About the Vanguard The vanguard is the official publication of the Black Student Union. It serves as the literary and artistic outlet for the black student union and its members.
Interesting in submitting for the Vanguard We are always looking for new writers and artist. Contact our publications coordinator at theunionpub@gmail.com
Get involved with the Black Student Union We hold general body meetings every Thursday in the BSU Lounge (UU006). We are also currently looking for interns, if you are interested in interning for the Black Student Union please send a letter of intent to our S.A Representative at theunionsarep@gmail.com
THE BLACK STUDENT UNION EXECUTIVE BOARD President…...Kayla Anderson Vice-President…...Mone’t Schultz Treasurer…….Legan Bayombo Historian…….Khalilah Suluki Political Correspondent…...Prince Grant Public Relations…….Jonah Liautaud Secretary…...Janelle Carr Student Association Representative…...Moriah Martindale Educational Coordinator…...Luidgi Michel Publications Coordinator…...Khaliq Spruill
Excuseless By Chantel Ayuso
Is darkness not accompanied by light as day is to night? Or is light non-representative of a dark plight? “One fights, we all fight,” “It’s all in the family,” right? Yet and still, beware of the dogs that bite. Deeply rooted are our family trees, rich in blood sweat and tears, triumph, struggle, and pain. bonds shattered and broken, But vowed are the ones that remain, allowing us to grow and become the stars of our own show. Single mothers deserving of red-carpet and gold; Grammy’s for Mommy and Daddy roles. And our Granny’s, brown-sugar sweet, Hold our heads in hand, without defeat. Magical beings, with wide hips, broad shoulders, Full lips, accentuated curves, An “intimidating” presence; but don’t you forget that my presence is a blessing. Please excuse my attitude but I won’t apologize for my magnitude.
Because according to longitude, latitude, The land of my ancestors were magnified on maps, traveled to on ships, Taken to dry land of which we seasoned with flavor. So, I declare with gratitude that you bow before Kings and Queens. Excuse me, for I have some culture to redeem. Soul quenching sounds of R&B blasting as The broom sweeps away the worries of today. While I learned to love myself like Sade and Mary J And one day find a love like Jay-Z and BeyoncĂŠ, My brothers were equipped to be faced with war each and every single day. Hands up, heads down, Prepared to be expected to fly, with their feet bolted to the ground. Our names are being called by the past, and the hands of the future, appear too far to reach us. Persecuted, and accused; the challenged and the overcome, made to feel weak, but ever so strong. Be liberated as I ministrate this.
Kianna Williams Unapologetic. What does it mean to be unapologetic you say? Well, one could answer that in many different ways. The Black woman. The most hated and disrespected human being on this Earth. The one that is most frowned upon. The Black woman. The sway of her waist. The curve of her lips. The fullness of her hips. The Black woman. The most ambitious human on the Earth that there is. She will NOT take no for an answer. The Black woman. Always striving for success. Nothing less. Many things to be gained. One big mistake, she’ll lose everything. The Black woman. Whose role models are Rihanna and BeyoncÊ, because they show her to NEVER be sorry for who she is and what she wants in life and to not give a DAMN about what anyone thinks about her. The Black woman. Unapologetically Black.
It’s Not Funny By: Ashley Wells “And how do you two feel? About being black in America?” Our American History teacher shifted his eyes between me and the other black girl in the class. We stared at each other nervously for a moment, and then turned our heads back towards our teacher. “Fine”, I said. “Yeah it’s fine”, she said. “So do you feel as though race is still an issue in America?” I could feel eyes behind me boring through my skull. So I smiled up at him.“No not anymore.” He nodded. I assumed the conversation was over, and I sighed in relief. White girls don’t want to hear me talk about race. But a girl sitting next to me had something to add. She raised her hand. “Honestly”, she exclaimed when she was called on, “I don’t know why anyone would ever even hate a black person! They’re just so funny. I love them.” The classroom erupted in laughter. A chorus of “yeahs” and “exactlys” filled the room. Little white hands covered little white giggling mouths and I felt my black body sink to the floor. They’re just so funny. Black people are just so funny. That was the day I realized that I could never truly blend in, as much as wanted to.
