He wanted us to
know the truth. So I saw.
Body Bags
Crying Faces
Masks
And More Body Bags
That great citizen was
arrested two weeks later, and
the police said he was under
quarantine. So we shut up.
Quiet.
Billions of supplies were
sent to Wuhan, from all
over the world. The poorest
people donated their life
savings, because they believe
it can help their siblings a
little bit. What they don’t
know is the supplies never
get to people in need. Wuhan
Red Cross kept the supplies
intact in their warehouse.
Simultaneously,
countless
online shops shipped from
Wuhan
popped
up
from
nowhere, selling face masks,
liquid disinfectant and so
forth.
Here is the best joke of
the century: I bought the
supplies I donated.
I saw the health workers
in the front lines making
face masks and coveralls
using plastic bags with their
ever-whiter hands, bleached
by
all
the
disinfectant.
They pleaded for supplies
with no reply. Another day,
a
government
car
drove
right into the Red Cross
warehouse, took out boxes
of high-quality face masks;
a day later, no trace of this
event could be found.
Quiet.
Please,
say
something,
before I lose the courage
to
believe.
My
heart
is
bleeding.
If
the
cost
of
being quiet is the life of our
brothers and sisters, why
shouldn’t we stop it? Is this
really happening, in the 21st
century, in China?
I love my country, as much
as I hate what I see these
days. The last thing I want
is to see my beloved country
building up on lies. We could
have known the seriousness
of
the
virus
earlier;
we
could have saved more of our
people; we could have stood
united.
The
virus
outbreak,
surprisingly,
unveiled
the
true color of this great nation
— a rickety interior under
the impressive facade. How
much time will it take for
them to realize the so-called
“stability maintenance” is
only a placebo, not the real
medicine? Until then, how
much more do we still have
to lose?
I don’t want to be Quiet.
“I Hope”
PATRICIA CHANG
MiC Contributor
“A Quite Place”