Latest news with #CulturalIdentity
Daily Mail
2 days ago
- General
- Daily Mail
Indigenous Australian's incendiary message to the nation: 'You're not white'
An Indigenous Australian has said that anyone who calls themselves white is a disgrace to their families. Gurridyula, from Waddananggu in Central Queensland, sparked a race debate when he responded to a comment from TikTok user who called themselves a 'white fella' on May 2. In his response Gurridyula said people cannot be white, which he called a shade, and that anybody who does so has simply forgot where they came from. Gurridyula said he would never call himself black because that does not define him. Instead he calls himself a Mari, which refers to Aboriginals from Central and South Queensland. The whole debate kicked off after one user attempted to welcome Gurridyula to 'my country', Australia, as a white person. 'Sorry don't mind me, I'm just out here looking for your country,' Gurridyula said. 'You know, the white fella one, because I don't see it around here.' Gurridyula said anyone who defines themselves as a colour does not understand who they are or where they come from. 'There is no white fella there is no white. White is a shade, there is no black,' he said. 'You're not white, you disrespect your forefathers by calling yourself a shade. 'You call yourself a shade because you want to give up your ancestors because you left the home of your father's father's to come here for an economic benefit. 'Stop calling yourself white, white is not a race, it is not an ethnicity.' Social media users were divided on Gurridyula's take on race and many pushed back on his claims that so-called white people had abandoned their ancestors. 'I respect what you say [but] my great great grandmother was forced to come here at 14 years as a convict. She had no choice,' one woman wrote. 'We call ourselves Aussies, not white, not black, just humans born in Australia with the same right as you to live here. It's not my land or your land, it's earth, stop being so material,' another said. Others questioned Gurridyula's logic behind claiming that white Australians are not Australians. 'Born in Australia so I am Australian. This my home same as you,' one wrote. 'I'm just a human I dunno where I come from,' a second added. 'The only border is space. Melanin in the skin occurs based on where previous ancestors evolved in relation to the equator. It is an evolutionary trait, not a shade. All lands were once connected as one. Nobody own s***,' a third said. Gurridyula clarified his stance in the comment section of his TikTok where he said he was not trying to make people feel any less Australian based on their skin colour. Instead he said it was the 'narcissists' who tried claiming the land as their own that he has a problem with. 'If you fight to protect nature from destruction then you're always welcome at my fire brother,' Gurridyula said. 'There's no problem with people calling this place home, it's when they narcissistically want me to bow to those people.'
Japan Times
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Japan Times
Hiraku Morilla: ‘Pride means respect for those who walked so we could run'
Hiraku Morilla, 40, has been the director of the Nakamura Keith Haring Collection since 2014, curating exhibitions and events about the American artist in the museum's facilities in Yamanashi Prefecture. Morilla advocates for the LGBTQ+ community through his work, combating discrimination and the stigmatization of HIV. 1. Can you tell us about your cultural background? I'm Japanese and Nuyorican (New York Puerto Rican). Expressing both Asian and Latino cultural identities at once has always felt disjointed — they're so far apart that embodying both never feels seamless. 2. How was your experience growing up in the Bronx? I was surrounded by rhythm and style. The way we spoke had cadence. The way we moved had rhythm. Manhattan was right there, but it felt like a different universe. We walked through metal detectors every morning at school. That's what it looks like when a system abandons the community. 3. What was it like being multiracial and queer? In my senior year of high school, I wrote a letter to myself that said, 'Do not come out as gay, no matter what.' I didn't want to be associated with the gay men who were mocked on TV, beat up in school or gossiped about. That changed when I started meeting them in real life. 4. How did your early life experiences shape your career? In Japan, New York becomes a kind of resume. But being Japanese and authentically New York throws people off. My New York isn't aesthetic or curated. It's survival. It's contradiction. It's lived, not borrowed. 5. How was working as a creative director under designer Patricia Field ('Sex and the City,' 'The Devil Wears Prada')? She valued authenticity. (Her brand) was a place where we had to prove ourselves — but we were family. Some of my pieces ended up on the cover of Vogue, on Beyoncé, on K-pop idols. Now it sounds surreal. Back then, it was just another Tuesday. 6. Why did you relocate to Japan? The catalyst was my mom's passing of pancreatic cancer in 2014. When I learned her condition had suddenly worsened, I packed up everything and flew straight to Japan to be with her. Just a few days after I arrived, she passed. 