a resolution

this year's resolution is to do this impossible; to be the best me that i can possibly be; to live my passion; to be happy; to pursue joy by any means necessary; to rid my life of base superficialities while embracing passionate relationships; to abandon wholeness and accept where I am without welcoming complacency; to create peace; to embody fierceness; to love and be loved well--in all its meanings; and to carefully live each moment with wild abandon.

cheers to all! i wish this and much more to you and yours. may this be your best year yet!

a timely hmmmm...

This week a U.S. District Judge relaxed the conditions of John Hinckley, Jr.'s imprisonment. Hinckley, you will remember, was convicted of the 1982 attempted assasination of President Ronald Reagan. Attributing his actions to an attempt to woo actress Jodie Foster, Hinckley was found not guilty by reason of insanity. The judge granted Hinckley a total of three three-night visits with his parents at their Williamsburg, Virginia home. The visits will be will not be supervised by hospital staff but must, however, stay under his parents' supervision at all times. Judge Friedman granted the visits to Hinckley upon watching the prisoner acclimate to the outside world through a variety of activities including gardening, shopping, cooking, and walking around the neighborhood of his parents' home. This freedom granted to Hinckley nearly two years ago when Judge Friedman initially relaxed Mr. Hinckley's sentence allowing him short overnight stays supervised by his parents. The full story can be found here.

I am wondering about the relaxation of Mr. Hinckley's sentence in comparison to the death of Stanley "Tookie" Williams.

While none of us know with any degree surety that Williams did not commit the crimes that he was accused of, we all know for fact that Mr. Hinckley set out to kill then President Ronald Reagan. Mr. Williams lost his life based on this uncertainty; and, while uncertainty exists surrounding the relaxation of his sentence, Mr. Hinckley is given back his freedom. What does a life mean/cost/what is it worth? What is the inherent difference that called for Tookie's death and spared Hinckley's life? Why did Tookie die and why is Hinckley recovering his freedom? How do their crimes differ; are the crimes similar? The admitted uncertainty attributed to granting Mr. Hinckley's freedom seems to far outweigh the significance and value of Tookie's noticeable life transformation. The weighty and knotty question that plagues me most about this comparison is...why?

thankful introspection

it's that time of year again when i am prompted to reflect on the person that i am becoming and the things that i an thankful for. it has been a long, long, long year filled with a number of very low valleys that i was afraid i would not escape. but i did and i am all the better for it. i rather like the person that i am becoming. i am allowing myself to fully recognize myself as an assertive independent being. i can walk away from discord or a dead-end situation knowing that it doesn't define me and I can persevere. i remember when, earlier in the year, i was face down on the floor crying. i remember being there, remember wondering if there was a lower place for me to go, remember wondering what would be the best and painless way to hurt myself and/or end my suffering. as i lie face-down on the floor, i called out to G-d, asking what i had done for my life to end up this way, if i was a bad person, if my suffering couldn't end now (then). my past advisor had chosen not to advise me anymore, not to mention was excessively abusive (i was diagnosed with PTSD as a result), the man that i was hanging out with and had developed a deep crush on decided to secretly date my former office mate--only their dating/having sex wasn't so secret obviously, i lost a thirty-plus page paper, failed a major exam and that was just in four months. then i became suicidal.

i'm sure that anyone who hasn't been depressed before doesn't understand the magnitude of daily hurt under which a person suffering with the disease operates. everything was a struggle for me. i rarely did my hair, bathing was an extreme chore--all i wanted to do was lie in the bed all day looking past the tv. i hated myself and even more depressing, i hated my life. i remember having a disagreement--no a verbal altercation--with my roommate. i'd just left my department. as an aside, everytime i went to my department, i wanted to bust into tears. i refused to go to my office because it is on the third and a half floor (seriously) and i wanted to throw myself from the window. i spent so many days up there unable to do my work, crying. so after leaving another unproductive day full of tears, pain, and seeing as well as receiving an email from my former advisor (yes, the one with which my interactions with his abusive advising style prompted post traumatic stress disorder), i pulled into a local drugstore. there was a sale on 1000 count ibuprofen. it was only $7.99 per bottle. i bought two bottles and an arizona peach iced tea--a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. i pulled into the park with the giant turtles and turned off the ignition. i thought about it. my roomie had a pretty important event that a number of my family members were coming to. i thought it unwise to take the spotlight from her so i made an appointment with myself to kill myself the weekend after the event. i placed the bottles underneath the seat of my car, started the car, and proceeded home as the ibuprofen rattled underneath the passenger's seat--mocking me and enticing me at the same time.

