About the Vanguard The Vanguard is the Black Student Union’s official publication, and is committed to serving Black students as an outlet for Black news, opinions, art, and self-expression. The perspectives expressed do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Black Student Union.
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editor, Tiffany Traille, at theunionpub@gmail.com
Meet the Executive Board President: Ndeye Niang Vice President: Ridwan Olatilewa Treasurer: Rayan Reid Secretary: Ayisha Adams
Publications Coordinator: Tiffany Traille Social-Cultural Coordinator: Harvey Jasmin Public Relations: Kojo Dadzie Political Correspondent: Andre Gaddy Educational Coordinator: Victoria Lewis Historian: Ebony Williams SA Representative: Brandon Jenkins
Letter from the Editor For Black people growing up in a country that was literally built on our backs, there is often a process of becoming. We start out as “other”, as in, our lack of whiteness means our personhood isn’t worth acknowledgment . As our collective and individual consciousness grows— by beginning to recognize the injustices we’ve been served— we grow into ourselves and our skin. This Vanguard is composed of pieces written by people who have escaped the box of otherness by relishing in, and accepting, their blackness.
- Tiffany Traille
Otherness by Luis Gonzalez As an Afro-Latino, deconstructing my Black identity came in two phases. The first cannot be pinpointed to a specific moment. Instead, I had to learn, through conversations and interactions with my parents, that I was NOT white. I was Dominican. I did not know what that meant, but having been born en mi tierra, I knew I was it. Growing up in Uptown Manhattan, my parents would toss the term gringo around when they were referring to any white person. Though they did use it jokingly, it was rare for them not to speak highly of the gringo lifestyle–where they lived, their job choices, etc. I never understood their infatuation. That was probably because I never had white friends until about high school (both my elementary and middle schools had primarily Latino and Black students). Nevertheless, I knew at an early age that I was not white. I did not look like them. I did not speak like them. That went for damn near everyone in the neighborhood though. At that point, all I knew was that there was white and other. By process of elimination, I knew where I stood.
stand that I was not white, I did not necessarily associate with being Black until high school. At this point the script was flipped and I was attending a school in Lower Manhattan, where I was one of the few Latinos. Moreover, I did not aspire to be white. I loved my home country and culture. I was a proud Dominican and that was that. Then, one day while walking into a train station with my boys, most of them Black, we were pulled to the side by some cops and asked to empty out our bookbags and pockets. An officer asked for my school ID and when I showed it to him a confused look won him over. After numerous glances back-and-forth between myself and the photo on my ID, he admitted to having the wrong person and thought we went to a nearby school, where the population was largely Black and Latino. At that moment it was confirmed: to society, I am Black and no matter how much I can attempt to deny it, the fact remains.
Still, just because White America saw me as Black did not mean that I viewed myself in the same way. I had to read up on my country's history only to learn of our shaded past of indigenous genocide as well as Black enslavement by European rulers—a narrative that is all too Now, the second phase is a bit more familiar to African-Americans. complicated because while I did under-
Moreover, due to the residual effects of colonialism, many Latinos have grown up learning to dislike anything associated with their African or indigenous heritage, while openly embracing the culture that destroyed their communities. And then everything began to make sense. It was not that I never wanted to be white, I was never white to begin with. I did not share the same experiences as most of White America, nor did our ancestors share the same past. I had more in common with people living in project housing in Harlem and the South Bronx than with those in luxury apartments in Chelsea or Midtown. With the shared past comes the current shared struggle. Any Latino/a that chooses to deny their Black roots is not only limited in their scope of understanding racial experiences, but more importantly they are denying a pivotal piece of their culture.
Real Poem Anthony Pereira It seems like Uncle Sam forgot about his prodigal sons Leaving us under the influence of those who claim to tote powerful guns So when people say a change gonna come, we wonder where they got their periodicals from Cause every day the same shallow dreams and vices continue to power the slums Our urge to shine is a powerful one, so to provide the funds we do anything to find that loot Then we drink down our pride with $1 ice tees and cheap wonton soup, whoop Question our hustle because unlike you we don’t spend our proof Your arrogance got you misplaced like a dude rocking all blue yelling sewoop See we know our lane, so we be in Pathmark flexing hard with our EBTs Thrift shop flow like Macklemore, and still looking good when we in these streets The struggle don’t phase you, well to us it’s apparent Despite the love from our parents, most of the time its debt we inherit But we grin and bear it, because what little wealth they had, they ain’t hesitate to share it And we fight to end the cycle so our kids’ won’t have to fear it So don’t tell us real recognize real when you try to run our pockets Cause how real you can be when you rob your brethren for profit Can’t rob us if our feet work, so we bolting like Usain So the man in the mirror is the only one who you’re playing But damn, even though you try to stick us our paper, we still get on our knees And pray that you realize that the true paper to chase are diploma and degrees.
