Sankofa | Charcoal Magazine Issue 3

sankofa

When we set out to choose a theme for our third issue, we knew we wanted to select a topic that required our contributors to look to their roots, to trace where they come from and how, if at all, that history influences them and their work today. The significance of the past—both personal and political—varies person to person, but it’s in the ways that it emerges that captured our interest.

Our title, Sankofa, comes from the Akan language, meaning “it is not taboo to go back and fetch what you forgot.” Sankofa reminds us to look to the past in order to move forward, encouraging us to find the best parts of ourselves in our roots, history, and traditions and use them to better our future.

The core of our third issue features an extended article about Filipinx artists Nikka Palapar, Rosie Reyes, and Casey Ramós—three kind and multifaceted young artists whose story inspired Sankofa’s golden color palette and voice. They, and our other fifteen contributors (a record number for Charcoal!) exemplify the beauty of celebrating oneself and one’s history, and have made this last issue for our founding team one to remember.

Thank you to our community for your continued support—we look forward to looking ahead!

Peace and well wishes, The Charcoal Executive Board

Editor-in-Chief, Creative Director Remy Usman, CFA '19

Executive Editor

Adia Turner, CAS '19

Managing Editor

Erin Edwards, COM '21

Chief Financial Officer Thalis Perez, QST '20

Chief Marketing Officer Archelle Thelemaque, COM '21

Art Director Eva Vidan, CFA '19

Art Director Patricia Ho, CFA '19

Cover Image Rosie Reyes, CAS, '19 photographed by Patricia Ho

Publisher Charcoal Magazine

Printing CenturyType

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Contributors

Cameron Cooper, CAS ‘20

Casey Ramos, COM ‘21

Dev Chatterjee, PARDEE ‘19

Devin Harvin, CAS ‘19

Esther Kwon, COM ‘19

GianCarlo Lobo, COM ‘20

Hafzat Akanni, CAS ‘20

Hector Meneses, QST ‘19

Jo Cosio-Mercado, CFA ‘21

Lovie Burleson, CAS ‘19

Meredith McDuffie, CAS ‘20

Nikka Palapar, CAS, CFA ‘19

Qiu Yu Hong Lu, CAS, CFA ‘21

Rosie Reyes, CAS ‘19

Ruth Dele-Oni, SAR ‘20

Tammy Qiu, CAS, CFA ‘19

Models

Cameron Cooper, CAS '20 Deanna Campbell, CAS '21 Jo Cosio-Mercado, CFA ‘21

Thanks to Dean Kenneth Elmore, Katherine Kennedy, Shari Tumandao, Pedro Falci, and Marivic Alvior-Cruz for your continued support.

Charcoal Magazine issue #3 is dedicated to Suzanne Kennedy .

MODELS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE:

CAMERON COOPER, CAS '20

JO COSIO-MERCADO, CFA '21

DEANNA CAMPBELL, CAS '21

PHOTOGRAPHED BY EVA VIDAN, CFA '19

Why Asian Americans Have Been Hidden From the Big Screen For Over 25 Years

WRITTEN BY ESTHER KWON

conversation of underrepresentation is ultimately one about

identity

“The

American

and if Asians will be allowed to fit in this definition.”

The overwhelming emotion surrounding the film Crazy Rich Asians released this fall, the only allAsian cast in a Hollywood film since The Joy Luck Club 25 years ago, makes me wonder how we ended up celebrating what should have been a normal standard in America. Why did it take so long for not just Asian American stories, but an Asian American cast to star in leading roles in Hollywood films and mainstream TV? Why are there so few Asian American leads to begin with? The excuse that Asian American actors don’t deliver box office hits doesn’t compute with the Crazy Rich Asians‘ opening weekend sales of $26 million, but with the embarrassing sales of films that used white actors for characters with an Asian heritage.

Scarlett Johansson did not convince anyone that she was a Japanese manga character in The Ghost in the Shell nor did she generate higher profit for the film. The founding director of Boston Asian American Film Festival, Susan Chinsen, referenced Hollywood’s history of whitewashing as one of the reasons why Asian Americans are not given enough chances to have their break in Hollywood films. Hollywood’s move to evade financial risk by not casting a real Asian American proved ironic as the film lost at least $60 million. When Emma Stone was cast as a quarter Chinese and quarter Hawaiian woman for romantic comedy Aloha released only three years ago, the film grossed half the amount expected.

Even two years ago, whitewashing made its grand return in Doctor Strange. GQ senior editor, Kevin Nguyen, shared in a discussion on PBS Idea Channel that even if whitewashing is used as a means to avoid portraying negative stereotypes for an Asian character like The Ancient One in Doctor Strange, Nguyen said: “you’re just saying that you couldn’t write an Asian character without negative stereotypes.” With fewer opportunities in Hollywood, Asian American actors find themselves in a Catch 22 since they’re not given initial breaks in films, they’re pigeonholed into the category of non-grossing actors when they were given so few opportunities in the first place.

The slim percentages of Asian Americans in front and behind of the camera help explain the perpetuated invisibility effect. MTV Decoded released a video stating that of the 5% of Asian Americans in the population, only 1% had lead roles, demonstrating that even if the Asian American population is smaller than the white population, Asian Americans are still deprived of accurate reality-to-screen ratios. As for executive positions, only 34 out of 1000 films surveyed had Asian directors, which is .034%. The disproportionate correlation between reality and depiction on screen inadvertently tells aspiring Asian American talent that the doors are closed and that their dreams can’t be achieved. Independent filmmaker Adele Han Li shared during a phone interview that the

invisibility effect—when the lack of representation dictates the social script for a certain people group— helps explain the relationship between low Asian American representation on screen and few people in the younger generation believe they can achieve successful roles in acting.

Traditional values passed down by foreign-born Asian parents, in addition to the lack of Asian American precedence in popular media content, exacerbate the problem. Graduate student Min Huh wrote in her dissertation Media Representation of Asian Americans that professional occupations which promise profitable careers such as medicine and law become agendas pushed onto the younger generation while a career in the arts and entertainment is belittled. Younger Asian Americans not only feel the financial pressure and responsibility towards their family, but a lack of confidence in succeeding in an industry where not many resembling faces can be found. Regardless of passion or talent in the creative field, the younger generation subconsciously internalizes the social script in which their occupational roles are limited.

Another independent filmmaker from Los Angeles raises the issue of not enough Asian Americans uniting together in the filmmaking industry. After working with different networks like NBC Entertainment and Amazon Studios, Benedict Chiu shared during a phone interview that Asian American filmmakers don’t seem to be as connected as other ethnic groups in the corporate world like Black Americans. While there are support groups for Black Americans in the industry, Asian Americans seem to be dispersed in the many subsets of Asian American identity: Filipino, Korean, Thai, Indian, Vietnamese, and so forth. Chiu stressed the importance of Asian Americans uniting in the entertainment industry even if another creator isn’t making the content desired, such as Asian American stories. Ultimately, the goal is for creators ranging from Youtube comedy sketches to indie films to make their best content and not have to bear the burden of representing an entire people group through their work.

Yet even after considering all these valid explanations, I felt like no one directly addressed the major taboo topic. Part of the issue is that I when I contacted over 35 people to interview—well-known Asian American film critics, influential Youtubers, film directors and producers, actors, Boston University and Emerson professors, college students, and a film festival director—only 6 people responded. And of the few that did respond, the various reasons posited for Asian American underrepresentation in mainstream media were relevant but byproducts of a deeper reason no one wanted to say. Yes, whitewashing and limited casting are functional explanations, but why is there whitewashing and limited casting in the first place if the correlation to money doesn’t make sense?

After searching through the 15th “O” of Google, I read two dissertations that helped me reach a satisfying and simple answer: Asian Americans on the big screen threaten to change the face of America’s national identity, establishing that they are of equal standing to the white majority and not other, immigrant-packaged, and inferior. Stereotypes of Asians boxed them in one-dimensional understanding so that Asian identity would never bleed into American identity, and Asian Americans would only be Asian.