that weekend, i received a call. a woman i knew in college had committed suicide. she was a second year medical student in dc. i was floored. she checked into a hotel, took some pills, and died. that was my plan of attack. i was further thrown from center. reeling from that incident, i sought help.

i began counseling and taking pills. i've since stopped going to counseling and taking pills. i don't think i'm cured, but i don't need pills to anesthetize my pain. (note: this is my choice. i don't recommend it for anyone. my circumstances are my own. anyone on medication should seek the advice of their doctor before discontinuing use) my counselor was a little wacky. in my last session she told me that i was making a speedy recovery. i decided not to go back. there are a number of things that are wrong in my life, with me, with the world in which i live. i am not recovering from those things--those things are inherently fucked up and i cannot change them. but i've chosen to deal with them, to not hide from them, to continue in spite of them --learning to love the me of me along the way.

i've learned thus far that i am a sensitive, caring, woman. the way that i live my life is a function of the intersections of my race, my gender, my economic status, my age, and the way i look. and at the same time, i am not defined by those things. i cannot walk away from them, but i have ways of getting away from these identities to regroup. i have a number of really good friends. none of them are completely aware of the extent to which i've suffered, but they are all extremely supportive and wonderfully soft places to land. i've learned that grad school is a dysfunctional mire--especially my department. but i've refused to change who i am to get through it. i would just as soon walk away from it than to be subsumed by it as i was before my epiphany.

lastly, i'm no longer making apologies for my life and the ways in which i choose to live it. just before i typed that a sob escaped. i think that's the biggest lesson in my life. since i believe that there are no mistakes in this life, i have to believe that i am not a mistake either. i am here for a reason--any reason i choose and a few i don't have any control over. but, i am approaching wholness. i've given up on being sane. he who is sane in an insane world suffers insanity. but i have given myself over to the cause of working to make the world a better place. i still lack patience. i am an effusive hothead at times. i need to speak up and out more and wholly commit myself to each moment. but what i lack, i make up for with passion, honesty, warmth, love, and ethics. now, i am choosing to live my life in such a way that when i get to heaven, G-d will meet me at the gates, invite me in, wink, and say,

did you have a good time?

happy birthday emerson

an image of a star, december 21, 2005


My dearest friend,

I hope that today was a good day for you. I hope that the day brought you as much joy as you bring me, your mother, your father, your sister, and all of the other people who know you. When we talk, which is often (smile), I so rarely say how much I appreciate your candor. Though I must admit, sometimes, I want to yell at you, scream at you, hang up on you--because you force to me to look at myself, really look at myself, my actions, my way of thinking. That's how I know that I love you and that you are truly family. I only want to do those things to my mother and sister.

I am at a loss to express to you how much your friendship means to me, what a strong influence you have on everyone around you, the magnitude of the gifts that G-d has bestowed on you. You are an extremely bright and intelligent woman. The way you see the world is fascinating, often colorful, necessary to changing the world in such a prolific way. You are never far from laughter and you always let me borrow your shoulder, nevermind if I soak it with my tears or scratch the hell out of it in anger. You share yourself with me--the heart of who you are and I thank you for that, sincerely. I want you to know that I never want to take advantage of that trust or pervert it in any way. I believe that we are connected you and I. We share something that is so rare between friends and often family. I thank G-d for that. When I was little, I used to pray for a really good friend, a black girl like me. Not sure how to articulate it then, but I knew I wanted a friend who was full of life, who was caring, who was racially conscious, who liked much of the same things I did without being a clone or boring for that matter, someone who would give my shit back to me when i needed it, someone who would intuitively sense when my burdens had become too much and want to take my load. You've been that for me and I thank you. Friend seems so inadequate. You are more than that, better than that, bigger than that, more encompassing than that.

I take this time to thank you for all of the times you bailed my ass--drunk or sober--out of some harrowing situations, especially when other people turned a blind eye to my destructive behaviors. I am not trying to be mushy, but I want to express the depth of my sincere appreciation for your presence in my life. I don't know what I did, I don't know the words that I said, I wouldn't know how to replicate those words, thoughts and deeds that prompted G-d to bless me with such a remarkable, phenomenal, genuine, understanding soul sister.

Know that you deserve the best. You are a beautiful soul that deserves respect, love, and devotion. Promise me that you will never accept less. Promise me that you will only accept those in your life who love you more than I and your family do. Promise me. You mustn't anything or anyone mar you in any way--especially the little girl in you that is always wondering if you are good enough, if you are worthy enough, if you deserve life's best things. In the words of the modern-day prophet Common (yeah, you didn't think I was going to use such a worthy prophet, did you?), "It don't take a whole day to recognize sunshine..." (excerpted from "The Light"). Remember that. Please. You are a bright beacon of light, an orb of warmth--if there are those who cannot recognize that, I am utterly sorry for them. But don't delay your train, don't slow your plane, don't ever, ever darken your star to allow someone else to shine. You only deserve only the best. I am praying that for you today and everyday. You are my friend and my soul sister. Be blessed this day and always. I love you, em (insert real nickname here, smile).

