Latest news with #Jehovah'sWitness
Elle
9 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Elle
Separating Fact From Fiction In ITV's Real Life Crime Thriller 'Under The Bridge'
'Hell is a teenage girl,' or so goes the phrase made infamous by the 2009 film Jennifer's Body, now a cult classic for its sly depiction of feminine rage. But a young girl's rage can be as terrible as it is cathartic, as easily co-opted as misunderstood. Both are sentiments untangled in the Hulu series Under the Bridge, now showing on ITV and adapted from Rebecca Godfrey's celebrated 2005 true-crime book of the same name. The book and series track the 1997 death of Reena Virk—a British Columbian 14-year-old girl who was beaten and drowned in a saltwater inlet known as the Gorge Waterway—and the subsequent murder investigation, which resulted in the sentencing of six teenage girls and one boy. To adapt the story for television, series creator Quinn Shephard worked closely with Godfrey in the years leading up to Godfrey's death from lung cancer in October 2022, and, per The Wrap, Godfrey herself opted for Daisy Jones and the Six actress Riley Keough to portray her in the Hulu adaptation. The series pulls the bulk of its plot and characters from Godfrey's investigation (her book, as well as her various notes and transcripts), and from a memoir published by Reena's father, Manjit Virk, in 2008. But Shephard and her collaborators are transparent about the numerous fictionalized and invented details within the show, including changed names, shuffled timelines, and a cop character played by Killers of the Flower Moon actress Lily Gladstone. As Shephard told in an exclusive first look at the show, the writers had 'a lot of conversations about responsible fictionalization. How could we tell a story that felt like it spoke to a universal truth about being a child when we were missing certain details? But we still wanted [Reena] to feel like a meaningful character in the series.' Although the series never purports to display a full, 100-percent accurate portrait of Reena's death, it is nevertheless worth parsing the details of the case to better understand where the show delves into creative license. Ahead, a few important questions to consider when separating the fact from the fictionalized in Under the Bridge. Reena, daughter of Manjit Virk and Suman Virk, was a student at Colquitz Junior Secondary in Victoria, British Columbia. In her book, Godfrey described Reena as possessing 'a rare combination of boldness and innocence,' and that she was 'dark skinned and heavy in a town and time that valued the thin and the blonde.' She was the daughter of an Indian immigrant, Manjit, and an Indo-Canadian, Suman, whose family had converted from Hinduism to the Jehovah's Witness faith soon after Reena's grandmother, Tarsem, first arrived in Canada. Reena, at 14, liked Biggie and Bollywood movies. According to Godfrey, Reena 'had announced that she did not want to be a Jehovah's Witness any longer' by the time of her death, and had rebelled against the rules of her household by skipping meals, smoking cigarettes, changing her clothes, and running away from home. When the Associated Press first reported on Reena's 'grisly' murder, it cited a person 'close to the victim's family,' who 'described Ms. Virk as an occasional runaway who did not get along well with her parents.' In the same story, Manjit told the AP that his daughter's 'biggest problem was her associations, her friends.' Under the Bridge executive producer Samir Mehta told he was intrigued by the project, in part, because of 'the opportunity to tell the story of an Indian child of an immigrant. It's an interesting opportunity to just dig into that dynamic, which I feel like we haven't really seen a lot of on TV.' Yes. According to a CBC News article published in 2006, Reena informed social workers in 1996 that she'd been physically, sexually, and mentally abused in the Virks' home, an accusation that led to Manjit's arrest. An MSNBC program centered on Reena's murder ran in 2011, titled Bloodlust Under the Bridge, and reported that 'the Virks say Reena was lured into making false accusations by her friends, who had convinced her that being put into foster care would catapult her into teen paradise.' She would be 'free of her parents and all their rules.' Reena left her family's home and went into the care of the Canadian Ministry of Families and Children in the fall of 1996, and after a couple of months, per MSNBC, she made the accusation against Manjit. After a few months in foster care, Reena told her parents she was 'tired of the foster home' and returned to living with them, dropping the charges against her father. A report published in 2006 by the British Columbia Coroners Service found that 'social workers failed Reena Virk by putting her in foster care without confirming whether her allegations of family abuse were true.' According to CBC News, the allegations against Reena's parents 'tore the family apart.' Reena's mother, Suman, told the Victoria Times-Colonist that 'these [social workers] are trained professionals, and they couldn't clue in that this child was a total storyteller.' Reena's official cause of death was drowning. The following account is outlined in Godfrey's book: On Friday, November 14, 1997, teenagers Josephine and Dusty (both pseudonyms employed by Godfrey) invited Reena to a party. Reena agreed to attend—though she hesitated, as she'd recently been caught spreading rumors about Josephine—and told her family she'd return by 10pm. That evening, the trio joined a much larger group of students on a field at Shoreline School, where they watched a Russian satellite explode in the sky at 9.12pm. Soon after the unexpected light show, a girl whom Godfrey referred to as 'Laila' walked onto the field and announced she'd been called upon to 'fight a girl.' Reena, guessing Josephine had brought in Laila to exact retribution for the rumors, started to run. A number of girls caught up with Reena, and they tore up her bus pass as she called her little brother from a phone booth, telling him she'd be home soon. The girls then pulled Reena down under the bridge along the Gorge Waterway, where Josephine reportedly screamed at Reena for 'trying to ruin my life'. She then held her lit cigarette against Reena's forehead, igniting the fight that would eventually end Reena's life. Although Godfrey reports there were 14 girls and two boys under the bridge that night, a handful of them actively participated in beating Reena. Laila eventually broke up the fight, leaving