LaGuardia Community College Tackles Social Injustices

[NOTE- This review was previously submitted to The Bridge, LaGuardia Community College's official newspaper.]

November 2014, LaGuardia’s Performing Arts Center produced to the campus,  a social injustice play entitled, Lonely Leela. The show had strong run of a week and a half leading to upcoming events of a bigger social scale.

At the beginning of this enchanted play the audience is transformed, along with the characters, into a cyber ruled world, filled with characters that show us the enjoyments, excitement, and harm that comes along with the internet occupied world. As a satirical piece, written by Rehana Mirza,  Lonely Leela explores how seemingly harmless, everyday internet surfing can quickly escalate into discrimination, verbal bashing, brainwashing, and all over time consumption. Directed by Handan Ozbilgin, Lonely Leela was a vision that Mirza transformed into a mystified world controlled by Giggle, the queen of this cyber land who reigned down on its people, literally, sitting perched ten feet above the performers and the audience. Nothing was left out of this piece, where no controversial stone was left unturned. Everything from pop culture do’s and don’ts to lude remarks and behaviors were exhibited in the land of uncensored, free for all we know as the internet.

The playwright made it an effort to express the controversial topic of an increase in bigotry and distrust towards the Muslim community. With an Alice in Wonderland theme the main character, Leela, tries to escape this strange land and find her way back home to her boyfriend, but in the end finds her true identity as a Muslim-American woman. Throughout the play she is faced with trials and triumphs that force her to explore her own identity.

            Just like the well known Alice story, Leela finds herself entangled with the characters in this new place finding friends and villains along the way. She encounters Java and Flash, minions of S.A.T.A.N, System Administrative Tools for Analyzing Networks, who try to defer her from her mission to get back home. She is also captivated by the eccentric characters who were personifications of internet findings like online shopping, internet blogging, online gaming, and lets not forget scams.

            The brash comedy illuminates the issues  giving the audience a grim realization of the truth. By meeting a Muslim-American social-political blogger, Fareed, who is trapped in cyber land, she learns that denying her Muslim identity and turning a blind eye to discrimination of her people and other people makes her no better than those who spread the hate firsthand.

The social injustices that people face on a daily basis has found a new medium through the internet where there is no telling where discriminatory images, videos, or posts will end up. What starts in the home of a hateful blogger can reach the screens of a reader halfway around the world who feels the words on a deeper level than just nonsensical ranting. Being apart of the audience, I left the Black Box Theater having learned something and having an empathy re-instilled in me that had gotten lost by the flashy distractions of the internet, or even the physical world. Actors, Giovanni Ortiz, Viguens Louis, and Joell Jackson expressed to me that after rehearsing, practicing and performing night after night the words they uttered stick with them days after the production run. It’s a magical thing for a playwright to captivate the audience, but when the performers who hear the same lines repeatedly feel a deeper meaning every time, then you know the message has been embedded in the minds of everyone who has witnessed it. After seeing the play and getting some insight and having a face to face conversation with these three actors, I experienced the messaged projected on a deeper level that just watching couldn’t provide, and that’s what the playwright wanted. Jackson, who played Fareed, says that the profanity used and the lude jokes made are “catalysts [or] conversation starters.” Ortiz stated, in congruence, that the idea behind it was to be more aware and that they were “not here to change [the audiences] minds.”

This play was one of many installments or social awareness for Muslim discrimination being produced in LaGuardia’s acclaimed LPAC. The collection of pieces is entitled  Beyond Sacred: Unthinking Muslim Identity and its interdisciplinary artistic accounts exhibit the overall goal of spreading awareness and tolerance for all, through a  focus on the Muslim community. Along side Leela will be other theatre productions, art and photo exhibits, and community forums for its 2014-2015 season. Outside of the LPAC, one of the photography installments has been  debuted starting with a grand opening, on November 13,with curators from the colleges photography and theatre departments along with the  students and subjects who captured and posed for these pictures. Among the curators are Lidiya Kan, Scott Sternbach, Javier Larenas, Thierry Gourjon, and Hugo Fernandez, from the photography department, an outside source Alexandra Ben-Olhman, and Steven Hitt, the director of the theatre program. After spending a few months at LaGuardia Community College, the pictures previewed and additional images will be transferred to the Queens Museum for further viewing.

