The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
8 — Graduation Edition 2022

Perhaps family is a set of rela-
tionships 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, specif-
ically Tibet, this rigidity surrounding 
the ways we define familial relation-
ships 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 Can-
ada, leaving his wife and four children 
in a refugee camp in south Asia to 
await the legal process for later fam-
ily reunification. The Canadian gov-
ernment, 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 some-
times polyandrous. Perhaps, though, 
assigning Western names and con-
cepts to this may lead us astray in 
our understanding of Tibetan society. 
Non-genetic fathers may claim chil-
dren 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 fam-
ily. In a polyandrous family, wherein 
a Tibetan woman is married to a set 

of brothers, all husbands are equally 
considered father by all her chil-
dren. 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 father-
hood. 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 pre-
viously known — or at the least, they 
begin to wonder what they will do. 
This is a significant determinant of 
their fatherhood and their relation-
ship (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, fam-
ily is defined strictly by genetic and 
biological indicators. Immigration 
processes in Canada, which require 
the use of DNA testing, are thus com-
pletely 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 reuni-
fication 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 actu-
alization of harmful stereotypes 
and misconceptions about immi-
grants through biological tools.
In Tashi’s story, family is medi-
calized, 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 wor-
thy of entry and livelihood. The bio-

medical perspective employed by the 
immigration forces directly opposes 
the systems of collective care, fam-
ily 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 govern-
ment 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 docu-
mentation that proves the familial 
relationship. But, in the case of Tashi 
and other Tibetan refugees, such doc-
umentation may not exist. In Tibet, 
birth and marriage certificates are 
not traditional processes; the legiti-
macy 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, acquain-
tances, 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 commu-
nity care and mutual aid that Tibetan 
society renders of utmost value. As 
the Canadian government and West-
ern immigration offices define, fami-
ly is a “yes” or “no,” a “true” or “false” 
determined by genealogical testing. 
When these worlds meet, with exist-
ing anti-immigrant rhetoric and bias 
on the part of the Canadian govern-
ment, 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.

Palestine. The Holy Land. An ancient 
motherland, where every nook and cranny 
possesses a piece of sacred history. Home 
of the olive tree: a renowned symbol of 
peace and tranquility yet trampled in the 
face of oppression. A centuries-old fruit 
bearer, ripped from its roots, as though it 
holds no weight, no meaning. 
I’ve been lucky enough to be allowed 
entry into my beautiful homeland four 
times before. I was very young the first 
time and didn’t know much, but I could 
see the guns and tanks everywhere we 
went and hear the innocent children as 
they screamed at soldiers to put them 
down. After crossing the Allenby bridge at 
the Jordanian border and waiting for over 
a day at military checkpoints in the occu-
pied West Bank with nausea sweeping 
over me through the countless bumpy bus 
rides, we had finally arrived at my grand-
parents’ house in the small village of Kifl 
Haris. They immediately greeted me: my 
sitti with her warm embrace, and my sido 
lifting me up into the air while screams 
of joy escaped me, my fatigue superseded 
by the excitement of seeing my estranged 
family. When he finally put me down, the 
sound of a small kitten drew me near the 
back of the house. In an attempt to follow 
the soft purrs, I stumbled upon their col-
orful garden, pervaded by plants I did not 
know the names of. Treading through the 
greens with careful steps, the leaves of the 
fruits and flowers brushed over the back 
of my hand, tickling me as though they 
longed for the presence of a child among 
them. Using one of the purple plastic 
chairs lying on the back deck, I stood to 
reach grape vines hanging above me and 
climbed trees to pluck sweet figs and bitter 

