R. Kelly demo pics --- updates coming soon!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
It's been a long time, I shouldn'ta left you...
Without a dope blog to vibe to:) I know it's been a minute kids, but on the cool, I have just been incredibly busy and altogether too tired to update the blog. I've been spending the last few weeks struggling to, in the words, of the brilliant performance artist, Laurie Carlos, "hold up my own tits."
And the girls are heavy.
But enough about my mamas, I got to tell you all about Laurie.
Now if you don't know Laurie Carlos, you had better ask somebody. She was one of the original colored girls in Ntozake Shange's For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf as well as one of the founders of the Urban Bush Women.
Yeah, it's that serious.
The girl is bad.
And I get to work with her. Well, me along with 16 other amazing women. She is currently serving as the guest director for a group I am a part of called The Austin Project (TAP). It works to bring together artists, activists and scholars to do the work of healing ourselves so that we can struggle for social justice. After all you can't heal the world if you're running around with a wounded heart. So we write and attempt to work from the places that keep us from walking fully in our path.
And then we mix it all up to share with you folks.
We will be having two performances this month, both this weekend:
April 8 & 9
2pm
Saturday location: Winship Building, 2.180 located on the UT-campus
Sunday location: Off-Centre Theatre located at 2211-A Hidalgo St. (it's right off of E. 7th street)
There's a suggested $2 donation but if you can't swing that (and I know how that is) you certainly won't be turned away.
So if you got some time and want to be moved come check out a bunch of women of color, white women, lesbianas, transgender, young, old, righteous women trying to heal themselves and heal the world with art and activism. It's event that's not to be missed.
In other news:
I will be posting updates on the R. Kelly protest, the future of FoCU, watching Latina/o youth defy the man and cut skool to protest wack immigration policies, my thoughts on the Cynthia McKinney craziness, as well as some musings on the rape of a young black women by three white lacrosse players at Duke last week.
So much things to say ya'll...
Take care of yourselves...
Without a dope blog to vibe to:) I know it's been a minute kids, but on the cool, I have just been incredibly busy and altogether too tired to update the blog. I've been spending the last few weeks struggling to, in the words, of the brilliant performance artist, Laurie Carlos, "hold up my own tits."
And the girls are heavy.
But enough about my mamas, I got to tell you all about Laurie.
Now if you don't know Laurie Carlos, you had better ask somebody. She was one of the original colored girls in Ntozake Shange's For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf as well as one of the founders of the Urban Bush Women.
Yeah, it's that serious.
The girl is bad.
And I get to work with her. Well, me along with 16 other amazing women. She is currently serving as the guest director for a group I am a part of called The Austin Project (TAP). It works to bring together artists, activists and scholars to do the work of healing ourselves so that we can struggle for social justice. After all you can't heal the world if you're running around with a wounded heart. So we write and attempt to work from the places that keep us from walking fully in our path.
And then we mix it all up to share with you folks.
We will be having two performances this month, both this weekend:
April 8 & 9
2pm
Saturday location: Winship Building, 2.180 located on the UT-campus
Sunday location: Off-Centre Theatre located at 2211-A Hidalgo St. (it's right off of E. 7th street)
There's a suggested $2 donation but if you can't swing that (and I know how that is) you certainly won't be turned away.
So if you got some time and want to be moved come check out a bunch of women of color, white women, lesbianas, transgender, young, old, righteous women trying to heal themselves and heal the world with art and activism. It's event that's not to be missed.
In other news:
I will be posting updates on the R. Kelly protest, the future of FoCU, watching Latina/o youth defy the man and cut skool to protest wack immigration policies, my thoughts on the Cynthia McKinney craziness, as well as some musings on the rape of a young black women by three white lacrosse players at Duke last week.
So much things to say ya'll...
Take care of yourselves...
Friday, March 10, 2006
Rebellion is in Full Swing!
So we are off to a great start with the R. Kelly protest that we've been working on. Today we had an open letter to the University and Performing Arts Center administration published in the newspaper and we have a ton of stuff to work on before next Friday. In any case, the response to all of this has been rapid and a bit overwhelming. But I have to say that it is so encouraging to see so many people support the work that Feminists of Color United (FoCU - yes, the acronym reads like "fuck you") is trying to do.
In any case, I wanted to give you all a chance to check out the open letter we published in the Texan. We will be submitting a hard copy to the PAC so if you or any organizations that you are a part of would like to sign on to this work, leave a comment on this post and I will gladly add you.
Peace and Blessings to All, I'm afraid I'm full of revolutionary love tonight.
------------------------------------------------
To the University of Texas at Austin Administration, UT Performing Arts Center Administration, University students, faculty, staff and the greater Aust
in community:
We are a coalition of women, men, students, faculty, people of color and white allies. We are taking a stand against the University's decision to allow an accused child pornographer to perform on our campus. We are taking a stand against sexual assault and exploitation of women of color on our campus and in our communities.
We discovered that the UT Performing Arts Center (PAC) invited R&B singer and accused child pornographer R. Kelly to perform at the Bass Concert Hall. We are offended that money generated from student fees to support the arts on campus are being used to sponsor a performance with an individual who has a history of dodging allegations of child pornography, statutory rape and exploiting young women sexually. After speaking with a representative of the PAC we were informed that they invited Kelly to perform despite his background and the fact that he is currently on trial for 14 counts of child pornography. Their reason: Kelly should be considered innocent until proven guilty.
Regardless of his guilt or innocence, as women and men of color who attend and work at this University we are appalled at the use of University funds to support such an individual. In order to make our case more clearly perhaps it is necessary to know the background of the Kelly case as well as our political position. In February 2002, a videotape depicting a man who appears to be Kelly engaging in sexual intercourse with a 14-year-old girl. Kelly was indicted in Chicago in June 2002 with 21 counts for charges of soliciting a minor for child pornography, seven counts for videotaping these acts and seven counts of producing child pornography. Kelly was further indicted in January 2003 on 12 counts of possession of child pornography in Florida. Currently 14 of the 33 charges still stand and, despite his busy touring schedule, Kelly is on trial for these charges.
