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I really appreciated reading both memoirs, although of course very different they both provoked many thoughts and feelings to arise.
We have always been here: A Queer Mulsim Memoir by Samra Habib made me think a lot of my own curiosities of how I see relationships, how I understand love, and the way queerness navigates through both. Samra Habib uses beautiful language to convey these questions and I really enjoyed reading how she explored most of them on her different journeys in life. Her thoughts on renewing vows to oneself, inviting friends to share what their relationships mean, and questioning whether marriage is needed to validate love are profoundly beautiful and thought-provoking, a concept I have always questioned for myself. Habib’s understanding of friendship, “After all, chosen families are a cornerstone of queer culture, especially for those whose biological families don't accept them” reminded me of the Saathis, ever since I’ve been inspired by the realization that if people can find these forms of connection in this universe, then there is so much to live for, friendships being at the center of love. Habib creates a space where the meanings of queerness embrace the fluidity of the rejection of monogamous relationships which is something I profoundly appreciate. This perspective on queer love and friendships has brought me a deeper understanding of what it means to live outside of hetero- and homonormative frameworks. I can’t wait to read more of this beautiful memoir.
In Abdulkarim’s memoir, Angry, Queer Somali Boy: A Complicated Memoir. Reading these chapters right after Samra Habib’s work made the contrast between their narratives even more striking; you can really notice the difference in tensions, what they’re trying to convey, and how. I found incredibly impactful the way he wrote the memoir, and the rawness and unfiltered honesty in his writing - very real. His reflections on love, belonging, and survival make you question the structures we build around ourselves—be they familial, societal, or personal—and what happens when those structures are no longer reliable. I think I’m still processing everything I’ve read, which makes it hard to articulate my thoughts fully.

I will request a pass since I attended the War on Terror talk!

I was exempted from this discussion post because I was sick

Requesting a pass since I attended Diwaloween

Requesting a pass since I attended the WIMESSA x MISSC Grad Research Talk

South Asian American men often utilize aspects of Black American aesthetics, like slang, clothing, and stylized body movements, to construct a sense of “coolness" and masculinity, as stated by professor Stanley Thangaraj via Zoom.

An interesting thing I remark is in Thangaraj’s study was when a white woman ob found it inauthentic when white men adopt Black aesthetics and, on the contrary, finds it authentic when South Asian men in the Indo-Pak league do the same. This perception of authenticity is rooted in the idea that South Asian Americans, being racially non-white, can legitimately lay claim to a Black aesthetic, unlike white men.

Thangaraj notes that this embrace of Black cultural style is a way for South Asian American men to explode the binary categories of “American" and “South Asian," allowing them to assert their “American-ness" without resorting to whiteness. However, this appropriation of Black aesthetics also has its limitations, relying on the de-racialized version of Black masculinity, as someone in class stated today. “Black style moves freely and moves border in ways black bodies cannot.”

Puar recounts how the turban, particularly after 9/11, has become a marker of the dangerous, foreign Muslim terrorist. This association forces Sikh men to navigate a complex terrain of racialization and sexualization. They are simultaneously seen as hypermasculine, threatening patriarchs and feminized, submissive “sissies" in comparison to white hegemonic masculinities.

The pressure to assimilate to American norms leads many Sikh men to remove their turbans, a practice Puar refers to as “deturbaning". Deturbaning, while a way to avoid racist attacks, is also a form of emasculation, forcing Sikh men to conform to dominant expectations of American masculinity.

