The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, January 27, 2021 

A love letter to my nose

With your defined curve, a 

bump at the bridge followed 
by a downward plunge, you 
took over my face, never 
fitting into what I thought 
was beautiful. All around me 
were those cute button noses, 
slender with a gentle slope 
into a neat point. Even now, 
as I assess men, my eyes zero 
in on their noses, my mind 
telling me my future children 
deserve a chance to inherit a 
nose they’ll love. 

I look in a mirror and my 

hand immediately migrates to 

your tip, index finger pushing 
up gently and wondering “what 
if?” — the same hand whose 
thumb hovers over Snapchat 
stories of ‘non-surgical nose 
jobs’ whenever they (quite 
targetedly) show up on my 
feed. I often joke with my 
mom, cursing her for the genes 
that plopped you on my face.

My mother — who has an 

identical copy of you on her 
face, adorned with a light 
dusting of freckles. When 
have I ever looked at her and 
thought she was anything 
less than the most beautiful 
person in the world? Have 
my eyes once seen her nose 
consume her face, as you do 

the more I look at you? And 
why should I not afford you 
the same consideration?

When I look in the mirror 

and my eyes inevitably zero 
in on you, I’ll try to see my 
mom. I’ll see her father, a 
man who passed away when 
she was 9 but whose pictures 
could easily be those of an old 
Egyptian movie star. 

A lifetime of self-scrutiny 

imposed by deeply ingrained 
white, 
Eurocentric 
beauty 

standards will be hard to undo. 
But you are my inheritance — 
a direct link to generations 
of my family before me. How 
could I look at you now with 
anything but love? 

NADA ELDAWY

MiC Contributor

The inherent politic of STEM: 
The weaponry of the DNA test

Perhaps family is a set of 

relationships 
characterized 

by DNA or “blood,” as age-old 
proverbs may indicate. But this 
definition may not be so all-
encompassing; for one, it would 
render adoption illegitimate and 
negates what some of us consider 
our “chosen families.” When we 
shift our lens to Southeastern 
Asia, specifically Tibet, this 
rigidity surrounding the ways 
we define familial relationships 
becomes more complex.

In Carole McGranahan’s essay 

“What is a Family? Refugee 
DNA and the Possible Truths of 
Kinship,” she discusses the story 
of Tashi, a Tibetan man who 
traveled as a refugee to Canada, 
leaving his wife and four children 
in a refugee camp in south 
Asia to await the legal process 
for later family reunification. 
The 
Canadian 
government, 

which employs DNA testing to 
verify claims of family relations 
(on the inaccurate basis that 
refugees are prone to lying 
and deceiving legal systems), 
asserted that Tashi would need 
to take a DNA test to prove that 
he was his childrens’ father, as 
he had claimed he was. When 
the results of the test returned, 
it was discovered that he was 
not the biological father of his 
children, indicating that his wife 
had an extramarital affair. This 
was the first time he had heard 
of this infidelity; yet, because 
the genetic father had never 
claimed nor met the children, 
Tashi had always been the father 
of his children. According to the 
Canadian immigration process, 
Tashi was untruthful and not 
the father of his children. But in 
Tibet, this test indicates nothing 
about the truth — or lack thereof 
— of Tashi’s fatherhood.

The familial structure in Tibet 

can be described as patrilineal 
and 
sometimes 
polyandrous. 

Perhaps, 
though, 
assigning 

Western names and concepts 
to this may lead us astray in 
our understanding of Tibetan 
society. 
Non-genetic 
fathers 

may claim children that are not 
genetically related to them and, 
if not bound by marriage, genetic 
fathers 
can 
choose 
whether 

or not to claim their children. 
Whether or not children are 
absorbed into the patrilineage 
determines their roles in society 
and within the family. In a 
polyandrous family, wherein a 
Tibetan woman is married to a 

set of brothers, all husbands are 
equally considered father by all 
her children. It is worth noting 
as well that extramarital affairs 
are not accepted in traditional 
Tibetan society and often result 
in physical punishment. But, 
knowledge of infidelity does not 
cancel out a father’s paternity 
of his children. Thus, family in 
Tibet much more than a biological 
marking — it is a system of care, 
kinship beyond blood and mutual 
understanding and service. 

