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