And the memory of their laughter stuck to me as permanently as the pigment on my skin. The sweet little white girls that I always wanted to like me would never truly understand me. And honestly… I was only just beginning to understand myself. But I did know one thing. I would never be any one’s clown
Elephant in the Suitcase Nichelae McFarlane Whether you believe it or not, the view from a plane is different every time you leave the airport. From your first plane ride to the States, you’ve always sat at the window seat, so you would know. It was to get the best view, so over the course of the journey, you would alternate with your brother to prevent arguments about who deserves the first glimpse of the clouds more. However, that night you left, the cabin was the emptiest you’ve ever seen it, so you both got seats at the window, which made it easier for you to stare at your home until it became a small landmass in the Caribbean Sea To this day, it is still one of the most beautiful scenes you’ve experienced in your young life. The green of the island was small and insignificant in the deep blue of the sea and sky, the further up you went, the more you noticed the difference between them. Your view of the island was further obstructed by clouds and your lethargy, but you pushed it away, because no one could tell you for certain that you would return. This scene is different when you’re leaving for a vacation at foreign, when compared to the one you recall when you don’t know if you’ll ever see it again in your lifetime.
The view then is enticing, and you’re full of excitement, so much so that you can hardly sit still. It’s coursing through your veins making you wiggle in the semi comfortable aeroplane seats surrounded by fellow passengers and visitors. You don’t care about the place you’ve just left. You ignore the bright colours of the land and the sun working together framing the people. Instead you lean forward preparing to see the clouds and catch your first sight of the mainland where you imagine the lights, sights, and smells of a sunny day in America. Everything is new and exciting, and is just what you wanted for summer abroad. It’s a day deserving of the three-quarter jeans, and the airy top you have on, and if you spill your drink on your shirt in your excitement you know your mother has a solution packed into your bags. You never packed for your foray into the city before, so every time you touched down and began to unpack the bags your mother prepared, every piece of clothing you took out was a surprise. This was another difference between visiting and staying, you had to know what was in there when you left, otherwise you’d have everything you don’t need and nothing that you did. So, you packed your suitcase beforehand with all the bright coloured shirts you remembered, the airy ones, the light, thin, and cropped jeans, the fried sprat, the frozen ackee and roasted breadfruit to eat. You had all the books of beloved authors like Jean D’Costa, and the tears for the ones you had to leave, your memories of your life in your home, of your hometown, and your homeland. You even managed to pack the last glimpse of the airport below you as the plane took off to bring you to a place you hardly knew, but were to live indefinitely. You could list every single item you packed, one by one you would name them, as surely as you knew their name, you knew their look, feel, make and weight, but when you touched down in that light grey atmosphere with your suitcase, it felt heavier than before. With each step forward, and each glance at the people in your new home clothed in shades of black and white, the weight got heavier, burdening you until you took the load off at the edge of the road. The airport, the big city, and the people looked more different than you could remember. Where were the colours? Where was the light? Where were the smiles of the people around you? They were all gone. You had never been to the States around this time when it wasn’t the summer, it was winter with no sun, and only the cold to keep my company with all that was unfamiliar. No one looked like you did anymore, and very few people spoke like you did. It was the strangest thing, because you could no longer look around with surety to see different shades of black people, or hear others speak the same. The place you were, this place, was a strange white world with few people like you.
However, unlike many others, you weren’t taught to hate the colour of your skin, because you saw it every day, and likewise you weren’t taught to hate the texture of your hair, because hair was done in the breaks between classes whether it was creamed, natural or naturally good. You didn’t hate yourself, and you never hated your culture. Music was an everyday thing, stories were thrown from mouth to ears and onto pages, your teachers shared knowledge of your history with you, and no matter how annoyed with life you were, you ate it. You devoured your poets, your writers, your heroes and heroines, your history so that you could be shaped by the history of your people from the maroons to the African tribes. You didn’t immerse yourself in European or American culture as they wanted you to, instead you remained blissfully oblivious until they confronted you, with their truth. ‘You’ve never listened to the Beatles?’ ‘You don’t know the Presidents?’ ‘You don’t know Kiss?’ ‘You’ve never watched Forest Gump?’ ‘You don’t know all these white and American things?’ And you have to reply with NO, and it isn’t your intention to change this. It is not your duty to change yourself to fit these white American preconceived notions. You’ve watched, listened to, learned and experienced other things in your life. So you start to respond with: ‘You’ve never listened to James Brown, or Wayne Wonder?’