DNA testing in the Western 

world is often the ultimate truth 
of fatherhood. TV shows, such 
as “Maury” and “The Jerry 
Springer 
Show,” 
have 
their 

premise entirely based on testing 
paternity 
genealogically. 
The 

moment that the test results 
are revealed, fathers (or non-
fathers) jump for joy, revel in an 
I-told-you-so moment, or hang 
their heads in despair. And in 
that moment, they choose how 
to define their relationship with 
the child they may or may not 
have previously known — or at 
the least, they begin to wonder 
what they will do. This is a 
significant determinant of their 
fatherhood and their relationship 
(or lack thereof) with the child. 
Understanding DNA testing as 
truth requires a rigid, medicalized 
lens, wherein the concept of 
family has entered the purview 
of medicine and is therefore 
intrinsically 
biomedical; 
in 

this 
medicalized 
perspective, 

family is defined strictly by 
genetic and biological indicators. 
Immigration 
processes 
in 

Canada, which require the use of 
DNA testing, are thus completely 
closed off to those who view their 
families and communities as 
anything other than biological. 
And as McGranahan argues, DNA 
testing relies on “categories of 
belonging that do not necessarily 
belong to the group being tested.” 
Canada’s 
family 
reunification 

process is more than simply 
a matter of truth versus lie; 
instead, it is a carefully exacted 
aim at determining worthiness 
based on Western conceptions 
and an actualization of harmful 
stereotypes and misconceptions 
about 
immigrants 
through 

biological tools.

In Tashi’s story, family is 

medicalized, 
and 
institutions 

— in this case, the Canadian 
government and its immigration 
process 
— 
employ 
biopower 

(biological 
methods 
used 
to 

exert sociopolitical control over 
populations) to decide who is 
worthy of entry and livelihood. 
The 
biomedical 
perspective 

employed by the immigration 
forces 
directly 
opposes 
the 

systems of collective care, family 
structure and lineage that exist 
in Tibet. The results of Tashi’s 
test were more than the results 
of 
paternity; 
they 
provided 

immigration officials a claim of 
power—a false notion that they 
had determined the absolute truth 
about Tashi’s family and that only 
they had the ability to determine 
this 
truth. 
As 
McGranahan 

notes, if DNA testing shows that 
a Tibetan parent and child are 
not genetically related as such, 
the Canadian government is not 
required to follow up on this 
claim. It becomes a burden that 
the applicant must take on to 
appeal the results of the test and 
provide 
substantial 
evidence 

through 
documentation 
that 

proves the familial relationship. 
But, in the case of Tashi and 
other Tibetan refugees, such 
documentation may not exist. 
In Tibet, birth and marriage 
certificates are not traditional 
processes; 
the 
legitimacy 
of 

birth, marriage, and identity are 
not determined by documents, 
as they are in Canada and in 
many cases, the Western world 
altogether. If these documents are 
unavailable to appeal the decision 
of the immigration office, the 
appeal process becomes reliant 
upon 
telling 
one’s 
narrative 

through an immigration attorney 
and from the letters of friends, 
acquaintances, and even Tibetan 
government 
officials. 
This 

process is often long and arduous, 
and requires notions of “proof” 
that may be inconsistent between 
these two nations across the 
globe from one another. Indeed, 
this truth in and of itself is 
inconsistent between Tibet and 
Canada. In Tibet, family is not 
so clear-cut; the truth of familial 
relationships is determined solely 
by those involved and is not a 
decision for the government. 
The lines between family and 
not-family are blurred within 
the system of community care 
and mutual aid that Tibetan 
society renders of utmost value. 
As the Canadian government 
and Western immigration offices 
define, family is a “yes” or “no,” 
a “true” or “false” determined 
by genealogical testing. When 
these worlds meet, with existing 
anti-immigrant 
rhetoric 
and 

bias on the part of the Canadian 
government, the Western refugee 
system is likely to employ its 
many loopholes that have been 
carefully constructed to restrict 
individuals and families from the 
lives they seek.

ANAMIKA KANNAN

Managing MiC Editor

Design by Melissa Lee

Home is me.
Home is me. 

Stubborn. Scared of your own Soul. 

so the Soul maintains residence behind flesh. 

Unsure if home should be insanity or if you are 

insane.

Collecting remnants of human art and refiguring 

it into thought, 

And only the Conscience is maintained.