The Bouchard-Taylor Commission was formed in response to several incidents. It arose directly from public discontent surrounding what was known as the “reasonable accommodation debates” — debates that encompassed the extent to which immigrant cultural and religious practices were viewed through a Western lens and how they should be accommodated in Quebec. The commission was a government consultation tasked with studying interculturalism, multiculturalism, secularism, and national identity in Quebec.
In “Reasonable Accommodation in Quebec: The Limits of Participation and Dialogue”, Gada Mahrouse presents several cases that led to the creation of this commission. These include the case of a Sikh boy who wanted to wear his kirpan to school, an 11-year-old girl who was not allowed to wear her hijab during soccer practice, a Montreal synagogue that requested the YMCA blur its windows to avoid seeing women in tight gym wear, and, lastly, a town in Quebec called Hérouxville that banned its residents from practicing female circumcision, stoning, and immolation in an attempt to “protect” Quebec from foreign and non-Christian practices.
These cases, recognized by the media, led people to believe that Quebec’s identity was in danger by cultural and religious identities from immigration. This perception, heightened by anxieties around national identity, prompted the provincial government to establish the Bochard-Taylor Commission in February 2007–ensuring the accommodation practiced aligned with “Quebec’s values.”

Curtis’ book states that in the first decade of the 20th century, Michigan City’s population increased significantly, from 14,850 residents in 1900 to 19,207 ten years later — indicative of a booming economy. In 1900, more than two-thirds of the population were first- or second-generation Americans. One example Curtis uses to illustrate the reason behind the population growth is John H. Barker, an industrialist who recruited Syrians to join his company’s immigrant labor force, purchasing land where Syrians could live together in Michigan City. At least 700 Syrians were on Barker’s payroll. By the second decade of the 20th century, Syrians had established a vibrant community in Michigan City despite legal and social discrimination.

Michigan City protected “the life and liberty of white, Christian, and respectable middle-class people.” African Americans were not accepted, and at the beginning of the 20th century, Syrians were also seen as a threat to white people. Curtis presents the example of a Syrian man who was arrested in 1907 for insulting a woman. The newspaper referred to him as a “Turk” and restricted his access to amenities like lounging on the grass or benches. Following that incident, another Syrian man was arrested simply for picking flowers in the park. Furthermore, Syrians were also seen as carriers of the eye disease trachoma, with headlines such as “Trachoma Feared in Michigan City: Syrian with Disease Eludes Inspectors,” which increased the racialization of Syrians in Michigan City.

Moreover, in the first decade of the 1900s, the Syrian community in Indiana was sharply divided between Muslims and Christians. One argument between two Syrians, a “Turk” (the term used at the time for a Syrian Muslim man), was headlined as a “race riot,” a term used to describe the public violence of non-white people — precisely reflecting how many white people viewed Syrians. This conflict highlighted how some Syrian Christians believed they were of a different “race” than Syrian Muslims, claiming whiteness, which Syrian Muslims blamed as the root of their disputes. In 1908, some Syrian Christians stated that they had emigrated to the United States because of Syrian Muslims, whom they labeled “barbarians.” Curtis notes that “intra-Syrian disputes were a product of contemporary struggles for economic resources, social status, and political rights.” This unfortunate division is understandable when, in the West, assimilation often feels like the only way to survive. People seek ways to differentiate themselves from what the West racializes, looking for commonalities with white people.

Lastly, Curtis highlights the growing public attention to discrimination against Syrians, particularly Muslims, during World War I. Curtis states that their participation in the war helped to advance their social status as white Americans. Among Syrian Muslim veterans of World War I, attachment to Michigan City increased, and they began to establish Muslim institutions in the city. In 1924, according to Hussein Ayad, many Syrian Muslims formed the “Asser El-Jadeed Society.” They purchased land in Greenwood Cemetery so Muslims could have their own burial sections and acquired two buildings: one as a haven for the incapacitated, free of charge, and the other as a club hall for meetings. Eventually, the second building became their mosque, serving as a social and religious center for Middle Eastern descendants. Thus, after World War I, Syrian Muslim communities flourished in the Midwest as they could not return to Syria, and the National Origins Act of 1924 made reentry into the U.S. more difficult. Some Syrian Muslims used these circumstances to establish their ethnic-religious congregations, partly in response to their surroundings.

