No, of course I’m not. Most if not all BIPOCs have felt like this at least once and many feel like this everyday – and it’s fucking tiring. I continuously ask myself, “Will things ever really change?” It seems like whenever progress is made, something new always happens to reverse the evolution.

I don’t think I’m pessimistic, just realistic. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want something a bit more peppy. I want the peppy.

So, this week, I decided to write an idealistic open letter to our future society. Whether it’s thirty, seventy, or a hundred years from now, I hope that this is how the world is one day.

To the oppressors,

I hope that you have found peace within yourself so that imposing chaos in and around somebody else’s life is no longer necessary for you.

To the allies,

I hope that you have continued to understand your position within the fight for racial justice and how important it is for us, BIPOCs, to have you by our side.

I hope that you’ve continued to respect us as individuals and have not forgotten to hold that same value for our cultures. That you’ve listened to our best interests without expecting us to teach you about systems of oppression and how you should combat them. That you’ve found out about us on your own time by using the resources that are available to you as a result of your privilege.

I hope you still use this privilege for good under various circumstances, like talking to other non-BIPOCs about racism and racial justice and standing directly against the systems of power that have committed injustices against BIPOCs. You’ve hopefully taken risks that have been scary and completely put you out of your comfort zone.

I also hope that you have remembered to give space to those whom you have allied yourself with, that you have been conscious of your surroundings and careful not to take over the narrative of their struggle, because you know that this would be disrespectful and damaging in that it erases the true story, which is not yours to tell.

To the oppressed,

I hope that your society no longer makes you feel inferior or disadvantaged because of your identity. Whether at the interview for that job you’ve worked your ass off to get, or at the school you’ve been dreaming of attending since you were five, may you have approached the opportunity with the utmost sense of pride and confidence. The hope is that where you are now, they no longer take one look at you, or your name, or where you come from, and immediately decide that you’re not good enough. They all see what you always knew, that those descriptors don’t determine your worth or status as a person. Yes, they are pieces of you that should be cherished, but they do not define you.

I hope that you can walk down the street freely without being afraid of judgement or harm based on your appearance. That systemic racial violence and colonialism have finally become an acknowledged, disgraced part of history, and that because of this, BIPOCs no longer have to be raised with the idea that they have to compromise their identities for the benefit of their oppressors.

I hope that these institutional changes are reflected in the social sphere. That you no longer feel less intelligent or accomplished than “Robert,” the cis gendered, heterosexual, loud, white man at that dinner party. That a little BIPOC girl can turn on her TV and see an accurate representation of herself and her experiences instead of a dehumanizing caricature that damages her self-esteem. That a queer BIPOC can feel comfortable and safe within their community, without stigmas attached to their race, gender or sexuality.

Finally, what I hope for the most is that you have all reached the highest level of unity among yourselves. No matter what group or social class you may belong to, I hope that you have chosen to support each other in your respective endeavours, continuously showing empathy and solidarity when it is most needed, even when facing issues that may not affect you “directly.”

I hope we all finally understand that we can’t be pitted against each other and expect things to change. We just can’t.

Talk Black is a column that seeks to engage in anti-racist culture writing, addressing art, music, and events. Jedidah Nabwangu can be reached at talk-black@mcgilldaily.com.

The post A letter to the better us appeared first on The McGill Daily.

I chatted with two members of the collective, Corrina Chow and Kelsey Amanda, who together gave an in-depth look at what Babely Shades is all about.

The McGill Daily (MD): Can you tell me more about what you do? What artistic or other types of areas are you most active in?

Corrina Chow (CC): I would say what brought us all together is feeling that we didn’t necessarily belong in the Ottawa arts scene just because we never saw bands or other artists of colour that we could kind of relate to. […] We have a ton of people who have formed their own bands […] and then others who are visual artists and a lot of musicians [and] poets.

Kelsey Amanda (KA): Illustrators, writers. [It’s] pretty much a big conglomerate for us to all kind of support each other and be able to feel visible.