Welcome to the rest of you life--we're all cheering you on.

Joyfully, respectfully, and graciously,
6

I simply must share this and then I'll be done...I promise (I think)

the more things change...



So this has been the exchange on Mr. Terraza's blog since my last post. I think that it is very illuminating. It shows us how other people (I'll reserve my judgments) see the world. c-note has a number of anecdotes that prove that

1. blacks don't tip well

2. Southeast Asian Indians are "penny pinchers,"

3. students of color benefit from race-based scholarships at the expense of whites
(although medical schools, law schools, and graduate schools are teeming with white students and students of color are still underrepresented and, in light of the current political climate, soon the numbers of people of color pursuing advanced degrees will dwindle down to nearly nothing. besides, when will many white folks learn that just because you want something doesn't mean that you'll get it or deserve it. black folks learned that lesson long ago, back when we wanted our enslavers to "give us free." and, because i've done the research, gpa and test scores do not indicate the quality of a doctor, attorney, or phd--commitment does. lastly, don't act like we live in a fucking meritocracy. get pissed at the number of legacy admitants or those admitted on sports scholarships--including baseball, soccer, lacrosse, hockey, swimming, gymnastics, and tennis, not just basketball and football.)

4. Mexicans will be white men's slaves forever

5. If you have a good gpa, good test scores, and are aritculate, white people won't be able to see your color.

and Ginny informs us that

the more they stay the same...could you imagine how this lady would look if she wasn't getting paid?

1. her black nanny took better care of her than did her mother. (interesting.)

2. racism only exists if you believe that it does

3. that black people can be racist (despite being marginalized. last time i checked, the only white men that dangled from trees were Civil Rights protestors, the rest of the folks were just black. and the last man to be lynched [that was actually reported] and drug to his was James Byrd, a black man, in 1999). black folks, for the most part, can only discriminate; white folks oppress.)

4. in addition to #3, the black people she knows are far more "racist" than any white person she knows. (i wonder how long she's been looking for a job, how many people have called her a nigger in the last 22 years, how many times a white person has clutched their belongings when she walked by, how many times has a saleperson followed her around a store "folding" clothes, how many times she actually had to take notice of these things? i should recommend that she read peggy macintosh's piece "the invisible knapsack," but, alas, Ginny doesn't read--she uses ADD as a cop-out. Similar, i'm sure to the ways in which people of color use race to explain why most are impoverished, why young black males living in the riches country in the world die at the same rate as males in developing nations (see Noam Chomsky). i guess those young malnourished babies and toddlers are relying on their race privilege to feed them and not getting off their asses to get some food.)

if you don't believe what i've outlined above, read the comments below! i simply don't have the energy to go on. the more people say things change, the more i observe, first-hand, how they have remained the same. God bless us all, no exceptions (even the delusional folks).

I ended my earlier comments to Mr. Terraza with this:

I have just one more question:

How do you look?

3:29 PM

here's the exchange between c-note and ginny:

C-Note said...
Im brown...hafl flip, half white. But I look more mexie then anything else

3:58 PM

Ginny said...
hehe

4:07 PM

C-Note said...
Have you seen crash? Great movie, I think you all should check it out. Illustrates the point that we are all biased in someone against each other. WE are all racist in our own little ways. As a society we have made some huge strides towards being more tolerant of each other, and eliminating racism. The sad thing is that we all too often live up to the stereotypes that narrow us into our little boxes.

As a Server: I have a friend who is a server. During training he was told black people don’t tip. So he ignored it, went about his business, only to be bossed around time and time again by a bitchy black lady only to receive a =) and a big fat 0 in the tip line. He makes $2.35, so he now says I will not bust my ass and be your slave, you will not tip…sad but has been proven too many times.

As a Loan processor I have watched time and time again as Indian people, yes from India, not native American clients penny pinch their way through a loan. They will be so cheap that they watch ever single detail and often times cancel their deal after we already have a title policy, and appraisal done. And no, they do not cut a check for our lost money…have a bunch of LO’s who make their prices way too high to serve Indian clients.

as a student I have sat back and watched undeserving minority friends get into great school simply because they filled out the optional questionnaire. They admit it themselves that they got in because they are a statistic. While I have much deserving friend (3.9 gpa and good MCAT scores) sit by and have to bust their ass for med school spots because they are white males, the only groups of individuals that can LEGALLY BE DESCIMNATED AGAINST. Or watched them play the race card to turn in an assignment or paper late, retake a test or whatever.