Reena alone and bleeding. As the first three episodes of Under the Bridge depict, an injured-but-alive Reena initially walked away from the scene, only to be followed by two teenagers—Kelly Marie Ellard and Warren Glowatski—who continued the brutal attack. At the water's edge, Kelly then held Reena's head underwater and drowned her. Six girls, including Josephine, Dusty, and Kelly, were sentenced for their involvement in the assault. Warren and Kelly were eventually convicted of second-degree murder. In Under the Bridge, both the book and show, a number of names are changed, including for the characters of Josephine (played by Chloe Guidry) and Dusty (played by Aiyana Goodfellow). The real names of the girls involved—apart from Kelly Marie Ellard (played by Izzy G.), whose real name is used—were Nicole Cook, Missy Grace Pleich, Nicole Patterson, Gail Ooms, and Courtney Keith. Warren Glowatski's real name is used in both the book and show. Izzy G's Kelly Ellard is depicted, in the show's eighth and final episode, repeatedly denying that she killed Reena. When she takes the stand during her and Warren Glowatski's trial, she occasionally veers into a sudden and bizarre British accent. This behavior echoes what Godfrey laid out in her book, in which the author writes: 'Kelly told her story of the evening and as she spoke, her voice took on a clipped, precise tone, both prim and concise, and occasionally it seemed she was using a British accent ... It seemed then that Kelly must have stood up, though she remained seated, and yet her voice was so loud and forceful as she screamed: "I did not kill Reena Virk and I will repeat it and repeat it and I will stick with that until the day I die! I don't care how much jail time I do, I did not kill Reena Virk. I will still say I did not kill Reena Virk until the day I die. I don't care if I get another life sentence but I did not kill Reena Virk!"' In her book, Godfrey rarely mentions herself; she is not a character in the story, let alone a major one. As the author told The Believer in 2019, 'I don't know if it was an issue of ego, or an artistic choice, but either way, I didn't think my role as reporter was interesting or necessary. I suppose I was also skittish about the parallels with my own life. I didn't want to talk about my brother's death or my own troubled adolescence in Victoria.' In the series, Keough is one of the lead actresses, and a significant amount of screen time is spent focusing specifically on Godfrey's role in the story, including her background as a kid in Victoria and her real-life brother's drowning. As Shephard told Godfrey helped the adaptation team develop the fictionalized 'TV Rebecca' in order to 'make her into a dynamic leading character.' Shephard similarly told The Wrap that she'd come up with the idea of fictionalizing Godfrey before she'd even had a chance to meet the author. The series creator shared that making Godfrey a character was integral to not only 'explor[ing] the book,' but also to 'zoom out from it as the only definitive account of the crime.' In the Hulu series, Keough's Godfrey refers multiple times to her late brother, Gabe, and his tragic death. This, too, is pulled from reality: The real-life Godfrey's brother was named Jonathan, and when he was 16, he 'fell from a bluff near [the family's] home and drowned,' per Godfrey's New York Times obituary. 'I had a fraught and very difficult teenage experience—my brother drowned when I was thirteen,' she told The Believer. 'I went a little wild after that and lost interest in high school, and got into the punk scene in downtown Victoria. Being in that scene was great because I could hide behind this mask of anger and coolness and toughness, and think, "Oh, I look scary, so everyone will leave me alone." In retrospect, I'm sure I didn't look as tough as I thought I did, but the music and that crowd was a good disguise.' Police officer Cam Bentland is one of few entirely invented components in Under the Bridge. A composite character representing multiple police sources Godfrey worked with during her reporting, Cam is an Indigenous cop adopted by a white family, and her history with the 'TV Rebecca' is a loaded one. Gladstone felt the character's identity added a layer of nuance that the book itself had not addressed, as she told the New York Times: 'The murder happened just by tribal land. The bridge connects the municipality to a reserve. So inherently, there's a First Nations presence in the story. I thought it was a brilliant construction to have a First Nations, adopted cop, who feels compelled to Reena in a way that becomes clearer and clearer to her.' In 2007, Warren Glowatski went up for parole. With the the help of the Virks—who 'explained to the parole board that Warren was on a good path and they did not want to stop his release,' according to Godfrey's book—he was released on full parole in June 2010, after having spent 11 years in prison. At the time of his release, CBC reported that Glowatski was living 'part-time in an apartment and going to school' but felt as if he 'had a big letter "C" for criminal, tattooed on his forehead.' He has since stayed away from the spotlight and has not commented on Under the Bridge. In 2005, Ellard was ultimately sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole for seven years. It wasn't until 2017 that Ellard was granted day parole—meaning she would be allowed to navigate society during the day and return to a facility at night. By the time she requested a parole extension in 2018, Ellard had changed her name to Kerry Marie Sim. She had also, at last, confessed to her role in Reena's murder. (According to Godfrey, she described her involvement as such: '[Reena] drowned and I put her in the water.') Today, Ellard a.k.a. Sim lives in a residential facility in the Lower Mainland region of British Columbia. Having given birth to her first child in prison and her second while on day parole, she has 'often blamed [her] inability to move forward on the requirement to reside at the community-based residential facility, the high cost of living, parenting struggles as a single mother, and [her] ex-spouse abandoning [her] and [her] children,' according to parole documents cited by CBC. She is not allowed any contact with the Virk family. ELLE Collective is a new community of fashion, beauty and culture lovers. For access to exclusive content, events, inspiring advice from our Editors and industry experts, as well the opportunity to meet designers, thought-leaders and stylists, become a member today HERE.