Why There Are So Few Asian Artists in Mainstream American Music, exposing struggles experienced by artists like Paul Kim, a former American Idol contestant who writes and performs original R&B music. Kim shared in an interview with Bustle that “many music executives told him that if it weren’t for him being Asian, he would be signed to a major label successfully.” Asian Americans have been perceived to be unfit for the entertainment industry for so long that when the two come together, the result is nothing less than disappointing.

Asian Americans will not be seen as entertainers, compelling characters, talented communicators, or socially adept, not just because of their invisibility in mainstream media, but because of the general discomfort in seeing a people group outside of their stereotype. Humanized, they’re made more complex than a caricature.

Not only within film, but in music, Asian Americans confront a glass ceiling purely based on their Asian face. Bustle released an article last year,

REFERENCES

ACADEMIC JOURNALS

Hu B, Pham VN (2017). IN FOCUS: Asian American Film and Media. Cinema Journal 56(3)

Yang H, (2017). White Washed Out: Asian American Representation in Media. Deliberations Online

Pnaer I (2018). The Marginalization and Stereotyping of Asians in American Film. Honors Theses and Capstone Projects. 36.

Huh M (2016). Media Representation of Asian Americans and Asian Native New Yorkers’ Hybrid Persona. CUNY Academic Works.

BOOKS

Zillmann, Z., Bryant, J., & Oliver, M. (2014). Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research. NJ: Taylor and Francis.

INTERVIEWS

Susan Chinsen, Benedict Chiu, Adele Han Li, Josee Matela, Sebastien Garbe, Hannah Lee

MEDIA OUTLETS

PBS Idea Channel. (2017, May 11). Why Doesn’t Hollywood Cast Asian Actors? [Video file].

MTV Decoded. Why are there so few Asians in Holywood? (2018, October 26). [Video file].

ONLINE ARTICLES

Deggans, E. (2016, February 22). Hollywood has a Major Diversity Problem, USC Study Finds. [Blog post].

(2016, September 6). Hollywood Equality: All Talk, Little Action. USC Annenberg.

Oyiboke, A. (2017, May 17). Why There Are So Few Asian Artists in American Mainstream Music. Bustle

I mean how American must an Asian American be in order to be culturally relevant and successful in the entertainment industry? We can’t ignore the tense relations America had towards Asian immigrants in the mid-19th century when the Chinese population mass-immigrated during The Gold Rush and dominated the labor market, only to then face The Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882 when Chinese immigrants were banned from entering America for 10 years. With timeline delayed and percentage of Asian immigrants in the U.S. population decreased, initial hostile relations between Asian immigrants and White Americans did not help the case for a beginning of positive media representation for Asian Americans.

Even though Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan became popular in the mid-20th century, too few Asian Americans achieved success in mainstream media and the effects have influenced the gen-

Hess, A. (2016, May 25). AsianAmerican Actors Are Fighting for Visibility. They Will Not Be Ignored. The New York Times

Chan, J. (2014, August 20). Where Are All the Asian Americans in Hollywood? Complex.

(2017, September 12). Study Finds Asian-American Characters ‘Tokens’ on TV. NBC News.

Fang, J. (2018, August 8). Yellowface, Whitewashing, and the History of White People Playing Asian Characters. Teen Vogue.

Shepherd, J. (2017, April 7). Ghost in the Shell set to lose $60 million at the Box Office. Independent.

Liu, T. (2017 May). Making Mainstream Asian America. Northwesten Undergraduate Research Journal.

Zaru, D. (2018, March 5). News flash! The Oscars are stil so white. Just take a look at the most excluded group. CNN Politics.

Hunt, D., Ramón, A., Tran, M., Sargent, A, and Roychoudhury, D. (2018). Hollywood Diversity Report 2018. Los Angeles, CA: UCLA College of Social Sciences.

YOUTUBERS

Tran, Natalie. Natalie TransAsians in Media Talk. (2015, April 7). [Video file].

Asian Americans on the big screen threaten to change the face of America’s national identity.

Girl with Dragon Blood

BY QIU YU HONG LU

As a female artist, especially as an Asian female, I have long noticed that some cultural traditions have been oppressing us from expressing our real opinions. I wish my artworks will give viewers a sense of female empowerment by showing females’ brave moments as well as their inevitable vulnerabilities. I often incorporate various medium in my pieces such as water and oil-based paints, collage and charcoal. My pieces feature women I knew from daily life. I often utilize watercolor, ink, charcoal and gold leaf.

In Girl with Dragon Blood, a Chinese girl in green traditional outfit smiles as aurora shines behind her head. She is a close friend, who always wears traditional clothing confidently amidst crowds of American teenagers.

The garment is an object that showcases our religious tradition while modern technology speeds our life up. The girl in my painting remains unchanged just like the traditional garment as things around her evolve.

Qiu Yu Hong Lu is a sophomore pursuing a dual degree in psychology and painting in the College of Arts and Sciences and the College of Fine Arts.

teased with a confident “Don’t make fun of Michael Johnson!” and later comfort them when they launched into a self-guilting apology. They knew it could come across as racially ignorant.

And so I dyed my hair. People then were able to recognize me as the one with the pink ‘do, while Michael was the one, well, without it (our third Asian-American classmate is built like Arnold Schwarzenegger and is unquestionably straight so he never was mistaken for either of us). For three months, people said they could remember me because I “resembled a K-Pop star.” I cringed because that comment spoke to a massive generalization of Asian people. But it was a victory. A bittersweet victory, but a victory nonetheless.

This damaging behavior is called the cross-race effect. Its a troubling effect where people experience difficulty distinguishing between members of ethnic groups they do not belong to. The cross-race effect is a psychological response that continues a socio-cultural behavior in humans to create groups. One study shows that as social animals, humans are programmed to identify and amplify features that make a person separate from their own group in order to reinforce their own social identities1. The common features of out-group members are then identified and used to identify them as such.

In our context, this makes sense. As members of the Asian out-group, Michael and I are perceived as more similar than we really are, thus increasing the

For a while.

When my black hair grew out again in the second semester, people would find themselves switching our names again. This second wave was even more heartbreaking because I had spent the better half of a year with these people, and still, they couldn’t get it down. One particularly disheartening incident occurred when an upperclassman casually reminded me on the street that I had an office hour with a professor later that day (a peculiar choice for small-talk) although I hadn’t signed up. I went back into the building to check if my professor had signed me up without notifying me, but all I discovered was a clipboard with “Michael Johnson” penned in for the 12:30 slot. The amount of emotional distress I experienced was unbearable, but not as much as it was embarrassing.

possibility of our names being mistaken by our white peers. However, this is not a behavior exclusive to white people.

A 2007 study found that the cross-race effect might be an automatic response2. Their study investigated a subject’s ability in facial identification by showing participants a series of male faces, 20 Black and 20 White, and later testing their memory to see if they correctly recalled seeing the faces before or not. An experimental condition group was provided instructions that disclosed the nature of the study and asked them to make an effort to differentiate the faces, especially those of people not from their own race. A control group did the experiment without these instructions. The results showed that participants who were prompted to individuate the faces of out-group members were more suc-

cessful in the recall activity, whereas the control group showed a higher influence of cross-race effect. The study suggests that without motivation to pay attention to our habit of out-grouping and categorizing people of another race, the cross-race effect has an impact on memory and judgment.

You’d think, though, that in Boston University’s self-proclaimed inclusive environment, people would be conscious of this effect. Especially in the School of Theatre, where our line of work demands us to tackle questions of social identity, you’d expect an awareness of the possibility of race-based out-grouping and would take measures to avoid that.

