The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, October 19, 2022
Newaygo, MI – Tubing on the Muskegon River
Coloring outside the lines
In 1983, poet and civil rights
activist
Audre
Lorde
wrote,
“Within the lesbian community
I am Black, and within the Black
community I am a lesbian …
There is no hierarchy of oppres-
sion. I cannot afford the luxury of
fighting one form of oppression
only. I cannot afford to believe
that freedom from intolerance is
the right of only one particular
group.”
Lorde’s commentary reveals
an oft-ignored truth in the
LGBTQ+ community: being a
Queer person of Color comes
with the inability to be just Queer
or just a person of Color and with
the responsibility to always be
a person of Color within Queer
spaces and vice versa. Neither
aspect of personhood is allowed
the ample space to develop on
its own, within its own terms.
Queer people of Color, particu-
larly those who have additional
marginalized identities (whether
that be socioeconomic status,
ability, etc.), experience inferior
treatment from multiple angles
as well as face unique forms of
marginalization at the intersec-
tion of their identities. These
overlapping societal pressures
and
expectations
undermine
autonomy and the path to self-
discovery. Though nothing is
in a vacuum and everything is
subjected to outside influenc-
es, it seems as though the self-
development of Queer people of
Color is particularly impacted by
the intersecting aspects of their
identity leading to a stunted or —
at the very least — inorganic path
to personhood.
Queerness comes with a set of
extremely established traditions,
at least in the eyes of western
society. Arguably the most uni-
versally well-known tradition
is the practice of “coming out.”
Put plainly, coming out is when
someone makes the decision
to explicitly share their Queer
identity. Framed as an inevi-
table rite of passage, coming out
is depicted as the pinnacle of
Queer self-acceptance. To “stay
in the closet” signals some kind
of oppression, due to a lack of
safety, community or just gen-
eral discomfort. Coming out is
not framed as something you can
do, but something you will do the
second you feel safe and comfort-
able enough. There are two states
of Queer being: “out” and “in the
closet.” This dichotomy is flawed
in its own right. There are many
degrees of being “out,” wheth-
er that’s being ‘out’ to certain
people in specific environments
or simply living a discreet life,
particularly for those who natu-
rally prefer privacy over vocality.
There are nuances when it comes
to living “outside the closet,”
but for the sake of this piece the
focus will be on this oversimpli-
fied (and sensationalized) black-
and-white dichotomy.
The public importance placed
upon coming out is rooted in the
fact that, historically, visibility
was crucial in the struggle for
equal rights and recognition.
Refinery29’s Sadhbh O’Sullivan
writes, “In order to fight for
liberation, gay people would
own their identity with pride by
publicly owning their gay iden-
tity. The more gay people came
out, so the thinking went, the
more normalized gayness would
become.” As societal attitudes
towards non-heteronormativity
have progressed, the concept of
coming out has unfortunately not
kept pace. Within current socio-
cultural contexts, the perceived
necessity of coming out remains
rooted in western heteronor-
mativity. For one, it rests on the
assumption that everyone is cis-
gender and heterosexual unless
they say otherwise. No one is
ever expected to come out as
straight. As a practice, the pres-
sured anticipation of an inevita-
ble “coming out” announcement
removes agency from the actual
person committing the act of
coming out and places all the
power in the expectant hands
of society. It isn’t a question of
if someone will decide to come
out but when they will, even in
cases in which coming out holds
no benefits for them. Addition-
ally, coming out creates a set of
implications that further limit a
formerly “closeted” person’s abil-
ity to influence how they’re per-
ceived by others:
1. That the person coming out
was previously lying about their
identity.
2. That outside approval and/
or acknowledgment is needed to
validate their identity.
3. That, before choosing to
disclose their identity to others,
they were deliberately hiding
their “true selves.”
Musa Shadeedi sums up how
the phenomenon of the presumed
“coming out” is rooted in western
society succinctly when he won-
ders “if the LGBTQI community
in Iraq knows the meaning of the
term ‘closet’ in the first place.” In
societies with different values,
perhaps where privacy is held
over visibility or other devia-
tions from the West, the “closet”
does not exist because coming
out is not an inevitable event.
This isn’t to say that the general
idea behind “coming out,” i.e.,
divulging information regarding
one’s sexuality and/or gender, is
a western concept, but rather the
culture and context surround-
ing it is. “Coming out” versus
being “in the closet” is a false
dichotomy pushed as reality for
everyone, especially those who
participate in cultures that don’t
align with the thought behind
the action.