In Husain’s article, she argues that, in some cases, white Muslims lose their whiteness because they are Muslim, especially when it comes to women who wear hijabs, which is a “particularly efficient factor of racialization.” She recounts the story of Allison, a white Muslim who, shortly after she began wearing a headscarf, found that others assumed she was not from the U.S. — assumptions she had never faced before wearing a hijab. Allison states that if she were not wearing a hijab, nobody would assume she was Muslim; her racial identity does not match the foreignness associated with the hijab, suggesting an opposition between being white and being Muslim.
Furthermore, Husain compares the experience of being Black and wearing a hijab. She illustrates her point with Paula, another white Muslim who recounts how being white and wearing a hijab is seen as “weird” or even “dangerous.” Both Paula and Karimah, an African American Muslim, wear the hijab in the same way, as Khabeer calls it, the “hoodjab.” While Paula is sometimes assumed to have cancer because of her pale skin, Karimah is associated with the “baggage of being Black American” rather than “the baggage that comes with wearing a hijab pinned under her chin, which is associated with Middle Eastern Muslims.” Thus, the same style of hijab worn by a Black woman and a white woman signifies something other than being Muslim. “When whiteness and American Blackness are signaled, being Muslim is not the immediate assumption.”
Moreover, Husain asked Nadeer, an African American Muslim, which white Muslim people she could interview. Nadeer jokes, responding with, “What kind do you want? ... I know Black white people, desi (South Asian) white people, Arab white people,” implying that white Muslims take on the cultural identities of the particular Muslim community they join.

I will not submit this discussion post since I did one during add drop.

Reading Buettner made me think about the ongoing gentrification in Mexico City and its impact on Mexican cuisine. In July, the owner of the famous taco stand “Los Amigos” revealed in an interview that he removed chile serrano from the pico de gallo because international tourists often complained about the spiciness. “It attracts more people,” he said. Now, Mexican cuisine not only has to appeal to white taste buds abroad, but it’s also being altered within Mexico itself, stripping away its essence to cater to Westerners.

This text also made me reflect on some personal experiences I've had. Ever since my mother remarried a Spanish man, he has sadly taken over the cooking in our household, and I’m sorry to say, but that man doesn’t know how to give any food taste. I always try to suggest adding lemon, spice, sazón—something, anything, to give his grilled fish some FLAVOR. But he always refuses, insisting that the spices we use overpower the natural flavor of the dish. He often comments that in Mexico, everything tastes spicy, not allowing you to enjoy the food, criticizing my sisters and me for eating salsa and lime with every meal. It’s not an issue, but it’s definitely annoying.

In Buettner’s reading, authenticity is a complex concept shaped by various social and cultural dynamics. Curry houses in Britain were often ridiculed for their décor and criticized for serving “inauthentic” food, always emphasizing the “red flock wallpaper.” Indian actress Madhur Jaffrey claimed that many restaurant owners and chefs had come to Britain as workers lacking formal qualifications, simply copying menus from competitors, resulting in a generalized version of Indian cuisine that failed to represent regional diversity. Brian Spooner presents the idea that authenticity is shaped by those seeking to assert their social position—Bombay Brasserie – an upscale Indian restaurant that promotes regional Indian cuisine and targets affluent customers, demonstrates how these establishments, contrasted with curry houses, position themselves as more prestigious. The curry houses being “too influenced” by Bangladeshi or Pakistani interpretation of Indian food and the higher-status establishments serving “real” Indian regional food highlights how authenticity is used to reinforce social dominance.

During the early 20th century, marriages between Punjabi men and Mexican women in the Imperial Valley offered mutual benefits. These unions, compared to those betweenPunjabi men and White women, were tolaerated – marriage licenses were increasingly granted to Hispanic women and Punjabi men.

After the first few marriages were established between them, a pattern emerged and Punjabi-Hispanic unions became more common.These relationships were primarily formed through shared labor in the cotton fields.Mexicans, seeking work across the border, came to the cotton fields in Texas and Southern California, where many met their future husbands. Punjabi farmers had settled in the Imperial Valley and set forth in a farming venture, many hiring Punjabi farmers, having settled in the Imperial Valley and embarked on farming ventures, often hired Mexican women to cook, clean, and work in the fields. Men seeking a stable home life began marrying these women.