CC: On top of that we do a lot of bookings, events where the venue would be in a safe space – where racism, transmisogyny and ableism wouldn’t be tolerated. […] It’s been difficult to find venues that [can] accommodate that in Ottawa, but we found a couple, particularly Pressed Cafe.

KA: We’ve also even created some DIY venues that we use that are pretty much houses where they are really open to having shows and holding up our mandate.

MD: And would you say the Babely Shades zine spreads the same message?

KA: I would say that our zine is kind of more personal in the sense that we’re creating it for ourselves. I feel like it’s a very healing thing. We’re not out there to teach as much as to kind of reclaim ourselves.

CC: Yeah, the zine really lets people know that we’re people too, like we do the same stuff that everyone else does.

KA: We’re creators and we want to have the same opportunities to create, the same funding opportunities, and the same space.

MD: The number of members in the collective is now over a hundred. You even gathered attention from the Ottawa Citizen and Vice. Did you ever think you would get this big and how do you feel about this attention

CC: When I first joined we didn’t really think that it would receive this much attention because I guess we’re not really accustomed to achieving that much attention in the first place. […] It’s great in the sense that people actually recognize that these issues exist, but at the same time you’re kind of putting yourselves out there as a target.

KA: I really just thought it was going to be a small group of friends just supporting each other. But […] the work and the activism and things that just came to be because of that support and that network has blown my mind.

CC: Yeah, [like] being invited to the Black History Month reception…

KA: Oh yeah, Parliament Hill! Yeah, we met Trudeau!

MD: Is there a particular time or event with Babely Shades that you are most proud of?

CC: There’s a two day event at Pressed [Cafe] called #DIYSpring.

KA: It’s basically a collective of some of the artists that are already in Babely Shades and people of colour that we know […] putting on this two day festival to celebrate artists doing it themselves; and obviously specifically queer people of colour. So that’s a really exciting thing that we’re doing, […] we’re presenting artists from the U.S. and all over. Shoegaze legends!

CC: They’re quite established and they’re also people of colour, and it’s really exciting to have them come to Ottawa and play with Everett, which is [the founder of Babely Shades’ Elsa Mirzaei’s] band.

MD: In terms of the bad times that have been a little more rough for your group. You started a petition against The Queers who claim to engage in the “reclamation of queer identity” while actually being a white, hetero, cisgendered group, and faced backclash from their fans in return. How did you cope with that negative, even threatening, incidence of cyber bullying?

KA: Yeah, this is a really sensitive topic. I think overall we really stuck to each other and really reached out to people who [had previously] reached out to us. […] We were literally targeted and we were threatened. […] I think in the end it’s just being there for each other and knowing that people are only coming against us because we’re doing something that is going to displace them in their comfort.

CC: This was positive in the sense that [those] people on Facebook that kind of just float around and you never really interact with them […] messag[e] you in solidarity, being like, “Hey, I really appreciate [the work] you’re doing. This isn’t necessarily my space but even if any of my friends say or do anything that could damage this community, I’ll be sure to call them out […] and bring attention to your group.” And yeah [they could be the same] people who would […] take away space or occupy space in a community that doesn’t belong to them.

MD: So the people who were offering their support then turned out to be the ones who were spreading the hate?

CC: Yes and no. There are some people who you could genuinely call allies but then there are people who declare themselves as allies but then take up all the space. […] It’s certainly white feminism. It’s trying to equate something that white women experience […] to something women of colour would experience or trans women of colour even.

KA: They just don’t get the intersectional aspects of it and that’s damaging in itself.

MD: If people did their research, this wouldn’t even be an issue.

CC: Yeah that was another thing that was elicited during the [incident with The Queers]. These people want you to spoon-feed everything directly to them when this isn’t my job, I’m not paid to do it, and it’s actually quite exhausting.

KA: People who are marginalized and oppressed don’t owe you an education.

