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By Keira Hardesty I Staff writer
U.S. President Donald Trump’s multiple executive orders targeting the LGBTQ+ community have created uncertainty for college students across the nation, including at the University of Maryland.
Some executive orders called for the restriction of access to genderaffirming health care and the elimination of federal diversity, equity and inclusion programs.
University president Darryll Pines told The Diamondback on Feb. 21 that Trump’s executive orders will have no relative changes to diversity, equity and inclusion or the LGBTQ+ community on campus.
“We want our community to feel like they can reach their full potential and that they belong at University of Maryland and can succeed,” Pines said.
This university follows national law above executive orders, Pines said. University administration is monitoring Trump’s actions and informing community members whether changes are necessary, according to Pines.
Sophomore computer science major June Cagan, a trans student at this university, said she was horrified by Trump’s actions aimed at the trans community.
Trump passed another executive order on Feb. 5 that resulted in the National Collegiate Athletic Association banning transgender athletes from competing in women’s sports. Another executive order declares the federal government will only recognize two unchangeable sexes, male and female.
“It’s very scary to see this stuff be passed by the president,” Cagan said.
Cagan said she has received genderaffirming supplies such as tucking underwear from the LGBTQ+ Equity
Center on campus. She fears funding cuts and other actions from Trump will result in these resources being taken away from students at this university.
Despite Maryland’s designation as a sanctuary state for transgender people, Cagan has experienced discrimination from students. During a class where she serves as a teaching assistant, a student asked her if she was transgender, and when Cagan said she was, the student left class.
“Before the current administration, I never would have imagined something like that would happen,” Cagan said.
Another executive order passed by Trump on Jan. 28 said the U.S. will prohibit and limit gender-affirming care on people younger than 19, which includes puberty blockers, hormone therapy and surgeries.
But a federal judge blocked the order Tuesday after Washington, Colorado, Minnesota and Oregon successfully sued to stop the order in their respective states, The Washington Post reported.
Sophomore public policy and American studies major Mace
Viemeister said Trump’s orders could have devastating effects on transgender children — who experience higher average suicide rates than their peers — and hurt the LGBTQ+ community.
“This gender affirming care is life saving,” they said.
Viemeister hopes the university will continue to protect students in the LGBTQ+ community. Those students should not be complacent if the university fails to protect them, they said.
“The diversity of our student population is so important and I think the university should be proud of it, and should be advocating on our behalf,”
Viemeister said.
Cagan and Viemeister both said they had not received any emails from this university regarding LGBTQ+ students after Trump’s actions.
“During these uncertain times, we are continuing to focus on support systems, resources, and programs that uplift our entire campus through efforts to sustain and support LGBTQ+ colleagues, peers, and friends,” the LGBTQ+ equity center wrote in a statement to The Diamondback on Tuesday.
Pines said he has communicated to this university’s colleges and deans about the impacts of executive orders.
Stephanie Shonekan, the arts and humanities college dean, said these orders would not impact how the college treats students in the LGBTQ+ community.
“My job as the dean of the college of arts and humanities is to ensure that we stay true to our values as a university and as a college, and that means that we are focusing on listening to, being very attentive to the particular ways in which our students are feeling,” Shonekan said.
Shonekan emphasized that community members in the college should feel comfortable speaking with her about any concerns regarding Trump’s actions.
“We care deeply about our community and understand that there is uncertainty about the impact of changes in the federal landscape,” this university wrote in a statement to The Diamondback on Feb. 20.
As federal changes continue impacting students, this university will provide resources to community members that promote its shared values, the statement read.
By Anastasia Merkulova I Staff writer
University of Maryland alum, actor Poorna Jagannathan, stars in Hulu’s new series Deli Boys, which premiered March 6. In an interview with The Diamondback, Jagannathan discussed her chaotic character, Lucky Auntie, and her time as a Terp in the ‘90s when she swapped astrophysics for journalism and theater — a pivot that led her to acting.