Although we are specifically targeting Kelly, because he is coming to our campus, we feel that it is critically important not to lose sight of the larger issue in this matter: sexual violence against women of color and sexism in communities of color. The fact that there has been no collective critique of the Kelly case either by prominent black or feminist leaders clearly demonstrates the lack of value that is placed on the lives and general well-being of women of color. While it is necessary to fight against the racism that affects both men and women of color, we feel it is our responsibility to also fight against the sexism within black, Latino, Asian and indigenous communities, as well.
In the tradition of Fredrick Douglas, as a community we must acknowledge and act upon the reality that the structural oppression of racism is both historically and contemporarily informed by gendered violence against black women. We recognize that until men of color deal with this reality they will continue to reproduce terror upon women of color. Sexual assault against women of color in the U.S. is a pervasive social reality that we all must struggle to overcome.
By inviting Kelly to perform, the University and the PAC demonstrate a lack of awareness of the reality of sexual assault against women of color and in so doing, implicitly support the perpetuation of this particular and pervasive form of violence.It is time for those of us who believe in freedom, justice and the right to a safe and healthy life to stand up for ourselves. As women of color (and allies of women of color) who are a part of the University community we are appalled at the University's blatant disregard of sexual violence against women of color.
We are here to stand up in defense of ourselves, our lives and our communities!
It is clear that the PAC has no intention of retracting their invitation to Kelly or canceling the show. Barring such a response we demand the following:
* That the PAC contact Kelly's publicist/manager and invite him to participate in a dialogue with Feminists of Color United. FoCU will be hosting a Sexual Assault Teach-In at the Center for African and African American Studies, Friday, March 17, from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m.
* That FoCU be given space in the concert program to share our concerns with people attending the event.
* That we be given a brief time slot prior to the show to directly address the audience and present our analysis of this situation.
* That we be granted space to host an informational demonstration outside of the Bass Concert Hall as the audience arrives and be permitted to distribute educational literature.In this manner, we believe that we can truly shed light on the critical issue of sexual violence against women of color while also holding the University responsible for its actions.
If the University administration and the PAC truly believe in making this University a space where all people can thrive and feel safe, these demands should cause little problem.
Regardless, we will be at the Bass Concert Hall on March 17, letting R. Kelly and everyone else know that we are serious in our criticism and our outrage. Sexual assault against women of color and sexism in communities of color must stop. And we know that it will only stop when we stand up for ourselves and say "Enough!"
In Solidarity,
Feminists of Color United
Juli Grigsby
Courtney Desiree Morris
Jacqueline Smith
Sonia dos Santos
Raquel de Souza
Damien Schynder, ally
So we are off to a great start with the R. Kelly protest that we've been working on. Today we had an open letter to the University and Performing Arts Center administration published in the newspaper and we have a ton of stuff to work on before next Friday. In any case, the response to all of this has been rapid and a bit overwhelming. But I have to say that it is so encouraging to see so many people support the work that Feminists of Color United (FoCU - yes, the acronym reads like "fuck you") is trying to do.
In any case, I wanted to give you all a chance to check out the open letter we published in the Texan. We will be submitting a hard copy to the PAC so if you or any organizations that you are a part of would like to sign on to this work, leave a comment on this post and I will gladly add you.
Peace and Blessings to All, I'm afraid I'm full of revolutionary love tonight.
------------------------------------------------
To the University of Texas at Austin Administration, UT Performing Arts Center Administration, University students, faculty, staff and the greater Aust
in community:We are a coalition of women, men, students, faculty, people of color and white allies. We are taking a stand against the University's decision to allow an accused child pornographer to perform on our campus. We are taking a stand against sexual assault and exploitation of women of color on our campus and in our communities.
We discovered that the UT Performing Arts Center (PAC) invited R&B singer and accused child pornographer R. Kelly to perform at the Bass Concert Hall. We are offended that money generated from student fees to support the arts on campus are being used to sponsor a performance with an individual who has a history of dodging allegations of child pornography, statutory rape and exploiting young women sexually. After speaking with a representative of the PAC we were informed that they invited Kelly to perform despite his background and the fact that he is currently on trial for 14 counts of child pornography. Their reason: Kelly should be considered innocent until proven guilty.
Regardless of his guilt or innocence, as women and men of color who attend and work at this University we are appalled at the use of University funds to support such an individual. In order to make our case more clearly perhaps it is necessary to know the background of the Kelly case as well as our political position. In February 2002, a videotape depicting a man who appears to be Kelly engaging in sexual intercourse with a 14-year-old girl. Kelly was indicted in Chicago in June 2002 with 21 counts for charges of soliciting a minor for child pornography, seven counts for videotaping these acts and seven counts of producing child pornography. Kelly was further indicted in January 2003 on 12 counts of possession of child pornography in Florida. Currently 14 of the 33 charges still stand and, despite his busy touring schedule, Kelly is on trial for these charges.
Although we are specifically targeting Kelly, because he is coming to our campus, we feel that it is critically important not to lose sight of the larger issue in this matter: sexual violence against women of color and sexism in communities of color. The fact that there has been no collective critique of the Kelly case either by prominent black or feminist leaders clearly demonstrates the lack of value that is placed on the lives and general well-being of women of color. While it is necessary to fight against the racism that affects both men and women of color, we feel it is our responsibility to also fight against the sexism within black, Latino, Asian and indigenous communities, as well.
In the tradition of Fredrick Douglas, as a community we must acknowledge and act upon the reality that the structural oppression of racism is both historically and contemporarily informed by gendered violence against black women. We recognize that until men of color deal with this reality they will continue to reproduce terror upon women of color. Sexual assault against women of color in the U.S. is a pervasive social reality that we all must struggle to overcome.