In The Nature of Prejudice, Gordon Allport suggests that increased intergroup contact—that is, contact between people of different races—may not necessarily encourage interracial friendship or reduce hostility. Allport argues that in environments where there is an imbalance in status between the minority and majority groups, the cross-race effect can increase, potentially reinforcing stereotypes and in-group-out-group differentiation.

So this becomes a question of environment. In Boston University’s white-dominated student body, the cross-race effect is unavoidable as the statuses between racial groups are not equal.

I wonder how many times my ability to recognize my peers was affected by the cross-race effect. When first getting to know people, I, like everyone else had mistaken the name and face of one person for that of another. But until I had realized that others weren’t learning my name and face nearly as quickly as they were for my peers, I didn’t think race was involved in that misidentification.

In effect, by dyeing my hair, I was changing the identifier that made me a part of the out-group. I had created an out-group that consisted of only me, so my name becomes easier to remember as there is nobody else to mix it up with.

I shouldn’t have needed to. I become embarrassed when I claim out loud that I did this because of other people. But I had resigned to changing something about myself to facilitate the recognition of my peers, of my out-group. All of this so that people would just learn my name.

1. Tajfel, H. (1974). Social identity and intergroup behaviour. Information (International Social Science Council), 13(2), 65–93.

2. Hugenberg, K., Miller, J., & Claypool, H. M. (2007). Categorization and individuation in the cross-race recognition deficit: Toward a solution to an insidious problem. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 43(2), 334-340.

Chip’s Daughter

WRITTEN BY ADIA TURNER

As black women, we are constantly taught to be hard. To be strong. To be unbreakable. To be in charge. To never fail. To never cry. To never surrender.

I am the second daughter of Lisa Renee Redmond. A strong, kind, beautiful woman, who has lived her life in glorious technicolor. She has been my teacher in all ways. She has taught me that crying when you’re hurt is not a sign of weakness. That needing to come home to be reminded of where you come from does not equate to failure. That wanting to run the guy over who broke your heart does not make you crazy, it makes you human. She has given me the bravery to live my life out loud, and being her child has been the greatest honor of my life. Though, I did not always think so.

At the age of 16, like most angsty teenage girls, my mother was my worst enemy. Everything she did rubbed me the wrong way. She was too over protective. Too overbearing. Too much to handle. I was counting down the days until I was free from her tyrannical rule. Little did I know, in my self-centeredness at the time, that to my mother I may have been rude, hard headed, and somewhat difficult to handle myself. We were living our lives on opposite frequencies, constantly trying to hear one another over our own voices. It took me moving 19 hours and 48 minutes away to finally gain the ability to hear and most importantly understand my mother.

For years, I had dreamed of living far, far away from my mom. Though, when the time came for her

“We both are stronger than we believe and more powerful than we can know.”

to close my dorm room door after matriculation, I was hit with a reality I had never truly expected: I was probably never going to live in her home permanently again. With this realization came an onslaught of tears that didn’t end for three weeks. Who was I without my mom to cheer me on? How was I going to survive without my fiercest protector? Could I succeed without hearing her tell me I was worth something every day? This was the turning point in our relationship. I had to learn to walk on my own without my mom holding my hand the entire way. It only taught me how much I actually needed her love, warmth, and light.

The toughest lesson I’ve had to learn in college is that I don’t know anything. I have been humbled many times over in the past 4 years, and my mom has been the one to pick me up, dust me off, and point in the right direction every single time. When I was failing chemistry and doubting if I deserved to be at BU, my mom refused to let me drown in self-pity. She told me I was born great, therefore me being anything less was not possible. When I fell in love for the first time, did something stupid for a boy for the first time, and got my heart broken for the first time, my mother was the one to let me fall apart. She gave me the space to break, and cry, and scream, and feel everything I needed. And when the time came for me to put my pieces back together, she was the one holding the tape and glue.

Looking back over my own experience over the past four years, has shown me that my mom and I have lived incredibly parallel lives. While my mom was in college, she struggled earning her engineering degree, she got hurt by a boy, and was so scared of what the future held. She even had the nickname Chip, for the chipmunk cheeks that are now visible on my own face. At 16 I wasn’t able to understand her because I had yet lived any live. But at 21, looking at my mother is like looking in a blurry mirror. It’s hard to see every distinct detail, but I recognize my own face staring back at me.

Before leaving her, I hadn’t known how similar we both are. We both share these deep belly laughs that bursts out of us like sunbeams, and can cause an entire room to join in on our joy. We both can cause harm, not with our hands, but with our words. We yield our tongues like expert swordsmen, knowing exactly what to say to pierce soft flesh. We both love those around us with a breathtaking intensity, that often times leaves little love leftover for ourselves. We both are stronger than we believe and more powerful than we can know.

Leaving my mother, my home, my lighthouse, my north star, has been the hardest thing I have ever had to do. But it also given me the ability to look into myself and see her shining through me. She is woven into the meaning of my name, the shape of my face, and the fabric of my being. I do not exist without her, and I don’t ever want to.

(TOP) THE AUTHOR’S MOTHER IN COLLEGE; (BOTTOM) THE AUTHOR WITH HER FAMILY

musicals like RENT and Wicked alongside Taylor Swift in our living room. We recorded ourselves for the heck of it. Now that we’re both in college, we only get to record for a bit during our winter and summer breaks. We still haven’t retired Taylor Swift from our set list.

I initially didn’t have my guitar going into college, I missed playing so much so that I saved up over the summer of my sophomore year to buy one. I started recording myself junior year in my dorm room in to re-watch what I can improve on. The recordings started with some fingerpicking. I published those, and over time, I mustered up the courage to put my voice out there. A lot of it is not perfect! I am out of my comfort zone every time I post something, and yet I indulge in that feeling as well.

Do you feel your work is immediately identifiable as your work? Do you feel you have a style?

I’ve been told that I have a style from a few of my peers, which is so odd to me, because I don’t claim any sort of aesthetic. I admit I do tend to lean toward what I like. I like layering things together, bold type-

faces, and making my pieces look as busy as possible. A lot of that “busy-ness” stems from my intent of not losing the meaning of the content I am working with. Whether it’s a dynamic show poster or a simple restaurant menu, I strive for my design to inform the audience as well as eliciting curiosity from them.

Do you ever feel insecure about your work?

Every time! I’m overtly critical of myself. I’m a perfectionist and I tend to obsess over the details.

How would you describe your mind? Sporadic. My mind tends to go a mile-aminute and I cannot sit still. I want every action of mine, no matter how little, to be intentional.

What would you like to experiment with? Someday I’d like to experiment with print-mediums and combining it with 3d modeling. I think there is a lot of potential of breaking some boundaries and creating interesting forms in making something physical with help of the digital.

What are you working on right now?

Currently working on my thesis project! My elevator pitch is that it’s a study on both accessibility and respect in designing for culture. It comes from my thought process in designing BUFSA over the past four years, and designing for a Vietnamese food truck company for a year. How can I, as an immigrant and Filipino-American, come to terms with translating the culture of my own? I started to explore and question how culture can be accessible without losing context, history, and tradition. With Filipino culture, I wanted to build upon what I know.

How important, if at all, is your cultural background to your design work?

Cultural background can be very important in my design work. I like put a lot of importance in the history and context of my content. For me, this intention comes from the fear of being erased. As a minority, you don’t see many things that represent the essence of “you.” Design is my response to that. However, it is not everything. Culture is one of the things that factor to who I am. What’s more important to me, at least, is implementing a part of myself into my work. Whether, my culture, my education, my queerness, my likes, my dislikes, it is my experiences that enhance and put meaning into my design.

What do you think your life will be like five years from now?

I hope that I’ll still be in Boston! I love this city a whole lot, and I would want to go back to school and earn a Master’s in Architecture. In terms of design, for me to have a stable practice is the dream. I hope to use my skills and assets in designing for non-profits and/or cultural organizations. Oh! And maybe have my dogs fly over and have them live with me, of course.