The college’s theater community is also doing a segment in conjunction with Beyond Sacred, labeled, Theatre for the Oppressed, which following the theme of social injustices focuses on gender differences and Muslim equality. Actor Viguens Louis, form Lonely Leela, says that with the performances given by theatres who promote social change the controversy is “right in front of you. You can’t run away. When your home you can change the channel or turn off the TV.”

The objective of the performing arts center and the photography program is to open the eyes of the students, parents, and faculty that attend these shows and viewings. The world is a difficult place for anyone to live in now a days and with a little social awareness and collective change it could become a little safer.With all the different cultures, ethnicities, and races that make up the United States of America, tolerance should not be a taboo subject. In the words of Green Day, recited both in Lonely Leela and by actor Joell Jackson, “Don’t wanna be an American Idiot.”

A Traveling-Soul Samali B.

      The Traveling Soul: Samali B.It’s a tale heard many times, a daydreamer takes a one in a million chance and moves to anew town, a new city, a new home trying to make something of themselves. What makes these  stories so loveable and worth reading are the outcomes and the journeys that we as readers, lovers, and fellow daydreamers experience along the way. I happened to stumble upon the magnificent soul of Samalie B. through casual conversation, after meeting the first time in a journalism class we shared at LaGuardia Community College. Automatically I knew that there was a captivating story behind those hopeful chestnut eyes.

       After trying countless times to try to arrange a meeting time that was amicable for the both of us. We finally me over some breakfast and by the time I finished my bagel, I had experienced a new side to my fairly new friend. Our conversation gave me insight into the world of Samali B, the world of a traveling soul. When we were younger, we all had dreams of going off on our own and living off the experiences we had making our mark in the world. In today’s day and age the occurrences of these adventures are little to none in comparison to those of out hippy forefathers and free-spirited mothers. In a world where it’s easier to go online and vacationin Thailand virtually via Google Maps, it’s refreshing to hear stories of real adventurers who tookrisks and sought out real thrills.

      Looking at this almost six foot tall, skinny, modelesque, dark skinned girl, dressed in boho chic clothes, you would never suspect an adventurist lurking inside. But behind that welcoming, soft spoken, articulate voice lays a lover of all things environmental, musical, and unifying.  Her natural hairs pulled back into a neat ponytail, and crisp all black matching attire, revealed nothing of this wild heart.

      Samali’s story starts off in her hometown of San Fransisco where she was born and raised along with older brothers, by her parents. Growing up in the Sunset District, her family lived a comfortable life among the middle class who inhabited the area. During her late teens she attended the University of San Francisco, aiming for a pre-med degree, influenced by her father, on scholarship. On a typical day she would drive down to the local Starbucks in West Portal and then go to school downtown. Although she had a dorm, she always stayed at home with her recently divorced mother. Her parents had separated and her mother lost her job, so Samali had to work to help out, taking care of her family and herself. Like most American teenagers, she wanted to go away to college, but she was stuck in San Francisco, doing what her family wanted.After doing some much needed soul searching, heavy partying, and battling a brief depression, she decided to do what she wanted.

      After hearing about her depression episode, I looked up at my now too real subject, and she said to me with a gleam in her eye, “ I decided that this wasn’t good enough for me and I needed to figure out what I wanted for myself in life and what I want to do and my passion.” And as she promised herself, in 2011, after three years at USF, plummeting grades, and a lost scholarship, Samali dropped, took a trip to Uganda over the summer, and moved to New York City to find her way. Countless trips to other countries all over the world, endeavors in the fashion world, and different college experiences has narrowed her focus on her discovered passion for photojournalism.

       Besides from Uganda Samali has been to East London, Dubai, Berlin, Germany, and Montreal, each time taking her camera and inquisitive spirits along to document her adventures. She says “These places opened my eyes to different cultures and stories,’ those she wants to share through the use of images and documentary films. Now , 25, living in Astoria Queens, she New York, Samali realizes the differences in her previous San Franciscan lifestyle and the struggles of New Yorkers. Where she once drove to school and work,  she takes the crowded city trains. She lives with her to roommates, both of which she met while working in the restaurant industry. She enhanced her skills as a waitress and now bar-tends in a bar called the Keep Bar, located in Bushwick, Brooklyn. She reveals that her new home is somewhat similar to her home in San Francisco where her environment is almost as culturally diverse in the same ways. However, as much as San Francisco is diverse it is also very segregated, something she realized along time ago. Her exposure to both sides of the coin has really been a motivator for her career path in photo and written journalism. She recalls a motto learned at a Catholic School, “Enter to Learn, Learn to Serve,” one she still hold on to today.  The change in scenery and her multiple excursions have opened her eyes to her ability to do better for her community and inspired her to “fix the system and do what [she] can for the oppressed.”