MD: Would you say most people in Ottawa are like this or are more open and accepting to the cause?

KA: It’s weird because that’s not even the first incident. […] Initially, we took a stance against The Queers in such a passive, online petition way and it just [ended] up blowing up. I think the reaction to it can kind of [point to how] people are still not that ready and willing to make the foundational changes.

MD: Why do you think it’s important to have collectives like Babely Shades active at the local level especially?

CC: I think it’s making these things accessible to marginalized people.

KA: At least at a local level, it’s nice to kind of hold people accountable and if they don’t want to be accountable for their actions or whatever they’re doing, [we will influence them to change that].

CC: If [the change] is happening at a local level, then maybe it can spread along.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Talk Black is a column that seeks to engage in anti-racist culture writing, addressing art, music, and events. Jedidah Nabwangu can be reached at talk-black@mcgilldaily.com.

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The truth of the matter is that while Beyonce herself is a woman of colour (WOC) who has no doubt experienced limitations because of her race, she is also a WOC in a position of influence. Rather than sitting comfortably in that position, she has chosen to use the tools and privileges that come with that influence to challenge the existing reality.

A few weeks ago, I found myself deep in discussion with a fellow WOC. The topic happened to be that of race and colonialism, but I will admit, the conversation didn’t go quite as I thought it would.

Indeed, I sometimes forget that not every Black, Indigenous, Person of Colour (BIPOC) holds the same beliefs when it comes to issues of race. So when she suggested different perspectives on the subject of the intersection of race and class, I was shocked. I couldn’t understand why she chose to remove herself from the issue just because she claimed to have “never” experienced racism. When I challenged her on that fact by pointing at microaggressions, a form of racism affecting BIPOC on a daily basis through misrepresentation in the media or ‘casual’ racist jokes, I was then left even more confused. She shot back with the claim that if that were true, then reverse racism must also be real, because white people also experience negative stereotypes.

It seemed as if my fellow WOC had mistaken prejudice for racism and, furthermore, rendered it class-based and only legitimate when seen. In her eyes, a privileged upbringing shielded her from any sort of discrimination. Although she did sympathize with the racial struggles of some, when it came to herself and her BIPOC peers, she blamed the radical left for imposing a political atmosphere and the standards of political correctness with their ‘aggressive’ methods of social justice.

After the original waves of shock and confusion, I eventually simmered down and reflected. I realized that I was in no position to judge, as I myself had once expressed the same problematic opinions. As I mentioned in “Growing up in a whitewashed world” (November 16, 2015, Culture, Page 13), I grew up with images in the media that were very much dominated by white culture, all of which caused huge issues in the future development of my identity. The media, however, is just one piece of a bigger picture operating under society’s instruction, which is still considerably made up of colonial structures and its legacies. While I can’t speak for her personal relationship with the media, I can safely conclude that she, just like many BIPOC, has indeed fallen victim to the institutional marginalization exercised by society.

So instead of getting defensive and attacking her views, I chose to level with my fellow WOC using Bey’s craft. I decided not to delegitimize her experience and not to try to make her see the insidious ways in which her identities even as a WOC in a position of privilege are targeted. Instead, I opted to acknowledge her position and explain how she, just like Beyonce, could use it in her daily life to lead the conversations which can start the structural changes needed to eliminate oppression. I tried to explain to her that “just because it’s not happening to you doesn’t mean it’s the same story for the next person.” She seemed to express empathy to this approach.

Thinking individualistically when talking about race is very problematic, especially when exercised by BIPOC, because it feeds the fire of oppression by indirectly supporting it through indifference. I needed to talk about this because sadly this scenario is one that happens all too often. It pains me when I encounter BIPOCs who either side with the oppressors or choose to remove themselves from the issue altogether, all because they don’t think it’s their battle (not including those who do not speak up due to fear). We are all products of society, but it’s important that we acknowledge this idea and work toward change collectively to eliminate systemic oppression and racial inequality.