When did you realize you wanted to write down your emotions on paper?

In high school I competed in the Poetry Out Loud national poetry recitation contest, and ended up getting far into the competition. In this competition, individuals had to choose poetry from an anthology to study, memorize, and recite. So at this point, I was only involved with reading poetry rather than writing. I made it to nationals two years in a row, representing Oregon for the years of 2013 and 2014 in Washington D.C. After the competition was over, the organization threw huge after parties, which always (and unintentionally) becomes an open mic. There, many of the other students started sharing their original poetry and spoken word pieces, and it was so moving. At this point, I had never written poetry, but hearing the stories of other kids my age and how it brought everyone so much closer really made a huge impact on myself. I was so used to reading poetry of dead poets, and it was my peers who inspired me to lift my own voice through poetry. Since then, I have been writing here and there, performing at open mics and shows.

Tell me about your poem writing process. Do you have writing rituals?

Writing is HARD. I feel like I am most inspired during the most inconvenient times, such as: when I am walking to class, studying for an exam, at work, etc. So when I feel inspired but unable to write, I quickly take my phone, go to my notes app, and write my ideas down. Anything that sparks anything inside of me, I write it down. And when I have time, I take these kernels of thoughts and type them on my computer and just try to move

REYES

forward with them. Once I have an idea typed, I return to it over various periods of time—sometimes the next day, other times a whole month later, and normally never because most of them are just not good ideas. I am still learning the environments and times that are best for me to write, so I am just currently switching things up and haven’t developed any rituals (yet!).

What type of work are you most drawn to?

I am huge for accessibility in all circumstances, so I am drawn to poetry that simulates accessibility. One way accessibility looks like in poetry is simple words that are easy to understand, but with a variety of themes and personal narratives. Poetry has commonly been looked at as an art form reserved for only the highly educated because of its stigma of containing tough vocabulary and concepts that are hard to relate to. But there is poetry that is not like this! Combining accessible words, personal stories, and great metaphors can teach so many people to love poetry and feel heard and seen. That why I also love poetry that tells the speaker’s unique personal story or history. These personal stories allow people to relate and to prompt them to share their own stories too. Narratives and story-telling are key components of activism and change, and expressing these stories through poetry is so powerful!

Do you believe in writer’s block? How do you overcome it once it strikes?

Writer’s block is real and very discouraging. And when I am experiencing writer’s block, I realize I just need to change up my environment and/or seek other inspirations. I have learned that I like to write in busy

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When you were young, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I think the only job little me ever really considered was being a writer, actually! There’s this picture of me from when I was four years old holding a pen and notebook and wearing my mom’s reading glasses. I wrote stupid little books about my siblings on big adventures, and I plead guilty to being that kid in third grade English who always asked for extra paper. Of course, I also had my “I want to be Hannah Montana” phase, where I wore a big blonde wig and sang into a fake purple mic, but didn’t we all?

Has your idea of what poetry is changed since you began writing poems?

It definitely has. I think my biggest lesson in creative writing has been that your art does not have to spell things out. You don’t have to tell your readers everything and paint the whole picture for them. Leave some things uncolored. For a long time— especially in high school—I was bothered when people interpreted my work in ways I didn’t mean. I’ve started to find instead that poetry is special because one poem can tell a million stories. Not everyone has to feel your art the way you do.

How do you begin a poem?

I usually begin at the end! I might be thinking and feeling through an idea for a while, but the words will just be mumbles until I get the perfect last line. After that, I find the first line, and I build the poem up from there.

What types of poems do you find yourself writing most?

I write a lot of poems about identity. It’s such a hard, weird thing to articulate, but

poetry is so fluid that it usually gets it right. I love writing about family and throwing bits of other languages into my work. I also find in-betweenness to be the most daunting but most crucial topic for me. I think being away from my home in New York has forced me to weigh my differences in ways I didn’t have to before. Everything about being a brown, queer, biracial woman feels different here. In the future, I’d like to venture more into the topics of race and space, but for now that’s an anger I have yet to make sound eloquent.

Did you write “remember” for yourself or with an audience in mind? “remember” began as a nod to my ancestors. “I have heard your stories, and I am carrying them with me.” In that way I guess it was for me, as a way to gather their experiences and write them into my own story. By the end of it, though, I had this mounting feeling, like we are slowly crawling towards a time and place where it is encouraged to tell the stories of our pasts—even the ugly ones. “The world now says ‘we know,’ says ‘tell us’,” is where the audience came into mind. I wanted to share that feeling and extend encouragement to others whose ancestors spent generations in silence.

Tell me about some of your influences. My first real poetry book as a kid was Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends. There are still poems in that book I can feel and remember, like the one about the bit of sky that fell into his soup. Later, in high school, there was this upperclassman girl who was basically the school’s queen of poetry. I really looked up to her and I loved her style. Her ability to be vulnerable and talk about

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things like mental health and sexuality really primed my path in terms of realizing how many people you can touch by being the person who speaks up.

In my senior year of high school, I discovered another poet whose style really touched me. His name is Ocean Vuong, and the first poem of his I read is—to this day—one of my favorite poems: “Tell Me Something Good.” I have since bought his poetry book “Night Sky with Exit Wounds” at Union Square’s STRAND Bookstore (a gem), and it’s now my favorite poetry book ever.

When do you know a poem is finished? When I finish a poem, I get this rush of calm. It’s the weirdest feeling. It feels like an exhale, or that feeling you get after a good run. Writer’s high, maybe? It usually happens when I tie the knot between the first and last lines so completely that you could never tell they were written separately. I typically won’t touch the poem for some time after that, because I don’t want to disrupt its ‘rawness’ until I’ve given it some time to sit.

Are you working on any other projects right now?

I’m not currently working on any single project, but I think my personal project and challenge for this year has been to expand the ways I express my creativity. I’m not as much of a nose-buried-in-her-notebook kind of girl. Sometimes I miss her, but I’ve been finding so many new outlets for creativity, like martial arts, new languages, coming up with ideas for TV shows (nudge at my major; I don’t do this for fun), and more recently, writing for video games! It also included stepping out of my comfort zone and doing things like the feature for this magazine! I’m so grateful.

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remember

WRITTEN BY CASEY RAMÒS

As my mother stirs the simmering pot of Sinigang, she yells, Kain na!

But the fragrant vapor escapes the pot and fills the house inviting the whole family faster than her words.

Ate, Atong, Tita, Tito Lolo, Lola, Grandaddy, Grandmommy and my father gather together at the dinner table for the dish my mother has perfected.

One spoonful, tells a story: The sour bite of tamarind, cut by the saltiness of patis, accompanied with the reduction of tomatoes and okra, dressed in mustard leaves, soft bangus and gabi saturated in the soup, finished with the lingering heat of siling, over rice.

One spoonful, also tells my mother’s story: The sour bite of her attitude, cut by the discipline of my grandaddy, accompanied with the self-reduction of self-medication, dressed in reefer and haze, her soul saturated in liquor. The night finished with the lingering regret of decisions, over rice.

My mother still returned home every late night, to the food of our country, over rice.

My mother, soon exhausted of burnt haze, dreaded hangovers, and lonely dinners, she realized how much she has drifted away from her family.

As she stirs the pot of hot soup for the last time before being served She yells, Kain na!

Everyone gathers around the dinner table. The white plastic flat spoon breaks the surface of the steaming pot of rice, creating mounds to be plopped onto everyone’s plates. The hot and sour soup is poured over, coloring the plate in okra green, tomato pink, sabaw brown, and ivory bangus.

My mother smiles as we all eat talking about our days, laughing over inside jokes, over Sinigang: her growth, her work, her love her overcoming, over rice.

So she learned to harness the art of Philippine cuisine: something both My mother and Grandaddy agreed on.