    After hearing about all the reasons why she felt an overwhelming urge to aid those in need, I inquired into what the future held for Samali B. She told me she planned to continue her academic career and fulfill her dreams of becoming an advocate and inspirational journalist here in the city. When comparing cities, she says New York had a welcoming vibe to artists; one that San Francisco had begun to lose after it became a technology driven city. She says with all the artists in here and the acceptance of individuality, she finds in pretty east to find a niche. Some other plans include creating an online publication centers on uplifting and enlightenment of the African and African-American communities. Her love of music culture had lead Samali to follow Harlem musicians around for a summer and do a photo profile piece on an upcoming rapper Farrah Burns. Samali also has plans for later on in life to open an apothecary store, where they would provide natural and herbal products as alternative medicines.

     Sticking true to her adventurous nature, she says that she would move again and had been considering certain cities. One city in particular would be New Orleans, where she would fight to make a change in the Gulf of Mexico. For Samali it’s not just about getting out and exploring foreign land, it’s about making a difference where ever she goes.

     Our formal question and answer interview had transformed into a discussion of future goals, life lessons learned, and experienced gained. I asked Samali my final impromptu question,whether or not she was hopeful about her future and her career? She responded right away, answering that she was indeed. Due to the fact that she was passionate about what she does and how she does it. She told me, “I don’t know if I could live in a world and not give back to my commuity. ‘Cause [journalism’s] the best way to make a change, the best way to make a difference.”

Stop Staring, They’re Just Breasts

            The Luvs diaper company recently stirred up some controversy with their commercial about the two stages of mother hood. It shows a first time mother fumbling with a blanket while trying to breastfeed her newborn in a restaurant. Later the same mother is seen, blanket free, breast feeding her second child in the same restaurant. When her waiter comes over to the table there was a moment’s hesitation as he stared at her exposed breast. Her cavalier response to his gaze indicated that she had been in this situation before. As a response, the public took to the Luvs website to give their opinions on the commercial resulting in some backlash and some congratulations against the underlying message. The hidden message was of women wanting to breastfeed in public with out being ridiculed. Unfortunately societies current obsession with breasts are affecting how both men and women view breasts.

            The commercial advertised that all moms, who are experts, know that Luvs is the best diaper choice, but many people saw it an advertisement for female liberation. The controversy caused by the commercial is not unlikely amongst the public and added to the debates and questions about public breastfeeding and the exposure of the female anatomy in general. What the Luvs commercial so correctly displayed, was a female being made a spectacle of because her breasts were exposed. The reason why her waiter’s eyes were fixated on nothing else but her bare breast was because of over-sexualization of the female body and breasts. 

The problem, however, doesn’t stop at mother’s breastfeeding in public. It is affecting all women in all walks of life. Women face the male dominated opinions and views of their breasts, which make them self-conscious, like the flustered, new mom in the advertisement. Although the image of the female body has changed over the centuries, it seemed to have stopped at breasts. The fascination with female breasts is continuing to influence the younger generations of both males and females alike.

Throughout history the image of the human body evolved, first embraced during the Renaissance, beginning a revolution of self-image that is continuing today. It also produced a wave of new female clothing, which bridged the gap for current fashions. The female fashion included low cut dresses and props for pushing up the breasts. However to the Christian and Catholic churches breasts were, and still are, symbolized as demonic items, where women are criticized and presumed as temptresses or enticers (Yalom 22). Despite the criticism of the Church and from older generations, through the centuries, conservative fashions evolved into more free, bearing pieces. With more inventive fashions, which show off more of the body, people, women in general, who wear these fashions feel more expressive and comfortable with their appearances straying away more and more from traditional views of  sexuality.

            Along with these rampant changes in female sexuality came growing consciousness of the media with ways to exploit it. As a teenager growing up in a media addicted world, I understand the strain on everyone to be appealing to everyone else, seeing that the body is such an important issue. Sexual ads that show busty women tend to bring down the self-esteem of people more, especially impressionable adolescents. The media and advertisers “pummel” people with the ideas of “large breast attached to small women” (Geneva). The whole idea is contradictive because women who actually flaunt their attributes are considered “sluts and morons” (Geneva).