One important factor to note is how one Hispanic-Punjabi marriage led to many others—Mexican women would call close family members and friends to arrange matches with their husbands' friends. In Southern California at least 101 of 239 wives had one or more female relatives married to Punjabis, making this a positive reason for marriage. One woman, who left Mexico at eighteen, recounted how worried she was when her sister married, leaving her alone to care for two children. Soon after, she found a husband through her sister’s husband. Overall, it is understood that these Mexican women entered these marriages primarily for economic security.

In addition, many of these women came to the U.S. already having families of their own, resulting in a significant amount of stepfathering. More than a third of these women already had children, with an average of 3.2 children each. The Punjabis were said to be “good stepfathers,” providing food, clothing, and care for these children, even if they were not biologically theirs.

Another reason these marriages benefited Punjabi men was their desire for children, as they needed to buy property in their children’s names, since they were not permitted to own property themselves or marry American women. In parallel, Mexican women sought to improve their families’ lives.

In conclusion, both Punjabi men and Mexican women had a lot to offer to one another, both improving one another’s economic and social standing in the West.

In the 1940s and 1950s, restaurants became a common way for Indian ex-seamen to make a livelihood if they could gather enough money. These restaurants were located in areas ranging from Harlem to the Theater District in midtown Manhattan, such as Bengal Garden.

Bengal Garden, founded in 1948 by Habib Ullah, his Puerto Rican wife Victoria Ullah, and Ibrahim Choudry, emerged as a pioneering restaurant (although short-lived), uniting New York’s South Asian Muslim community. This restaurant was of great importance for ex-seamen, providing a place to enjoy familiar food, converse in Bengali or Punjabi, and connect with their community—especially during the unstable period following the partition of India and the creation of East and West Pakistan. The first person you saw walking into Bengal Garden was Puerto Rican, emphasizing the racially and ethnically mixed management structure, as well as the diverse clientele. Halal food brought South Asians and African Muslims together to meet and socialize. However, the restaurant closed soon after it opened, as there were other Indian restaurants in the Theater District with better financial backing. Additionally, North Americans were unfamiliar with Indian food, finding it too “spicy” and “unknown” to consume frequently. Regardless, Habib Ullah, with plenty of experience, became instrumental in the Bengali community in Harlem. He became the go-to person for advice on how to open a restaurant. In this sense, his experience with Bengal Garden enriched the knowledge within Bengali communities in New York.

Ibrahim Choudry was another trailblazer in community-building, opening the Indian Seamen’s Club. During WWII, the British government opened clubs to boost merchant sailors’ spirits. However, due to racial dynamics in British maritime labor, Indian seamen seldom visited these clubs. Choudry convinced the British Consul General in New York to fund a club specifically for Indian seamen. He became the first manager of this club, which included a prayer room, a recreation room, and a mess hall that seated eighty people. Visiting seamen could get fresh Indian meals served three times a day by a staff cook, Secunder Meah. This club was a major success. Based on the estimated number of Indian maritime workers in New York in the 1940s, it became the most popular British Merchant Navy Club in the entire United States, with 66,221 visits and 198,200 meals served. After building so many connections, Ibrahim Choudry became “the guy to call when there was a problem,” keeping a spare room for those who had just arrived in the city with no place to stay as well as helping ex-seamen with immigration issues.

Rajiv’s melancholia manifests in Antiman through his connection to his Aji. He claims that she represents Sita, a beautiful woman who was once married to a man named Ram, who abandons her while pregnant after she followed him into fourteen years of exile—much like when Aji was widowed at the age of forty-four with her fourteen children.

