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