So why are people still altering their bodies for acceptance in a forever changing society? One minute big breasts are in and the next they are repulsive. Many women are also manipulated by the current culture and use their “girls” to get ahead. Restaurants like Hooters promote promiscuity with their waitresses wearing skin tight clothes that show off their cleavage and posterior, just to earn more in tips. When a female sees the popularity that is associated with their dress code, she feels the need to imitate it for her chance at attractiveness. The outcome of these assumptions aid to the rising percentages of women who perform self-altering surgery, not only in the United States but in other countries. It is known that many females always have a sense of insecurity when it comes to their body. Millions of women in the U.S. undergo plastic surgery procedures every year. The American Society of Plastic Surgery assumes that there are about 300,000 breast augmentations and 100,000 reductions yearly (Castleman). No women will ever be satisfied with the size of their breasts, whether they believe that they are too big or not big enough. Women with larger breasts usually complain of embarrassment and insecurities and although they know all the risks and complications of having an operation done most are more than willing to face them to fit in (Modifications to the Breast 135).

Insecurities about breast size are obviously not an uncommon thing, but it may seem that way because many women are too ashamed, frustrated, or weary to bring up the tender subject. Most people assume that only women with small breasts have insecurities about size, and some opt to get surgery to fix their problems. But there is another side of the spectrum that no one seems to realize. Busty women have just as hard a time as those with smaller busts. The poem “Breasts,” written by Mary Clark depicts her struggles with large breasts as a teenager. Her breasts grew in at a rather young age, gaining her attention from prepubescent male teens, which other females envied or ridiculed her for. The constant attention caused her to hate her appearance all throughout her teenage years and adult hood, where she would wear ill fitting clothes just to hide them. Only at the end of the poem did she show some sort of remorse for hating her body after all those years, when she should have been embracing it (The Iowa Review 70-72). Clark is an example of one of few bust women who grow to love what the have, but there are those who are still trying to come to terms with their bodies. In an anonymous letter written to a Seattle newspaper outlines one woman’s life long strife with large breasts. She writes that they become over whelming and she doesn’t think of them as sexy, and neither have some of her ex-boyfriends. On top of the sexist stares and ridicule she experienced on a daily basis she was once told by a school nurse to “get a breast reduction” (Internalized Sexism in Seattle 19). Her point in writing this letter was to get advice on how to accept and love her breast, without getting any work done. She says that she is afraid to bring up the subject to anyone because she is afraid of the responses she might get. Those along the lines of “you should love your self” or “at least you have breast” (Internalized Sexism in Seattle 19). How can she be told to love her self when she is being subjected to self-consciousness due to the sexism of the modern day world, which gives her breasts a negative connotation?

Some might say that it is human nature for men to be physically attracted to a woman’s body through biological wiring, but is there a limit to their fixation? The attraction might be natural but there are breast fetishes that argue otherwise. Mazophilila is a type of extreme breast fetish occurring in both men and women. There are many reasons for men and women to be attracted to each other with out having irregular preoccupation with it. With all the different euphemisms and names for breasts, there’s no wonder where the strange desires came from. Topless bars, peep shows, strip clubs, and porn also do their share of damage at making people believe that this is acceptable.

As a female whether you refer to your breasts as breasts, bosoms, or the girls, your views of them should be one of pride not judgment. Pre-pubescent girls wait eagerly to develop and be like their mothers, grandmothers, or other women. But when they do have a pair of their own, they realize the hassle that comes along with it. Both males and females can be held accountable for certain views of the female anatomy. Girls need to appreciate their breast and not try to change their appearances because of the perceptions of others. The ladies of the late sixties and early seventies took stands against their misogynistic oppressors by burning bras and female protestors of thus decade proudly go topless to fight for equality. They fight for their rights here in the United States and for the rights of little girls, adolescents, and older women all around the woman.

The Immanuel Spiritual Baptist Church

I walked in not knowing what to expect. I took a seat away from the crowd, towards the back to blend in with the regulars. It was fairly early and people were still coming in, adorned in colorful frocks, bowing and greeting the other members and the center totem pole. The pole was a mahogany stand with a calabash resting on a bed of flowers. The calabash was hollowed out and painted white, with accents of green, yellow and red markings, producing a bouquet of flowers and candles. The lit candles shown through the shaggy dark green bushes as it dripped wax on the leaves. Perched atop a boats steering wheel, the painted fruit dish donned the room in all its magnificence, transforming the simple white walled room into a serene place of worship. Looking around I saw chalked writings on one of the doors leading up to the altar. A small opening barrier closed off the alter, which seated the Bishops and pastors from the rest of the church. All around the room lit candles gave the sanctuary a relaxing and romantic ambiance that offered a welcoming suspicion. 