By inviting Kelly to perform, the University and the PAC demonstrate a lack of awareness of the reality of sexual assault against women of color and in so doing, implicitly support the perpetuation of this particular and pervasive form of violence.It is time for those of us who believe in freedom, justice and the right to a safe and healthy life to stand up for ourselves. As women of color (and allies of women of color) who are a part of the University community we are appalled at the University's blatant disregard of sexual violence against women of color.
We are here to stand up in defense of ourselves, our lives and our communities!
It is clear that the PAC has no intention of retracting their invitation to Kelly or canceling the show. Barring such a response we demand the following:
* That the PAC contact Kelly's publicist/manager and invite him to participate in a dialogue with Feminists of Color United. FoCU will be hosting a Sexual Assault Teach-In at the Center for African and African American Studies, Friday, March 17, from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m.
* That FoCU be given space in the concert program to share our concerns with people attending the event.
* That we be given a brief time slot prior to the show to directly address the audience and present our analysis of this situation.
* That we be granted space to host an informational demonstration outside of the Bass Concert Hall as the audience arrives and be permitted to distribute educational literature.In this manner, we believe that we can truly shed light on the critical issue of sexual violence against women of color while also holding the University responsible for its actions.
If the University administration and the PAC truly believe in making this University a space where all people can thrive and feel safe, these demands should cause little problem.
Regardless, we will be at the Bass Concert Hall on March 17, letting R. Kelly and everyone else know that we are serious in our criticism and our outrage. Sexual assault against women of color and sexism in communities of color must stop. And we know that it will only stop when we stand up for ourselves and say "Enough!"
In Solidarity,
Feminists of Color United
Juli Grigsby
Courtney Desiree Morris
Jacqueline Smith
Sonia dos Santos
Raquel de Souza
Damien Schynder, ally
Monday, March 06, 2006
Unpacking the Pimp Myth...
Now it may very well be true that it's hard out here for a pimp.
But I'll tell you one thing -- the payoff is a motherfucker.
That, my friends is the lesson that we can learn from the 78th Academy Awards. Last night, the Tennesee-based hip-hop group, Three-6 Mafia, made Oscar history when they become the first African-American hip-hop group to snag a little gold man with their song "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp." The song was featured on the film, Hustle and Flow, which follows a pimp/drug dealer's (Terence Howard) attempt to break into the hip-hop industry.
As if the song (and its partner film) weren't offensive enough by itself, the performance that accompanied the song only excacerbated the matter. Of course, the fellas from the Three 6 Mafia were there, as was Taraji P. Henson, the actress who sang the catchy and questionable hook to the song in the film:
"You know it’s hard out here for a pimp/When he tryin’ to get this money for the rent/For the Cadillacs and gas money spent/Because a whole lot of b- talkin’ s-"
But no worries, mainstream America -- the good folks at ABC made sure the song was sufficiently edited and sanitized for television. Still, it makes me wonder: Are pimps, hoes and gritty street life fun family viewing provided there are no curse words involved? Does content matter at all? The performance also featured women dressed as "hoes" dancing around, enticing men, stealing their wallets, getting shaken and reprimanded (presumably by their pimps) and then slithering off the stage with their clientele. It concluded with Henson, shimmying down a small set of stairs, taking center stage and belting out in opera divaesque style --
"IT'S HARD OUT HERE FOR A PIIIIIMMMMMPPPP!"
Not exactly art, but apparently good enough for the Academy of Arts and Sciences...
In any case, this may absolutely be the last straw. I love hip-hop and I even like some of Three 6 Mafia's tunes (who among us can forget that Dirty South Classic, "Tear Da Club Up" ? Sigh, it brings back such memories). Still, I have to wonder about what kind of message is being sent out when a song that glorifies sexually abusing and exploiting women can be recognized by the Academy as a noteworthy piece of art? In the Academy's (no doubt heartfelt, but misguided) attempt to be broad and "diverse" could it be that they selected the song despite their better judgement? I mean, really, have we forgotten who pimps really are and what they really do? Would the song still be cute, if it was your daughter that was getting pimped? It might be hard out there for a pimp, but I'm sure it's a whole lot harder for those women who are getting pimped.
Alas, all rhetorical questions that no one at the Academy can answer. Still they're worth asking . After last night I'm starting to think that we're all getting pimped and we'd better wake up and stop rewarding people who make their living on all our backs.
We live in a culture that glorifies misogyny, hip-hop is only the most flashy culprit. Is it any surprise that this song was chosen when we consider it a compliment to call someone a pimp? Or where a video with Nelly and the St. Lunatics chasing scantily-clad strippers around a mansion can enjoy the highest circulation on BET? Second-wave feminists used to say that we live in a rape culture -- I'm inclined to disagree, at least in a rape culture we pay some attention to the people who are victimized by rape. In the pimp culture that we call home, only the perpetrators are given attention. In glorifying the pimp we are conveniently able to ignore the issue that is hidden in plain view: the systematic, normalized devaluation of women's bodies and lives. And there is nothing artistic or sexy about that.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Big Pimpin' and Student Elections on the 40 Acres...
In an attempt to get more work done, I have taken to leaving my house at strange hours in the evening and working at coffeeshops. Historically, I tend to be more productive at coffeeshops, mostly because I don't get distracted as easily or decide to quit reading theory and opt instead to crank up the M.I.A. and dance around my apartment.
But I digress.
As I was in the middle of working at JP's Java, I took a bathroom break and, as I am wont to do, took a copy of the paper, The Daily Texan, with me.
Tonight's lesson for me is that ignorance may indeed, truly be bliss. In reading the paper, I found that there are a great many things that I could stand to go without knowing if for no other reason than that I am infuriated by so many goings-on nowadays.