Through storytelling and songs, Rajiv finds a way to hold on to his heritage, despite not being as in touch with his home country or language as he would like. Instead, he feels obligated to live a life of pretending and performing whiteness. Rajiv’s experience exemplifies what we discussed in class regarding second-generation migrants—the melancholia of not knowing exactly what is missing, but feeling deeply that something vital is absent.

Through stories, Rajiv copes by linking metaphors of colonization, indenture, and sugar servitude to British rule. His Aji is where his melancholia is most palpable, as she symbolizes the culture the family once had but lost to Western influence. She represents the colorful villages and languages that Rajiv longs to understand, embodying the erasure of culture that her own family imposed on her out of fear of not fitting in—especially when Rajiv himself knows the desire for acceptance all too well.

On the contrary, Rajiv’s father has a different perspective. As we discussed in class, first-generation migrants tend to be less melancholic, as their focus is often on quick assimilation. They wish for their children not to be burdened by what they themselves are missing. Rajiv’s father exemplifies this, insisting on learning “useful” languages instead of their own, adopting Christian names, and refusing to teach Rajiv about the Ramayana—the one tangible link Rajiv had to his cultural roots. After Rajiv was accepted into university, he recalls: "I remember him later that evening cleaning the ashes into a gray plastic bin, a kind of cremation ceremony for his previous life."

This text highlights the generational divide in immigrant experiences in the West. How much time in one's home country is too much to assimilate later on? And how long in the host country is too long before you lose access to your own language, stories, and songs? What happens when you're caught in the middle—wanting to assimilate, but feeling unable to? –"Ma, what are you teaching Raimie? The Ramayana is for Hindus, not us." "Not for us?" I said. "This is your own mother singing the song that her mother taught her. How is this not us?"

The role of Britain’s imperial and trade projects in bringing racialized people to the UK was driven by a desire to recreate the “Indian sentiment” in England. They brought back racialized folks to make their voyage back home more manageable. They considered Ayahs (Women who were forced to care for the English children) as experts in childcare, particularly during hardships, such as the trip back home to England.

In England, these domestic workers became a source of cheap labor. By the eighteenth century, having Indian servants in one’s household became a trend. “With ‘full-blooded’ Asians available, there was no longer any need to dress African servants in Oriental costumes.” These inhumane practices stemmed from the fact that African slaves were more expensive in India than local servants, which led many English families to prefer Indian laborers. Upon returning to England, these families were often reluctant to relinquish the “commodity” of their Indian servants, bringing them back but often abandoning them once they were no longer helpful. These Asian servants, however, had no security in England. Despite promises of passage back home, many were left stranded, with no employment contracts, pay, or guaranteed return.

Furthermore, “In 1688, the London Gazette offered "a guinea reward" for a “black boy, an Indian, about 13 years old, run away the 8th inst. from Putney with a collar about his neck with this inscription:" This advertisement reminds me of the podcast Canada’s Forgotten Slaves: Two Centuries of Bondage, where we discussed how Canadian newspapers served as one of the few primary sources documenting runaway slaves. As you mentioned in class, these newspapers remain one of the only surviving records of enslaved people resisting their captivity and fleeing from their owners.

In addition, the song “Debris” encapsulates the aftermath of this imperial project. “We're only here 'cos you were there” underscores how one of the reasons for migration in the UK is a result of colonization and treating their motherland as one big plantation. This song tells the story of the “debris” left from this imperial project and trade, it captures the irony of British complaints about migrants, pointing out that the colonization and enslavement that brought these people to the UK. “They are only here 'cause you were there” points directly to Britain’s responsibility for this migration, echoing the exploitation of Indian laborers who were brought back only to be abandoned, fueling a wave of migration. “The fruits of our labor were used to build your nation” is a clear reference to how Britain’s wealth was built on the backs of the colonized.