Deli Boys follows Pakistani American brothers Raj and Mir Dar, who inherit a chain of Philadelphia delis after their father’s sudden death. But their lives spiral when they discover the family empire is a front for smuggling and selling drugs.
Raj — played by Saagar Shaikh — and Mir — played by Asif Ali — are hilariously anxious and unprepared, flailing through their criminal misadventures. They fumble with disposing of bodies, hiding drugs and even attempting murder — all without the grit or strength to pull it off.
The show is a bizarrely wonderful mix of workplace drama, crime thriller and pure slapstick comedy that checks every viewer’s box. Raj, the laid-back brother with a shaman girlfriend and a collection of bongs, clashes with Mir, the more serious but perpetually anxious sibling. Their relatable, brotherly dynamic fuels the season’s 10 episode.
Despite the characters’ comedic performances, the Dar brothers grapple with their father’s death and the realization that he wasn’t the stand-up guy they thought he was.
So how will they navigate the dangerous, complicated and sometimes political world of crime? Enter Jagannathan as Lucky Auntie, their sharp, no-nonsense boss. Lucky Auntie, the temporary CEO of the deli — or rather, the drug empire — looks every bit the mob wife with fur coats, long nails, voluminous hair and designer handbags. But make no mistake — she’s the boss.
“It’s so comedic to me,” Jagannathan said to The Diamondback. “The character really allowed me to incorporate a lot of physical comedy and just be larger than life.”
The show, undoubtedly lighthearted, infuses comedy with sharp political commentary to draw attention to deeper messages. At a time where pop culture feminism often gets dismissed as an eye-rolling byproduct of diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives, Deli Boys champions powerful women in the workplace — albeit a highly unconventional one. Jagannathan described Lucky Auntie with an unabashed boldness that mirrors her character.
“Lucky is just fucking crazy,” she said.
She’s not wrong. Lucky Auntie is crazy in a refreshing way. She fights back against an all-male board that runs the drug trade, shutting down their sexist jokes and grumbles about her ambition. She’s power-hungry, and she owns it, unapologetically taking up space.
Beyond Deli Boys, Jagannathan is an advocate for the arts. As a 1996 graduate of this university’s journalism program, she said she struggled in astrophysics before switching majors.
“It was so hard for me,” Jagannathan said. “I just kept failing my classes over and over again, and then when the arts opened up, and I took acting classes, this whole other part of my brain got activated.”
If it wasn’t for the poor grades in science classes, Jagannathan would have never discovered her niche, she said.
“I felt so much more like myself and so much less like a failure … and more like I was coming into myself,” Jagannathan said.
Jagannathan’s passion for the arts and acting shines through in her performance as Lucky Auntie. Her unique dynamic and genuineness makes Jagannathan’s Deli Boys character unforgettable.
By Stella Garner I Diversionsreporter
Content warning: This article contains mention of sexual assault and rape.
As the Kay Theatre lights dimmed and the faint sounds of Willie Colón and Beyoncé poured over speakers, an unconventional pre-show announcement played. One of the cast asked the audience to join them in a “sister space” and share their energy, focus and care.
On Feb. 14, the theater, dance and performance studies school hosted its opening night performance of Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf at The Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center.
The show, known for its unique combination of movement and verse termed a “choreopoem,” has been performed in theaters for nearly 50 years.
“We just opened it up so that theater students could maybe get a feel for what it’s like to be in their bodies through dance, so dance students could get an idea of what it’s like to work with text,” said co-director Fatima Quander. “Just having that session, even before the auditions, was really great to kind of take down some of the barriers that the students just put on themselves.”
The result is a unique and jarring blend of joy and pain — recognizing and placing the audience into the experience of Black womanhood in America. Between switching from warm, colored lighting to a harsh white spotlight or cutting off music with the snap of a finger, the production moved from a dance party to a hospital room with sobering clarity.
The show’s centerpiece includes a massive sun, changing with each poem to represent the different members of the cast, each one dressed as a color of the rainbow.
The costumes also incorporated a variety of fabrics and silhouettes, ranging from an angular red suit jacket to flowing olive palazzo pants. Co-director Ama Law said fabric became a crucial and unique part of their production.