Exhibit A:
It is revealed that in the elections for Student Government one ticket, Impact, which has by far the strongest likelihood of winning, has spent a whopping $7,000 on campaign expenditures. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised, last year's winning ticket, Connect spent a disgusting $8,500 campaigning -- good job kids. If you're gonna swamp the competition, go for the gold! Now, forget the fact that these SG idiots have spent enough money on t-shirts, stickers, flyers, etc. to put a UT undergrad through three semesters of school. Forget the fact that their closest competition, I-ROC (Independent Renewal of Campus) spent only $650. Let's focus on the fact that they spent all of this fucking money to get elected to a governing body that is effectively a dog that is all bark and no bite. It's not like SG resolutions change the world and the miniscule representation that SG does manage to wrangle in administrative affairs at the University are, at best, milquetoast concessions that allow students to have dummy representatives on influential committees, etc.
Which leads me to my next source of frustration...
Exhibit B:
For years, UT students have lobbied for a student representative on the University of Texas System Board of Regents, the administrative body that decides the fate of every student in the UT System from Austin to El Paso to the Texas Panhandle. Our peer institutions such as the University of California System and the University of Michigan have had student reps for years. Well, after years of strategizing, setbacks, and struggle we finally got one. The Regents relented and agreed to have a student rep.
The compromise? The student regent would serve as a representative with no voting power. This concession, which Student Government acquiesced to, was a slap in the face to all of the students who have advocated for meaningful representation on this powerful Board. Still, in the end, a foot in the door, is a step in the right direction.
So since the student regent can't vote, what does he get? Our current rep, Brian Haley (more on that some other day), is the proud owner of a brand new Blackberry. Now he can use state-of-the-art technologically to schedule dates for all the meetings that he won't be able to vote at -- SWEET! In addition to this slamming consolation prize, Haley also enjoys perks such as a parking pass for every UT system school and free tickets to a number of University events. Evidently these are perks that all of the regents receive because they are not paid for sitting on the board. I could explain why this explanation is a farce but just check out the Board's website at http://www.utsystem.edu/bor/regents.htm and you'll see why. All of these cats are up to their longhorns in wealth.
I can't help feeling that somehow the interests of UT students have been totally pimped out and our right to representation has been quietly tucked away and replaced with a Blackberry and free courtside seats.
In any case, I have officially decided that perhaps in the interests of maintaining my overall mental and emotional well-being, I had better stick to reading the Texas Travesty or Mad Magazine when I'm in the john. At least that way, I'll know the material I'm reading was meant to be a joke.
Peace ya'll...
Monday, February 27, 2006
In Memoriam...
Opened my email today and discovered that acclaimed science fiction author Octavia Butler passed away on Saturday, Feb. 24 from head injuries she suffered outside of her Seattle home.
As someone who just recently became acquainted with Butler's work I am deeply saddened by the loss of this truly brilliant mind. I have always enjoyed science fiction but to finally come across a Black feminist sci-fi author who crafted beautifully complex, kick-ass black heroines in her work was truly a blessing. I was fortunate enough to have a friend share her work with me and I hope that all of you will do the same and keep the work of this amazing writer alive.
In any case, I wanted to share this with all of you and encourage you all to check out an interview that LiP magazine conducted with Butler in 2004. Amazing.
http://www.lipmagazine.org/
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Cuz' deep down we're all dirty...Keeping it short because I'm tired and really should be in bed, but I got this from a friend and wanted to encourage all of you to check this out. I know I'm going to try.
The Dildo Diaries is a documentary that explores the laws regulating the sale and distribution of sex toys in Texas and the legal loopholes that those us of committed to getting off have to jump through.
Now for those of you don't know, sex toys are illegal in the state of Texas. Being the bastion of moral righteousness that we are, Texas does not allow the sale of sex toys. Why? Because it's obscene, you pervert!
At least that's what the law says.
I'm not making this up.
Section 43.23 of the Texas Penal code clearly states, "A person commits an offense if he ... possesses with intent to wholesale promote any obscene material or obscene device. A person who possesses six or more obscene devices ... is presumed to possess them with intent to promote the same."
Deep in the heart of the Lone Star state we don't like people using battery-powered, plastic phalluses to get their rocks off.
But we're big on education.
In order to get around this many sex shops, ahem, educational facilities, refer to such items as educational models, instructional materials etc. to avoid being slapped with selling obscene materials and/or devices.
Seems like a lot of hassle to go through to keep adults from getting off.
In an act of defiance against the state, I plan on taking my education into my own hands as often as time, energy and battery power permit. I encourage all of you to do the same...
For additional information about The Dildo Diaries check out the filmmakers' website at http://www.dildodiariesfilm.net/. The film will be screening here in Austin at the Alamo Drafthouse Downtown, on Tuesday, Feb. 21 at 9:45 pm. See you there!
Monday, February 20, 2006
This is a trial run.
In a former life I was the news editor of my high school newspaper and the Daily Texan News at the University of Texas at Austin.
I love layout.
I do.
And so I have to know if it is possible to sex up this blog with better layout and my eye-catching design.
It's past midnight ya'll. Just humor me.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
More disturbing signs of the times. I saw this after spending an absolutely glorious day at Pedernales Falls. It reads "If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you can read this in English, thank a soldier." Nothing like insane U.S. nationalist bumper stickers to remind you of the need to turn off the T.V. and stay plugged into alternative media.
Beyond Bitching...
In my last entry I ranted about the fact that R. Kelly is coming to UT to perform next month. After posting the blog I proceeded to complain about this fact to every person I know from my very patient and tolerant main squeeze to my friends and colleagues at the university. Basically I forced all the people who loved me to indulge my silliness and listen to me bitching about this outrage (and make no mistake, it is an outrage).
But then after I had exhausted myself whining, I sat down in my office and thought to myself -- "No really somebody should do something about this."
The late, great Black feminist poet, June Jordan, wrote in "A Poem for South African Women" that "We are the ones we have been waiting for."
In short, it's time for colored girls to stop looking to others to save us and get to work saving ourselves.
With that said, I want to let everyone know that we will be hosting a teach-in on sexual assault on women of color and sexism in communities of color and then staging a demonstration at the performance in front of the Bass Concert Hall. I had a ridiculously painless time convincing other women of color graduate students to get on board. In fact, all truth be told, the teach-in belongs to Juli Grigsby, who brought me back to down to the planet after I suggested holding a two-day symposium.