Cosmopolitan
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Cosmopolitan
Is ITV's Under the Bridge based on a true story? The real life case behind Reena Virk's tragic death
A chilling new drama, Under the Bridge,is set to air on ITV tonight (Friday 25th July). The eight-part series recounts the true story of Reena Virk, a 14-year-old who attended a party on an island in British Columbia, Canada, but tragically never made it back home. Seven teenage girls and a boy were implicated in Reena's murder. The story is told through the eyes of Rebecca and local police officer Cam Bentland (played by Lily Gladstone), pulling viewers into the complex world of the teenagers accused of murder - and uncovering some shocking truths along the way. "Under the Bridge is based on acclaimed author Rebecca Godfrey's book about the 1997 true story of fourteen-year-old Reena Virk (Vritika Gupta) who went to join friends at a party and never returned home," the official synopsis reads. "Through the eyes of Godfrey (Riley Keough) and a local police officer (Lily Gladstone), the series takes us into the hidden world of the young girls accused of the murder - revealing startling truths about the unlikely killer." As Under the Bridge airs read on for the devastating true story that inspired the series. It is. on 14th November 1997, a 14-year-old girl named Reena Virk was attacked by a group of teenagers in Saanich, Canada. Her body was discovered eight days later in a nearby river. In 2008, Reena Virk's father, Manjit, published Reena: A Father's Story, a memoir that explores his daughter's life and the tragedy of her death. He describes Reena as a young girl who often felt like an outsider and endured relentless bullying. Her relationship with her Indian Canadian parents was complex, shaped in part by their strict upbringing and devotion to the Jehovah's Witness faith. At age 14, Virk began spending time with a group of teenagers, including Nicole Cook. According to the book Under the Bridge, tensions escalated when Reena allegedly spread hurtful rumours about Cook - claiming she had fake breasts, wore coloured contact lenses, and had AIDS. On the evening of 14th November 1997, Virk attended a party with some of her friends where she was confronted by Cook, according to the TV show Bloodlust Under the Bridge. Virk allegedly called her a "b***h," which prompted Cook to put a cigarette out on her forehead. Cook and Missy Grace Pleich said that Cook's best friend, Kelly Ellard, and Pleich both started to hit and kick Virk. Then the rest of the group, including Warren Glowatski, joined in. Virk managed to escape, but was followed by Glowatski and Ellard, who continued the assault before drowning her in the Victoria Gorge waterway. They were later tried as adults, and both received life sentences. Eight teenagers were ultimately tried and convicted in connection with Reena's tragic death. Six of them, later dubbed the Shoreline Six, were found guilty of assaulting her. while Warren and Kelly faced murder convictions, held responsible for taking her life. Their convictions were changed to manslaughter. The Shoreline Six included Ellard, Cook, Nicole Patterson, Courtney Keith, Gail Ooms, and Reena Virk's best friend, Pleich. They received sentences ranging from 60-day conditional sentences to one year in jail. Several of the teenagers involved in the initial attack on Virk were given fictional names in the series. For example, Nicole Cook is portrayed as Josephine Bell, played by Chloe Guidry. This was the name given to Cook by Godfrey for her 2017 Vice article about the incident as a way of protecting her identity since she was a teenager (aged 15) when it happened. Under the Bridge starts on ITV1 on Friday 25th July at 9pm.