When speaking to a Queer
immigrant, I found that they
regarded the entire idea of “com-
ing out” and being in “the clos-
et” as ridiculous. For one, they
thought coming out was point-
less because it isn’t a one-and-
done thing. “You don’t just make
one big announcement and sud-
denly have the whole world be
aware you’re a homosexual,” they
said. The pressure surrounding
something that is, in reality, a
constant process is almost coun-
terproductive when considering
the fact that there will always
be new friends, coworkers and
acquaintances to come out to.
In the words of Asiel Adan San-
chez, “Mainstream narratives of
coming out imply a white sub-
jectivity, one that forgets the
influence of culture, family and
heritage. For many Queer people
of colour, coming out is a much
more nuanced process than a sin-
gle moment of verbal disclosure.”
The current notion of coming
out is simply too flat, lacking the
nuance required to encompass
the wide array of people it applies
to. An extremely black-and-white
attitude is attached to it, one that
doesn’t allow for the grays (or
beiges, browns, tans) in between.
To put it plainly, coming-out cul-
ture is a very white American
thing.
HUDA SHULAIBA
MiC Columnist
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Paramount, CA – La Familia
Grand Rapids, MI – Hispanic Festival
Bajo El Sol: Las historias que nos conectan
In the final week of August, I
once again was able to step under
the historic street lights of Mexico
City and wake up in my Abuela’s
house. During that week, my skin
generously soaked in the sun that
spilled over the sky and onto the
mountains and homes of Jiute-
pec and Mexico City. That final
week, those seven days, those 168
hours, was the time that I was
looking forward to the most from
the moment I learned I was going
to be able to visit family in Mexico
again. I would say to myself,
“When will I come back?”
“There’s so much more to
learn.”
I don’t think I’ll get tired of tell-
ing myself these things in between
trips to and from Mexico.
I would be able to return after
completing my summer intern-
ship, and this second trip to
Mexico was full of family time
and exploration — way more than
the first time I visited. When my
primo picked me up from the
airport, he immediately took me
through the slippery streets of
Mexico City on a drizzling night
to have some of his favorite street
tacos. And let me tell you, those
tacos did not disappoint.
Stretched out on the tight
sidewalk with an awning and an
umbrella, the taco vendors had
their music bumping from the
speaker, muffling the conversa-
tions taking place from behind the
greased grill. On the tight side-
walk stood a group of friends talk-
ing while they ate their tacos al
pastor, and a couple shared a hug
while they paid for their meal.
Once I got my first plate of
Suadero tacos and added cilantro,
cebolla y limon, I eyed the two sal-
sas sitting gently next to each other
on the grill. Before reaching over
and grabbing them, Pikin warned
me that the salsa verde was very
spicy, thinking that that would
stop me from trying. It didn’t, and
man do I tell you: these were the
most delicious tacos I’ve ever had.
The soft crispy handmade torti-
lla was the perfect home for the
meat, cilantro and cebolla to rest.
And the mix of the limon and salsa
verde created a sour kick that left
my tongue calling for a drink.
This memory of the tacos I ate
with my primo on my first night
in Mexico City is something that
I have brought with me back to
the states. Pikin was kind enough
to drive at one in the morning to
show us his favorite taco spot,
and he even bought some cer-
vezas to drink at his apartment.
Now that I’m back in Ann Arbor,
I think about this night a lot, and
how there are still no restaurants
here that bring me that immense
amount of joy.
I found myself holding on tight-
ly to memories like these once I
returned to the states from Mexi-
co and was thrown right back into
the adult responsibilities of being
a college senior. I wish that my trip
could have lasted a little longer,
but the pending semester ate away
at this thing we call time. Despite
being hungry for more Mexican
adventures, I needed to return
home. And once I got back to my
hometown of Wyoming, Mich. on
an early, early Saturday morning, I
only had three hours to sleep and
another three hours to pack my
things before my inevitable move
back to Ann Arbor. After a quick
rest, my mom, sister and I packed
the truck with suitcases and boxes
and off we went.
During the two hour drive from
Wyoming to Ann Arbor, I shared
the stories of my time in Mexico
with my Mom, and she also shared
some of her own stories about
what it was like growing up there.
Some stories I will keep for
myself, and some stories will be
told another day.