My mother turned lonesome late night purple haze to noisy dinner tables topped with homemade dishes.

She started with navigating busy Asian supermarkets to find the ingredients: Gabi, patis, tamarind, bangus. Speaking in spices, my mom spent hours in the kitchen to finally master the art of Sinigang.

when i am well

WRITTEN BY ROSIE REYES

my bed will be made and my sheets tucked my clothes will be washed and neatly folded i will open my window to hear the birds the room will brim with daylight the room will brim with daylight and i will be awake to see the sun rise

*

my bed is overslept in and the sheets are wearing down and

my clothes are in piles at the foot of my bed, spilling onto my floor

to join more piles of clothes and unopened credit card bills and books and shoes

my blinds are open and the streetlights cast ghostly shadows on my floor where thousands of things lay and i am in the center of it all afraid my room will never be clean.

When I look in the mirror

WRITTEN BY CASEY RAMÒS + ROSIE REYES

When I look in the mirror

I see the dark tapioca eyes My Lolo stared at me with, Admiring my wit

I see the chiseled calves That carried my dad Through every marathon he ran

I see…

“HOY! HAB YOU PRACTICED YET?”

I see eyes whose corners stretch To Manila and back, With a quick stop in Rio

I see my grandfather’s lopsided jaw, Curved on the left And angled on the right

Piano hands…

My lola. I see her in the kitchen, Steam puffing over her face, Stirring over a pot of caldereta She’s laughing at my grandfather, As always

But sometimes I see her growing somber At pictures of family Who kept their feet in the sand As she planted hers in a concrete jungle

I see my grandmommy, The matriarch of the family, Tending to her hundreds of House plants Of aloe, jade, Lilies, spider plants And bamboo Simulating The lush green forest Of the Philippines In her own home

I hear their stories

Back in Hagunouy Bulacan, My Dad, at the age of 19, Worked full-time as a dishwasher Providing for his parents And six brothers and sisters

Back in manila, When my aunt was sick as a child, My great grandfather climbed the stairs

For the first time in years To give her something to eat

Lola Ida’s lungs filled with water The doctors said she’d be fine

My mom’s cousin abandoned her Only daughter, So my grandmommy took her in And called her her own

Enduring hardships And countless setbacks 8500 miles across the Pacific Ocean And yet, We’re here

Born in the City of New York, Where music comes in millions of colors

Born in the city of Portland, OR Where backyard gardens are the norm

Where people come in millions of colors And yet, you’ll never see the same one twice

And the odds of a person Owning chickens is about 1 in 3

Raised in Queens, Where I can eat Italian, Chinese, Greek, Mexican, Thai, and Indian food All in the same day

In the deep bellows of downtown, The beer is good, The people say thank you to the bus drivers And food carts are considered fine dining

Where the subway lines Race through the veins of the city

And hiking on the weekends Was a family past time

Hmm.. I wish we had a Jolibee!

Where Jolibee is a... Tourist attraction?

But the islands still run in our blood

Singing “Bahay Kubo” with My mom as a child

Coming home

To a nice smack in the face of Patis (which is a terrible smell to carry around, by the way)

Cooking rice for every meal

Rolling my eyes at the “Ako na!” fight between my mom and lolo Every night over the dishes

Blessing eeeeevery Tita, And eeeeeevery Tito Arriving AND leaving Every family party

Reciting “Our Father” Every night and every morning With my Tita and dad

Getting fed Every moment of every day

The TV flickering between The Price is Right And telenovelas all night long

We have become hybrids of culture

Finding a dichotomy of identities

Filipina And American

And I, A trichotomy Filipina Brazilian And American

And this Does not make us Less Filipina Or less American

To our black to fair skinned Kapatid And every shade in between

You are not less Filipino

To our kapatid who are out of the closet Or have yet to be

You are not less Filipino

To our kapatid who Never learned the mother tongue You are not less Filipino

No, Our mixed identities Make us walking mosaics Of our islander ancestry, Vibrant heritage Beautiful traditions, And delicious food

So when I look in the mirror

I see more than the miles of brown skin That frosts in the winter And ambers in the spring.

I see more than My pin-straight, Thick black hair That’s nearly impossible to curl

I see the Generations Of passed down beauty In the slope of our eyes And curve of our cheekbones

Of hard work of our ancestors Who worked on rice farms In the strength of our calves

Of passed down talent

In the hands That carved wood, Wove baskets, And now, Play piano

Over generations, We have evolved into The multi-dimensional beings Filipinos are

And our kids Have no idea what they’re in for

The Roots of Identity and the Struggle of History

WRITTEN BY MEREDITH MCDUFFIE

What is an identity, if not the relationships between it culture? Identity is, in other words, the manifestation of one’s religion, country, history, language, background, ethnicity, music, cuisine, and politics as well. For many, politics are a personal, chosen part of their identity, something flexible and impermanent. For others, like Black Americans, the relationship between identity and politics is much more complicated. To be Black in America is to have a completely separate cultural and political identity.

How did this split happen? We must remember that Blackness did not exist (as a race, people, or identity) until more than 300 years ago. Even before Africans saw American shores, slavers had already begun the deliberate breakdown and erasure of their identities. Taken for their land, they were denied their gods and religion. Tribes were scattered, and they were denied their language. Families were ripped apart and kinship ties crumbled, and those ties were rebuilt in the hulls of ships and mutual despair, were decimated again when these kin were thrown overboard, unceremoniously, no burial rights to comfort the living. Slave owners were better able

to control their cargo but severed from their homes, cultures, tribes, and families, these slaves had no choice but to rebuild a sense of ‘we’ and ‘us’ with the people who shared, if nothing else, the state and condition of their bondage.

Slavery was the building blocks on which the Black identity was built. To be a slave meant to be legally denied authority and ownership to their bodies (to be a freed slave was of little distinction; all black bodies were subjected to kidnapping, assault, violence, and a denial of full autonomy). Black people became black property. Any claim to their bodies was routinely and systematically denied by the country’s legislature, etched into state constitutions. And so to be Black meant to oppose this enslavement, and to demand the rights to their own bodies. The right to move about as they wished; the right to speak to whom they wanted; the right to their children; the right to their own hands, their labor, their time. By using law and government to control black bodies, they became tied together: any black body that claimed its own autonomy, in any way, was in direct opposition to government and politics.

If racism and oppression had ended with emancipation, perhaps the black identity would look significantly different today. But the attitude of oppressors did not change with the end of slavery; the black body was still seen as something less than human and something to be controlled. The black identity had no opportunity to fully incorporate their victory as the country slid into the Black Codes and Jim Crow, which were other legal means of controlling black people and dictating how much ownership they had over their own bodies. The Black Codes, which were essentially replacement slave codes, especially in southern states, restricted the movement of black bodies not only in public spheres but restricted their economic mobility. It became difficult for black people to buy and own land, to conduct business, or gain employment. Shut out from the economy, many black people were left without jobs or meaningful employment, leaving them to the mercy of vagrancy laws, which criminalized men who were out of work. Black men in violation of these laws were arrested, jailed, and sentenced to forced labor. The Black Codes and vagrancy laws were a not-so-distant memory of slavery, and so the struggle for autonomy didn’t change. The search for autonomy and freedom, be it economical and political, is in part what spurred so many black families into the North.

Black bodies have put forth various modes of resistance: running away from enslavement, publishing letters and slave narratives, work slowdowns, and armed rebellion. The 1960s saw an expansion of resistance with organized marches, sit-ins, and boycotts, and more, but what they all share is an inherent demand for bodily autonomy. At the very core of these protests and acts of resistance is the demand to control one’s own body, unrestricted by prejudice and threat of harm, to be afforded the respect of a person and a citizen. Protests were a declaration: this black body is mine and white people will not control it. Blackness was tied to this declaration, and to be black meant to be striving for autonomy, for freedom.

