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Opinion

LifestyleOpinion

Decenter Men. They’re ruining your friendships.

by Leilani Fu’Qua 10/28/2020
written by Leilani Fu’Qua

Do your friends only ever talk about what new man is in their direct messages? Are you the friend that only shares about her (straight) relationship or romantic encounters with men? You could be a victim of male identification, and you ARE entitled to financial compensation. 

Male identification is the act of placing men above women, including yourself, in various aspects in your life and relationships (Rich, 1980). For Black women, tendencies of male identification are notable through the placement of romantic relationships with men above platonic relationships with women. In our social spheres, it can manifest itself in three ways: 


Conversations with friends are heavily centered around romantic relationships with men

When male identifier individuals hang out with their women friends, the majority of the conversation is centered around their romantic prospects or relationships with men. They ask for advice about their relationship, speak about their romantic partner’s qualities, and over-romanticize the affection they receive from men. With Black women, gossip culture and hair salon conversations enable the male identifying woman to speak freely and openly about her relationships with men. However, less emphasis is placed on celebrating the Black women in their social sphere, while more attention is given to their life in proximity to men. 


The “Cater 2 U” Complex

“Cater 2 U” by Destiny’s Child is one of the most devotional love songs in recent music history. Still, it allows the male identifying woman to exist in service to men, despite the romantic underpinnings of the relationship. The “Cater 2 U” complex runs deep and stereotypes Black women as the caregiver and subjugate of their male counterparts. While the “male protector” role is prominent in the Black community, it perpetuates a cycle of women being dependent on their romantic partners in all aspects, including financial, social, and emotional well-being. Catering to your man can be cute, but the desire to do so may be rooted in fear, internalized misogyny, and allegiance to men out of necessity/survival. 

Embracing patriarchal culture under the #girlboss mentality

Independent women (unmarried, single, self-sufficient) can also be male identifiers as they adopt patriarchal culture under the guise of “leveling up,” and being a “girl boss.” In the Black community, the #girlboss mentality is outwardly harmless, but may obscure itself into self-colonization by seeking validation from male employers in order to reach success, belittling other women to achieve supremacy over them, or adopting the “think like a man” mentality when approaching success. It also allows long-running expectations for Black women to be strong, powerful, and lift themselves up by the boot-straps to persist, and masculinizes Black women disproportionately. 

Male-identifiers are usually unaware of their contributions to upholding the patriarchy, and these behaviors are normal! The patriarchal structure of many global societies centers men, and women are often socialized to engage behaviors that support these socializations. Instead of normalizing these behaviors in attachment to womanhood, we should analyze our own roles and consider how our subconscious daily actions contribute to our subjugation. As Black women, liberation is not a new phenomenon, and we must be dedicated to becoming women-identifiers. 

We must be committed to putting women first, analyzing the ways we participate in our own subjugation, and actively working towards being a good listener when women speak about their passions, aspirations, and struggles beyond lens of men. 

(These theories are developed from Adrienne Rich’s 1980 Essay “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Experience” and adjacent feminist works, but are completely subjective. )

10/28/2020 0 comments
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CultureLifestyleOpinion

[bl]acne

by Leilani Fu’Qua 05/14/2020
written by Leilani Fu’Qua

Let me preface this with the statement that acne is completely normal. However, European and mainstream beauty standards play a major role in how people view themselves with acne, how they see and treat others, and the impact the treatment of acne, especially in minority groups. As a multiracial Black woman, my personal experience with acne has been a less than pleasant one, and I feel that it is important to have an open discourse on issues that influence the way Black people view beauty. 

First, I want to address the language surrounding acne dialogue. Most people are referred to as “sufferers of acne,” which assigns a negative connotation and implies a subconscious hierarchy to the spectrum of people with acne. Acne doesn’t make you inferior to someone with clear skin in the same way that having clear skin doesn’t make you phenotypically superior to someone with acne. 

A lot of the time, the hereditary nature of acne is often disregarded, leading to the belief that acne is always completely temporary and “fixable.” The truth is, some people are more prone to get acne, and washing your face with pink grapefruit scrub isn’t a surefire pathway to clear skin. According to The Guardian, a genetic difference in hair follicle structure that makes the skin more prone to harboring bacteria could be the causative factor behind the likelihood of exhibiting acne. Without genetic testing, however, it is evident that acne runs through familial lines. As a young girl struggling to feel accepted because of my ethnicity and class, being one of the only Black girls (or girls in general) with distinctly noticeable acne played a critical role in my search for identity. 

As time passed, I used various methods to attempt to hide or diminish the appearance of my acne, including picking my pimples. As most people know, except me at that point, picking your pimples leads to major scarring and allows bacteria from the extracted acne to infect surrounding areas, inherently leading to MORE ACNE. I was giving myself more acne without even knowing it. SO, I took up what is now one of my favorite art forms and modes of expression to cover this skin-tastrophe: makeup. Wearing makeup (and cheap makeup, at that) allowed excess dirt build-up in my skin, and also emphasized the skin’s bumpy texture. David Lortscher, M. D. says, “Technically, most makeup doesn’t cause acne, but certain ingredients can clog pores, which helps acne-causing bacteria grow.”. While it did make me more comfortable and confident with the consolation that at least people couldn’t see my acne, it drew more attention and commentary than expected. 