pomegranates. My arms overflowing with 
fruit and with a kitten in tow, I emerged 
15 minutes later with the biggest smile 
plastered onto my face. Seeing how much 
I adored their garden, my grandparents 
were excited to introduce me to their emi-
nent glory: their olive tree groves. After 
freshening up, we all piled into my grand-
pa’s 10-year-old Volkswagen that rattled at 
every turn. As we drove the short distance 
together, I was awestruck by the majestic 
mountains that crowned the landscape 
and the palm trees that lined the streets. 
Children played soccer with a makeshift 
ball while soldiers strapped with AK-47s 
loomed in the background.
As we approached our destination, I 
nearly jumped out of the moving car as 
I got a glimpse of what awaited me. The 
beautiful earthy green field was filled 
with olive trees standing tall, laden with 
olives and stretching beyond the corners 
of my eyes. Waving at me in the breeze, 
they begged me to climb up their strong 
limbs and pluck their olives gently. For 
the second time that day, I was completely 
blown away by the scene that surrounded 
me. As I ran towards the first tree I laid 
eyes on, standing on my tiptoes to reach 
the tall branches, my sido hauled me up on 
his shoulders. While I struggled to grab as 
many as I could, my sido grabbed my wrist 
and set me back down. He explained why 
we don’t pick olives one by one — there 
are simply too many of them on each tree. 
Instead, with his instruction, we spread 
out a few white cloth sheets underneath 
the tree. As my sido beat the olive tree 
with his wooden cane, the sheet-covered 
ground beneath us quickly filled with 
black and green olives. While I sorted 
through the ripe black olives and put 
away the firm green ones that still had 
to be cured, the olives gleamed under the 
scorching sun. I suddenly wondered if my 

ancestors also experienced this feeling of 
inner peace at this very spot while they 
sorted through olives like me. 
While we worked, my sido told me sto-
ries about the history of the land: ancient 
prophets who roamed the lush fields cen-
turies ago, the religious significance of 
the monotheistic faiths associated with 
the region and the Crusades that were 
fought not far from where we were stand-
ing. His face was overtaken with a child-
like marvel when describing the spiritual 
aura surrounding the Al-Aqsa mosque and 
golden Dome of Rock, but the light in his 
eyes dimmed when he mentioned the 
Gaza Strip, which was still under com-
plete siege. This meant that little kids like 
me had restricted access to clean water 
to wash their favorite shirts or take baths 
with their toys. They were forbidden from 
getting too close to the beach, even on 
a bright summer day. They were denied 
usage of electricity to watch TV as their 
family shared breakfast or stay up late to 
play computer games. They were barred 
from traveling for vacations or leaving 
Gaza to visit family. They were stripped of 
the opportunity to grow up and attend col-
lege or carry dreams for their future. As I 
listened to my sido in silence, blood rushed 
to my head and tears welled up in my eyes. 
I gripped each olive harder, afraid that 
they would fall out of my trembling hands 
and smash on the ground. How could the 
world remain silent as children suffered 
under such brutal conditions? How could 
a land famous for its olive trees not know 
peace? 
The answer: settler-colonialism in all 
its glory. Settler colonialism is a distinct 
form of colonialism that seeks to uproot 
and dispossess the indigenous popula-
tion of a desired land, replacing them with 
a new group of colonizing settlers, while 
ruling over the remaining indigenous 

peoples through an imperialist authori-
tative structure. The state of Israel is, in 
fact, a settler colony, and its Zionist ide-
ology is rooted in the dispossession and 
ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people. 
Israel’s propaganda machine, however, 
supervises and censors raw footage, pre-
senting the world with a one-sided narra-
tive while giving no room for Palestinian 
voices to be heard. It has painted a picture 
in which colonized Palestinians are the 
sole aggressors, leaving the poor colonizer 
Israel, the principal nuclear power in the 
Middle East, with no choice but to defend 

itself. Part of Israel’s dangerous rhetoric 
to depict itself as the victim is through 
an intentional conflation of anti-Zionism 
with antisemitism. This draws sympathy 
and unwavering support for Israel from 
the Western world, rendering it nearly 
impossible to criticize Israel and its use of 
brute force against Palestinians without 
being labeled an antisemite. 
So, how then, can I tell my side of the 
story without being silenced? How can 
I appeal to a Western audience who is 

