The Company of Injustice

It has been almost a year since hundreds of students and faculty marched through Loyola University’s Lake Shore campus in a public outcry against racism.

On February 21, 2008, protestors, joining a small but vocal group called the Anti-Racism Movement (ARM), donned electric green armbands and shouted slogans like, “We pay for education, not discrimination!” They stormed across campus to the offices of Father Garanzini and Campus Security, demanding that attention be paid to what ARM called “the systemic racial inequalities on our campus.”

After the widely reported “Labor Day Incident,” in which a campus security officer berated and removed a small group of minority students from Loyola’s campus, ARM had created an undeniable tension and presence within the community. Weeks of phone calls, petitions, and gathering buzz finally reached a climax when the huddled mass of students sang “We Shall Overcome,” led by freshman Erica Granados-De La Rosa.

Erica is a petite latina with soft features, sporting a recently buzzed head of hair and eyes that speak along with her animated voice. Her apparent youth belies the fact that, at only 18 years old, Erica is completing her sophomore year at Loyola, having entered into the university at the age of 16. As a victim of the incident that inspired action, De La Rosa was a likely candidate to be a part of the movement. Having been a student for barely six months at Loyola, however, it may be surprising that De La Rosa herself created it.

Entering the microcosm of politics and power plays entangled in Loyola’s student groups, De La Rosa contends, “I wouldn’t have been able to take that next step if it had not been for other people sharing their experiences, similar experiences, with me.” Through what De La Rosa calls a grassroots campaign, she and several other members of the Loyola community created a movement that captured an unprecedented amount of attention among the students of the university, with mixed results from the school administration.

For De La Rosa, issues of race and inequality have pervaded many of the defining moments of her life. A daughter of two undocumented immigrants, Erica described her childhood as one of many hardships, “affected deeply by many things that I feel we have been a victim of, as a first-generation, lower-class Latino family in the U.S.”

Her mother grew up in a family of migrant workers from Northern Mexico, moving listlessly through various low-paying agricultural jobs in the U.S. Erica’s father, whom she connected with for the first time two years ago, was raised as a criado, given away in order to work for a wealthier family in Morzan, El Salvador. As the nation descended into civil war, he became politically active as a guerilla soldier for FMLN, the people’s army; though he left the country to work within a Salvadorian community in Washington D.C, Erica’s father continues to send much of his income to foster political activity in his native land.

Erica’s parents (whose names she requested be omitted) met through their social activism in Columbia Heights, D.C. While their pasts were mired by struggle and poverty, Erica believes “my parents were given the opportunity to receive their education and develop their social consciousness.” Both received some college education in the U.S, an advantage which allowed them to understand the implications of their reality as U.S. immigrants. De La Rosa saw the achievements of her parents as monumental. “I always felt like people around me were kept on a leash that only allowed them to see so much or go so far,” Erica said. Fortunately, both Erica and her parents were able to transcend these limits.

Erica, too, faced the burden of placelessness, as a result of divorce and family difficulties; born in Baltimore, Md., De La Rosa spent her early years in Langley Park, Md., and the Columbia Heights neighborhood of Washington, D.C, which she described as “low-class black and Latino communities, affected by the crack epidemic of the early 90’s.” At 9 years old, after two years in a migrant community of Lincoln, Neb., the beginning of Erica’s adolescence was spent in the Chicago neighborhoods of Humboldt Park, Pilsen, and Evanston. At 12 years old, her family settled in Dallas, Texas, where she completed her high school education in 2006.

“Dallas is the most difficult place to describe,” Erica adds, “because of a lot of instability and moving around the city. I spent the most time in Texas, although it feels like the shortest.”

At 12 years old, she discovered her passion for community organizing in her neighborhood of East Dallas. Attempting to start an after-school church program for her peers, De La Rosa was met with opposition from the community.

“Church dynamics and politics, is like, these ghetto kids are coming into the church, and they’re like, ‘Whoa! We don’t want to let you come in,’ Erica noted laughingly. Still, it was an unsettling response from the community. “They wouldn’t even get to close to us,” Erica said. “It was like they needed special equipment to even talk to us. We were kids.”