Talk Black is a column that seeks to engage in anti-racist culture writing, addressing art, music, and events. Jedidah Nabwangu can be reached at talk-black@mcgilldaily.com.

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Jef Barbara is like the breath of 1980s air that every plaid-wearing, modern-day stuck-in-the-nineties hipster needs. Montreal born and raised, Barbara has been doing their thing since around 2009, and has shown little to no signs of slowing down. Signed to Fixture Records and releasing new material almost yearly, including 2012’s daydream treasure LP Soft to the Touch, Barbara has become somewhat of a local pioneer in the revival and redefinition of the notorious era that was very much dominated by whiteness, especially when it came to musical movements like post-punk or new wave. In essence, having a POC artist like Barbara reinvent those movements by developing their own take on them in 2016 serves as nothing less than history in the making.

Last week saw the premiere of Barbara’s new music video for their cover of Rexy’s “A Perfect Day” off the 1981 album Running Out of Time. The video exudes a retro feel, featuring Barbara and some of their friends strolling through parks, eating pizza, and generally having a good time. While the original can be described as a typical new wave classic, Barbara’s take on it pushes things past their limits and tears through to an entirely new dimension, while still keeping with the spirit of the traditional synth sound of the 1980s. Barbara’s version brings in a unique sound by slowing down the overall tempo of the song, supporting their soothing signature dream pop vocals. Coupled with brief interludes of Barbara whispering over a psychedelic electric guitar, the resulting combination is what really distinguishes it from the original.

Barbara blends together rock and new wave pop, two genres that coexisted throughout the Golden Years, but made it a point to remain distinct and separate from each other, perhaps as an act of rivalry. Even today, very few artists choose to explore combinations of sounds like this, even though they are more than available to them. They feel constrained by the implicit rule that in order to be successful, artists must remain categorized and focused on the musical needs of one specific demographic. It’s refreshing to see an artist who doesn’t limit themselves artistically but instead chooses to develop their creativity by dipping into all the waters.

Barbara’s music isn’t only breaking barriers on an artistic level, it’s doing so on a social level. Locally speaking, Barbara’s music is making it much more possible for POC musicians to transcend and explore music genres that aren’t stereotypically assigned to them by society. By stepping and cementing themselves into a historically white and exclusive musical territory, Barbara has managed to combat some of the harmful alienation that POC have experienced within that environment, making it easier for POC fans and artists to partake and ultimately feel welcome.

All of this, and they still manage to keep up with all the cuteness and the glam, damn.

Talk Black is a column that seeks to engage in anti-racist culture writing, addressing art, music, and events. Jedidah Nabwangu can be reached at talkblack@mcgilldaily.com

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This narrative of triumph over struggle – between the church and state, between an anglophone majority and a francophone minority – has been told again and again. But within all the accomplishments and glory, other cultural victories and events developed almost simultaneously in Quebec, yet rarely get recognized in today’s historical retellings. These neglected historical events centred around people of colour (POC) striving for the very thing white francophone culture also sought after: equality.

Why are these stories often left out of historical discourse? I mean, doesn’t this country base itself on ‘multicultural’ and inclusive ideals, and doesn’t it find every chance it gets to show off these ideals? Why has Quebec chosen to leave out one of the most racialized periods of dissent that it’s ever seen?

But within all the accomplishments and glory, other cultural victories and events developed almost simultaneously in Quebec, yet rarely get recognized in today’s historical retellings.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to attend a lecture given by David Austin, author of Fear of a Black Nation: Race, Sex and Security in Sixties Montreal. During the lecture, he spoke about Montreal being the hotspot for Black Power movements and the Caribbean left during the sixties. This was a time when POC from all backgrounds and ethnicities stood in solidarity with one another in an attempt to alter a social system that sought to marginalize them in the most insidious ways. That marginalization found success in being subtle yet strong.