Not all stories need to be shared;
they are personal pieces of our-
selves and we have full autonomy
to share as much as we like with
the world. But listening to them
does bring me joy and, in a sense,
revives me.
Whenever I feel stuck in a rut,
I think back to the wonderful
memories that lurk in my brain
and fill me with life. I’m reminded
of Mexico and all the people that I
know who are connected to it, like
my friends and family.
As I have said before: Mexico is
the reason that I am breathing. I
truly believe that.
There’s so much history that I
have yet to unearth from within
myself; through writing, I’m weav-
ing loosened threads together and
tightening my soul. I am proud to
call myself a Mexican artist and a
Mexican writer.
Hispanic Heritage Month is
soon coming to a close and I want
to celebrate the beautiful voices of
my friends who are Mexican. It’s
a chance for them to be involved
in the writing process because as
a writer, I can offer a collabora-
tive experience where I can give
a voice to someone who wants it.
I’m not the only Mexican voice on
campus; while there are a few of
us on this campus, there are mil-
lions of us worldwide outside this
predominantly white institution
bubble we call Ann Arbor and the
University of Michigan.
Thank you Aliyah, Angel and
Lesley for your time and energy.
This is what they had to say…
I met with Angel late in the
morning on the Diag. I had sent
him a Google Calendar invite for
our meeting at 11:30 a.m. and as I
was finishing up some homework
in the Fishbowl, Angel texted me
at 11:14 a.m. telling me that he was
already at our meeting place. I
shut off my computer and ran out
of Haven Hall to meet Angel, but I
would soon retreat back to Haven
Hall to avoid the incoming drizzle
— I didn’t want Angel to get wet!
I turned on my voice memo app as
students began to fill the hallways
and had my full attention to Angel.
To people who don’t know him
well, Angel is a senior at Michigan
and is in the Ross School of Busi-
ness and hails from a very special
place in Southwest Detroit, also
known as Mexicantown. Some
of the earliest Mexican families
settled down in downtown Detroit
in the 1920s. When I asked Angel
what it was like growing up in
Southwest Detroit, he quickly
broke into a smile.
“It was a lot of fun growing up
in Southwest Detroit! It’s a very
immigrant-based community in
which chances are your next-
door neighbor is first-gen or also
Latino. … There’s so much color on
the walls, on the street and there’s
such a vibrant history. It has an
energy to it. It was a lot of fun
strolling up and down the streets
with your friends, maybe with five
bucks in your pocket trying to see
how it’ll work. And being a Latino
there, it’s kind of home, I don’t
know if I can say this but – we’re
like the white people there! It’s
nice being around fellow Latinos
and to know that your neighbors
would offer to feed you, every-
thing … and I haven’t had coffee
yet so excuse me if my words are
slurring!”
Even if Angel was slurring his
words due to the lack of coffee, I
didn’t notice because I understood
him. Growing up, he was always
comfortable growing up in South-
west Detroit due to the strong ties
with the Latino community. This
was something I noticed when
I lived in Detroit two summers
ago. When I explored Southwest
Detroit, the sugary panaderías
filled the streets along with
murals, Latin imagery and colors.
I also asked Angel if he could
share one of his favorite memories
growing up in Southwest Detroit.
“Bro, Quinceañeras! When we
were all at that age of 13 to whatev-
er, man it was so much fun. Me and
my friends would sneak into ran-
dom Quinceañeras in the neigh-
borhood. There are these two
venues in Detroit that everyone
went to. Every week there would
be a Quinceañera there and my
friends and I would always sneak
in. We would go to just dance and
have fun and just to be surrounded
by friends. There’s great music,
great food and there was always
amazing company overall and
maybe this is irresponsible for me
to say but I would always tell my
mom that I would have a ride back
but I never did! Always know-
ing that the fun is going to end
and [that] you got to turn on that
responsibility switch was a rush.”
As Angel told me this memory,
I was laughing and smiling the
whole time. I could just picture the
venue and imagine the kids run-
ning around while family mem-
bers drank and danced through
the night.
I spoke with Aliyah in the base-
ment of East Quad after I attended
my second ever ACLU meeting on
a chilly Monday evening. I tried
to find the quietest spot in the
freshmen-infested building and as
soon as I did, I opened up my lap-
top and began recording our Zoom
meeting. Aliyah is from Grand
Rapids, Mich., and she’s studying
graphic design at Grand Valley
State University. Aliyah has been
a friend of mine since high school
and I wanted to talk to her for this
piece because she is so far away,
and I find myself thinking about
my friends back home constantly
throughout the school year.