Despite the implicit discouragement from community leaders, Erica sought out grant monies and developed a comprehensive summer program, which provided her peers with activities, including a trip to Six Flags amusement park, and opportunities for community service. “And at the end of it,” Erica recalled, “this woman came up to me and she was like, ‘You’re amazing! You’re 12 years old, about to be 13, and you’re organizing! Do you realize how much power [you have]?’”

Six years later, Erica once again felt the need to exercise her power, after being orally harassed and removed from the college campus that had only months ago become her home. A campus security officer at Loyola, suspecting De La Rosa and her friends were members of a neighborhood gang, refused to allow them to walk through campus, even after they showed their student ID cards.

After informing Loyola’s Latin American Student Organization of the incident, Erica quickly acquainted herself with other victims of discrimination on campus and those who, “even if they weren’t active on campus, were conscious of this idea of racism and this idea of race and just, you know, forms of systematic discrimination and prejudice.” Through her aggressive campaigning to find a solution to her experience, a coalition of students formed the foundation for the Anti-Racism Movement.

The founders of ARM, a small, tight-knit group of primarily minority students, met in the office of the Black Cultural Center, cloistered in the basement of Loyola’s Campion Hall. In heated discussions that went well into the night, ARM members sacrificed the social opportunities of their Friday nights in order to craft a detailed mission statement and organize large-scale public events, including a kickoff rally and the February protest.

Initially, allied organizations, like the Black Cultural Center, and even ARM’s co-founders, were skeptical of the movement De La Rosa was attempting to build. Her inexperience in student government, coupled with a tenacious pursuit of immediate action, may have at first appeared unrealistic, if not radical.

“One of the first things we did as a group was, we had to go to Office of Student Diversity and let them know that we’re going to start something on this campus,” Erica describes. “And so we went… and I was like, ‘Okay, gentlemen, you ready? Today is the beginning of something, blah blah…’ And I gave this huge lecture. And they [ARM’s co-founders] were like, ‘O-okay, let’s just go into the office.’ I’m sure, I think about it now, I’m like, man, they must have had some crazy idea about me.”

The results of ARM’s presence at Loyola, however, seem to be uncertain, even a year after its grand entrance into the community. Shortly after the public outcry by ARM and its supporters, Loyola Phoenix columnist Nick Gamso described the aftermath as “a moment of defeat, when you realize that good intentions and a megaphone have done little to change the world, that the powers that be will keep, uh, being.”

As ARM continues to work alongside with the Black Cultural Center, Latin American Students Organization, and other minority groups on campus to pressure the administration, its demands have yet to be met. Many of the changes, including the establishment of an oversight board to deal with complaints of discrimination, have been gridlocked in the arduous process of negotiation.

“When we sit down with administrators, we can pretend like we’re running shit the whole time, and we can pretend like we understand the game,” Erica said. “But these administrators, these old white men, they’ve been doing this their whole life. They get paid to sit here and do what they’re doing. And they know all the laws, and they know the policies, and they know what we can and can’t do, and they know how they can manipulate us.”

Yet the obstacles to De La Rosa’s current cause are small compared to the hurdles of her past. As she ends her second year at Loyola, Erica is studying abroad in Mexico, an experience which she describes as “healing.”

“Being here, learning my language and culture, is an act of reclaiming my humanity and resisting the injustice against my people,” she said. As she pursues her degree at Loyola, Erica aspires to continue building systematic reform, particularly in the public education system. “I have lived through injustice,” Erica states, “and I continue to keep it company every day. But I have learned to challenge its presence and find the strength to act against it.” With or without her megaphone, De La Rosa’s voice remains one that demands to be heard

Enough Noise. Join ARM on Facebook.

Boyle Makes Slums Sparkle

You know those television commercials, seeking aid for indigent, malnourished orphans, in what are now sensitively referred to as “developing countries”? The ones that force-feed pangs of guilt by throwing you from the comfort of your couch to the bare feet of helpless children, robbed of health, hygiene, and basic human dignity? Those who consider themselves more casual film enthusiasts than humanitarian activists will be happy to note, Slumdog Millionaire doesn’t paint that kind of picture.