One by one the church members piled into the room to witness this gathering, in the basement of a Brooklyn brownstone,  wearing traditional ankle length dresses, some printed, some solid, paired with matching head wraps. As I sat and waited for the service to start, someone started singing a hymn. Then another, then another. More people arrived and the voices rose together in unity, becoming more soulful and more powerful with every addition. Suddenly from the calm humming of soft, tender voices the walls began to rattle and the floor boards shook under my feet. The thump, thump, thump, of heavy feet pounding in my chest and ears. Synchronized hand claps were interrupted by a sharp BANG! My body jerked with surprise. I look around, everyone else seemed unfazed as they continued singing and clapping along. Then another BANG! This time was less shocking than the last, but surprising none-the-less. Peering up above the heads in the crowd in front of me,  I spotted a man with a djembe -- a kind of African drum. Next to him were guys with other types of djembes, big and small, painted in vibrant earth colors. As they started beating the drums the hues of reds, greens, yellows and black, seemed to dance along to the beat.  

Now the drums are shouting and the room is shaking. Everyone is on their feet jumping and prancing, clapping and singing. No one is seated, not even me. The cutting sounds of the drums makes you want to get up and dance. Badaboom, badaboom, bada BOOM-BOOM. Then out of the booming sounds came the hollow clang of a cow bell. The two sounds making way for new senses; colliding together sharply making tones I've never heard before. Maracas started shaking and women began crying out. "JESUS," "AY YOOO." 

The drums got faster and the dancing followed suit. The atmosphere had changed drastically from quite hums to explosions so loud, passer-bys outside could only begin to imagine what was taking place behind the doors. Suddenly a woman in a red dress, a red and white checkered apron, and matching head dress pics up a large bell and started flinging away. As she rang the bell another began spinning the steering wheel and the calabash spun along with it. The rings were so loud they almost drowned out the sounds of the drums. As she shook the bell another woman shook violently screaming "EYEEEEE-AAAAAHHHH," She started walking backwards, staying in time to the music, eyes closed, She sayed "SHHHHHHHHHHH EYEEEEEE-AAAAHHHH," We all knew she had been taken by the spirit. As she continued to walk backward, her upper body still trusting to the beat, she did a side dip, almost knocking over three women. Two other women, known as mothers of the church came over to help her through her journey. They wrapped their arms around her as she jerked and twitched, stomping to the beat. Her head was shaking in such a spastic fashion that her head dress began to unravel. The mothers quickly tie it up and fix it so her head wouldn’t be exposed. The drums seemed to go faster and faster as her body jerked and swayed uncontrollably. Then as they slowed down so did she. Her rhythmic trance was lessening with every softer stroke of the drum. My heart starting to relax but still fixated on this new spectacle. As the mothers tried to calm her down, her foot stomping became slower and softer, eventually stopping. The drums had quit long before she did but her elevation needed to come down one soft foot stomp at a time. 

After a prayer or two, a few more of these episodes took place when they drums started up again. Done by different women, but with the same jerking body movements, mostly influenced by the drums. Throughout the service even if the drums are at rest, there is always a voice in the room humming, or singing nonsensical words, keeping up the rhythms, chanting "Ay, ay, ay, hmm haaaah hmmm, ay, ay, ay," and holding the spirits at bay, until the drums spring up, BANG!, instantly lifting everyone's excitement.  Throwing them back into the frenzy.  

Throughout the night the only ones who seemed to keep their composure were the bishops and the pastor. The sat at the altar, silently praying for the women held be the spirits, wishing them safe travels back to the conscious world. After all the members were seated and the drums were settled the head mother of the church, followed by her daughters, marched around to the totem pole bearing gifts. The mother blew away at her pipe letting out a thick white, sweetly spiced scented smoke that encompassed the entire room, she blew extra puffs on those she felt needed some redeeming. Her daughters quickly following behind sprinkled olive oils and dried beans on to the crowd. The trio then made their way to the door, and the service was over. I left the room feeling something that I'd never experienced in my life. I felt a rush of emotions and a burst of excitement as my heart still imitated the beats of the drum as I walked outside into the fresh midnight air.