L'Orient-Le Jour
6 days ago
- Politics
- L'Orient-Le Jour
Moroccan-French artist Mohammed catches flamenco dancer Israel off guard on Avignon stage
Playwright, director and actor Mohammed al-Khatib disrupts all norms through documentary theater, where the boundaries between reality and fiction blur. In doing so, he attempts to give voice to those who are silenced. Now a prominent figure on the international stage, he gave an interview to L'Orient-Le Jour in Avignon to discuss his journey and his vision of theater, which is deeply rooted in real events. First, this choice of an eponymous title, Israel and Mohammed, provokes strong emotions throughout Avignon and stirs contradictory feelings. What's unsettling — and almost ironic — is that Israel Galván has nothing to do with Judaism. Yet he could have been seen as a Jew or an Israeli dissident against the Israeli government. What do you make of all these misunderstandings, and what do they provoke? That's a complex question for a complex situation. There's the randomness of a meeting, the disconnect, the expectation — an expectation that is thwarted, because Israel is not Jewish: He is a Jehovah's Witness, Arab-Andalusian, the result of a mix. However, this mix has consequences: When he performs in the Middle East, he must change his name. He is no longer called Israel, but Galván de Los Reyes. These objective facts inevitably refer us back to political considerations. In the video, my father says at one point, 'It's good to want peace, but first, you have to do politics.' The Palestinian question has always represented, for my parents, a horizon of peace — an increasingly distant one — but also a place of political confrontation. I believe that even after a year of genocide, after the mass slaughter of Palestinians, it's essential to maintain a link with that part of Israel that condemns the massacres and tries to persuade from within. It is politically necessary to take a stand against this extremely dangerous far-right Israeli government, so that it can be isolated, boycotted and politically and economically neutralized. But at the same time, we must maintain the link with civil society, like the Israel Festival in Jerusalem, made up of leftist anti-militarist activists opposed to settlement in the West Bank and the occupation of Gaza. They are our brothers and sisters in political struggle. So there is a double gesture: that of isolation and, at the same time, that of connection — a constant dialogue with Israeli intellectuals who share our fight against colonization. Without this, there is no possible horizon of peace. Today, we have just lost a generation. The children of Gaza, that generation, will not be able to forgive. During the performance, there is an extraordinary moment where you make a mosque appear in the Cloître des Carmes, recreating the architecture of Al-Aqsa. Beyond its political scope, what memory do you have of that place? The day I visited the Temple Mount to take a picture of the Al-Aqsa Mosque for my mother, I went with my French passport, so I was protected. They made me wait three hours at the checkpoint. Next to me, a Palestinian father was waiting with his child. At one point, an Israeli female soldier, about 20 years old, made this father kneel, threatening him with her weapon in front of his child. I looked at that child and thought he was lost. He was experiencing a double humiliation. It's severe. In Palestine, a generation of resentment has been created. A sacrificed generation. That's the tragedy: When you see your parents humiliated, massacred, you can't forgive. I hope the international community will have the courage to mobilize and confront this situation that, personally, makes me ashamed. A shame mixed with helplessness and contempt — a contempt toward Arabs. Because you understand painfully that a Palestinian life is not valued as an Israeli or Western life. At the start of the performance, you distance yourself from religion, while inviting it onto the stage through this mosque and the bell tower turned into a minaret. In this way, you offer a platform for identification to Arab spectators, both Christian and Muslim, in a context where Arab-Muslim voices are almost absent from the French media space. It's a gesture of repair. As someone who is neither a believer nor a practitioner, I felt, as after Sept. 11, 2001, when people said, 'I am American,' the need to say today: 'I am Muslim.' In today's France, in this racist, Islamophobic, reactionary political climate, I wanted to make a gesture of repair and reconciliation. To show my parents' Islam, which is a peaceful Islam. The mosque, with its minaret, converses with the bell tower. And the France of bell towers doesn't scare anyone — it's cultural. There is also a cultural, tranquil Islam. I saw my parents live their faith this way. Today, the witch hunt against Muslims is unbearable. With this mosque, this bell tower and this first name — Israel — I wanted to make a gesture of peace, of hospitality. A gesture of recognition towards my parents' generation, scorned and humiliated. And I do so peacefully. Serenely. And with a lot of love and humor, you symbolically kill both your fathers on stage. Both refused to accept you as you are, yet you build them sanctuaries. This way of 'killing the father,' as we say in psychoanalysis, is also a way of rehabilitating him. One of the big problems of Arab culture is this ever-present patriarchal figure. People are often afraid of the father in our families, where a form of omnipotence settles in, which can sometimes lead to abuse. But most of the time, this omnipotence masks an impotence. A social, political impotence. My father, for example, was mistreated at the factory. He had to sacrifice his life. He suffered constant humiliation. He was prevented from existing politically and socially. And the more you marginalize people, the more you contribute to their exclusion. Real integration would have been to welcome them with dignity. My father arrived in France in the 1970s, with the first wave of immigration. They were brought in to do 'the work': collect garbage, work in construction and sort. They did the grunt work. An entire generation was scorned. And today, it comes up against the next generation — mine, which is entirely French, fluent in the language, and will not accept being domesticated as our parents' generation was. What I wish is that, at least for the end of their lives, since this generation will soon disappear, we give them a form of dignity. Because they contributed to France's economic growth. Because they sacrificed everything for their children, who now take part in the country's life, among the elite, the working classes and in culture. Through my artistic