7. How are NYC and Tokyo different? What I like about living in Tokyo is the certainty. If I call a cab, it'll wait for me until I come out. In New York, if you take too long, it's gone. If the train's running late, Tokyo will tell you exactly how late. If you line up for something, you'll get in. If a package says 'open here' and you tear that part, it actually opens. 8. How did you end up as the director of the Nakamura Keith Haring Collection? Patricia suggested I visit the museum while I was in Japan. I did, and by chance I ran into the collector himself, Dr. (Kazuo) Nakamura. After a long conversation, he offered me a position. It was a rare chance to stay connected to New York while being in Japan. 9. What kinds of people visit the collection? All kinds. Older visitors often don't come for Haring; they just enjoy the area and happen to see a museum and drop by. Younger visitors tend to know Haring through K-pop. We also get a lot of Japanese celebrities and influencers. And of course, we have many LGBTQ+ visitors. We're not just the only Keith Haring museum in the world — we're also the only queer museum in Japan. 10. How does the location impact the visitor experience? Being in the mountains of Yamanashi — two hours from Tokyo by train or car — definitely affects our foot traffic. For some people, that distance feels like a burden. But at the same time, that distance creates something special. When you arrive, it's just you and Haring's work. No city noise, no gallery-hopping — just this one space, in nature, dedicated entirely to him. That isolation creates a kind of intimacy. It invites people to slow down, to really spend time with the art. 11. When did you first become aware of Haring? Growing up in New York, Haring was ubiquitous. As a kid, I automatically recognized his figures. Later, I also recognized him as a gay icon. But I really became aware of his depth as an artist and activist when I first visited the museum. "Haring's activism (is) not just relevant, but necessary," says Morilla of how the American artist's themes resonate in a contemporary Japanese context. | Koichi Nakazawa 12. What draws you to his work? The messaging. Take his faceless figures. They're simple, but emotionally loaded. That ability to express so much with so little is really powerful. Also, Haring's work is openly queer and deeply sex-positive. He's clearly attracted to masculinity, but not in a toxic way. That tenderness keeps drawing me in. 13. Why is Haring's legacy still relevant today? Unfortunately, we're still dealing with the same issues we were facing in the 1980s. But at the center of his work was always kindness. Keith would stand with you against racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, all of it. 14. How does your advocacy for LGBTQ+ issues and HIV awareness relate to Haring's legacy? Haring was openly gay and disclosed his HIV-positive status. In 1980s America, that meant putting himself at risk. In Japan, HIV infection rates are still increasing, and the government still hasn't recognized same-sex marriage. That makes Haring's activism not just relevant, but necessary. 15. What's your view on LGBTQ+ issues in Japan? There's a disconnect I see within the community here. There's a small, vocal group doing incredibly important work, pushing for rights and visibility. But sometimes, the focus is more on being digestible to straight audiences — presenting queerness as family-friendly, polished and easy to sympathize with. 16. What's the present situation of HIV awareness in Japan? Most guys I talk to know what PrEP (pre-exposure prophylaxis, a medication to prevent HIV infection) is. The message of U=U (an undetectable viral load equals untransmittable HIV) is more visible too. But PrEP is still not covered by national health insurance. Routine HIV testing still isn't normalized. We also need more mental health care. If prevention is neglected, we need support after diagnosis. You can't ignore people on both ends. 17. Do you face any discrimination in your daily life as an openly gay man in Japan? The fact that my human rights as a queer individual aren't recognized means I'm facing discrimination every day, whether it's obvious or not. 18. What do you think about Tokyo Rainbow Pride finally moving to June, in line with the rest of the world? I always thought it was kind of strange that it wasn't. Maybe it was because June is the rainy season here. The upside was that it added to Tokyo's eccentricity. But in terms of global visibility, aligning with the rest of the world makes sense. 19. What are your plans or projects for Pride Month this year? I'm hosting a lip-sync battle featuring Miss Grand Japan contestants at fancyHIM (a bar in Shinjuku Ni-chome). I've been one of the judges since 2018. I'm also doing a diversity, equity and inclusion workshop at (the hotel) W Osaka. I've been doing this with W every June. W Union Square was kind of a haven for us nightlife gays in New York. 20. What does Pride mean to you? When I was younger, Pride meant the NYC Pride parade. By the time the parade ended at Stonewall, I'd be making out with someone. But as I got older, I learned that Stonewall was the place where it all began. That's when Pride started to mean something deeper. Pride is respect for those who walked so we could run — or make out with boys in the street without fear.