What gives Black Americans a separate political identity is that it does not actually matter what their politics are. Even though it is true that most Black people vote Democratic, not all do; take Ben Carson, or Kanye’s support and admiration of Trump (not the most well-liked Black figures, but they are Black nonetheless). This, too, is a form of resistance. To be free—to be a Black body in control of itself—means being able to do what is deemed inappropriate, hypocritical, or foolish. Being free means being able to choose that which is not popular or supported. And to flex one’s freedom, one’s autonomy, even by voting for someone like Trump, is to oppose a system that would deny us that level of absolute autonomy.

So can the Black body ever be removed from politics? The entire history of the Black body is that of a battle for autonomy and a struggle against

the oppressors who would deny ownership. To be black is to know that one’s brown skin means they will be subjected to a system of power that wants to control their bodies through cultural, economic, physical, and legal means. Many have dreamt of a society in which the relationship between oppressed and oppressor is diminished, of a future that can claim racial equality, a post-racial utopia, a post-resistance dream. Whether or not such a dream is possible is a different conversation for another day. But what does the black identity become in a post-racial culture? What shape does it take, does our culture take, in a society where we have overcome oppression and our bodies are our own (does it, perhaps, look like Kanye in the White House with a MAGA hat)?

If culture is a reflection of identity, and black culture and black identity are both rooted in resistance, it is difficult to predict what the future might hold for us in a post-resistance society. There are a lot of questions and not a lot of answers. Our culture is tied so closely to our identity, which is in turn shaped by our history. Food, beauty, music, religion, language: all these things continue to be reshaped as history progresses, but they all have roots in struggle and resistance. The black identity came from slavery; so, too, did culture. Eventually, the future becomes history and a post-resistance history becomes identity, forcing an overwhelming question: can our culture rooted in resistance survive in a time when our oppression has been overcome? And even more terrifying a question: will we want it to?

When We Talk About...

I’ve never been able to express myself through words. Or at least not speaking the words myself. I get choked up, start sweating, and tearing up. So instead, I use photography to get my emotions out. I use my film to tell my story and say all the things I know I could not. I hope my art helps someone the way it helped me, and even if it doesn’t resonate with others I had to get it out. In this series, I fill in the blanks with three different words that point to different stages of my life: pain, which is representative of my past, isolation, which examines my present reality, and freedom, which looks to my future. Sankofa asks us to examine our pasts and how they have shaped who we are. Each stage has its own narrative, and has played (or will play) a role in who I become. The narratives are as follows...

WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY CAMERON COOPER

When we talk about isolation, we talk about the present. We talk about the life we thank God for because it is a place we never thought we’d be. We talk about the victories, the triumphs over pain, yet something lingers every once in a while. A feeling—no a reminder that while we have come so far since pain since darkness we are not yet fully light. When that reminder comes, I find myself slowly sinking into isolation. I am slowly transported from a room full of revelry to a room full of silence. Silence so deafening you are forced to observe your solitude. So when we talk about isolation, we talk about my present. The reality that I am doing well, but a small reminder that I’m not yet doing great.

When we talk about pain, we often speak of our pasts. We speak of numbing pain that left us looking for anything—anyone who could make us feel again. Soon enough you become hollow. You become so empty it’s like you are floating outside of yourself. I remember I could see myself but did not recognize the vessel that carried me. On the outside she was happy and laughing, but the parts of her that I needed were gone. She—I—was very much an empty vessel. I was being suffocated by my own emotions. I was convinced that if my pain defeated me, no one would even notice I was gone.

When we talk about freedom, we talk about my future. The moment I am finally released of all my past pain and reminders that I am not yet whole. I look to freedom as the day I finally recognize that while I was in the dark so long, it was my inner light that could heal me all this time. When we talk about freedom, I’ll talk about light. I’ll speak of the man who reminded me that I am the sun. I am the one I’ve needed all along. When I’m finally free, I’ll be floating again. But this time, I won’t be hollow.

(hard)ness

The children kept asking her how she was able to learn the multiplication tables so quickly or how she could repeat and repeat the lines from the prose with such ease? Her movements were like second nature not really thought about spinning the clay into life was her forte with the commentary she anticipated the difficulty to come one would have thought she was a swimmer with how long she held her breath what they didn’t know is that the trials laid in places unseen in in proses unspoken this was light work compared to her quaking inner struggle they didn’t see the jungle gym in her stomach or the blood-stained tears in her palms the questionings and demons never let her rest the hands of elders laid on her never in nice ways but only to leave their marks… many things are unseen, remember that when walking through this hell the readings and equations feel like nirvana a haven so enticing she created a home there but even this home was raided in the middle of the night and the chalk dust no longer gave her the same high and the pages of the notebook went untouched inspiration stopped visiting her heritage was stripped exposing the raw abused flesh from years of manipulative torture which blended in with her dark skin never to reveal the truth she carries this badge with care without cares because from the first day with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck she was meant to suffer and make it look easy.

BRADLEY NOBLE, CAS ‘20

As a photographer, I look to capture the truth behind the mundane. Life is filled with so many great moments, yet many are left forgotten. My goal is to highlight these moments and celebrate the times in our day to day life which we tend not to remember.

My hope is that one day, my audiences will develop the patience to appreciate the small but special moments in their own lives, and perhaps seek to preserve them like me. Only then, once members of the new school of society can stop to understand and appreciate the world around them, we may revisit our roots and internalize where we are from in order to move forward. In doing so, individuals may immortalize themselves through mindfulness and have something to look back on in a future time. Like the romantics during the Italian Renaissance, maybe we too can beautify the mundane and thus have something of the past to remember.

I believe small moments like the ones I seek to capture are precious and can sometimes be the most significant opportunities for internal growth. Life is not always about focusing on our future goals. Life is about enjoying the imperfections of the now, remembering the lessons of yesterday, and suffering as we move forward. Therefore, let us take a minute to reflect and understand where we are in this very moment because the power of now is strong.

Hello! My name is GianCarlo Manolo Lobo and I am an American-born-Chinese (ABC) from the Bay Area, CA. I grew up as the overweight little brother you see in archetypal families, the type of kid who got made fun of a lot, and, as a result, developed a socially awkward personality. Despite my messy black hair, huge ears, and embarrassingly magnified plastic blue-rimmed glasses, my subpar social cues allowed me to have a very curious view of the world. Today, I tend to observe moments that manifest around me. I keep still and wait until I find a moment to latch onto and make my presence known. That is why I love photography, it allows me to observe and wait to speak only when it counts. Aside from photography, I am an undergraduate student at Boston University studying Mass Communication, Political Science and French.

@mylobomotion www.mylobomotion.com

Bizarre or

Beautiful? An Opinion on Pixar’s Bao

WRITTEN BY DEV CHATTERJEE

This summer, I walked into the theaters hopeful and nervous to watch a sequel that I (like most late 90s babies) had been awaiting reluctantly for 14 agonizing, seemingly bottomless years: but in the days after seeing Incredibles 2, I found myself contemplating not the 118 minutes I had spent nearly a decade and a half anticipating, but the unexpected 7 minutes preceding. Pixar shorts are always special, but Bao (directed by Chinese-Canadian artist Domee Shi) resonated with me on a level that even many of my other favorite animated shorts (Paperman, Feast, and La Luna, for those wondering) didn’t approach.

Bao (spoilers ahead!) is the story of an immigrant mother in Canada, who makes a pork bun which suddenly comes to life. She takes care of the newly animated bun, feeding it and teaching it, taking it with her on errands and protecting it from any potential physical harm. As the bun grows older, it develops its own interests and relationships, leading to an increasingly strained relationship with the mother. In a moment of panic, she swallows the

bun whole and is then consumed with overwhelming regret. The allegory is fulfilled when the mother’s [human] son, whose silhouette resembles the pork bun, enters the room, and the tension of the relationship is settled as mother and son share the pastries they shared during his childhood.