‘The only Presidents I know are George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Barack Obama.’ ‘You don’t know Boyz II Men or Vybz Kartel?’ ‘You’ve never seen the Colour Purple, Coming to America, Baby Boy, Taxi, Diary of a Mad Black Woman?’ ‘Man, you’re missing out on all these black and American things.’ So, if one day the answer to every single one of these questions is yes, then and only then is the time when you can make the effort to understand white culture. But the chances are that the answers to all of these questions has and never will be yes, because the concept of another culture has never occurred to them. It’s always been, ‘Well, you’re living here now, so you’ve got to adapt.’ It’s not Jamaica, so you’ve got to adapt to a change in language, in culture, in acting, in thinking, in being, so that you can act like they do, think like they do, but never be them, and that is the knowledge you have to take with you. And so, you take it with you throughout the rest of high school in the States straight into your summer in Jamaica where you notice something different. Even though you’ve tried to stay who you are, and not be like them, your time in the States did change you.
You look at things differently, and realise more often that you are a black person in a white world, but there are some things that others can never change that is in your body, as sure as the melanin in your skin, and it’s your kitchen. Now, this is not the way you cook, even if your spices and methods are a part of it, instead it’s the kinky bit of hair at the back of your head where the head meets the neck. No matter how hard you try, you could never get rid of the kitchen forever. You could shave it off, but it would grow back. You can straighten it out, and iron through the kinks in your life forever, but never the ones in your hair, and so you stopped trying. Sure, you hardly cared before, but after that realization you resolved to let it be. So, for the first time in your life since you could control your movements, you wore an afro in public and you never let the words of others deter you from doing it again. At the end of that summer and the beginning of that morning before dawn, as you boarded that airline, your shoulders were lighter and your suitcase smaller and a few pounds lighter. You took one more glance at the land you left behind, and that memory you packed into your suitcase, right beside your brightly coloured shirts and jeans. It was then that you knew what was in your suitcase all those years ago, that made it as heavy as it was, because it was right there beside the black, green, and gold of your life. It was a lot smaller than it was before, but it was still big enough to be recognised. Because no matter how much you’ve gone through, no matter how much you’ve experienced, when you are as black as you are and will always be, you’ll always have that little piece of Africa with you.
black girls be magic YÉWà (ESTHER ALOBA) you be girl. you be black girl. you be told that you're cute, but only for a black girl. you accept it thinking it's a compliment. you be too oppressed to understand that that shit ain't no compliment. you be like Pecola you be waiting for the next blond haired person with The Bluest Eye to validate your worth. you be girl. you be black girl. you be told by black boys that your negro hair needs to be tamed
you be sad. you be depressed, but nobody knows because
black
girl
can't
be
depressed.
people wear black to funerals, but Black
girl
can't
be
depressed?
black can signify depression, yet black people got no privileges in being depressed? the lack of logic makes no sense, so you resort to being angry at the world. you be stereotyped as an angry black girl. now you be part of this angry black girl complex. you be girl. you be black girl. you be told that those with light skin winning. you even tell yourself light skins are winning knowing you're not what society defines to be light skin. you be that girl they say got skin that looks like tar.
dirt.
ash.
shit.
you be that girl that society doesn't put in the media
unless it’s as a backup, ghetto, or a slave that's illiterate you think skin bleaching cream can cure your internalized racism.
you've contemplated suicide, but as we can see you're
here
and
still
alive
‘cus you know your family don't got money for that funeral. you be girl. you be black girl. you be told that God will help you in your time of need, but your time of need started at birth. Eledumare, Shango, Obatala, Oshun no Olorun has been there in your time of need. you be disappointed. you be placed on the sidelines and forgotten about. you be a dream deferred. you be that road not taken that they promised to come back to, but you've been let down.
you be girl. you be black girl. no one ever told you that black
girls
be
magic.
with melanated skin, you be that girl with black skin that shines the way midnight shines. you be that girl with black skin that looks like caramel and caramel
be
so
divine.
don't let colonialism make you an active participant in colorism. you be a naturalista. with a head full of thick, coarse hair you be like Solange
there's more to you than what you have to offer sexually. you be intellectual. you be like bell hooks
Toni Morrison
Maya Angelou
Angela Davis
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Alice Walker
Amandla Stenberg
Zora Neale Hurston
they be watching you like They Eyes Be Watching God ‘cus black girls be you be that cute girl. Just cute girl
goddesses
in their own right.
not that cute for
a
black
girl,
just cute girl cus being physically attractive while being black isn't an anomaly. you be bilingual. you can utilize ebonics, but code switch when you see fit. black girls loving themselves will always offend those that don't believe black girls are worth loving.
so you go ahead and be offensive You
should
be unapologetic.
an unapologetic black girl is hard to come by, but you should be that. No
you
will
be
‘cus you be girl. you be black girl. and black girls be magic *vanguard writing competition winner
that.
Black History Month This years Black History Month theme is
Unapologetic: Celebrating Carefree Blackness Below is a list of all of the months festivities