CTV News
6 days ago
- General
- CTV News
Anglophone East School District marks third annual Indigenous Grad Celebration
Twenty-four students from the Anglophone East School District walked the stage for the third annual Indigenous Grad Celebration on June 2, 2025. (CTV Atlantic / Alana Pickrell) It was a significant day within the Anglophone East School District as 24 students from high schools in the area walked the stage for the third annual Indigenous Grad Celebration. 'We've helped support them grow as people and as individuals and when we go to the high school graduations they're dressing in regalia as they walk across the stage and very proud of who they are as individuals, who they are as people, who they are as citizens of their community and citizens of the world,' said superintendent and CEO Randolph MacLEAN. As part of the district's call to action for Truth and Reconciliation, MacLEAN says work is being done to make sure the district is both 'academically responsive and culturally responsive to indigenous students.' This includes cultural support workers in schools and an Indigenous Services Team to ensure daily education and support throughout a student's entire educational journey. 'I see it here today, but I see it in classrooms,' he said. 'I see it in classrooms as we do cultural events and students are wearing ribbon skirts or in our peace and friendship spaces in schools and students are proud of their cultural identities and we support them. We see it in our classrooms as we intertwine our Indigenous learnings with the way we teach.' He says the first year had just three to four students take part in the culturally responsive graduation celebration. The Legend Catering room at the Moncton Coliseum was packed full of students, their families, school officials and Indigenous spiritual leaders. Ceremonial Elder Donna Augustine says this event is important because students are being honoured in a traditional way with an opening song, prayer and honour song. 'In the schools, the regular school system, they've learned academically, but in our way, it's just as important or even more important to know your roots, your heritage, who you are,' she said. Augustine is the Elder in Residence for the AESD and goes to various schools to share culture with students throughout their time at school. 'We don't want our youth to go out there in the world and hold their heads down, we want them to go out there and be proud of their heritage and who they are,' she said. 'When they walk out into this world, they're armed with their culture, their base, their root is that strong culture so as they go out into the world, they're going to excel at everything they do and so we encourage them all along the way.' MacLEAN says the district will continue to grow and foster this program and way of teaching in the future, bringing together education and culture in a significant way. Students will also attend their school graduation ceremonies to celebrate their accomplishments as they say goodbye to high school. For more New Brunswick news, visit our dedicated provincial page.
Mail & Guardian
01-06-2025
- General
- Mail & Guardian
Unpacking South Africans' response to ‘the 59ers'
(Graphic: John McCann/M&G) It is Tuesday evening. I am seated with a friend and my son in our favourite restaurant in Bloemfontein. My son listens to our conversation as I note that the 49 Afrikaner migrants (or 59 as some reports suggest) incorrectly and problematically afforded refugee status through executive order by the Trump administration have landed in the US. Their departure is called the 'Great Tsek' on social media. We laugh conspiratorially. South Africans respond to most situations with a trademark humour that inspires much hilarity. We repeat the in-joke in multi-cultural and multi-classed spaces — taxis, buses, lecture halls, at a Sunday braai, in a coffee shop, between co-workers — we evoke the reality of co-created belonging through humour. Our humour, a shared South African-ness irrespective of historicised divisions of race, class, creed or gender, masks our discomfort, or psychological and emotional pain. Whether we are supporting Tyla's right to self-define as coloured — while ridiculing and stereotyping colouredness — and interrogating black Americans' failure to unpack the context of coloured in South Africa, or vituperatively disowning Elon Musk, South Africans have a unique, enmeshed and complex affinity and loyalty to each other. Amorphous and responsive, this loyalty is an organic response to a perceived threat, or a show of appreciation or forgiveness — recall our troetelnaam (pet name) for our president: Cupcake. South African humour and loyalty are revealed on TikTok, Instagram and X. On these platforms we deconstruct the perceptions and slights of 'ordinary' South Africans as we digest and metabolise the news together, as South Africans, and as global citizens in conversation with other global citizens. We find solace in our derision, and the truth etched onto the edges of that laughter. The phrase 'Great Tsek' is an incisive commentary on the double-edged nature of the 59ers' departure. As South African stayers imagine saying that, they remind us of a socio-cultural memory in which white Afrikaners would chase black people from their farms with the word 'voertsek' (go away, get lost). And in return, based on commentary from a few of the emigrants, we can duly imagine the 59ers exclaiming 'voertsek' as they took off from OR Tambo International Airport. The phrase, Great Tsek, thus points to a rejection that is mirrored by those who stay (are left behind) and those who leave. Amid the laughter M, a young black woman who has experienced the harrowing loss of dispossession of family-owned land in the Free State through apartheid's legalised appropriation of land, comments: 'I'm laughing, but they're still South African, man! What are they going to experience there? It doesn't matter that they are white. I worry about them. They are us.' As a national human collective — South Africans — we don't want to be rejected, or 'left behind'. It is a typical human