already dead set on the fact that I belong to 
a group of savage terrorists and convince 
them of my right to freely exist? Is the only 
way I have to tell my story through the 
lens of an innocent happy child spending 
time with her grandparents, picking fruits 
and olives? Must I always omit the grue-
some details of settler-colonialism and the 
constant threat of dispossession in favor of 
descriptions of pretty scenery? Can I only 
garner support for my dignity by slipping 
in the subtleties of living under an excru-
ciatingly violent military occupation with 
a smile on my face? Why is it expected that 

I accept the subjugation with my head low 
to avoid upsetting my oppressor and its 
supporters?
How can I remain silent when an apart-
heid power is actively profiting off of the 
conquest of my land? How can I be asked 
to “understand both sides” when a colo-
nizer still denies me access to the land my 
ancestors called home less than 73 years 
ago? How can I extend an olive branch to 
an oppressor who consistently denies my 
existence and tries to erase my story?

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

How can I extend an olive branch?

 ANAMIKA KANNAN
2021 Managing MiC Editor

 MARIAM ODEH
2021 MiC Columnist

Special thanks to Karla Bell, Seba 
(Historian) for the Black Student Union.
The William Trotter Multicultural 
Center recently celebrated its 50th 
anniversary in February and with 
each passing milestone, there comes 
an even greater need to preserve the 
history and purpose of this building so 
we do not lose sight of the communi-
ties Trotter is supposed to serve. To 
learn more about Trotter’s history and 
its significance to Black students at 
the University of Michigan, I had the 
opportunity to sit down with Business 
senior Karla Bell, who serves as the 
Seba (Historian) on the Black Student 
Union 2021-2022 Executive Board. 
Trotter was originally called Trot-
ter House and was colloquially known 
as the “Black House” amongst Black 
students. Directly resulting from the 
actions of the first (of three) Black 
Action Movements, Trotter House 
was built in 1971 as a Black Student 
Cultural Center to meet the needs of 
Black students on campus. When talk-
ing about the early beginnings of Trot-
ter, Bell said, “Black students really 
only had Trotter, and it was neither 
in a safe location on campus nor well 
funded. Trotter was funded and built 
at the hands of student labor.” 
Trotter House was the host building 
for events for Black students, but they 
had to risk their safety to be able to use 
the space. Bell said, “At the time, Black 
people on campus were susceptible to 
violence and danger because (Trotter 
House) was off-campus in a poorly lit 
area. Yet still, they risked their well-
being to be there.” In 1972, the origi-
nal Trotter House burned down in a 
kitchen fire so the University bought 
a building on Washtenaw Avenue to 
house the student center. By 1981, 
Trotter House would expand its scope 
to become a multicultural student cen-
ter. As the Trotter House expanded 
to include programming for students 
of all racial minorities on campus, 
Black Student Union executive board 
members tried to appeal for increased 
funding from the University to expand 
their efforts in promoting equity on 
campus.
In 2013, undergraduate and gradu-
ate students began “A New Trotter 
Initiative,” a plan to have a new mul-
ticultural center be built at the cen-
ter of campus. After three years of 
advocating to the University of Mich-
igan administration for a new build-