practice, when I recreate my mother's Grand Palais, or stage the Renault 12 and the Peugeot 504, it may seem anecdotal. But it's my way of rehabilitating a part of France's history. To say that this generation of immigrants is part of France's popular history. It thoroughly deserves its place in national museums, just like Breton history or Corsican specificities. What is very touching in your work is that you become the parent of your own parents. Through your work on retirees and seniors, you seem to embrace that entire generation. And yet, in your art, you are rejected by your father, who wanted you to pursue a career in political science. It must be said that your audience is much larger than that of political science readers... It's a question of responsibility. Through my work on collective history, I feel that I'm engaging in a kind of sociology in action. I embody, in a way, a particular idea of political science, but in a concrete way. I did research on Islam in France at Sciences Po. And I was already asking this question: In a secular perspective, why does the French state want to organize Islam? Whenever this question arises, it's from a place of suspicion, fear of foreign interference. The most recent report was about 'the Muslim Brotherhood's entryism' in France, which is, in reality, marginal. But a political ghost is stirred up, that of the 'great replacement.' A cultural battle is being fought over a fantasy, while it's not the reality on the ground. The difficulty — but also the richness — of Islam is that it has no equivalent to the Pope. There is no Catholic Church. It's an intimate relationship between you and God. There are as many branches as there are countries. No doubt my parents' peaceful little mosque would be frowned upon by Salafists. But those nuances are not perceived. Many French people are ignorant and thus are caught up in fantasy. I've always seen my parents as having immense spiritual strength. And in my view, what produces racism today is social misery, the damage of liberalism, which feeds this rejection of Muslims in France. Theater gives me public speaking. I cannot trivialize this space. I feel indebted to those who have been silenced or erased politically because I am the result of this history. And what about dance? You invite Israel, who expresses himself with his flamenco steps, and you end up a dancer yourself. At the end of the performance, you are two. Two twins are escaping from the screen. How did your body follow Israel's? It was pretty natural. I played soccer at a very high level for a long time. I have an intense physical practice, mastering my body, but in the field of physical performance, not dance. And dance, for us, is always a bit taboo. It isn't received well at home. And therein lies the paradox: We don't dance, but the best weddings are Arab weddings! That's where I saw my uncles and aunts dance. I love this paradox, these rituals that transcend religion. This poetic license is granted for special occasions. It's a way to reconnect with moments of freedom. Moments of joyful childhood. This leads to the final liberation scene, that of the body. Once memory is healed, you can move on... Absolutely. Jean Vilar said, 'The best heirs are unfaithful heirs.' I respect this legacy, and I am also forging my own path. And the question remains: What kind of fathers will we be? Were we good children? What kind of father will I be to my eight-year-old daughter? I hope she will be free. Free to be Muslim or not. Free to have a religion or not. Free to dance or not to dance. And that she will follow her own path. If I can give her enough confidence to allow her that freedom, then I will have accomplished part of my work.
Black America Web
14-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Black America Web
Choir to Cypher: 18 Rappers Who Have Ties to Church
Kya Kelly/Radio One Cincinnati Before they were spitting and rocking sold-out stages, some of hip-hop's most influential artists were at church sitting in pews or singing in choirs. The Black church has long been a foundational space, not just spiritually, but creatively. It's where storytelling is born in rhythm, call-and-response becomes second nature, and community means everything. For a lot of rappers, the church wasn't just the first stage: it was the first studio, the first audience, and the first school of performance, discipline, and identity. RELATED: 11 Living Legends Who Deserve Their Flowers While a few have strayed far from traditional religious paths and others have blended their faith directly into their music, the influence of the church remains clear in some of their work. Here are 18 rappers who have ties to church, and carry a piece of it with them into music: Choir to Cypher: 18 Rappers Who Have Ties to Church was originally published on Source:Getty Snoop Dogg was raised in the Baptist church and began singing and playing piano there at Golgotha Trinity Baptist Church as a child. His mother, a choir member, introduced him to gospel music and old-school R&B, which heavily influenced his musical journey. Snoop has spoken about how his church upbringing instilled in him a sense of community and family. He also credits the church with teaching him lessons that have lasted throughout his life. While he later explored other faiths, including Islam, he acknowledges the positive impact his church background had on him. Source:Getty Missy Elliott's journey began in a Virginia church choir where she sang and played instruments from a young age. Missy often credits church music with shaping her ear for melody and harmony. In 2017 when speaking on her then-newly public illness, she said: 'Not everybody believes in God but I'm a walking testimony.' Source:Getty Before he became a hip-hop legend, Christopher Wallace was raised as a Jehovah's Witness in Brooklyn. He attended St. Peter Claver Church and graduated from the parish's elementary school in 1982. His mother, Voletta Wallace, was devout in her faith and kept a tight grip on his religious upbringing. Ms. Wallace didn't listen to her son's music until after his death. Source:Getty Kanye West has never shied away from his religious roots. Raised by his mother Donda West, who kept him close to the church in Chicago, Kanye started rapping and performing at church events. Gospel music and the Black church experience heavily influenced his early albums and later became the core of his Sunday Service series. Source:Getty Tech N9ne's spiritual background is layered. Born and raised a Christian, he spent his early years attending church with his mother. At age 12, when his mother married a Muslim man, his spiritual path shifted. He began studying Islam and continued until he was 17. In his own words: 'Yes, I