Rather, director Danny Boyle does a different kind of painting. In his tradition of dark sensations like Shallow Grave and Trainspotting, Boyle’s latest film gleams with vivid, lush, even gritty imagery that delivers both insight and escape. Slumdog Millionaire brings viewers along as Jamal Malik (Dev Patel), an ill-fated resident from the slums of Mumbai, ascends from his dismal past to the set of India’s “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” Despite the seemingly American prototype of a beggar bound for glory, the heart of the story takes root through the disjointed flashbacks of Jamal’s history, reshaping the hero long before the TV cameras roll.

Like Trainspotting, Boyle’s previous excursion into beautifying the disquieting world of drug addicts, his latest film doesn’t shy away from the startling reality of Indian poverty and deceit. In the opening scene, bathed in smoldering yellow light, smoke, and sweat, Jamal is brutally beaten, under suspicion of cheating his way to millions. As he defends his case to a ruthless investigator (Irrfan Khan), the fleeting images that pique the viewer’s interest fall slowly into place, creating a dreamlike narrative of a nightmare childhood.

Thanks to near-melodramatic cinematography, Jamal’s callous origins present a striking dichotomy that reflects the Indian nation’s crawl into modern capitalism. The Mumbai slum where Jamal and brother Salim emerge sports sharp, albeit colorful edges, from the cobbled shacks to the landscape carved by mountains of trash. As the brothers face their wasteland alone, after a brutal attack by anti-Muslim fanatics leaves their mother dead, their environment transforms into an industrial paradise. As the hopeful, though often gruesome narrative progresses, the sheet-metal hovels give way to stark white skyscrapers, the neighborhood thugs fall to the knees of sharp-dressed gang lords, and destitution (for some) becomes a world of flash, glamour, and ecstatic violence. Despite the country’s rise to wealth and influence, the rough edges of corruption and class struggle refuse to be smoothed over.

Still, if there’s anything in which Boyle excels, it’s the ability to turn devastation into fantasy. The impish boys survive, thanks to their devotion and (ahem) entrepreneurial spirit and Jamal unfailingly propels toward a triumphant destiny that belies his tragic shadows. Though Slumdog Millionaire walks a tightrope between a striking social commentary and a far-fetched hero’s odyssey, it does so in a frenzied circus of imagery that allows viewers to suspend their disbelief. Whether it’s a heroin addict seeking redemption through mediocrity, or a resourceful orphan grasping his fifteen minutes of fame, Boyle transforms bleak worlds into the site of fairytales, and gives us all a reason to root for the underdog.

Enough Noise: Check out Slumdog Millionaire.

Smokey Proves, His Weirdness Prevails

To say Devendra Banhart’s newest album is eclectic wouldn’t suggest anything unexpected, given the eccentric artist’s atypical revamping of the folk genre. From a musician who has been accredited to the New Weird America Movement, along with artists like Jana Hunter, Six Organs of Admittance, We the Royal, and Jack Rose, you can expect nothing but a genre-hopping album with its own quirky sensibility.

Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, Banhart’s newest release, both fulfills and denies these expectations. By recycling his vintage influences Devendra Banhart creates an album with a surprising maturity in its production, compared with the lighthearted, free style of Cripple Crow. More importantly, Smokey proves that when the novelty fades, Banhart’s bizarre breed of folk rock seems to resonate with a variety of influences, without being buried in any one.

After spearheading 2004’s The Golden Apples of the Sun compilation along with CocoRosie, Iron & Wine, and Joanna Newsom, Devendra Banhart gained notoriety as one of the authors of the New Folk genre. His previous releases, including Cripple Crow and Nino Rojo, have followed suit, although Banhart shirks his Freak-Folk title in favor of his own label, “Naturalismo.”

In Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, the only label that seems to apply is the latter. Unlike his previous albums, which took Naturalismo to a primal simplicity, Smokey has a sort of understated refinement, using production to create a more antique mood. The whole album echoes like old vinyl playing from another room, with the unobtrusive power of Banhart’s vocals ranging from big band to old country western. Beginning with “Cristobal,” a soft, Spanish-guitar ballad bolstered with brass and orchestral accompaniment, the album develops into what could easily be the soundtrack to an art-noveau film.