I know I am insanity because 

You will not call me citizen — but what is insanity 
when defined by you, who will not even call me 

citizen. 

Kill me: Dirty country 

Dirty Water. Dirty Water. Dirty Water.

Cleanse this skin of bullets spring-

ing off our brothers’ backs, into our mother’s 

home- 

we all return, yet we prefer to think of home 

nostalgically. “Remember spring.”

We do not feel safe anymore so we cling onto 

season like it is our mother’s home. 

Dirty country sing. Dirty women come in spring. 
You see that we are thirsty for what is beneath us. 

Yet, we remain null of spring

To drink from. To heal with. To bathe in- 

 

Sprung. 

Now void of communion, you force them to drink 

like bullock from spring. 

My brothers are not animals screaming
“Kill me dirty, country pissing spring”.

“Woe is me—” no, trigger is woe. 

See how sin brings spring and spring triggers 

Dirty Water — 

death. 

PANTHER PEOPLE’S PARTY
Death is what you bring to thee.

Death of an unforgiving self,

Let me speak on what you have denied me. 

Actually, do not permit me, for I no longer seek 

your permission.

Or your acceptance.

Black Art and Spirituality

The irony of the Black arts being 

one of the most widely reproduced, 
shared and appropriated forms 
of art in the modern era — 
despite centuries of exploitation, 
maltreatment 
and 
oppression 

— serves as a testament to the 
universality it possesses, as well 
as its inherent spiritual nature. 
Looking closely at the intersection 
of Black arts and spirituality can 
give us a better appreciation for 
the profound beauty of art in 
itself and for our shared lived 
experience as human beings. 
Author Christine Valters Paintner 
defines spirituality as the “search 
for meaning in life.” She states that 
meaning — or what psychologist 
Victor Frankl refers to as the 
“primary motivational force” in 
a person — allows us to develop a 
relationship to the unanswered 
mysteries of life, and enables us 
to cultivate values, direction and 
hope in a world of suffering and 
pain. 

While religion, according to 

Encyclopedia Britannica, refers to 
a specific and particular set of faith 
and worship, spirituality refers 
to the quality of the human spirit 
or soul. Evidently, spirituality is 
often an integral part of religion 
and vice versa. As we see in the 
U.S., religion and spirituality play 
a pivotal role in Black culture, 
with 79% of Black Americans 
identifying 
with 
Christianity, 

2% identifying with Islam, and 
3% identifying with other non-
Christian faiths. A. Wade Boykin, 
an African American education 
scholar, describes spirituality as 
being one of the nine interrelated 
dimensions of African American 
(and African Diasporic) culture 
and expressive behavior — the 
others being harmony, movement, 
verve, 
affect, 
communalism, 

expressive 
individualism, 
oral 

tradition and social time... all key 
aspects of art as well. It’s no wonder 
why artistry, which implores us to 
exercise our primal urge to bring 
something new into being or to 
partake in the act of creating, 
remains a key aspect of religions 
which establish faith in a Creator. 
Paintner states that the arts are 
“rooted in the existential capacity 
of the imagination to transcend 
literal reality, they present us 
with alternative ways of being 

and present insights only available 
through non-cognitive means.” In 
a society where Black people have 
historically had to find alternative 
ways to subsist, survive, and thrive 
in our daily lives, this notion of 
transcendence carries with it 
powerful implications. 

Tricia 
Hersey, 
a 
Black 

performance artist and activist, 
states, “At the heart of us as human 
beings, I believe that it’s our 
divinity to create and invent. In the 
seat of our creativity is spiritual 
practice.” She recognizes that “our 
energy as spiritual creatures is to 
live, survive, connect, thrive, get to 
our highest self, and to remember.” 
Hersey’s work as an artist and 
community healer is rooted in that 
of Black liberation theology, which 
James Cone, author of “Black 
Theology 
and 
Black 
Power,” 

defines as “a rational study of the 
being of God in the world in light 
of the existential situation of an 
oppressed community, relating the 
forces of liberation to the essence 
of the Gospel, which is Jesus 
Christ.” By viewing Biblical texts 
as a redemptive means — one that 
liberates the oppressed — Hersey 
was able to connect her artistic 
creative practice as being one that 
fostered her inner divinity and 
relationship to God.

