In the winter of 2007, 10-year-old me bitterly watched then-Senator Barack Obama announce his bid for the presidency from his hometown of Chicago, Illinois. As I sat on my grandmother’s bed, arms folded, I lamented, “He is going to take my job!
Adam Brodnax, Areeba Haider, Tanya Madhani, Halimat Olaniyan, Christian Paneda, Jason Rowland, Neel Swamy, Ashley Tjhung, Sivanthy Vasanthan
Michigan in Color Editors
Last Friday, President Donald Trump issued an executive order inappropriately titled, “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States.” Ostensibly, the goal was to limit immigration from countries that the Trump administration deemed high-risk for terrorism in the Unite
We sat in her hospital room, just my granny and me, as she told me about her solar technology patent. The topic transported her mind from her blue gown lit by fluorescent lighting to her classroom at Virginia Tech.
Lately I have been thinking about race more than usual. As a dark, African-American woman, it is difficult not to think about my race. I am constantly aware of my complexion. I do not have the privilege of being a lighter skin tone, blending in or choosing which community to belong to.
The fear of minorities has been exacerbated due to president-elect Donald Trump's blatant racist, Islamophobic, xenophobic, transphobic, homophobic and misogynist statements. Interpreting the increase in incidence of hate crimes and loss of sense of safety due to our identities as an angry outburst because we lost something is reductive and invalidating of the terrifying experiences students have had.
Black History Month, for me, is by far the most meaningful month of the year. A time to reflect on the triumphs, tragedies and teachable moments of the past, while celebrating the influential people, institutions and events of today.
A few days ago, here at the University of Michigan, undergraduate computer science and electrical engineering students received a series of malicious emails that threatened the safety and lives of our African American and Jewish friends.
I wake up in my room and I close my eyes, trying to go back to sleep as the sun shines through my windows. In a state neither quite asleep nor awake, I hear the sound of a plane. Instantly, I am awake. All I can hear is the sound of the plane, and it’s coming closer.
I was 7 years old when I had my first attack. The accusations swarmed my head: “Stop pretending,” “you just want attention,” “you’re being over dramatic.” I head for my school’s office. My back hurts more than any pain I have ever experienced.