Just a few weeks ago, I went to see a play for class. To my professor's defense, he had never seen the show before. But the thing ended up being a shit show. A white guy (who later defended himself with the "I'm not white, I'm Jewish" card) plays a host of characters, all of which are textbook racial stereotypes -- you have the shy Asian traumatized by her upbringing, the dim-witted African who alternates between senseless aggression and mellow Sambo, and a Hispanic woman who is defined solely by her breasts. It was one of the most unpleasant theatre experiences I had ever gone through. Quite pathetically, the play positioned itself as "provocative" and ground-breaking -- but hey, newsflash, rehashing old stereotypes is not at all creative, especially when the play says nothing ABOUT these stereotypes, other than that they exist. And this discussion about racism? Dude, it's been going for a couple of centuries; there's nothing for you to start here.But the play was not the worst part -- the class discussion we had afterwards, was. More than a few white people in our class were uncomfortable if not outright dismissive of the anger the play inspired. I was nicely told that a) I did not get the real point of the play and that b) I should not let my anger blind me to the play's merits. The producer of the show also likened my reaction to someone who read Onion News and took it for real. The play had layers, sure, but when the race thing is fucked up to that degree, I really don't think we can just excuse the racism and look only at the silver linings. Because blackface, yellowface, whatever-face -- they are all NOT ok. White people don't get to play with that shit, regardless of whether it's literal or metaphorical, whether they think they are being creative with it or not, and whether they think it's "useful" or not. There is no room for discussion on this. There's enough misrepresentation and under-representation of race in the media that any, and I mean ANY, addition to the problem is problematic in itself.I walked out of Dear White People feeling both drained (it's like taking a week's dose of micro-aggressions all crammed into two hours) and oddly empowered. It took me a few hours to realize where the feeling of exhilaration came from: this was probably the first contemporary North American film I've seen released in commercial cinema where POC dominate the cast, and got to live out "normal" lives. In North America, where visible minorities make up more than a quarter of the population, there are no virtually no movies with POC protagonists. We (the POC) only see ourselves in supporting roles that are, more often than not, defined almost solely by their race. The token minority. We are tied down to stereotypes -- the Asian nerd, the Black single mother, the Hispanic servant... All we see is our race. We are dehumanized and stripped of any individuality. We have no voice.Yet here, in this movie, not only are POC finally at university, but THEY ARE THE PROTAGONISTS. Not the Best Friend, not the Room Mate, not Girl #1 in the Cafeteria -- they are no longer racial quotas, but real characters who get to tell their own stories.And so even though I'm not black, and am embarrassingly ignorant of black culture, this film resonated with me in a way that no film has in a long time. I'm tired of being seen as just a representation of my race. And I'm tired of my culture being exploited for fetish value and laughs. I'm tired of the astounding amount of ignorance that comes up every time this discussion about race comes up. Yea, this race problem thing? It's long from being over. We may all have the same legal rights, but when it comes to liberty? The visible minorities may well be bound up in chains and shackles.So dear white people, listen up. There are more than just angry black men out there -- all the people of all the colours are pissed off.