“We use fabric to tell the story, whether the performers are using it to pretend it is
a costume piece, or a prop, or even like a baby,” Law said. “Our only tangible prop is a plant. And aside from that, the performers express everything they need through how they manipulate the fabric.”
The show explores themes of sexual assault, rape, abortion and motherhood with nothing more than the strength of its actors and impactful staging. The production uses a slowly rotating setpiece with varied levels of platforms in order to portray each character on a different plane.
“It doesn’t shy away from, you know, really difficult experiences and trauma that, unfortunately, is very normal in a Black American woman’s experience,” Quander said.
Junior psychology and theatre major Nina Omatsola, who performed as The Lady in Purple, said that routine rituals went a long way toward ensuring the cast was able to remove themselves from the intense headspace of the show after rehearsals.
“We would, like, just get in a circle and
stand with each other and stand with each other’s space,” she said. “We would do the scene, we would like, take a breath, to just breathe out of it, so that we don’t take that hurt and pain when we leave.”
At its heart, For Colored Girls is a celebration of Black womanhood and the joyful community it cultivates. The uniquely interactive aspects of the production invited audience members to snap, clap along or shout out their support and emotion. One scene even sees the cast take to the aisles to start a dance party with audience members.
This profound joy is the most important part of the production’s message, Quander said.
“We wanted to be intentional with the joyous moments so that we could have those ups and downs for ourselves, so that we could see how fun and funny and, you know, playful and innocent and just exciting Black women are, even when they’re grown,” Quander said.
By Cameron Lee I Diversionsreporter
Content Warning: This article contains mention of suicide and death.
“Please fall dead,” one flashing Cuckoo rice cooker ordered another, drawing hysterical laughter from the audience at Kogod Theatre.
Performer Jaha Koo weaved a humorous yet sobering reflection on the tumultuous past 20 years of South Korean political events, economic disaster and suicide in Cuckoo, a performance and Q&A hosted by The Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center on Feb. 13.
Through a fusion of deafening electronic music, harsh, textured visuals and somber narration, the piece notably features two singing and swearing Cuckoo rice cookers, Duri and Seri, alongside a third, Hana, who is ridiculed for lacking a voice and only being able to cook rice.
Koo chose Cuckoo rice cookers as cast members after experiencing loneliness when his own Cuckoo — an iconic staple in South Korean households — sang
to him that his rice was finished cooking.
During the Q&A panel following the event, he revealed he originally didn’t know the rice cookers would be so sassy, but they evolved into their hilarious, beeping selves during the piece’s development.
He also discussed the conception and execution of the talking Cuckoos, which were modified to feature his own music and simulated voices by a Berlinbased white hat hardware hacker.
The interactions between the rice cookers provide moments of comic relief in the often heartbreaking show, which grapples with the increased suicide rates in the wake of South Korea’s experience during the 1997 Asian financial crisis. Koo refers to this period as a time of “isolation without help,” when South Koreans had to fend for themselves in a struggling economy following the strict conditions of the International Monetary Fund’s bailout.
In one of the most harrowing moments of the show, Koo recounts his memories with a close friend, Jerry, who took his own life in 2011. Koo admits struggling with Jerry’s death after moving to the United States and receiving no answers about his passing.
In another arresting segment, Koo criticizes the former United States Secretary of the Treasury Robert Rubin as being responsible for South Korea’s
hardship in the 1990s. A bass drum throbs and synths soar in a Rubinthemed song as Koo slowly lifts the lids of the singing Cuckoo rice cookers to reveal Rubin’s face. He eventually dons a Rubin mask himself while lighting two sparklers.
In the Q&A, Koo discussed his intentions with the piece and the audience he hoped to reach.
“Of course, I’m talking about South Korean issues,” Koo told The Diamondback. “But it’s not only about South Korean issues. I think it’s related to so many countries at the same time, I have to provoke the reality.”