This idea of the arts as a 

means for restoration is explored 
by author Stephen K Levine in 
“Art Opens to the World.” He 
asserts that the sensory-affective 
experience inherent in art-making 
helps us reestablish our ability to 
respond effectively to the world 
around us. 

To Levine, the process of 

making art requires us to give up 
control and transcend our barriers 
through faith. He insists that we 
must put ourselves in a state of 
“non-knowing” in order to achieve 
mastery. 

It’s easiest to see these notions in 

the realm of theatrical expression. 
In Sharrell D. Luckett and Tia M. 
Shaffer’s anthology “Black Acting 
Methods,” 
Shaffer 
discusses 

how actors must develop their 
capacity to respond organically 
to stimuli, or in other words, 
maintain a “sense of unpredictable 
aliveness.” She reinforces how 
this idea of “non-knowing” is 
prevalent 
in 
improvisation, 

which is characterized by an 
acceptance of the unknown. In 
the chapter, Biggs also examines 
how specifically Black actresses 

are able to use improv as a means 
for cultivating their ability to 
survive 
in 
an 
unpredictable, 

fundamentally unstable world. 
Like Hersey states, “You have to 
be creative in a place that wants to 
see you dead.” 

Black actor Freddie Hendricks 

developed an acting practice 
known as the Hendricks Method 
which explores several aspects, 
including devising, spirituality, 
and the hyper-ego, the latter 
of which Luckett and Shaffer 
define as the “seat of the soul” 
of the method itself. His work is 
mounted on the belief that the 
Spirit will lead the way, and that 
it is crucial for the Black actor to 
draw upon this spiritual power in 
performance.

This idea of the soul is a critical 

aspect of the Black musical 
experience as well. As African 
American jazz guitarist Bobby 
Brown once said, “Any great art is 
a transfer of emotion. Musically, 
soul is what we speak of as being 
transferred from the player to the 
listener, as in soul-to-soul.” As 
we saw in “Soul,” Pixar’s latest 
movie, singers, rappers, dancers 
and musicians put themselves 
in a state of optimal flow while 
performing when they allow 
themselves to be fully present in 
the moment in which their sense 
of time is altered. Black artists 
during performance reach this 
state of flow by establishing a 
connection with the internal 
rhythm of life, that in turn 
produces a profound emotional 
effect on the listener and observer. 
We can see this in gospel, soul, 
jazz, hip-hop, rap and a variety of 
other genres of Black music. Na’im 
Akbar, a clinical psychologist and 
University of Michigan alum, 
states that “the energy system 
of Black personality is rhythm.” 
Feeling the flow of rhythm unites 
us with the universe and the 
natural world around us. 

While these examples only 

begin to scratch the surface, 
it’s clear that the connection 
between Black art and spirituality 
continues to serve as a means of 
connecting with that which is 
transcendent. It reminds us that 
even in a time of great instability, 
uncertainty 
and 
tension 
in 

which many of us are feeling 
trapped, 
disenfranchised 
and 

marginalized, we can always look 
within to find something deeper 
than ourselves that can set us free. 

KARIS CLARK

MiC Columnist

We will no longer waste our breaths, for now 

We are one person and one party.

The people’s party. 
We are a mindset.
We are a movement.

We are an earth to build atop of. 

So, forget what they have taught you. 

Do not call them master,

Master yourself.

Remind them you are human.

Tell them you disagree. 

Create life from your own soul.
Fertilize freedom; new earth. 

 

You will be misnamed— but what you create will be 

understood.

LOVE IN EDUCATION

I am free at last—

That is what you told me.

Appease the man—

This is what you meant.

Redeem yourself in my expectation—

This is what you meant. 

Lend me the fruits of your labor—

This is what you meant. 

Accept your master as God; as savior—

This is what you meant. 

Freedom is not for you—
This is what you meant. 

I am not the fool—

This is what I achieved.

I am wiser than your wisdom—

This is what I achieved.

I am freer outside of you.

But I will not give you thanks. 

Love of Self and Revolution:

A short collections of poems on the possibilities of self love

BY GABRIJELA SKOKO

Managing MiC Editor

Initially, these poems were written in French, but they have been translated into English below for the 

sake of understanding. To read the original collection in French, visit MichiganDaily.com