Hey, I like to dream big, if not always rationally.
In any case, as women of color who live in Austin and are connected to the University we don't have to put up with anything that threatens our lives, our bodies, and our communities. Including pedophilic pop/R&B singers.
So tell a friend, drag your boyfriend/girlfriend, daughter/son, or anyone who you think either 1) is already down for the struggle and needs to get involved or 2) should be educated about the reality of sexual violence against women of color. After all, we can all move beyond bitching by educating others to fight against sexism and resist being either a victim or perpetuator/perpetrator of this violence.
With love, solidarity and a healthy dose of optimism...
In my last entry I ranted about the fact that R. Kelly is coming to UT to perform next month. After posting the blog I proceeded to complain about this fact to every person I know from my very patient and tolerant main squeeze to my friends and colleagues at the university. Basically I forced all the people who loved me to indulge my silliness and listen to me bitching about this outrage (and make no mistake, it is an outrage).
But then after I had exhausted myself whining, I sat down in my office and thought to myself -- "No really somebody should do something about this."
The late, great Black feminist poet, June Jordan, wrote in "A Poem for South African Women" that "We are the ones we have been waiting for."
In short, it's time for colored girls to stop looking to others to save us and get to work saving ourselves.
With that said, I want to let everyone know that we will be hosting a teach-in on sexual assault on women of color and sexism in communities of color and then staging a demonstration at the performance in front of the Bass Concert Hall. I had a ridiculously painless time convincing other women of color graduate students to get on board. In fact, all truth be told, the teach-in belongs to Juli Grigsby, who brought me back to down to the planet after I suggested holding a two-day symposium.
Hey, I like to dream big, if not always rationally.
In any case, as women of color who live in Austin and are connected to the University we don't have to put up with anything that threatens our lives, our bodies, and our communities. Including pedophilic pop/R&B singers.
So tell a friend, drag your boyfriend/girlfriend, daughter/son, or anyone who you think either 1) is already down for the struggle and needs to get involved or 2) should be educated about the reality of sexual violence against women of color. After all, we can all move beyond bitching by educating others to fight against sexism and resist being either a victim or perpetuator/perpetrator of this violence.
With love, solidarity and a healthy dose of optimism...
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Hmm...I feel a protest coming on...
Fiddling around on the Internet this afternoon I came across a most disturbing piece of information.
R. "I like to piss on underaged black girls" Kelly, will be performing at the University of Texas at Austin next month.
While I realize that this news may bring joy to the hearts of many a mindless pop/R&B fan I have to say that I am disgusted and appalled that people are still listening to this fool. It makes me wonder what kind of world we live in when people can turn a blind eye to a celebrity being charged with 21 counts of child pornography and pedophilia, starring in a homemade sex tape that features him urinating on teenage girls, and dubbing himself the "Pied Piper of R&B." Don't sleep on that last one ya'll, do you remember the story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin? He played his flute and led all the children away to his secret hideaway -- you never heard what happened to those kids did you?
That's because all of the records have been sealed and they agreed to an out of court settlement.
There is something very wrong with R. Kelly and I have made it my personal mission to call that Negro out every chance I get. I strongly urge each of you to boycott this damn show and tell all your homies to do the same.
Besides, I saw R. Kelly when I was 18. Aside from him prancing around in his underwear and dry humping his dancers on stage, it wasn't much of a show. Save your money.
And for those of you who want to make the argument that I should ease up on the R because he's a musical genius I have two words for you: Stevie Wonder. Now, that is a musical genius. R. Kelly is a semi-literate clown with great production and choir boy vocals. Nothing special at'all.
Of course, I think we all realized that we had been duped by Mr. Kelly when he gave us musical gems such as "I Like the Crotch On You" with 12 Play and "Thoia Thoing." I am Black woman with a degree -- please don't insult my intelligence.
So kids, it is each and every one's responsibility to take a principled stand against 1) mind-numbingly awful R&B music; 2) sexism in the Black community; and 3) Teflon-Don celebrities who do incredibly fucked up things and refuse to take accountability for their actions. It's time for us, The People, to make them accountable. In the meantime, I will be singlehandedly planning the Lockdown the R campaign here in Austin -- feel free to join me in this positively righteous Black feminist holy war. Alright ya'll...I think I feel a protest coming on.
Fiddling around on the Internet this afternoon I came across a most disturbing piece of information.
R. "I like to piss on underaged black girls" Kelly, will be performing at the University of Texas at Austin next month.
While I realize that this news may bring joy to the hearts of many a mindless pop/R&B fan I have to say that I am disgusted and appalled that people are still listening to this fool. It makes me wonder what kind of world we live in when people can turn a blind eye to a celebrity being charged with 21 counts of child pornography and pedophilia, starring in a homemade sex tape that features him urinating on teenage girls, and dubbing himself the "Pied Piper of R&B." Don't sleep on that last one ya'll, do you remember the story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin? He played his flute and led all the children away to his secret hideaway -- you never heard what happened to those kids did you?
That's because all of the records have been sealed and they agreed to an out of court settlement.
There is something very wrong with R. Kelly and I have made it my personal mission to call that Negro out every chance I get. I strongly urge each of you to boycott this damn show and tell all your homies to do the same.
Besides, I saw R. Kelly when I was 18. Aside from him prancing around in his underwear and dry humping his dancers on stage, it wasn't much of a show. Save your money.
And for those of you who want to make the argument that I should ease up on the R because he's a musical genius I have two words for you: Stevie Wonder. Now, that is a musical genius. R. Kelly is a semi-literate clown with great production and choir boy vocals. Nothing special at'all.
Of course, I think we all realized that we had been duped by Mr. Kelly when he gave us musical gems such as "I Like the Crotch On You" with 12 Play and "Thoia Thoing." I am Black woman with a degree -- please don't insult my intelligence.
