Black history is Americanism

ROSIE GONZALEZ ASSISTANT EDITOR

What does Black History month mean to me? When I first thought about this, I can honestly say that I did not know what to write about.

In being one-third Puerto Rican, one-third Ecuadorian and one-third Panamanian, which makes me completely Latina and not a descendant of an AfricanAmerican, I thought it would be hard for me to talk about the importance of Black History month.

What the African-Americans went through since first stepping foot on this soil has been horrendous. Growing up, I remember learning about slavery and the

Civil Rights Movement, which included the likes of Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. They helped in molding present-day America.

These people opened up the doors of opportunity for all African-Americans, and most importantly, to other minorities. If it were not for them, I probably would not have gotten this far in life.

I have not lived through times of war or depression, but the battle for equal and civil rights still rages on. I have seen that through affirmative action, all minorities have been able to pursue their dreams and be successful in life.

There have been debates about whether or not affirmative action is fair to the majority, and whether or not it should be kept as a law. I think that this is a vital issue that should be taken seriously because it is the key representation for all minorities in giving them a chance in the real world.

If our rights are taken away from us, we will not be treated equally or allowed to get a postsecondary education. Affirmative action allows for us to have a diversified environment, so that we may learn from each other instead of being afraid to be open or willing to new people and cultures.

In essence, Black History month shows us that it is an important time of the year. It is not only natural to commemorate the memories of those who died to give us our rights, but to remember that we are all one people, equal in all that we do or say. Not only do we discover who we are as Americans through our history classes, but also in our celebration of Black History month.

For the first time in my life, I couldn't go to the bathroom. No number one, no number two and not because my anatomical pipes were clogged. Instead, the toilets to the right and to the left of my room were clogged - one for a week, the other for two days; one with feces, the other with vomit.

The hellacious stench lingered through the upstairs hallway of house seven during the daytime as we fought with all our might, using country-scented air freshener to coat the walls and carpet. But by night, the stink found its way into our rooms, and eventually into the stitching of our clothes. The fumes were winning the battle and we were running out of ammo.

With the upstairs bathrooms clearly in need of quarantine, I could have used the bathrooms downstairs, where the women of the house live. But why should they be on the receiving end of the mess? They have never bothered us upstairs, and they handle the early morning thumping of drunken lunatics quite well, I thought. When it came time, I ventured to the woods behind the house. I was putting myself at risk of a public urination violation, but it was better than using the shower, which became the public urinal come party time last Saturday.

So there I stood, day after day, relieving myself near the same tree, a good tree. I'd stand there looking at the bare branches thinking about how cold its lumber must be without leaves. I was warm, with my coat and hat, but that poor tree. Zip. My thoughts never went further than that, but I felt better about myself for thinking of the tree that didn't have to deal with the stench of feces or vomit, but must have been cold. I couldn't help but wish this tree could comprehend what was happening. Its roots were absorbing human urine because belligerents couldn't manage sufficient flushing. I wanted the tree to lean over and smack them all - one swift blow to knock them to their senses.

By this point, college students should be able to take care of their own crap - flush twice, damn it.

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The following quote was attributed to andrea Manieri. "As compared to last year, this year's team is much smaller in size. However,the hard work and dedication that we have endured has paid off, making us proud to call ourselves Cabrini College's dance team." The statement was made by Gina Roswell, the coach and member of the team for the past three years.

The dance team is currently in its first season as a team, receiving funding from athletics, not a club as it was the past two years.

Andrea Manieri coached her senior year, making this her second year as a coach.