“Loving and Fearing my Black skin, brown eyes, and Black hair” Toivo Asheeke Sometimes, I love my black skin, I love my brown eyes, and I love my black hair… but sometimes, I’m scared of my black skin, my brown eyes, and my black hair… In chains we were brought to the Americas… blood we found as our labor was used to build this country on the land taken from the First Peoples, our sisters and brothers… Freedom we dreamed often of, but fire, pain and often death followed all who tried fighting for it through uprisings, escapes and general resistances But freedom did come… not out of love of the master to the slave, or from the benevolence of the North to us Southern Negros… but through blood and gunpowder that in the end enabled the illusion of freedom to more closely be draped over our eyes… we should have never put down our guns… Years went by… and some decided to boycott buses and march for democracy in order to gain freedom. But not all; others wanted to take up arms declared 1964 as the year of the Ballot or the Bullet… but marching initially won out and leaders spoke of having dreams and imagining a fair and just incorporation of our black skins into this system… and the land of my sisters and brothers, the Native Americans, the first people, still was not theirs… Bullets flew, police dogs charged, and water cannons sprayed as we marched… others planned revolution on a world scale through the rising cry for Black Power… After strivings of my 60s a new enemy came to the fore… an enemy that promised after broken promises of the white male landowning forefathers, that if a few of us acted right, freedom for all one could find… Never were falser words spoken as the KKK was replaced by the Police, Jim Crow with gentrification, promises of equality by enforced poverty, educational equality by mental slavery, and slavery with prison
All the while the Rastafari wailed for us to emancipate ourselves from mental slavery like Buffalo Soldiers… hath we not listened… But forgot we had, Emmitt Till who Lil Wayne disrespects in his lyrics of the day, because his fate was to be repeated by young Trayvon, Renisha McBride, Mike Brown, Eric Garner, Reika Boyd, and Aiyanna Jones…. family of my skin, nose, and lips, as well as blood of my blood… So here we stand, yelling “we can’t breathe”, “hands up don’t shoot”, “Black lives matter”, and “if we don’t get it, shut it down!” And as we cry, chant and shout, we grow ever more organized and I stop fearing my Black skin, brown eyes, Black hair and my hoodie keeping my face warm and covered… As I pick up the guns, tools, words, and ideas of our long march to freedom my fear turns into an even stronger love, a hope for change, and a motivation for to struggle for peace… Because this is a fight we will win because Black Lives do Matter, my skin, nose, hair, and eyes are worth loving, and no systemic form of oppression will keep us down. A Luta Continua (The struggle continues).
#Woke: A Stream of Consciousness Onyx Ramirez Unless you’ve developed a method of reading while you sleep, you’re awake right now. But, are you #woke? As far as being conscious goes, #woke is like nirvana, in that it is the ultimate goal. I remember when I was younger, thinking about the idea of “me” and how “me” is different from the collective “you.” I remember thinking that we were all one people, one race--the human race--and some other next level corny mess that really demonstrates how deep a slumber I was in. In my head, my individuality stemmed from my interests, not my demographic. And, although I still believe that what I enjoy doing makes me unique, now, I can’t help but interpret my world through shades tinted with my hyphens. Living life this way is extremely exhausting to the psyche. Staying #woke sucks the energy out of me most days. I feel like I’m constantly fighting the same fight, arguing the same arguments, crying the same tears, and mourning the same people. There’s a book called “The Awakening,” and in it the main character is extremely repressed. When she finally
achieves #woke status she walks right into the ocean and drowns herself. I think that says a lot. On the flip side, it’s soul crushing to know and to not act. When I look back on how much I hated myself, I hate myself. I used to go to such great lengths to deny my identity. You know how many children today are running around hanging out with their friends, being racist lil d-bags? An appalling number of them. (And those kids grow up to be big racist d-bags with careers and families.) Sometimes I think to myself, wow, honestly, to be honest, tbh and being completely honest, thank you baby Jesus because I know better now...but there’s still so much more to learn! Sometimes I find myself discovering all this new internalized oppression and with every wave of significant personal change I feel so much closer to loving who I am. One day, I hope to have the privilege of hating myself for being really, really annoying and kind of rude (which I am, and can be) and not for the color of my skin or the texture of my hair. And at this point, I can confidently say that most days, I’m there. I’ve learned that waking up is a process. In my real life, I’ve gotta set my alarm five times, open my eyes, wipe my eye crusties, curse the heavens several times,
set 2 more alarms, and then internally (and audibly) groan.