I call this time the era of microaggressions: not only was I one of the only Black people in my classes, but I had acne. People knew I didn’t like having acne, and I wore makeup to cover said acne. Anyone with acne has surely experienced the phenomenon of someone simply not minding their business and feeling the need to unsolicitedly comment on others’ appearances. To this day there are people (often with clear skin) who will verbally inform me that I have a breakout (like I can’t see my own face), ask if I only wear makeup to cover my acne (which is not the case), and indirectly voice their opinions on a third party’s acne, often times expressing disgust at how someone could “let their skin look like this.” While sometimes excusable on the grounds of ignorance, these comments are rarely taken with a grain of salt. Personally, I internalized them and convinced myself that maybe I did look “sickly” if I didn’t wear makeup and that having acne meant I didn’t wash well enough, didn’t care about my appearance, or that I would be eternally subjected to being associated with “gross” acne. 

I went to a high school where a large majority of students were non-Black people of color. I didn’t have anyone with similar intersectional experiences in regards to being Black, having acne, and wearing makeup to reference. The Black girls who I could merely compare myself to had moderate to highly clear skin, with the exception of a hormonal breakout. With this, I chose to struggle individually in an attempt to protect my own feelings: I failed to communicate when people’s comments hurt me, failed to reject the mainstream beauty standards presented and failed to ask for help on how to not hate my skin. 

Now, I have come to a point of understanding. Having acne, having people point out your insecurities (even if you don’t initially see it as insecurity), comparing yourself to girls who have never had a breakout in their life, and going above and beyond to change the way you are perceived by society are all entirely normal things to experience. I had to relearn and redefine what I conceived as beauty, moving away from the detrimental, intrinsically European standard that having fair, clear skin, a small nose, straight hair, and 3% body fat was the only way I could feel beautiful. Today, with my acne on a wave of breakouts, I offer an open invitation to change the mindset towards acne. If you hate your acne, if you love it, if you still can’t come around to being content with it, at least make sure it is your choice to feel that way rather than an attempt to conform or resist a “traditional” beauty standard. And lastly, allow yourself to be AT LEAST satisfied, if not delighted, with the beauty you emit both inside and out.

05/14/2020 0 comments
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LifestyleOpinion

Dating While Black

by Leilani Fu’Qua 02/25/2020
written by Leilani Fu’Qua

As February reaches an end and we enter the spring quarter,  I’ve noticed that too many Black bruins struggle with cultivating healthy relationships. 

 Parental expectations, stereotypes pressuring black couples to have “that Jada and that Will love,” and influential traumas are all factors that contribute to the decline of hopeful, flourishing relationships. In response, I’ve compiled a list of general tips that may increase the probability of going beyond “the talking stage” with your next boo. 

How to Cultivate a Healthy Relationship within the Black Community

1. Know what you want. 

State your intentions with your significant other. I’ve heard my friends question their place with their “boo” too many times. I find that if both parties find themselves thinking, “What are we?” a discussion about how far you want the relationship to go is necessary.

2. Be willing to listen.

When I find myself repeating grievances or preferences without feeling that I am being listened to or validated, red flags immediately pop up. Listen to the wishes of others and be open to adjusting certain things. This does not mean compromising your core values or individuality to become something you are not.

3. Be respectful, trustworthy, and honest.

My parents used to tell me, “treat others the way you want to be treated.” I assure you, no one wants to be cheated on, humiliated, or lied to. Being truthful to yourself will benefit both parties. (And do not refer to women as “females” or “b*tches.)

4. Communicate!

If your past relationships, traumas (including race-based issues), or external circumstances are having an influence on your relationship, communicate with your partner in order to learn how to navigate those battles together (without hurting the other person).

Lastly, do not let the expectations of the media alter the way you love. It’s not all “Love and Basketball” (2000). Don’t let Twitter convince you that he’s cheating to make you a stronger woman, and do not worry about things you can’t fix. If you’re not getting reciprocated energy, take your talents elsewhere. Hopefully, these tips help you advance from buddy to boo this cuffing season. 

02/25/2020 0 comments
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Opinion

Candyman and Irresponsible Storytelling

by Melody Gulliver 02/26/2018
written by Melody Gulliver

It seems like everyone has a “Candyman” story. When I was seven, I would sneak into my sister’s room after my parents fell asleep. We would watch all sorts of films and when we were too afraid to fall asleep, we would talk ourselves into oblivion. Horror films brought us together in a way other movies couldn’t. Maybe it was the thrill of childhood rebellion. Or, maybe it was the security of not being alone. As a child, Candyman was nothing more than a scary story that amplified a fear of bees and slashers. After watching it again nearly fifteen years later, my fondness for it has faded into unabashed discomfort. It is no longer a movie that evoked childhood thrill. I cannot separate the merit of the work from the irresponsibility of its storytelling. The characterization of Candyman as a grotesque, hostile, and threatening black man obsessed with a white woman perpetuates dangerous racial stereotypes. The consequence of this depiction fortifies the racial fears and constructs that people of color have worked so ardently to dismantle.