So kids, it is each and every one's responsibility to take a principled stand against 1) mind-numbingly awful R&B music; 2) sexism in the Black community; and 3) Teflon-Don celebrities who do incredibly fucked up things and refuse to take accountability for their actions. It's time for us, The People, to make them accountable. In the meantime, I will be singlehandedly planning the Lockdown the R campaign here in Austin -- feel free to join me in this positively righteous Black feminist holy war. Alright ya'll...I think I feel a protest coming on.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Speaking in Spanish is hard for me.
I mean it is really, really hard.
When I speak, if at all, I am forced to speak slowly, carefully pronouncing words that don't quite fit in my mouth. I stumble, trying to make my English tongue do things it simply has been accustomed to doing.
I think more about what I really want to say and the words in my ever expanding vocabulary arsenal that will enable me to express myself. What do I really mean, what is that I really want to communicate? This is language stripped naked, down to the bare bones, and sometimes, I can't even manipulate this simple language.
I speak slowly, communicate more with my hands, eyes, my whole body. Lean in closely, devote my full attention on whoever is speaking -- I can't afford to miss anything. When attempting to reply, I stumble, often confusing tenses, pronunciation, and gender.
In short, Spanish makes me humble in a way that I never could be in English. I often don't like who I become in Spanish. A simple girl, quiet, to herself, struggling to communicate even simple things -- I need deodorant and toothpaste, sir. I miss the confident woman that I am in English.
Spanish makes me apologize. Leaves me vulnerable to criticism and correction. Like the friend, who, after reading my blog, gently pointed out to me that since I used ano and not año in one of my entries, I wished all of you a fabulous, happy new anus. Accents can be the line between clarity and confusion in Spanish, one simply cannot afford to forget them.
Sigh...and just when you think you're making progress.
The completely insane thing is that this stumbling with Spanish doesn't inhibit my ability to read the language at all. And I've become a reasonably good Spanish to English translator. Pero, por favor, don't ask me to do this process in reverse.
Coming to Nicaragua is good for me, because it makes me slow down, learn to accept and own my shortcomings, and not be afraid to admit that I am wrong and start over. Good skills to have in an unpredictable world.
I mean it is really, really hard.
When I speak, if at all, I am forced to speak slowly, carefully pronouncing words that don't quite fit in my mouth. I stumble, trying to make my English tongue do things it simply has been accustomed to doing.
I think more about what I really want to say and the words in my ever expanding vocabulary arsenal that will enable me to express myself. What do I really mean, what is that I really want to communicate? This is language stripped naked, down to the bare bones, and sometimes, I can't even manipulate this simple language.
I speak slowly, communicate more with my hands, eyes, my whole body. Lean in closely, devote my full attention on whoever is speaking -- I can't afford to miss anything. When attempting to reply, I stumble, often confusing tenses, pronunciation, and gender.
In short, Spanish makes me humble in a way that I never could be in English. I often don't like who I become in Spanish. A simple girl, quiet, to herself, struggling to communicate even simple things -- I need deodorant and toothpaste, sir. I miss the confident woman that I am in English.
Spanish makes me apologize. Leaves me vulnerable to criticism and correction. Like the friend, who, after reading my blog, gently pointed out to me that since I used ano and not año in one of my entries, I wished all of you a fabulous, happy new anus. Accents can be the line between clarity and confusion in Spanish, one simply cannot afford to forget them.
Sigh...and just when you think you're making progress.
The completely insane thing is that this stumbling with Spanish doesn't inhibit my ability to read the language at all. And I've become a reasonably good Spanish to English translator. Pero, por favor, don't ask me to do this process in reverse.
Coming to Nicaragua is good for me, because it makes me slow down, learn to accept and own my shortcomings, and not be afraid to admit that I am wrong and start over. Good skills to have in an unpredictable world.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
January 5, 2006
I am sitting in a bedroom with Scooby Doo curtains and a spider larger than any I’ve ever seen outside of a zoo. He’s kind of furry and when I took a photo of him, he had red-eye. I think he’s interested in me and wondering who this long-legged, funny-looking creature is. Right now, I’m tired and a bit out of it and too tired to either call for help or attempt to shoo him out. And I don’t want to kill him, somehow that just seems wrong.
I was sitting in a rocking chair this evening watching the news and it occurred to me that watching U.S. news coverage outside of the U.S. is a bit like having an out-of-body experience. Sort of like the feeling you have when you are having a great conversation with a person you just met and are really, really high. The significance of the conversation and this new person you really dig is not lost on you and yet you can’t quite take it seriously. Your head is floating into the ceiling and it’s like you’re watching this experience happen to somebody else who looks just like you.
Ariel Sharon, a man who has made life miserable for so many and in the last year has done a political about face that has confounded even the most cynical political scientists is in an Israeli hospital fighting for his life. It’s difficult to know whether to celebrate or mourn. Funny, I didn’t feel this strangely when Reagan died. That was clearly a time to celebrate.
More than 130 people dead in Iraq in the course of a single day. Suicide bombers strike again. Bush meets with old advisors, a tired Colin Powell attends, and the leader of the free world affirms yet again that the decision to invade, sorry, liberate Iraq, right or wrong, must be defended. We must succeed or the terrorists will. Somehow, I think they already have.
New York City experiences an unseasonably warm day. I wonder if people I love living in Harlem, Queens, and the People’s Republic of Brooklyn went outside to enjoy the weather.
I sit in Nicaragua watching the news and feel unbelievably disconnected. As if distance were an anesthesia that numbs the horror I feel at the direction our planet is going in. There are no words. These body counts, these lives are real and somehow, I can’t seem to force myself to believe that right now in this moment, in this wet, isolated corner of Central America that these events touch me, the lives of people I care about, the names and faces I know so well. My mind has floated off somewhere and I am numbly watching these things happen to people who are just like me.
Incredible.
Continuing in the vein of out-body-experiences…I took the bus from Managua to Bluefields and sometime between 6:30 Wednesday evening and 8:00 Thursday morning I was in Bluefields.
