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
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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.
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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