Aliyah calls Grand Rapids her
home because it’s where she grew
up, but she made sure to say that
home is wherever she feels most
comfortable, and that’s usually
with her family.
“I guess home could be any-
where. Because the way I look at
it, you wanna feel safe. You wanna
feel secure. And you wanna feel
loved, so if I feel all those things
around people who aren’t my fam-
ily, then that’s like a second home.
I feel those things around my
immediate family, and that’s like
that’s my main home.”
JUAN PABLO
ANGEL MARCOS
MiC Columnist
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Design by Francie Ahrens
A letter to my future self
Sitting in a Detroit cafe, I’m cur-
rently typing away as I listen to a trio
of middle-aged men jokingly bicker
about their orders getting switched.
“I ordered the cheese!” “No, I swear
it was me!” A pause as they continue
chewing.
The silence breaks: “We’re good
though.” And laughter commences.
I may be wrong, but something
tells me that they’ve been friends for
a while, a thought that puts a smile
on my face as I sip my coffee, contin-
ue to type away and wait for my dad
to pick me up from the A2D2 bus.
This year is the final one of my
undergraduate career, and it seems
like every passing day brings me
closer and closer to a reality that
simultaneously excites me but also
frightens me: change. As a senior
still recruiting for a full-time career
(pity me!!!!), there’s a lot of ambiguity
about what next year will look like. I
have my goals: purposeful work, the
Big Apple and frequent trips back
home. Translating those goals into
specificity is what’s proven to be
difficult, and there’s an undeniable
sense of anxiety in thinking about
what will last after this hurricane
of change takes place — what will
remain in the eye of the storm? This
train of thought isn’t necessarily
comforting, which brings me to you.
Or me, I should say. How are we?
Let’s say it’s us 10 years from now.
We’re at 31, letting everyone who’ll
listen know that “actually, your thir-
ties are the new twenties!”
Did we get that J.D.? Have we
started the family? Do we see Sara,
Rubab, Mama and Papa almost
every other day? I wonder if we’ve
grown tired of New York at some
point, the city that we swore up
and down since age 11 was made for
us; the city that we knowingly nod
about when someone says, “You just
give New York vibes.”
InshAllah, there are some things
that I know are true, simply because
we’ll work to make them so. I’ll have
my space and still see the Imtiaz clan
frequently. I’ll get my J.D., because
we told ourselves we would. Pot-
lucks with Inaya and Mits may look
different, but I know we’ll somehow
find a way to bring an item from the
classic menu every time. My friend
Kat wrote about perceiving time in
a non-linear sense, and, as always,
her words have left an impact on
me long after I initially read them.
Apprehension of being on the preci-
pice of capital A adulthood is under-
standable, but I’m trying to think
that, barring unforeseen circum-
stances, we can always find a sense
of stasis in any future universe. In
a weird way, because I can see the
future in this way, I’m determined
to make it happen. So in writing to
us, I know that maybe things aren’t
picture perfect, rose-colored glass-
es, but I do know that things are. I
think therefore I am, a really novel
thought, right? Regardless, given
that reality, we can keep on keeping
on.
Suddenly, the record scratches.
I know we’ll have these cycles
though. I wonder if we’ll still use
every word beyond the it-word. Sad,
melancholic, dejected (a personal
fav), despondent, going on and on
until the thesaurus.com sugges-
tions expire. The reality remains
that life will probably still be diffi-
cult as it will still be beautiful. We’ll
call Marie in the wee hours of the
night, and trade theories as to why it
is that we think so much. Hopefully
by then we won’t be so embarrassed
of that fact.
Still, you and I will probably
scoff at “Everything happens for
the best,” and immediately correct
it with “Everything happens.” The
only control is yourself and your
faith. Currently, I’ve come to learn
that life hits us with various circum-
stances, good and bad. We aren’t
guaranteed the Good Life, but we’re
guaranteed life, the basis of which
we can forge our reality from. Does
that mentality change throughout
the years for us? I’m sure the pen-
dulum still swings back and forth,
teetering between chasing what
we want and accepting our reality.
Shit, you’re just 31 — we’re still fig-
uring it out.
ELIYA IMTIAZ
MiC Managing Editor
Read more at MichiganDaily.com