ing, a $10 million budget was finally 
approved in 2016 for the building of 
The William Trotter Multicultural 
Center. By 2019, Trotter had official-
ly found a new home on South State 
Street and was open for student use. 
Currently, less than 4% of the U-M 
undergraduate population is Black, 
making it easy to feel like an outsider 
in most spaces on campus. Because of 
this, Trotter is an essential space for 
Black students. It exists as our place to 
congregate; it’s one of the only build-
ings on campus that feels as though 
it belongs to Black students — a home 
base of sorts where we can build fel-
lowship, work together and exist in the 
comfort of our own community. This is 
why Trotter is frequently used by orga-
nizations like BSU and HEADS (Here 
Earning A Destiny through Honesty, 
Eagerness, And Determination of Self) 
to hold their meetings. Students of 
Color, and specifically Black students, 
commonly frequent the multicultural 
center, which speaks to its necessity in 
the community. 
For me personally, I find myself 
in Trotter after a day of classes more 
often than not. I always know I’ll 
run into at least a few of my friends 
every time I step into the building. 
Between homework assignments, I’ll 
usually take a break from my work to 
make conversation with them and joke 
around. If I’m not doing homework or 
hanging out with friends, then usu-
ally I’m somehow finding my way into 
the activities that might be going on 
in Trotter that day, like a game night 
or a cultural event. There is such an 
intrinsic sense of community in Trot-
ter, which makes it unlike any other 
building on campus. 
“If you’re coming into Trotter, learn 
the history of the space and respect 
the effort that it took to have this,” 
Bell said. “(Black) students lost their 
scholarships for this and faced con-
sequences to have Trotter as a space.” 
Everyone who comes into Trotter, 
whether it be for personal use or for an 
organization, should be mindful that 
such a space came directly from Black 
activism. There is a rich history behind 
how Trotter has transformed into the 
multicultural center that we know it as 
today and this history is intertwined 
with the Black Action Movements.
I’m grateful to the Black students 
who fought to have a building like 
Trotter on campus and as we use the 
space to build fellowship amongst 
underrepresented groups on campus, 
it’s imperative that we continue to pass 
down the history as well. 

UDOKA NWANSI
2022 MiC Columnist

What Trotter means to us

ARTS

over the

YEARS

Bis etum il ius eliquam usaerum eium 
velicti comnit dunt, tota que consequo is 
essunture dolor molesti beriore, il ea ne 
plab ipsae excero te volorep tation re 
videndunt omnihil ipienda veliqui nobites 
et laboriame lantiossunt hil ius arumqui 
dentibus, qui aliat pa qui simolessit, nes 
escilit harum que volorit eicia con plis 
everum fugitatur si quiae esto blaturem labo. 
Itatas mos venis arumnihilla ntentotatem 
aut etum hil il mod quam es est as endaesc 
ipiendis escium lation cupta doluptam ab 

2014

JANUARY-OCTOBER: Fires spread 
throughout the Amazon Rainforest at 
frequent rates. The loss of nature and 
wildlife in this tragedy highlights the 
impact of climate change and the lives of 
endangered species in Brazil. 

AUGUST 5: Nobel prize winning novelist 
Toni Morrison tragically passed away.

JANUARY 7: Travis McMichael, Greg McMichael and 
William Bryan are sentenced to life in prison for the 
murder of Ahmaud Arbery. Arbery’s death was a 
modern-day lynching and brought awareness 
to the current state of racism against the Black 
community in America.

MARCH 28: Florida Governor Ron DeSantis signs 
the “Don’t Say Gay” bill, prohibiting the discussion 
of sexual orientation and gender identity in 
kindergarten through grade three classrooms. This 
bill restricts students in Florida from expressing 

2020

MARCH 11: The World Health Organization 
officially describes COVID-19 as a pandemic. 
While the virus sweeps across America, Anti-
Asian sentiment also rises.

 MAY: The death of George Floyd as a result of 
police brutality prompts protests all around 
the nation.

MiC
over the
YEARS

2021
2022
2019

MAY 7: Amounting Israeli Supreme Court 
decision regarding the eviction of six Palestinian 
families from their homes in Sheikh Jarrah, a 
predominantly Palestinian neighborhood 
located in Israeli-occupied Eastern Jerusalem. 
The looking court hearing incurred protests 
against the removal.

SEPTEMBER 17: The South Korean television 
series Squid Game was released on Netflix. It 
later grew to widespread international acclaim 
and became Netflix’s most watched series.

Design by Megan Young