was born and raised a Christian. My mom married a Muslim when I was 12. I studied Islam from 12–17. I ran away from home at 17 because I didn't understand how my stepfather was trying to mold me. He was trying to make a man of me, and I thought he was picking on me. I was wrong.' Source:Getty MC Hammer's foundation in the church goes back to childhood. He was raised in a religious household and began preaching as a teenager. Long before the world knew him for parachute pants and pop-rap hits, Hammer was deeply involved in church activities, including music ministry. Many also don't know Hammer was also apart of a Christian rap group, Holy Ghost Boys. After his peak, he returned to his faith, becoming an ordained minister and starting a ministry show. Source:Getty 3 Stacks was raised in a Southern Baptist church alongside his parents. In his own words: 'I had a strict Christian upbringing, my parents and I were members of a Southern Baptist church. But with age I got closer to God all while moving away from the church.' Though he eventually distanced himself from organized religion, he never lost his sense of spirituality. André has said that his faith evolved independently, allowing him to connect with God without 'having to listen to those purveyors of nonsense.' Source:Getty Busta Rhymes was introduced to the teachings of Islam at the age of 12. While he didn't follow traditional Islam, he found a strong connection with the teachings of the Nation of Gods and Earths, also known as the Five Percent Nation (a movement that teaches that the Black man is divine and that a chosen 5% possess true knowledge of self). Busta has often incorporated that ideology into his music, using his lyrics to reflect on power, purpose, and elevation. While his lifestyle has never fit into rigid religious categories, he's remained vocal about the influence of the Five Percent teachings on how he views himself, his success, and his role in the culture. Source:Getty Phife Dawg (Malik Taylor) was raised in the Seventh-day Adventist tradition. He and Q-Tip met in their church in Queens, New York, and Phife's family strictly adhered to Adventist beliefs. So much so that he was initially forbidden from engaging with hip-hop. Source:Getty T.I. was raised in a Christian household and identified as a Southern Baptist. He's a known member of New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Atlanta and has remained quietly but consistently devout over the years. Though he doesn't speak often about his faith in interviews, he's made it clear that church has always been part of his foundation. Source:Getty DMX was a 'born-again' Christian who openly credited his faith as central to his life, often sharing that he read the Bible daily. Even during difficult times, like his stints in jail, DMX believed there was a higher purpose at work. He once said, 'I came here to meet somebody… Don't know who it was, but I'll know when I see him.' His music frequently intertwined realities with spiritual confession, and his relationship with God remained a deeply personal part of his journey until the end. Source:Getty Lecrae is one of the most prominent examples of a rapper whose church upbringing is front and center in his career. He was raised by his single mother in a tough Houston neighborhood before moving around to Denver and San Diego. His early life was marked by hardship, including sexual abuse at age six and struggles with drugs and crime as a teenager. Lecrae carried his grandmother's Bible as a symbol of good luck. After an encounter with a police officer who urged him to live by biblical principles, he turned his life around, eventually earning a theater scholarship and graduating from the University of North Texas. At 19, a Bible study invitation from a college friend helped deepen his faith, which has since become the foundation of his music and mission. Source:Getty Nas was raised in a Christian Southern Baptist household in Queensbridge, New York. His upbringing introduced him to Christian values early on, though as he got older, his spiritual views broadened. While he doesn't claim a specific religious denomination today, Nas has often spoken about believing in a higher power and the presence of divine order in the world. Source:Getty J. Cole grew up in a Christian household, and he's never dipped away from acknowledging the impact it's had on him. In an interview with Complex , he shared, 'I grew up with a Christian foundation, so that's always going to be a part of me. It's always going to be instilled in me, whether I want it to be or not.' Traces of that foundation run throughout his storytelling. Source:Getty Joseph 'Rev Run' Simmons was raised Christian, but his spiritual path deepened after the height of Run-DMC's fame. Following the group's split in 2004, he became an ordained minister and fully embraced his role as a man of faith. Reflecting on that turning point, he shared, 'I was a little unhappy with what was going on, so I started going to church… I started to see that learning the principles of God was helping to shape my life better.' Rev Run found a renewed purpose in ministry. Source:Getty Bushwick Bill was raised with a Christian foundation but found a deeper connection to his faith later in life. Known for his graphic lyrics as a member of the Geto Boys, he experienced a spiritual transformation in his later years, becoming a born-again Christian. As his beliefs shifted, so did his music, moving toward gospel and messages of faith, redemption, and uplift. Source:Getty Cheryl 'Salt' James, one-third of the group Salt-N-Pepa, has long been open about her faith and Christian walk. Her journey led her to be baptized into the Seventh-day Adventist Church during a mission trip to Ethiopia. Since then, she's used her platforms to share Bible verses, messages of encouragement, and glimpses into her spiritual life. Phrases like 'Church Flow' and 'Happy Sunday' have become part of her regular expression online, reflecting a lifestyle grounded in faith. Source:Getty Mase shocked the hip-hop world in 1999 when he walked away from music at the height of his fame, announcing that he had received a calling from God. He said he could no longer reconcile his lyrics with his faith, stating he felt he was 'leading people down a path to hell.' Trading in rap for the pulpit, Mase devoted himself to ministry and later became the pastor of Gathering Oasis Church, a non-denominational Christian church in Atlanta. While he's returned to music on occasion, faith remains central to his life and message. Black America Web Featured Video CLOSE
Miami Herald
07-06-2025
- Politics
- Miami Herald
A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear
Michelle Valdes' mom thinks she sees immigration agents everywhere: in the lobby of the building where she cares for elderly clients, at the local outlet mall, on downtown corners. The fear is constant. Driving to work, going to the store —just leaving the house feels too risky for her. At work, while she cooks and cleans in her clients' homes, she listens as stories of immigration detentions, deportations and constantly changing laws and policies play loudly in English from the TV. The 67-year-old undocumented Colombian national who has lived in the United States for more than a third of her life has stopped driving completely, opting for Uber, and ducking down in the backseat when she sees police officers. As a Jehovah's Witness, she has chosen not to do her door-to-door ministry and only attends church on Zoom. But what keeps her up at night these days is that she will soon go without seeing her daughter, likely for close to a decade. She is preparing to leave the United States after 23 years, leaving behind her 31-year-old daughter, a DACA recipient or 'Dreamer' who came to the United States when she was 8 and is still in the process of gaining her green card. Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, is a federal program that protects undocumented people who came to the U.S. as children from deportation. 'I don't want to feel like I'm going to be spending two months in some detention center in the middle of God knows where, where none of my family members see me,' she said in Spanish during an interview with the Herald. She asked not to use her name for this story because she fears she could be targeted. 'I'm done,' she said. Her daughter's immigration situation is also precarious, even though she is married to a U.S. citizen. His family, from Cuba, got lucky when they won the visa lottery. But her family did not have such luck. Valdes' family did what immigrants often do: They fled danger, asked for political asylum, hired lawyers and filed paperwork. And they lost. Last year, only 19.3% of Colombian asylum cases were approved, according to researchers at Syracuse University. Even in 2006, when violence was at a very high point in Colombia, only 32% of asylum cases were approved. Their family's story reveals the toll a constantly changing and exceedingly complicated immigration system has on families who tried to 'do the right thing' and legalize their status. Now, under President Trump's administration, which has ramped up enforcement and the optics around it, being undocumented has become even more hazardous. People who have been living and working in the shadows in the United States are now being forced to decide if the reward of seeking a better life is still worth the risk. And those who are following the rules are afraid the rules will keep changing. The mother has already started packing boxes. Denied asylum Valdes' mom had never heard of the American Dream. She said she had never even heard the phrase 'el sueño americano' before coming to the United States. The family fled Colombia in 2002, leaving behind comfort and status. Valdes' mother had been an architect in Cartagena, a city on the South American nation's Caribbean coast. The family had a driver, a cook and a nanny. But violence by the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, the rebel group known as FARC, was encroaching on their lives: armed robbery at their home, threatening calls and the kidnapping of her cousin, a wealthy businessperson. The family was forced to pay a ransom for his release. The early 2000s in Colombia, under President Andrés Pastrana, were years of intense violence by guerrilla gangs such as the FARC, who targeted wealthier Colombians. 'They would just pick up anybody who they believed they could get money from,' said Valdes. Her aunt would often call Valdes' mom from Florida, telling her their family would be safer here. The family arrived on a tourist visa in 2002, found a lawyer and applied for asylum. It was denied in 2004. Under U.S. immigration policy, people who have suffered persecution due to factors such as race, religion, nationality, membership to a social group, or political opinion can apply for asylum. It must be filed within a year of arrival in the United States. Valdes' family's interview did not go well and they were placed in removal proceedings. They appealed and in 2006 took the case to the U.S. Board of Immigration Appeals. The family's asylum application claimed that Valdes' mom would be killed by the FARC guerilla gang if she returned to Colombia, in connection with her cousin's kidnapping. But the court ultimately found holes in her case, and said her fear is not well founded and that she failed to prove that she would be in danger if she returned to Colombia. Their final motion was denied in part because it was filed 45 days late, according to the court filing. Valdes was just 11 years old when the courts denied her family's final plea to stay in the United States. The family was issued removal orders. 'I feel like I made a mistake asking for asylum,' said Valdes' mother. 'I wasn't guided well because I was scared and didn't know what to do.' She says predatory lawyers charged her close to $40,000 but never told her the truth about her odds of winning the case. 'It's pure show,' she said in Spanish. 'I believed they would help, but they did nothing.' By then, Valdes and her brothers were attending public schools in West Palm Beach, a right undocumented children have because of a supreme court ruling which passed narrowly in the early '80s. 'I just kind of poured my whole life into school, just to kind of distract myself from other things going on in life, specifically with immigration,' she said. In fifth grade, she won the science fair. At Roosevelt Middle School she was in the pre-med program and the national junior honor society. She always had A's and B's in school. But when her middle school national honor society was invited to Australia, she had to stay behind, unable to travel because she was undocumented. At Suncoast Community High School, she was invited to sing in a choir concert in Europe, but again, she could not go. In 2007, ICE detained Valdes' parents and her eldest brother. Her other brother and Valdes were picked up from school and reunited with their parents at the ICE office. Valdes' mom said the officer told her that since the family had a removal order, they needed to deport at least one person to prove they completed their quota for the day. But to this day, Valdes and her mother can't fully explain why the father was deported but they were released. Was it luck? Did the ICE officers sympathize with their family? Then 13, Valdes remembers standing in the Miami immigration office as agents took her father away. 'He was wearing jeans, a tan coat and a gray-blue fisherman's hat,' she said. 