Koo recounted how his performance of Cuckoo in Athens was met by weeping audience members. He later learned that Greece, like South Korea, had faced similar International Monetary Fund bailouts.
Students at this university attended Cuckoo and were intrigued and inspired by Koo’s performance.
“I hadn’t been to a show that was that personal,” said Noah Milholland, a sophomore mechanical engineering student. “There’s a lot of humor that I think was worked in really well, but it also carried a really important message.”
Sophomore aerospace engineering major Carlos Acosta was also impressed by the show.
“I liked the editing of it all, mixing with the musical components,” Acosta added. “He found ways that really would showcase certain emotions … It was great.”
Koo doesn’t think he can change the world as just one human being.
“But somehow, it’s my artistic responsibility,” Koo said. “I believe that there is still valid urgency to share this work.”
The University of Maryland’s Afrochique Dance Team brought the heat March 1 at Stamp Student Union’s Hoff Theater, hosting its second annual Next Gen Battles with a surprise twist.
Three African Student Associations from Prince George’s County — Largo High School, Dr. Henry A. Wise Jr. High School and DuVal High School — competed for a $500 cash prize in four rounds of traditional and contemporary African dance styles.
This year’s battle introduced a new element: marching pink guards and red light, green light dance offs, inspired by the viral success of Squid Game season two.
“We were really thinking, ‘What could we incorporate for the students to have fun while dancing, but also playing games at the same time?’” Afrochique president Hillary Konadu, a senior family science major, said.
For the first time, Afrochique assigned prominent local dance coaches to lead each team and help students formulate stylistic choreography.
Afrobeat dancer Enny Makanejuola, who competed against Afrochique as a Bowie State University student in 2022, returned as Largo High School’s coach in the battles.
With anticipation high in a crowd packed
By Cameron Lee | Diversionsreporter
with friends and family, the night began on an ominous note, as two pink guards paced across the stage to Squid Game theme music. An introduction by the charismatic host, LJ the Great, lightened the mood with jokes that sent waves of laughter through the audience.
The battles unfolded over four rounds: creative, traditional, duos and head-to-head freestyle.
In the creative round, students performed open-ended dances with no set theme, allowing them to freely innovate on stage.
Largo’s dancers, dressed as synchronized flight attendants, moved in tandem under the command of a strict pilot, complete with briefcases and metal detector props.
Wise’s team bounced across the stage in pinks and purples as Barbie-esque Afrodolls. DuVal closed with a roaring 1920s flapper routine, cartwheeling and backflipping to a Charleston swing.
For the traditional round, each team was assigned an African country. Largo, DuVal and Wise channelled the Ivory Coast, Nigeria and Cameroon, respectively, as the students weaved national stories of identity and perseverance against political strife.
Energy in the theater reached a fever pitch as cheers erupted, the bass thumped and shrill
whistles cut through the air. At times, the entire crowd seemed to move as a cohesive unit to the unceasing rhythm.
The duos round pitted two students from each team against each other. Largo’s dancers simulated an undead puppet master routine, Wise’s students transformed into corporate Barbie dolls and DuVal’s pair battled Squid Game-style in a tense head to head.
For the final round, freestyle, one student from each team improvised to an African music genre chosen by the DJ. The competition officially ended, but the celebration continued as audience members flooded the stage for a massive group dance that shook Stamp.
“That was the best thing I could ever ask for,” Konadu said. “It was lovely.”
When the judges announced DuVal as the champion, deafening cheers erupted among the audience. Wise placed second and Largo took third.
Afrochique treasurer Chinwe Kalu emphasized how impactful the $500 cash prize could be.
“For some, it may not be a lot, but we know it really carries weight, especially within the dance community,” the junior business marketing and psychology said. “Five hundred can really take you a long way.”
Makanejuola, beaming with pride, had no doubt about the students’ talent.
“They did great,” Makanejuola said. “I’m so proud of them.”
Konadu emphasized the importance of giving high school students a platform through an Afrochique dance battle.
“We love putting on this performance. We love community. We love having the opportunity to bring the high schoolers out of their shell,” Konadu said.