Black Power and the civil rights movement up to that point had been primarily associated with the U.S., due to the high visibility and frequency of protests taking place there. Quebec didn’t see itself as having race problems; inequality existed, but supposedly only between francophones and anglophones. The end result was a complete and utter neglect of racial inequality as an issue.

Racial discrimination in Canada was not as codified as it was in the U.S., but to say that it was non-existent is false and dangerously erasing.

Quebec didn’t see itself as having race problems; inequality existed, but supposedly only between francophones and anglophones. The end result was a complete and utter neglect of racial inequality as an issue.

Austin talked about three significant joining points of Black resistance in Montreal: the Caribbean Conference Committee (CCC), the Black Writers Congress, and the 1969 Sir George Williams affair. In his book, Austin describes the CCC’s left political core as “giving birth” to the Black radical tradition in Canada, yet the media hardly recognized any of the anti-racist conferences that were organized by them.

Though the media covered the Black Writers Congress more extensively than before, a similar kind of collective disregard still managed to surface. In October 1968, the Congress was held in Union Ballroom and was dedicated to Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Mostly attended by students of colour from both McGill and Sir George Williams University (now Concordia), the conference brought together some of the biggest international names in both the Black Power and Civil Rights movements. Among those in attendance was Trinidadian-born Civil Rights activist Stokely Carmichael who advocated for revolutionary action, while others called for the Quebec government to accept responsibility for its failure to stop racism and racial marginalization. Despite the conference’s success, local and federal institutions continued to dismiss the outcries of marginalized communities.

It was only when things got violent that Quebec and Canada were forced to confront racism head on. What is now called the Sir George Williams affair came to an end on February 11, 1969, after students of colour had occupied the University’s computer room for two weeks in response to mounting pressure on campus from an issue that had begun almost a year prior.

It was only when things got violent that Quebec and Canada were forced to confront racism head on.

In April of 1968, a group of POC students filed a formal complaint to the school’s administration regarding a biology professor who had been continuously failing both Black and Asian students because of their race. In the end, the students felt that their complaints had not been taken seriously by the University and that the only way for their voices to be heard was through direct action. The events that transpired at the sit-in, which included extreme police brutality targeting students of colour and racial slurs from the public left no room for the province to ignore its race issues any longer.

Yet still, even with the backlash from POC community after the Sir George Williams affair, and even with how it mirrored the violent clashes that were taking place in the U.S., this period in Quebec history is rarely talked about. Perhaps the Quiet Revolution cast a long shadow over other histories being made at the same time. Or perhaps, acknowledgment and exposure of POC movements in Quebec at this time is too risky, for it would not only deligitimize the claim that POC in Quebec did not experience discrimination like their American counterparts, but it also cast the province as a villain in a narrative it’s not used to hearing.

Talk Black is a column that seeks to engage in anti-racist culture writing, addressing art, music, events, and more. Jedidah Nabwangu can be reached at talkblack@mcgilldaily.com.

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The fact is, our society is characterized by whitewashed societal norms that leave very little room for people of colour (POC) to claim their own space, something that began with colonialism and is carried on and maintained by neo-colonialism today. Every day, POC are marginalized in various ways that target even the youngest of generations, often resulting in them having to conform to the dominant culture that surrounds them but, by definition, does not include them. Due to its constant presence, the media is arguably the most prominent weapon of marginalization that targets POC belonging to the youngest demographic, and its excessive influence at such a young age can prove to be quite damaging in both the short and long run. The worst part? Most young POC probably don’t even recognize this influence yet, accepting the inferiority that exclusive media imposes on them, thus hindering the development of their identities in the process.

The fact is, our society is characterized by whitewashed societal norms that leave very little room for people of colour (POC) to claim their own space, something that began with colonialism and is carried on and maintained by neo-colonialism today.

When I was little, Cinderella was my favourite princess, and I loved everything about her. I loved her elegant blue dress, the way she spoke with such grace, her beautiful straight blonde hair, and her pale white skin. I loved her so much that I wanted to be her, so I slowly started to resent myself and my physical characteristics because they didn’t match hers. I truly felt that there was something wrong with me because I didn’t look like her.