'What I remember the most is that there was, like, some sort of feeling that I got, that I knew that I was never gonna see him again.' He was deported in January of 2007, when Valdes was in seventh grade. It was the only semester she ever failed in school, she said. Her father died at 69 in Colombia in 2022. A petition for him to get legal status and return to the U.S., filed on his behalf of his son from a previous marriage, was approved a year after his death, said Valdes. '17 years too late,' she said, in tears. DACA as a lifeline In 2012, Valdes and her mother were preparing to leave the United States for good. Flights were booked. Boxes mailed. Then, just 14 days before departure, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. The program was meant to protect children like Valdes, who came to the U.S. at a young age. Valdes was 18. Her phone lit up with messages from people in her community who knew she was undocumented. She applied that October. As a 'Dreamer,' or DACA recipient, she's protected from deportation and able to work legally — but can't travel outside the country. Her two older brothers, Ricardo and Jean Paul, had already left the country by then. After attending public schools and graduating from high school, the brothers could not attend college or find work. So in 2011, they returned to Colombia, and their mother sent them money to attend university. They both still live there and haven't seen their mom in 14 years. Valdes' situation was slightly better, but without legal permanent residency, she didn't qualify for most scholarships. The one scholarship she did get was a $4,000 scholarship from the Global Education Center at Palm Beach State, but $1,500 was deducted in taxes because she was considered a foreign student. Starting in 2014, Florida universities provided in-state tuition waivers for undocumented students under certain conditions. But because Valdes didn't enroll in college within a year of graduating from high school, she lost access to the waiver. That waiver was recently canceled in Florida for undocumented students, and starting July 1, at least 6,500 DACA recipients in Florida enrolled in public universities will have to pay the out-of-state tuition rate. 'When people asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I would ask for money to pay my tuition,' she said. Throughout those years, people would come to Valdes asking for help filling out their work permit applications, DACA applications and other legal forms, and they would say, 'Wow, you are so good at it.' Although she never wanted to do anything law or immigration related, she kept getting pulled in that direction, and decided to get her paralegal certificate, Valdes said. She now works at an immigration law office. Her plan is to go to law school after getting hands on training. 'I always thought: When I turn 18, I'm an adult — 'why am I still tied to my mom's case?' ' she said. 'But nobody explained it.' At her job in the law office, she finally learned the full truth of her case. Her name is still listed on her mother's asylum application — the case that was denied in 2006. So she still had a final removal order connected to her name. That case, and its order of removal, still haunts her. Although she's married to a U.S. citizen, it will take her years to adjust her status to get a green card and permanent residency status. The process will involve her husband filing petitions and waivers explaining that it would be an extreme hardship for him if she were deported. Valdes will have to leave the country and re-enter. In all, the process could take around eight years. Former president Joe Biden had a program to help people like Valdes, whose family is of 'mixed-status' but the program was shut down by Republicans. Immigration attorneys say there are fewer and fewer pathways for people married to U.S. citizens to legalize their status. The roadblocks and complications frustrate Valdes to tears. Valdes said that it is not fair that 'under our immigration system, a child, at such a young age, has to suffer the consequences of the parents' mistakes.' 'No es justo, no es justo,' she said, crying. It's not fair. But immigration laws, enforcement and policies are changing every day. 'People say 'get in line, get in line, get in line,' and then you get in line, and it's like, 'Oh, too bad, you don't apply with that anymore, or we're just going to change the laws. Or, you know, you aged out, or you didn't submit by this day,' said Valdes. In the past weeks, ICE agents across the nation have even begun detaining people as they exit immigration courthouses. Some are individuals with final orders of deportation like Valdes and her mom. Just this week, the Supreme Court ruled that President Trump can revoke humanitarian parole for over 500,000 migrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela. President Trump has spoken favorably of DACA recipients, but nonetheless, 'Dreamers' still have to reapply every two years, and there is no guarantee their right to legally be in the U.S. will not be revoked. Immigration attorneys say DACA could be the next program to be shut down by the Supreme Court. 'How shaky is DACA? How solid is it?' Valdes asked. Same fear, different country Valdes' mom says she now feels the same fear in the United States as she did in Colombia — maybe worse. 'I'm scared. Terrified,' she said. 'I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, always on alert.' For years, she tried to hold on. But after 23 years, she's tired of living in limbo. Valdes and her mom try not to think much about the fact that they are leaving each other, focusing more on the present and getting through each day. Valdes' mom says her ultimate goal was always for her daughter to get an education in the United States, and now that her daughter has a job, a husband, and is planting roots, she feels like she can go and let her daughter live her life. She left Colombia because she was 'tired of being followed. I was tired of being paranoid. I was tired of never being able to have my freedom, to just live, because I was always so scared. And fast forward, 23 years later, I'm just in the same boat in a different country,' she said. The hardest part for Valdes is imagining being pregnant and then giving birth without her mom by her side. But, she says, 'Now I tell her, I totally understand. It's your turn to finish living your life, Mom. I want her to be at peace, and I want her to rest.' As her mother prepares to leave, Michelle is left with the frustration of knowing that there's nothing she can do. 'I am still helpless. I still can't help her. I still can't help myself. It's a looming darkness you carry every day,' said Valdes.