In the process of figuring out who I was, I found out that I hated myself and my own kind probably as a result of socieIt’s more than just being woke or tal pressures, familial pressures, and the staying woke, it’s actually getting out of bed and deciding to do something with my subtle but rampant racism that permeates day. In terms of daily #wokeness I go be- most spheres of our society. But, harder tween feeling like I got up bright and early, than learning and accepting all of that is undoing all that damage and learning to had a cup of coffee, went for a run, and love myself, even if I am really annoying finished my correspondences and that and kind of rude. feeling of being so exhausted that you sleep until 2pm and then you’re tired from having overslept so you sleep until 4pm and then your parents come into your room and have a long talk with you about whether or not you’re “depressed” and setting “goals” and “getting a job.” (haha woooo it got personal)
Identity Rayan Reid Who am I I’m Black What is Black? What kind of chains do I wear? Are they of the Gold Mansa Musa left on his journey? Or were they given to me along with a new name? Who am I I am a Black Man Am I the one that was riding down the freeway in a Bronco? Am I the man that has led the United States for the last eight years? I am a Young Black Man Do I have a record full of convictions? Do I have a college degree and well paying job? Who Am I The loudest mouse and the smallest elephant in the room The timid lion and the fastest turtle No. I am Rayan Reid A young BLACK male
Living in a society that works against me But it’s my duty to challenge it and not allow it to define myself Identity.
Shades
black man in society, I feel like black women place an ultimatum on black men. In the sense that if you don’t date dark skinned women, you hate them or by Kojo Dadzie visa versa. That’s the hardest part to deal with because along with what people attract and are attractGrowing up as a dark skin boy, I lacked confidence in ed to, there are others who have strict preferences myself because no one paid attention to people who that they won’t let go. looked like me. I disliked my skin and my name and I As for me, I feel that women like Tika Sumpter really wasn’t satisfied with how I was living. I don’t and Kelly Rowland are just as, if not even more beauremember when it clicked that I was a young King and tiful than women like Rihanna, Beyoncé and Halle a unique person, but I’m glad it eventually did. Berry. The point is, I can identify beauty in all of those For some time, the media has perpetuated women, and their skin shades are not a detriment, stereotypes that we’ve blindly ran with. I ain’t going but instead, add to their beauty. The same way I see to lie, when I was younger I liked the lighter girls, be- beauty in my sister and the same way I see beauty in cause the media showed me that beauty was in the my girlfriend. women with the lighter skin. I didn’t know any better, I say all of that to say this: My beautiful wombut I also never considered darker women to be ugly en of color, you are QUEENS. Don’t let the media or or less attractive. What clicked for me was that if I ANYTHING turn you into something you’re not. Conwanted to be with an “elite” woman, she had to have tinue to walk with your head high and your confilight skin. I can admit that it was the wrong state of dence shooting through the roof. Men who apprecimind, but I’ve totally and completely grown out of ate your beauty are all you need to be concerned that. I’m not ashamed that I once thought like that with. We’ve struggled enough to gain respect from because it taught me better. You have to grow from the “higher ups”. Let’s truly stop these silly civil wars your mistakes to be a better person. we’re having and continue to find ways to build each Shade really doesn’t matter at all. What’s in- other and our community. side truly makes and shapes a person. I wouldn’t be with a woman I wasn’t attracted to, but I am not attracted to one type of woman. Sometimes as a
Artwork by Imani Shanklin Roberts
For a Black Girl Amanda Harris
black people who never had to watch their younger brother walk out the door and pray he comes home,
A Doctor? That's not possible for you You want to be a surgeon ? Chase another dream , Wrap your head around something more realistic.
people who never actually had to scream in a silent room just to be heard but in that moment just when I'm about to swallow this ball of lies accept my fate and give in
Yea your pretty .. I mean for a black girl .
I take a minute to look up .
You're life will always be more challenging ,
I realize that I can't give up because I see something so completely different , someone different
just not really sure if you belong , might as well give up. Haven't you noticed the privileges you're sister gets with fair skin , light eyes and blonde hair . That will never happen for you so what's the point ?
I realized that yes I am black but am I not a person ? don't I deserve the same respect and tolerance that my sister does In this mirror I see a black girl , excuse me a black young woman
Close your eyes , wish that God will change your skin color
who will never stop her dream of becoming a surgeon
because your not going to get anywhere looking the way you do .
I see a black queen of beauty
As I stare in the mirror with these thoughts running through my mind
waiting for the day when people will realize
I'm forced to hang my head in shame
that life goes beyond simply what you see .
because for a second I believe it
A smile slowly starts to dwell on my face
For a second I dislike my sister
as I look up at the spitting image of my mother ,
For a second I believe that if my skin was three shades lighter ,
a black woman who never let anyone tell her she couldn't be what she wanted
if my hair was a couple inches longer I would actually be beautiful
I look up and I see the truth of reality
... For a girl . For a second I believe that they are right For a second I believe in the lies of people who don't actually knows what it means to be
one with a warm heart and ever green soul
but a dream that can be , will be accomplished .
Toyin Odutola, Hold It In Your Mouth A Little Longer