Growing up in both Caracas, Venezuela and Los Angeles, California, Banhart is no stranger to the Spanish music tradition he employs. Tracks like “Cristobal,” “Carmensita,” and “Samba Vexillographica” sound like a luxurious accompaniment to drinking mojitos on the coast of South America. The big band sound of “Samba,” sustained by heavy brass and Banhart’s powerful, airy vibrato, reverberates against the jungle sounds that follow, creating a lighthearted blend of elemental and refined. “Rosa” sets the mood with similar subtlety. Sultry and eerie, “Rosa” slinks along like a tango, with a faint drumbeat, classical piano, and a quiet passion in the harmony.

The really unexpected quality in Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon is in its far from innocent flirtation with a score of styles. Because Banhart’s voice can carve a niche from country to funk, each track comes off as an authentic piece of his history, rather than a disjointed compilation. He can just as easily testify, with a full choir, to the church organs in “Saved” as he can ramble along with steel guitar and woodblock tempo in “So Long, Old Bean.”



“Sea Horse,” one of the notable tracks of the album, is more of a bastard child of Miles Davis and The Doors, if Jim Morrison voiced his longing to be a sea creature. The propelling jazz tempo and breaths of organ and flute gives way to the clean guitar riffs that could easily be sidled with any classic rock legends. Rather than attempt to master the many genres present in Smokey, he presents caricatures of them; the pumped-up James Brown funk “Lover” and the malt shop ballad “Shabop Shalom” proves Banhart hasn’t lost his lighthearted sensibility.

Those expecting a continuation of the Cripple Crow folk style can find traces of Banhart’s organic origins, but may, in the end, be disappointed. Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon reflects the expansion of Devendra Banhart’s Naturalismo brand of folk rock. Through classic elements, Banhart creates an album with layers, sophisticated in its construction, modestly executed with a simple, effortless appeal. If anything, Smokey proves to Banhart’s listeners what they already knew: to expect nothing but the unexpected.

Enough Noise. Check out Devendra Banhart.

Dib's on Asian-Fusion

After passing up a slew of Asian food restaurants on a long stroll through Little Vietnam, settling on Dib seemed, at first, like choosing an upscale Taco Bell for authentic Mexican cuisine. The quality of the food proved one of a few pleasant surprises, that evening. Nestled in a strip mall in Uptown’s theater district, Dib aspires to be one of those well-kept secrets of trend-spotting Chicagoans. The real secret? Dib offers a hip ambience and an authentic menu, but reasonable prices, for those who know that spending a week’s paycheck on a night out is so passé.

From all angles, Dib’s décor and atmosphere succeeds in being both practical and chic. With soft white drop lights, pale, crisp, linen curtains, and a black tufted wall-seat, one may be thoroughly wrapped up in the ambience without noticing the natural limitations of the space, like the weathered drop-in ceiling tiles and awkward alcove of restrooms. Circular mirrors of various sizes bubble up above the sushi bar, complete with retro brushed metal stools. From the sleek menu to the chopsticks, which look as if they’ve been carved from driftwood, the design is cohesive, modern, and, save the nauseatingly funky adult contemporary droning the background, pleasantly minimalist.

As the dinner hour got off in full swing, the lights dimmed, the music got a bit jazzier, and the waitress brought out tea lights to adorn the simple wooden tables. Our appetizer of Crab Rangoon came out on a triangular white dish, complete with carrot shavings and a small bowl of sweet and sour sauce. Easily the highlight of the experience, the divine texture of cream cheese and crab meat melted pleasantly with crunches of fresh celery, dropped generously into a dumpling of crisp wonton. While anywhere from Panda Express to P.F. Chang’s boasts the best in fried wonton, Dib offers a signature take on an American-Chinese favorite.