What’s even more tragic is the fact that this mentality followed me through my adolescence, causing me to eventually develop a very problematic outlook on life. The reality was that, at the time, there were no Disney princesses to whom I could relate on a physical level. My beauty standards, which viewed whiteness as the ideal, made me reject my own body. By high school, this flawed mentality that had once only preyed on my self-esteem had become multidimensional and much more dangerous. I had conditioned myself to ignore instances of racism, like the misrepresentation of Black people in the media or large-scale racial violence, simply because I didn’t feel like I could identify with the Black community. I had become culturally assimilated; ignorant and left without a clear identity.

The reality was that, at the time, there were no Disney princesses to whom I could relate on a physical level.

It cannot be denied that there has been a significant rise in the acknowledgement of the successes of POC and especially, women of colour in the last decade, and there is no doubt that the media has played a large role in this. However, it’s clear that we still have a long way to go when it comes to issues of race and gender. As actress Viola Davis pointed out in her Emmy Award acceptance speech, women of colour in Hollywood are still denied opportunities when it comes to casting and overall representation in the industry. While little Black girls now have a Black Disney princess with whom they can identify – Princess Tiana, introduced in 2009 – there is still a prominent racial hierarchy that exists within Hollywood that aims to maintain the white status quo, particularly when it comes to women. Threats to the development of POC’s identities are very much present.

I can’t change the way that my racial identity was negatively affected by these cultural ideals, but I can use my experience and the tools available to me in order to make sure the next person doesn’t go through the same thing. Everyone deserves to grow up comfortable and confident in their own skin, so this discussion must continue.

Talk Black is a column that seeks to engage in anti-racist culture writing, addressing art, music, events, and more. Jedidah Nabwangu can be reached at talkblack@mcgilldaily.com.

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Kalmunity is collective, formed in 2003 and jamming weekly ever since. The collective isn’t strictly jazz either. Funk, soul, afrobeat, and hip hop artists frequently mix different genres of Black music live onstage for inimitable show-stopping performances.

As many of you probably know, moving away from home to go to university can be an emotional roller coaster. On one hand, you’re super excited to leave behind all of your parents’ nagging and finally live the life of independence you always knew you were destined to live, but on the other hand, you’re completely terrified that you will fail miserably, end up alone, and live your worst nightmare instead. That second possibility definitely was the one that dominated my thought process. If you’re like me, and you regard music as the sole saviour of life (apart from your mom), then you will understand how important it is to find that special musical connection in such desperate times of need. I’m nostalgic for the feeling of inclusion and safety in such a music setting as I saw that night, but I haven’t really felt it since. I don’t know what exactly it is about Kalmunity that brings people so closely together, but what I do know is that other artists should take note, figure it out, and do the same.

Kalmunity came to me in my time of need and damn, did they ever do so in style. First of all, they were nothing like I had thought they would be. I had only ever listened to jazz a handful of times before, and frankly didn’t care too much for it because I found it, well – boring. I immediately regretted my previous judgements when they started playing: this was anything but boring. Suddenly I found myself dancing in my seat, and eventually on the dance floor, to their jazz-meets-funk-meets-rap musicality. I forgot all my worries and insecurities, and just focused on the soul of the music at that moment. It was truly beautiful, but perhaps what was more beautiful was the diversity that oozed out of every corner of the room. People from different backgrounds, different interests, and different styles were all gathered around and listening to the same melody and experiencing the same euphoria. I was so happy, yet so amazed, because in comparison to my alienating experiences in the punk rock scene that I usually frequent, Kalmunity creates a welcoming space for people of colour.

To experience this space, hit up Les Bobards on Tuesday nights or Café Resonance on Sunday nights.

Talk Black is a column that seeks to engage in anti-racist culture writing, addressing art, music, events, and more. Jedidah Nabwangu can be reached at talkblack@mcgilldaily.com.

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