According to Diouf, Muslims were less willing to convert to Christianity due to the centrality of the Five Pillars of Islam. In her work, Diouf states that many Muslims were steadfast in their refusal to convert, as they had deep faith to hold on to, particularly the shahada, the First Pillar. Affirming one’s Islamic faith and withholding from conversion was an essential aspect of this pillar.Many of them came from places where Christianity was not accepted, enforcing the rejection of this conversion. Their religious beliefs could not easily be reconciled with Christianity, therefore many Muslim Africans actively resisted or maintained a pseudoconversion, preserving their Islamic practices secretly such as some Moriscos in New Spain.

“Psedoconversion” to Christianity were outwardly conformed to Christian practices while secretly maintaining their Islamic faith. This can be seen through written testimonies, such as those of Omar ibn Said, who was baptized as a Christian and continued invoking Allah and Muhammad in his writings, indicating his true religious identity. Observers like Count de Gobineau noted that many enslaved Africans, though baptized as Christians, secretly practiced Islam, often learning Arabic to read the Qur'an, whilst also retaining Islamic practices, such as praying and fasting in secret, while adopting Christian appearances for survival.

A Morisco/Morisca was a Mulsim person who was forced to converted to Christianity during or after La Reconquista.
After La Reconquista of Andalucia, many Moriscos traveled to New Spain, hoping to escape the mistrust and scrutiny they faced on the Iberian Peninsula. However, their situation did not get better. When arriving to New Spain Moriscos met with new suspicions, “La Inquisición” always questioning their religious loyolaty. The Spanish Crown was not content with Moriscos immgrating to New Spain, since it undermined a “unified Catholic society.”
For María Ruiz, confessing her faith in Islam to the Inquisition in my belief came from no longer wanting to live with the daily anxiety she faced having to hide a part of her faith. The Inquisition posed an immense threat to whoever would defy Chistian belifs, threatening them with fate worst than death. As well, as, feeling estranged from the Islamic community she grew up, confessing her true beliefs might have been a way to secure her salvation in way.
Furthermore, the repression of Islam greatly affected Moriscos in many ways. They were forced to practice their religion in secret, with much anxiety about getting caught. Clothing, language, and customs also played a great role, as they constantly had to worry about denunciations by neighbors or others who questioned their conversion to Christianity, which could, again, result in imprisonment or execution by the Inquisition.
Reading Cook reminded me of a book called “Huesos de lagartija” I read in middle school, it demonstrated the broader theme of repression and cultural erasure, drawing a parallel between the violent colonization of indigenous populations and the suppression of Morisco culture.

I first encountered the word “utilitarianism” in my social sciences and economics class back in high school. I remember memorizing it as if it were something intangible, a simple concept linked to Jeremy Bentham, just to pass my exam. A few years later, during my first semester at McGill, I took a class on Moral Philosophy—again, utilitarianism. Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill reappeared, this time accompanied by hypothetical scenarios, entering “experience machines.”.
Now, once again, encountering this concept, it has become tangible—something real, a concept that has had and continues to have a real impact on people. I think what I’m having trouble wrapping my head around is the way too many concepts and themes that are most often presented to us in education (at least in my case in high school) but never to instigate a deeper meaning, to show us how, for example, utilitarians had an actual impact on people's lives, they don’t go beyond what all of these British philosophers actually brought upon with their theories, or at least they pick and choose which history to tell us, from which people.
Mill presents the idea of maximizing happiness, but what exactly is happiness? For whom is it considered happiness, and to what population is it being applied? Sarah Ahmed questions the idea of what is seen as “happy,” “good,” or “bad.” In the eyes of the colonizer, racialized people are very often seen as unhappy and not conforming to the conception of “happiness,” but who fits into this mainstream idea of “happiness.” Ahmed suggests that happiness is simply constructed in a way to fulfill social norms. This idea of "the greatest good for the greatest number" excludes those who don't fit into the mainstream ideas of happiness, which are often shaped by white, heterosexual, or neoliberal values. For instance, melancholic migrants illustrate how assimilating to this happiness and trying to fit into these social norms further alienate and marginalize them. Ahmed’s critique challenges us to reconsider happiness, not as a universal goal we all strive for, but as a political tool used to impose and maintain power structures.