But perhaps what makes Dib a real gem among Uptown’s pan-Asian dining is the split menu, presenting both Thai and Japanese cuisine. The juxtaposition of these two breeds of ethnic food reflects a restaurant that’s well aware of its customers’ love of the unique. While my companion opted for the spicier side of the Thai menu, I delved into the unfamiliar world of sushi, selecting a maki that wouldn’t leave my tastebuds screaming from all the spice. The Philadelphia roll boasted smoked salmon, cream cheese, and avocado, tightly packed within a steamed rice and seaweed roll. Whisked to my table, within twenty minutes, in square china dish, accompanied by a dab of wasabi and pickled turnip, the final presentation was carefully crafted, reflecting the simple elegance Dib was reaching for. Though the room temperature sushi tainted the overall texture of the maki, the robust flavor of the tender salmon lingered on my tastebuds, sidled with cool, fresh avocado and delightfully whipped cream cheese. If you can take the heat, Dib advertises a handful of signature sushi, including the Halloween maki, which features a zesty black tabiko and festive orange honey miso sauce.

My other half’s Mussamun curry, however, left something to be desired in its unremarkable beef, though slathered with a welcome revival of mussamun curry. Served with lightly steamed rice, carrot, and potato, the carmeled sauce was tinged with an aromatic melding of herbs and spices, with a sweet hint of coconut milk. Despite the tough, flavorless meat, the curry proved rich and decadent almost made up for it, revealing Dib’s surprising ability as jack of both trades.

With friendly, attentive staff, more than helpful in selecting the right flavors for every palette, Dib welcomes even ethnic food amateurs into a world of savory authentic dining. It’s fortunate that the eatery continues to fly under the radar of the fine-dining masses; the hype would inevitably soil the comfortable, intimate atmosphere crafted in the confines of a commercial lot, seating just under forty. Yet Dib’s well-honed image doesn’t possess any illusions of grandeur. Well aware of its target audience, the BYOB restaurant won’t break any budget on expensive wines, and offers both delivery and carry out options to the Uptown region.

Enough noise. Check out:




1025 W. Lawrence Ave
(773) 561 0200
Hours: Mon-Thurs: 11:30 a.m. - 10:00 p.m.
Fri-Sat: 11:30 a.m. - 10:30 p.m.
Sunday: 12:00 p.m. - 10:00 p.m.
BYOB
Entrée Prices: $7-20
Credit Cards: Accepted
Reservations: Optional
Noise: Minimal

Lighten Up, Lifeline.

It’s not uncommon for burgeoning modern rock bands to attempt to accomplish something epic, especially facing the specter of carbon-copy radio rock. The Lifeline’s debut album, For All Who Triumph, is no different in its grandiose ambitions. Offering a powerful punch of alternative angst, coupled with the sophisticated weavings of Rebecca Faber’s violin accompaniment, the Chicago quintet certainly packs the musicianship to support their lofty aims. The various movements in each song seem to take a page from the classical handbook, building anticipation and creating both a dark and intense atmosphere; coupled with the traditional new-metal anthemy vocals, the album presents itself as more of a call to arms than a polite introduction.

From the elegant and dark duet between piano and strings on “Beginnings,” The Lifeline establishes their flair for the traditional, before the clean, driving guitar riffs burst forth on the second track. The grace of the strings, while providing a sophistication for the grating guitar melodies (complete with heaping helpings of feedback), often create a superfluous force in some of the album‘s already heavy tracks. Piled in with a dynamic rhythm section and the occasional screamed vocals, the classical effect becomes as disastrous as putting the Phil-Harmonic orchestra in the middle of a mosh pit.

There are moments, of course, where The Lifeline’s trademark sound serves them well, in producing an understated, haunting melody, which blends fluidly with Ryan T. Hope’s Coheed-esque vocals. On tracks like “…and Still They Search,” and “Resolution,” the call and refrain style of guitar and string melodies allow each sound to flourish as they weave in and out of one another. When the bombastic rhythm section and heavy chords subside, an intricate string harmony lingers in the interim, leaving a lasting impression as it drifts effortlessly into the chorus.

Surely the up-and-coming Chicago band is aware that it’s not creating a revolution. From Metallica’s Black Album to Evanescence’s Fallen, throwing in an orchestra has become a commonplace cop-out to build drama on any rock ballad. The band’s classical influence, however, works wonders creating catchy, evocative tracks, like “Moth to Flame,” that cross gracefully into various movements, leaving listeners eager for the grand crescendo. With a little lightening up, it’s possible that The Lifeline can create an epic, and more importantly, original first impression.

Enough Noise. Check out The Lifeline on Myspace.