There were a lot of pieces of Bao that I felt especially connected to: a story about an Asian immigrant mother and her dynamic relationship with her first-generation son and the exploration of food as a platform for cultural exchange are themes that are evocative for me in particular. I laughed when the bun bumped its head, I cried as the mother sat on the edge of her bed with her now-grown son, and every time they showed the kitchen I inhaled harder than usual, hoping to catch a whiff of the familiar-yet-ever-elusive aroma of an Asian mother’s steam-filled kitchen. But my perception of the film was that even members of the audience who didn’t have the specific experiences of growing up Asian in a multicultural, Western society, would identify with the more universal themes that Bao touches

on beautifully. These themes, like evolving family dynamics, a desire to preserve one’s heritage, and the unique love that a parent has for their child, are prevalent and powerful for people the world over, not just Asian-Americans.

But the public conversation (both in the “real world” and in that dreaded hellscape of groundless outrage, internet comment sections) surrounding Bao took me by surprise, which soon turned to disappointment. While there were certainly internet communities who were raving about how personal and nostalgic a piece Bao is for so many, the larger public was supposedly confused and bemused. Twitter was awash with members of the audience who qualify as being “mainstream” complaining that they had “no idea what the heck was going on!!” or that their kids waited through the trailers for 35 minutes and “we were so excited for it… And wtf?”. 1 IMDB reviews for Bao range from a concise commenter saying “it made no sense” to a concerned mother claiming that it was “incredibly disturbing” and that her “kids sat slack-jawed in horror.” 1 These reviews are a goldmine of the everso-thinly-veiled style of racism that every racial and ethnic minority in the West has grown accustomed to sniffing out. Even seemingly “stylistic” criticisms of Bao fall apart under any scrutiny: Bao was supposedly too “bizzarist” for Pixar’s general audiences wrote the commenter-critics, who paid money to see a movie about a family of superheroes that protect a city in a hyper-stylized, utopian, techno-futuristic reimagination of early 1960’s America.

Of course, I know that every member of the audience didn’t necessarily feel that hit of nostalgia seeing a rack of foreign spices hanging on the kitchen wall, and I recognize that there were certainly easter eggs that were beyond the scope of my familiarity with the culture in question. The fact, for example, that “bao” means “steamed bun” in Mandarin but also sounds like the word for “treasure”, and the stylistic animation choices that invoke the director’s mainly Japanese influences, flew over my head. What I didn’t expect was that some audiences would reject Bao altogether as an unredeemable experiment, with some confused critics going as far as to call the Director herself a “racist” for making the film in the first place. The extra vocal part of the internet found itself unable to connect the dots on the pieces that Shi didn’t explicitly spell out for them. This is something that every person of color in America has experience doing: I interact with cultural themes, tropes, and references that I didn’t learn from my parents every day. Whether it’s cultural norms regarding punctuality, or the lyrics to Don’t Stop Believin’, people (and especially immigrants) of color have learned to connect those dots and identify even with those aspects of American culture that don’t necessarily reflect our own experiences. We don’t cast Cinderella

or Snow White as absurdist artistic failures just because we grew up hearing different folk tales. The outrage surrounding Bao reminded me of the response to an earlier Pixar short, Pixar veteran Sanjay Patel’s 2015 masterpiece, Sanjay’s Super Team. The short starts showing a young Indian boy and his father sitting on opposite sides of the room, the father meditating in front of a Hindu shrine and the son watching an animated superhero show on tv. Eventually, the father turns off the tv and requires the boy to join him in meditation. The boy begins to lose focus but then is transported into a world where the deities his father was worshipping had come to life. By the end of the journey, Sanjay returns to his father’s side with a new understanding of his heritage and a powerful sense of intergenerational connection.

For me, watching Sanjay’s Super Team in a theater was even more moving than the first time I saw Bao. In seven nonverbal minutes, it perfectly summarized my experiences as an American Hindu, a set of experiences that I have been struggling to put into words for most of my life. On one hand, it encapsulated several of the key points of internal reflection in my religious upbringing: the balance between preserving traditions and embracing progress, incorporating elements of Hinduism into aspects of my life that I found beauty in, and the attention required to stay on the right path, even in the face of distraction. I know what it’s like to be a young boy daydreaming as his father does puja. I know what it’s like to experience the moment when Hinduism become personal for me. Above all, the artistic elements of the short speak to me on an ultra-personal level. The symbolism of Computerized re-imaginations of millennia-old deities moving in patterns reminiscent of the classical dances my sister performed throughout our shared youth, the background score that uses the father’s “om” as a foundational bass, and the evocative imagery of Sanjay himself engaging in an act of intentional material sacrifice to protect his team stuck out to me immediately. On even the most superficial level, Sanjay’s father looks like a stylized version of what my own dad looked in the early parts of my childhood. In Sanjay, I see a younger, simpler depiction of myself: an artist’s impression of some version of Dev that actually existed about fifteen years ago. But just as Sanjay’s Super Team had tugged at my most personal heartstrings, the response to it salted my deepest wounds. Conversations were dominated by voices calling it “too scary for kids” at best and “unacceptable proselytism” at worst. Reviews claimed that Pixar was out of line to “force” a different religion upon unsuspecting moviegoers and that their children’s nightmares were haunted by demonic Hindu imagery. Scrolling through comments and online reviews was a distilled version of what it feels like to grow up as a religious minority in America. Reading every one-star rating on IMDB

gave me flashbacks: seeing protesters outside Atlanta-area Hindu temples as a child, holding up signs warning my parents not to consign their innocent children to an eternity in hell. Having to bookend the description of every holiday my family has observed for countless generations with “it’s like our version of Christmas!” Explaining to incredulous beefeaters that it wasn’t that “my God” wouldn’t hate me if I ate a hamburger, I just didn’t really feel like eating one.

The Big Three animation studios—Disney, Pixar, and Dreamworks— have made an obvious and intentional shift in the subject matter highlighted in their work in recent years. From shorts like Sanjay’s Super Team and Bao, to features like Coco and Moana, Disney and Pixar, in particular, have not shied away from telling stories with people of color in relatable lead roles. They have managed to navigate this shift while integrating into their films complex cultural elements in a manner that is not only respectful, but celebratory, compelling, and accurate. And while I certainly didn’t catch every reference about smalltown life in Mexico in Coco or notice every subtle nod to Polynesian culture in Moana, I identified with those characters and I could see a part of my own experiences in each of them. Furthermore, knowing the significance that Sanjay’s Super Team and Bao had to me, it’s easy to see how the other films could be extremely powerful and inspiring for members of the communities that those films highlight.

Conversations that dismiss Bao as absurdist or unrelatable and condemn Sanjay’s Super Team as fanatical anti-Christian propaganda amount to an erasure of minority cultures, and actively exclude the stories of immigrants and people of color from the body of work that comprises the so-called “mainstream”. American people of color have more practice putting themselves in the shoes of characters who don’t look like them, sound like them, or share their same set of common experiences than their white counterparts do. This is a valuable skill that develops empathy and fosters solidarity, one that we should encourage children (and adults) of all backgrounds to practice. It is both troubling and puzzling that some White parents are more comfortable with their children identifying with leads that are vehicles, rodents, or aliens more readily than leads that are people of color, immigrants, or other members of marginalized minority communities.

This problem doesn’t stop at the end of the reel: studies show that white participants are less empathetic towards people of color than the other way around2. Doctors have been shown to assume Black patients experience less pain than their white counterparts,3 and white people routinely rank political issues that affect them less directly as unimportant as compared to people of color4. This is not mere speculation or inference: neuroscientists at Brandeis University and the University of Toronto-Scarborough have confirmed that white

participants registered lower levels of stimulation of so-called “mirror neurons” (which fire when people see someone else in a position they can easily imagine themselves in) when observing non-white subjects as compared to white ones5. The racial empathy gap quite literally leads white people to see the experiences of people of color as less human than their own.