The trip went something like this:
Arrive at bus station at 6:30 pm – the Managua/Rama express is a tricked out school bus that probably took kids in Delaware to school in the 1980s. Still, you can’t knock the hustle, so I chill out, pull out a book, and wait to start loading the luggage. I meet a few Black bluefileñas who pull me into their conversation. Before I can correct them they assume I am a Bluefields daughter come home from the States. You look good, they say, and I can tell they’re trying to guess what family I belong to. Hudson? James? One of the women, who now lives in San Andres, Colombia tells me elaborate tales of bus choques, plane crashes and all manner of traveling devilry. But, she urges me to ask God for safety. Earnestly, she asks, Are you a Christian? Moravian or Baptist? I reply Baptist, my grandfather would be pleased, and shuffle off to see if we can begin loading our luggage. I’m just not mentally prepared for a theology lesson tonight.
6:50 or so -- Load suitcases onto top of tricked out school bus, which is named Beholden, after one of the oldest predominantly Black barrios in Bluefields. Solid.
7:15 – get into bus. Wait for two and a half hours. Tricked out bus is supposed to head out at 9 pm sharp for the El Rama, but…
Depart for the Atlantic Coast at 9:50 pm. Ni modo…
Drive for three hours. Stop to eat and pee in Juigalpa.
Nicaraguan drivers are amazing – we leave Managua nearly an hour late and arrive to our destination nearly an hour early. Increíble…
Wait at the wharf for two hours to board the next panga, that’s a dory with a motor, which won’t leave for another two hours. Fade in and out of consciousness with one leg wrapped around my luggage and the other in the legs of a plastic chair.
Panga arrives and I’m so tired I can’t even fully appreciate the beauty of the Coast. Palm trees, miles and miles of green hills, wooden West Indian style houses that perch over the moist soil on spindly, wooden legs. My God, even in my sleep-deprived delirium I am amazed by the wonder of this place.
Arrive to Bluefields around 8am and am greeted by an ever-reliable and patient homegirl who promptly takes me home and throws me into bed. It’s nice to be loved.
That’s the bare bones of the trip. Next time, I will stick to flying. Still, I’m not entirely sure how I got here (since I floated in and out of consciousness throughout the trip) but here I am in Barrio Pancasan playing with my friend’s son, Ricky and watching Tom y Jerry. It’s funny how I remember some things so well and forgot other things about Bluefields so quickly. The wetness, for example. Bluefields is located on the southern Caribbean coast of Nicaragua and is one of the wettest places on the planet with an annual rainfall that exceeds 2000 to 4000 mm. It rains all of the time, and I do not exaggerate. Technically there aren’t really even seasons per se, the climate is judged by the shift in levels of rainfall. So rainy season v. rainier season.
So it’s no wonder that no matter how much I shower, lounge around in front of fans, or do any manner of little things to keep both cool and dry, I always feel wet. My skin carries a slick shine and my clothing sticks to my skin in damp patches. I have a theory that the damp is good for my skin and hair since they are so moisturized from the climate, I have to do relatively little to either. Still, the damp has its drawbacks. Books, for example, simply can’t survive. You see them in offices or personal libraries, the pages and covers curling around the edges, the spines deteriorating. And technical equipment, like laptops, digital cameras, mini-DV cameras, and that phat iPod your Mama gave you for Christmas are constantly under attack. So I’ve taken to wrapping all of my techno-gear in plastic. I find that the plastic bags you get from the market work just fine.
But I’m back in Bluefields and apart from the wetness, feeling okay. I’m staying with my friend, Angie Martinez, an altogether inspiring and amazing individual (as you can see I make it a point only to surround myself with people who motivate me with their talent and spirit). The first Black woman I ever met in Nicaragua who proudly called herself a feminist, and I’ve been in love ever since. Being the rowdy feminist that she is, she is involved in a number of activities from running the only Black women’s radio show on the Coast to conducting research on the impact of HIV/AIDS on amas de casa to helping run a multiethnic women’s research and studies center at the URACCAN, one of two universities in the Región Autónoma Atlántico Sur (RAAS). That’s right kids, chop off 7 years and the adorable son, and you have found my freaky third world twin in Bluefields, Nicaragua. I suspect that this is why we are such good friends.
In any case, being so busy Angie hardly has the time to do the things that other women here spend much of their day doing – namely, being domestic. Cooking, cleaning, all of that gets done – eventually. So after waking up from my nap, doing a little reading and playing with Ricky while Angie stepped out for dinner with a friend, I decided to give her the gift that I’ve always wanted from others – particularly this semester when I was so consumed with doing well my first semester of graduate school that I cursed having to sacrifice 20 minutes of precious reading and writing time to showering and brushing my teeth in the morning.
I washed a sinkful of dishes.
Good gift, no?
Sending you all love with damp pajamas and dishpan hands…
c
My spider man just left. Perhaps he had another pressing engagement.
I am sitting in a bedroom with Scooby Doo curtains and a spider larger than any I’ve ever seen outside of a zoo. He’s kind of furry and when I took a photo of him, he had red-eye. I think he’s interested in me and wondering who this long-legged, funny-looking creature is. Right now, I’m tired and a bit out of it and too tired to either call for help or attempt to shoo him out. And I don’t want to kill him, somehow that just seems wrong.
I was sitting in a rocking chair this evening watching the news and it occurred to me that watching U.S. news coverage outside of the U.S. is a bit like having an out-of-body experience. Sort of like the feeling you have when you are having a great conversation with a person you just met and are really, really high. The significance of the conversation and this new person you really dig is not lost on you and yet you can’t quite take it seriously. Your head is floating into the ceiling and it’s like you’re watching this experience happen to somebody else who looks just like you.
Ariel Sharon, a man who has made life miserable for so many and in the last year has done a political about face that has confounded even the most cynical political scientists is in an Israeli hospital fighting for his life. It’s difficult to know whether to celebrate or mourn. Funny, I didn’t feel this strangely when Reagan died. That was clearly a time to celebrate.