response to excise the offending parties from our collective. But still there are those among us, like my friend, who compassionately tries to understand the reasons for the 59ers' departure, and hopes that they haven't made a mistake that will have enduring negative repercussions. The reasons for emigration are multiple, but this particular departure underscores a severance of ties with the land of their birth, our South African humour, and much more that embodies a particular national expression of humanity. The 59ers are not Europeans; much less American. They are South Africans; and we are a complicated mengelmoes (mixture) of peoples who embody various amalgamated traditions, languages, orientations, humour, oppressions and battle scars. Violence, risk and resilience are endemic to the South African narrative, no matter which ethnic tributary you lay claim to as you arrive here on the shores of a contemporary South Africa that is being lived in the trenches and robustly debated on the streets of social media. Those who speak, who stay, who worstel (struggle) with the inadequacies of the state, birth South Africa's next chapter in which every lineage and narrative have value. We navigate turbulent racialised, ethnicised and citizenship currents, potholed roads and jagged promises of well-being for all in rickety boats, maladapted vehicles and kaal voete (bare feet) together. We are not necessarily seasoned or adequately equipped; and the shoreline of our dreams is unfamiliar, with the horizon blurred and distant. But for those who stay, the vision of a South Africa that supports the well-being of all her citizens inspires us to put our shoulders to the wheel, and to live not only for ourselves but for others. Each one who voluntarily remains behind assumes an active role in envisioning, dreaming, crafting, moulding and building South Africa's next chapter. Each one. And so, during supper when my son asks what the word 'colonisation' means I try simply to chart South Africa's convoluted history. His response — 'not all white people are like that' — is not a negation of our past. Rather his words confirm, as a seven-year-old, that his immediate and direct experience does not align with our 'black and white' histories. They offer a moment of pause, as I come to terms with what my lineage has experienced pre-apartheid, what I have experienced during and post-apartheid and the future my son is living into existence. He demands from me, and you, a conscious recognition of how far we have travelled as South Africans to be here — constructing our futures with clear sight of our histories. His words defy an easy, glib and uncontextualised narrative of what makes us South African. And, like M, he inspires us to accept that we are complex and incomplete as South Africans, whether at home, or in the US, without each other. Professor Joy Owen is the head of the department of anthropology at the University of the Free State.
Jordan Times
20-05-2025
- General
- Jordan Times
Circassians mark Day of Mourning with cultural commemoration
Circassians wearing traditional clothes perform a cultural dance (Photo courtesy of the Circassian Charity Association) AMMAN — Every year on May 21, the Circassian community in Jordan joins Circassians around the world in commemorating the Day of Mourning — a solemn remembrance of the end of the Caucasian War in 1864. This year, the Circassian Charity Association (CCA) hosts a commemoration in Amman, bringing together community members in traditional dress to honour their ancestors, share oral histories and reaffirm cultural identity through dance, food and storytelling. A cultural cornerstone Founded in 1932, the CCA is one of the oldest community institutions in Jordan. 'The association was established by Circassian students who had studied at Al-Azhar University in Cairo,' said Ibrahim Ishaqat, president of the CCA, in an interview with The Jordan Times. He noted that the association currently has around 7,000 members and operates several branches across the Kingdom, including a dedicated women's branch. Its headquarters in Amman houses a number of key facilities such as a traditional kitchen, a cultural and conference hall, a library, a school, and training centres. Tradition in practice In the association's kitchen, traditional dishes are prepared regularly for community events. Among the most iconic is chepse and pasta — a hearty Circassian dish made from bulgur, flour and other staple ingredients, often served on special occasions as a symbol of hospitality and cultural pride. These culinary traditions are passed down through generations and serve as a key expression of cultural pride. Music and dance are also essential components of community life. The Qafa dance, for example, is a signature Circassian group dance characterised by upright posture, precise steps and circular movements. It is often performed during weddings and formal gatherings to symbolise unity, discipline and grace. Voices of continuity For many Circassians, cultural preservation begins at home. 'We speak our native language at home to keep it alive for the younger generations,' said Sirine Shhlatough, an elder member of the association. 'I teach my grandchildren to respect elders and women — these are Circassian values. We also hold gatherings to share our stories and keep our culture alive,' she added. These personal efforts complement the institutional role played by the CCA in providing a platform for community engagement and intergenerational exchange. A legacy of leadership Ishaqat also highlighted prominent Circassian figures like former prime minister SaeedMufti and minister Wasfi Mirza have been associated with the CCA, reflecting the community's contributions to Jordan's development while maintaining cultural distinctiveness. A living heritage As Jordanian Circassians mark the Day of Mourning each year, the event serves not only as a memorial, but also as a celebration of cultural resilience. Through language, dance, cuisine and values, the CCA plays a vital role in safeguarding cultural identity and ensuring it is passed on to future generations.