I don’t think that Pixar, or any of the Big Three, should exclusively produce stories with people of color in lead roles. Nor do I consider animated film that doesn’t highlight people of color as irrelevant or unimportant. It is important to remember, however, that the stories we choose to popularize play an essential role in the socialization of our world. Animated film, in particular, plays an important twofold part in modern American cultural socialization: for one thing, it is marketed primarily towards young viewers, whose worldviews are not yet so stubborn. Additionally, the specifics of the medium allow for a certain suspension of disbelief that can lead to stories feeling more magical and emotional than reality. It is important for us as mindful and conscious audiences to reflect carefully about our responses to the art we consume: we all have a duty to challenge ourselves to be more empathetic, even if we haven’t had the exact experiences of the characters we watch. Bao is much more than a film about a woman “swallowing” an anthropomorphic dumpling, and it is the audience’s responsibility (rather than the director’s obligation) to lead itself to that realization.

1. its_willyu. (2018, June 24). THIS WASN’T MADE FOR YOU [Tweet]

2. Silverstein, J. (2013, June 27). I Don’t Feel Your Pain. Slate

3. Trawalter S., Hoffman K.M., Waytz A. (2012) Racial Bias in Perceptions of Others’ Pain. PLoS ONE 7(11)

4. Newkirk II, V.R. (2019, February 21). The Racial Divide is the Political Divide. The Atlantic

5. Human brain recognizes and reacts to race, UTC researchers discover. (2010, April 26). University of Toronto Scarborough.

Building BU: The Power of Community

WRITTEN BY ADIA TURNER PHOTOGRAPHY BY EVA VIDAN

believed in Devin, Hafzat, and Lovie and what they could do. We know how to build that type of community, something Student Government hasn’t been able to build.” The BU student body was able to see themselves in this set of candidates in a way they hadn’t truly been able to before, and this representation extended far past what the eye can see. Each slate member is involved and invested in one, if not more, clubs, organizations, and teams, helping them to bring a wide array of thoughts, voices, and concerns to their platform. As Executive Vice President Akanni adds, “ We are all diverse. Diverse not only in our backgrounds and where we come from but also diverse in what we study, in our involvement on campus. Student Government needed change and we were there to provide that change.”

Still, their road to victory was not always a smooth one. Even finding a time to come together to take campaign photos was a tough act due to conflicting schedules. This left the slate no choice other than to be photographed at eight in the morning on a cold, snowy, Tuesday. At times, the campaign brought fear. Trying to win endorsements, specifically one from the Daily Free Press, was a particularly stressful time for them. There were even personal issues that slate members dealt with. Amidst these struggles, though, it was easier to see the beauty in their process. Harvin proclaims, “ The best part for me [on the campaign] is you start to realize the relationships you built way back in freshman year and the ones you pick up along the way—they come through when you need them to.” During their week-long campaign, it was these relationships, new and old, that really made them understand what exactly they were running for. The community they had hoped to build in the upcoming year had already begun to form around these four individuals, and the energy they were injecting into campus was becoming unstoppable. Even if they lost the election, in their minds they had already won because they accomplished their mission in the campaign cycle.

Yet, win they did. There was no real victory dance for BuildBU on the day they realized what they had accomplished. They describe it as being “very anti-climactic and bittersweet.” They were confident in their ability to win, so it was what would come after that triumph that was at the forefront of their minds. There was an air of excitement, mixed with a determination that followed them as they began thinking of how exactly they were going to deliver on the promises they made on the campaign trail. The responsibilities that they now had to shoulder were of the utmost importance so as not to lose the community they had fought so hard to start building.

Their successful campaigning set the foundation for who they wanted to be in the year following, and this momentum they formed on the trail has only intensified since they’ve taken office. They have

focused on maintaining the same strategy that got them elected: being present for their constituents. All four slate members still make an effort to get to know people they’ve never met, still make themselves available to the students at all times, and still work to create an even stronger community on campus than the one they saw months ago. This dedication to remaining true to themselves and showing up for those who voted for them is evident in the work they do. From planning a spring concert for students to the creation of the academic perspective series ‘Ask Me Anything,’ to an event as simple as having weekly Student Government events, BuildBU has not lost sight of who they were elected to be.

This progress has even overflowed into other aspects of Student Government, like the Senate. Akanni says, “Now we even see the Senators wanting to inspire that change, and get in involved, and reach out to student orgs the way we did.” Though, with much responsibility came much pressure.

One major story that constantly circled these four is the fact that they are the first all-minority Student Government slate in Boston University history. For BuildBU, they were well aware of the history they were making and the impact they were having on the greater BU community. The importance of having incoming students see the Executive Vice President and the Vice President of Internal affairs both be Black women was not lost on the slate. It only pushed them harder. It also had a huge effect on the rest of BU. It encouraged many people to take a more vested interest in who they were. People began paying attention to what they were saying, what they were doing, and who they were becoming. The hype began to form, leading to a collective sense of pressure to deliver on said hype that settled deep within the slate. Stress has now become something they’re comfortable with. Whether it’s stress from all the work they have to do, from their other commitments, from the communities that supported them, or from themselves, the slate has grown through these challenges. Failure has never been and will never be an option for them. They have not lost the energy that won them the election and they look forward to the Student Government’s future after their time in office ends.

As their campaign took place, and following their win, BuildBU has seen a significant, positive shift in energy in the past year. People who would never have applied to work for Student Government before have applied. Organizations that have never

Student Government needed change and we were there to provide that change.

worked with one another came together to hold events for BuildBU. Of course, they are very aware that this progress must be constantly met with increased effort. As Akanni asserts, “It takes more than one good year. It takes continual devotion to Student Government to see tangible change on campus.” All four believe that it is the collective mobilization of the student body that will push the needle of advancement in the years to come. Right now, they see themselves as a stepping stone for whatever slate follows them. There is a fear amongst this current Executive Board that their successors won’t capitalize off of the energy that presently surrounds Student Government in order to continue building where they left off. The system they have now is a delicate one that can be broken once they are no longer in office. Yet, they remain more hopeful than fearful and believe in the power of the people. Moving forward, BuildBU has many aspirations for how Student Government can improve and grow even more. As Meneses lists them, “ We want our own stipend. We want the Student Government to be independent of [the] administration. We want Student Government to be an idea that lasts in everyone’s mind, something that everyone knows.” The group has high hopes that Student Government will become a household name around campus—one that is synonymous with advocate for every BU

student. In their ideal world, Student Government would give more than superficial value to students’ voices. Instead, they would be an avenue through which students can have a real impact, big or small, on campus. As for their personal legacy, each member of the slate has a specific view on how they would like to be remembered by the community. Meneses would like for people to not think of him individually, but rather the work he and his team have done in the past year. For Burleson, she sees her legacy as being simply making one person happy: “I don’t really need a lot of recognition. Just for me to know, and that person to know, that I made their life just a little bit better, whether it be something I have done, or said. That’s my legacy.” Akanni has two legacies she wants to leave behind: one for her slate and one for herself. She wants her slate to be an inspiration for others who may be thinking of getting involved. She hopes that people see themselves in this slate. As for herself, she’s still trying to figure that out. “I’m the only one of our slate not graduating. So ask me next year and I’ll tell you.” Similarly to his Executive Vice President, Harvin hopes to leave behind two separate legacies as his time at BU comes to an end. He wishes for others to think of BuildBU as people who saw no boundaries and threw away the previous status quo: “As an individual, I think what I want for people to think of me is that the kid that made Jamba Juice smoothies can end up being student body President. And that the kid that was thinking of transferring can be student body President. That you can be you.”