More than 130 people dead in Iraq in the course of a single day. Suicide bombers strike again. Bush meets with old advisors, a tired Colin Powell attends, and the leader of the free world affirms yet again that the decision to invade, sorry, liberate Iraq, right or wrong, must be defended. We must succeed or the terrorists will. Somehow, I think they already have.
New York City experiences an unseasonably warm day. I wonder if people I love living in Harlem, Queens, and the People’s Republic of Brooklyn went outside to enjoy the weather.
I sit in Nicaragua watching the news and feel unbelievably disconnected. As if distance were an anesthesia that numbs the horror I feel at the direction our planet is going in. There are no words. These body counts, these lives are real and somehow, I can’t seem to force myself to believe that right now in this moment, in this wet, isolated corner of Central America that these events touch me, the lives of people I care about, the names and faces I know so well. My mind has floated off somewhere and I am numbly watching these things happen to people who are just like me.
Incredible.
Continuing in the vein of out-body-experiences…I took the bus from Managua to Bluefields and sometime between 6:30 Wednesday evening and 8:00 Thursday morning I was in Bluefields.
The trip went something like this:
Arrive at bus station at 6:30 pm – the Managua/Rama express is a tricked out school bus that probably took kids in Delaware to school in the 1980s. Still, you can’t knock the hustle, so I chill out, pull out a book, and wait to start loading the luggage. I meet a few Black bluefileñas who pull me into their conversation. Before I can correct them they assume I am a Bluefields daughter come home from the States. You look good, they say, and I can tell they’re trying to guess what family I belong to. Hudson? James? One of the women, who now lives in San Andres, Colombia tells me elaborate tales of bus choques, plane crashes and all manner of traveling devilry. But, she urges me to ask God for safety. Earnestly, she asks, Are you a Christian? Moravian or Baptist? I reply Baptist, my grandfather would be pleased, and shuffle off to see if we can begin loading our luggage. I’m just not mentally prepared for a theology lesson tonight.
6:50 or so -- Load suitcases onto top of tricked out school bus, which is named Beholden, after one of the oldest predominantly Black barrios in Bluefields. Solid.
7:15 – get into bus. Wait for two and a half hours. Tricked out bus is supposed to head out at 9 pm sharp for the El Rama, but…
Depart for the Atlantic Coast at 9:50 pm. Ni modo…
Drive for three hours. Stop to eat and pee in Juigalpa.
Nicaraguan drivers are amazing – we leave Managua nearly an hour late and arrive to our destination nearly an hour early. Increíble…
Wait at the wharf for two hours to board the next panga, that’s a dory with a motor, which won’t leave for another two hours. Fade in and out of consciousness with one leg wrapped around my luggage and the other in the legs of a plastic chair.
Panga arrives and I’m so tired I can’t even fully appreciate the beauty of the Coast. Palm trees, miles and miles of green hills, wooden West Indian style houses that perch over the moist soil on spindly, wooden legs. My God, even in my sleep-deprived delirium I am amazed by the wonder of this place.
Arrive to Bluefields around 8am and am greeted by an ever-reliable and patient homegirl who promptly takes me home and throws me into bed. It’s nice to be loved.
That’s the bare bones of the trip. Next time, I will stick to flying. Still, I’m not entirely sure how I got here (since I floated in and out of consciousness throughout the trip) but here I am in Barrio Pancasan playing with my friend’s son, Ricky and watching Tom y Jerry. It’s funny how I remember some things so well and forgot other things about Bluefields so quickly. The wetness, for example. Bluefields is located on the southern Caribbean coast of Nicaragua and is one of the wettest places on the planet with an annual rainfall that exceeds 2000 to 4000 mm. It rains all of the time, and I do not exaggerate. Technically there aren’t really even seasons per se, the climate is judged by the shift in levels of rainfall. So rainy season v. rainier season.
So it’s no wonder that no matter how much I shower, lounge around in front of fans, or do any manner of little things to keep both cool and dry, I always feel wet. My skin carries a slick shine and my clothing sticks to my skin in damp patches. I have a theory that the damp is good for my skin and hair since they are so moisturized from the climate, I have to do relatively little to either. Still, the damp has its drawbacks. Books, for example, simply can’t survive. You see them in offices or personal libraries, the pages and covers curling around the edges, the spines deteriorating. And technical equipment, like laptops, digital cameras, mini-DV cameras, and that phat iPod your Mama gave you for Christmas are constantly under attack. So I’ve taken to wrapping all of my techno-gear in plastic. I find that the plastic bags you get from the market work just fine.
But I’m back in Bluefields and apart from the wetness, feeling okay. I’m staying with my friend, Angie Martinez, an altogether inspiring and amazing individual (as you can see I make it a point only to surround myself with people who motivate me with their talent and spirit). The first Black woman I ever met in Nicaragua who proudly called herself a feminist, and I’ve been in love ever since. Being the rowdy feminist that she is, she is involved in a number of activities from running the only Black women’s radio show on the Coast to conducting research on the impact of HIV/AIDS on amas de casa to helping run a multiethnic women’s research and studies center at the URACCAN, one of two universities in the Región Autónoma Atlántico Sur (RAAS). That’s right kids, chop off 7 years and the adorable son, and you have found my freaky third world twin in Bluefields, Nicaragua. I suspect that this is why we are such good friends.
In any case, being so busy Angie hardly has the time to do the things that other women here spend much of their day doing – namely, being domestic. Cooking, cleaning, all of that gets done – eventually. So after waking up from my nap, doing a little reading and playing with Ricky while Angie stepped out for dinner with a friend, I decided to give her the gift that I’ve always wanted from others – particularly this semester when I was so consumed with doing well my first semester of graduate school that I cursed having to sacrifice 20 minutes of precious reading and writing time to showering and brushing my teeth in the morning.
I washed a sinkful of dishes.
Good gift, no?
Sending you all love with damp pajamas and dishpan hands…
c
My spider man just left. Perhaps he had another pressing engagement.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
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