While the film incorporates a backstory that helps humanize Candyman’s rage, the complexity and emotional impact of his trauma is largely left unexplored. This is illustrated in the way Helen Lyle learns Candyman was murdered in a vicious hate act. The film makes no attempt to expand and emotionalize this atrocity through a visual depiction. Visual depiction increases credibility and urges audience members to confront uncomfortable truths, sympathize with the victim, and condemn the perpetrators. The effect of oral storytelling is that it reinforces a disconnect and inhibits villainous forces like racism from being properly acknowledged in the story’s context. Through this incident, the film failed to substantiate Candyman’s actions by underlining complex emotionality. Candyman’s apparent one-sidedness eroded the potential for audience sympathy and intensified racial fears. After Helen learns of Candyman’s trauma, she develops a thesis that invalidates the authenticity of Candyman for her anthropological dissertation. Helen’s consumption of Candyman’s narrative and subsequent skepticism emboldens the narrative’s racial inequalities. It appears the study of Candyman and Cabrini-Green, the poverty-stricken neighborhood he terrorizes, is merely a mechanism to her advance anthropological pursuits. It is not genuine concern, but rather, a curiosity that propels Helen’s work.

In addition to the white consumption of black tragedy for personal benefit, Candyman promotes a racial caricature reminiscent of D.W Griffith’s “Birth of a Nation.” Similar to Candyman, reception of Griffith’s 1915 film differed on two accounts: the artistic merit and its appallingly racist content. For some, Griffith’s bold cinematic choices revolutionized the motion picture industry and thus, warranted it a historic artifact despite its disturbingly racist narrative. Birth of a Nation relied on racist tropes including the hypersexualized and violent savagery of African American men to intensify social fears and validate racial anxiety. Specifically, it championed a notion that black men pose a dangerous threat to white women. Although Candyman isn’t as explicit as Birth of a Nation, it echoes similar sentiments. While Candyman was summoned by Helen’s naïve accord (i.e. she said his name five times), he terrorizes her for an elongated period because of her resemblance to his late lover. At one point, Candyman deliberately acknowledges this obsession, stating, “it was always you.” The film’s horror is contingent upon this irrational obsession. Candyman’s actions are guided in part because of his myth (i.e. “needs to shed innocent blood”) and his fascination with Helen. Worse than just irresponsible storytelling, Candyman augments racist tropes for commercial gain. For that reason, any creative value is compromised almost entirely.

02/26/2018 0 comments
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Opinion

The Problematic Politics of the Women’s March

by Melody Gulliver 01/22/2018
written by Melody Gulliver

This past Saturday, January 20th, thousands of people and hundreds of cities participated in the 2018 Women’s March to rally against the Trump administration and its divisive politics. Feelings of resistance and solidarity were fortified through multitudes of signs, chants, organized treading, and riveting speeches.

For many, the march instilled feelings of hope and progress. But for others, the march preserved the same divisiveness it sought to dismantle.

Writer, S.T Holloway articulates this problematic incongruity in her Huffington Post op-ed, “Why This Black Girl Will Not Be Returning To The Women’s March.” In the article, Holloway recounts her discomfort with the lack of intersectionality at the 2017 Women’s March. She writes, “the reason I’m not going is because after having attended the march last year, I am well aware that the Women’s March is not for women like me.”

According to the Women’s March, its mission is to “harness the political power of diverse women and their communities to create transformative social change… [and to dismantle] systems of oppression through nonviolent resistance and building inclusive structures.”

Despite the Women’s March intent, its execution fails to provide adequate spaces and platforms for persons of color. The event speaks scarcely and vaguely about the complex experiences and biases endured by persons of color. It is dominated by heteronormative white women who at best, are not aware their pussy-power and “future is female” rhetoric is exclusionary. There is little strive to keep women of color in the conversation, and even less desire to have Black and Brown women lead the discussion.

So, who is the Women’s March for?

If it’s not for women of color, like Holloway, whose lives the current administration is so intent on displacing, diminishing, and deteriorating, then who?

If it’s not for Black transgender women like Mesha Caldwell who have been terrorized and brutally murdered without hope of political justice, then who?

If it’s not for women like Sandra Bland who have suffered unforgivable acts of police brutality, then who?

If it’s not for women like Recy Taylor who have fought bravely to have their stories of sexual abuse heard and validated, then who?

The march is marketed as a rally against the politics that concretize disparities in power including gender, race, and ability—both, physical and mental. With the march’s mission and magnitude, it had the potential to be revolutionary. And in some ways, it was. But any triumph is eclipsed by the self-serving white feminism by which it operates.

We need to do better.

01/22/2018 0 comments
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