Rana is arguing that Islamophobia is indeed a form of racism. Rana uses many examples of how Islam was racialized throughout history to set forth how the racialization of Muslims in the United States came to be. Rana discusses the idea of “race-making,” considering historical practices where religious differences were used to justify racial hierarchies and imperial dominance.
Rana’s argument about race, biology, religion, and Islamophobia is that Islamophobia, despite being centered on religious identity, functions as a form of racism due to the historical and ongoing racialization of Islam. Islamophobia does not merely target Muslims for their beliefs but also for how they are socially constructed as a racialized group. One of the examples Rana traces back the racialization of Muslims, is to medieval Europe when European Christian powers wanted to reclaim territories from Muslim rule in Spain.
In the Reconquista, Spanish Christians viewed Muslim in Spain as not just someone who differed in religious thought, but as a different race althogether. The Spanish Inquisition provides a key example of how religion was racialized. Muslims and Jews were often forced to convert to Christianity to avoid persecution or expulsion. The concept of “limpieza de sangre” (cleansing of blood) was used to distinguish those of “pure” Christian blood from those with Jewish or Muslim ancestry, showing how religious identity became racialized through bloodline and ancestry, their racialized otherness would always remain intact and were treated biologically different.
So, through Rana’s reading, it is understood that Muslims became racialized not just because of religious difference, but through a complex blend of cultural, geographical, and physical markers.This anti-Muslim racism is shaped by a long history of colonialism, imperialism where Muslims are viewed as a threat to Western social and economic structures. From the conquest of the Americas to the transatlantic slave trade, Islam was racialized alongside other racial categories. In the U.S., the term “Muslim” became not just a religious label but a racialized one, connecting Native Americans, African Americans, and immigrants into a broader framework of anti-Muslim racism.

In 2015, Maher Khalil, a Palestinian American, was almost denied access to a flight in Philadelphia because other passengers were uncomfortable with him speaking Arabic. Opening the song with Khalil’s story, The Kominas emphasize the absurdity and injustice of racial profiling.
In the music video “4 white guys,” the band members appear playing tennis as a satirical commentary on privilege, power, and race. But why Tennis? As I interpreted it, tennis is often associated with upper-class and predominantly white spaces. Kominas, by placing themselves in this “elite” setting, the band questions, “Who has access to such spaces and why?” With this, they are critiquing racial stereotypes and the concept of “whiteness” as a social construct.
I pondered quite some time on the Kominas question, and it wasn’t until I read “Look, a White!” by George Yancy that this specific question finally cleared up to me. In my interpretation, the credits did not show their real names because, according to Yancy, “apparently, only whites have that wonderful capacity to live anonymously, thoughtlessly, to be ordinary qua human, to go unmarked and unnamed—in essence, to be white. They are like Clint Eastwood’s white stock characters in his Western shoot-’em-up movies who come into town nameless and mysterious. Indeed, Eastwood’s central character is the man with no name. This is the portrayal of white liberalism, perhaps at its best.” (p.4). In this statement, Yancy addresses how whiteness comes with the privilege of being anonymous or unmarked, meaning white people in this society can exist without having to be questioned constantly for their race. On the other hand, people of color are more often than not, defined by this, unable to move with the same anonymity through life as a white person. By not revealing their real names, Kominas is challenging the notion that whiteness is the only identity that can exist without a label, claiming the same space of anonymity and universality white people have always had.
Last but not least, the pizza thing at the end of the video, in my opinion, represents Western culture. Specifically referring to how minority or immigrant cultures are expected to blend into this dominant culture. Pizza represents the pressure these communities feel to “fit in” and adopt these elements of Western culture. “It Will Kill Us All” reflects how forced assimilation can be dangerous. The pressure to conform and suppress one’s cultural identity can lead to the loss of individuality and heritage. It represents the erasure of unique identities and homogenization of diverse cultures.