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