So yeah it goes on and on. White people are mean, black people are sensitive. Just think, the blacks were the whites slaves four hundreds of year, and now the Mexicans will be forever. Joking, but seriously there will always be someone or some group that has it better or worse then you do. Be a good person. Work hard so that when people meet you they have no reason to think about your race, and only about your character and credentials.

4:10 PM

C-Note said...
yeah but no one ever ask what race i am or makes a not of it becuase I have a great resume, and people skills.

Im applying for grad school, and I have a decent shot at it, not because i say im flip, but becuase I have a good undergrad GPA, and lot of exerpince in my feild (two internships, a reaserch project with a department head, and a full time job).

Never been an issue, and I dont look white. So whatever. I like looking brown. I happen to like brown skin.

4:12 PM

C-Note said...
ginny your funny

4:12 PM

Ginny said...
I do want to see that movie. And you are right, there will always be some degree of racism.

My point is times have changed, and you can't sterotype by race anymore. I am from southern arkansas, from a town that is over 50% black people. My nanny was black, she raised me better than my mother ever did. I am not a racist person, and never will be. I judge everyone according to how they react to the world, their views on life and people, how you treat me, and your level of intelligence.

I can tell you one thing, I've met more racist black people than I have white people.

I just think it's silly to think the world is out to get you. Make a difference and be yourself. Don't lean upon your color to excuse things in your life. Don't say, "oh well poor me, people are racist". It's only as true as you wish it to be.

You are an intelligent person, and that's all that matters. Like I said, we are all people of color.

Funny in a good way, or bad?

4:34 PM

C-Note said...
In a good way. I like your comments a lot, on all the posts.

4:44 PM

Ginny said...
thanks :)

4:51 PM

Ginny said this about my comment on Mr. Terraza's blog...

Before you read this, I should warn you that one of Ginny's favorite movies is American History X. The italicized portions are the quotes from my comments that she so eloquently responds to...

"This is about white domination and privilege. The fact of the matter is that Black people and other People of Color are suffering from white oppression"

What a load of BULLSHIT. It's 2005, and no one is racist towards your ass anymore. Get over it. You can't change the past, and just because you're black don't mean you have the right to accuse white people of being racist for hundreds of thousands of years to come, based upon the past.

"reflects their unearned privilege and shows the reality of pain that have inflicted and continue to inflict upon people of color."

and Continue to inflict upon people of color? Not sure what planet you are from, but uhm, I can't go around sueing everyone just because I'm white.

sorry, i have to interject here. Missus Ginny is wrong. first of all, white women have brought a significant number of the racial discrimination cases before the supreme court. let us not forget, white women benefit from affirmative action, too. that's all.

Oh yea, and I thought correctly stating it would be WE ARE ALL PEOPLE OF COLOR.

You can visit her enlightened blogs by clicking here.

Meet Mr. Terraza...

i often click the button in the upper right hand corner that takes us to the never land of other people's blogs. sometimes i comment, other times i don't. sometimes the blog is in another language, i click next blog again. well, today, i came across this blog Saving Sanity. I'm sorry but I lost it. I've included my comments below. i encourage any all of the wonderful people who "know" me and read my blog to visit or express your opposition to my opinion. Without further ado...


At the end of his post, Mr. Terraza writes,

In short, Kwanzaa is an cheap American holiday passed off by a black dude to other black dudes as a tradition rich in African culture, when in fact, its entire history was written by an ex-con nobody. This is not a matter of race what-so-ever, so do not take it as such. This is just one man expressing how his distaste for a completely made up holiday. So hang up the moo moos and put the cornucopias back in the pantry. Kwanzaa is, and has always been completely bogus.

I left this comment:

So my first question is: what does it matter to you whether Kwanzaa is completely made up by Ron Karega or any other Black person? Does it stop your paycheck from coming? Does it prevent your family from loving you? Does it prevent you from participating in good sex? (Well, that's a few more than one question.)

When you think about it, Christmas is a completely made up story. It's just a story you choose to believe in. This is very much about race. It seems to me that white people are more afraid of being called racists than telling the truth. This is about white domination and privilege. If you don't like Kwanzaa and don't want to celebrate it, that's fine, don't. But please do not criticize it like you have another alternative to bring marginalized people together. The fact of the matter is that Black people and other People of Color are suffering from white oppression, similar to the racist "I'm not a racist" rhetoric that you've posted on you blog.

Oftentimes when I speak the truth like this, it offends white people. As one of my white friends tells me, white people cannot stand to be confronted with the mirror that reflects their unearned privilege and shows the reality of pain that have inflicted and continue to inflict upon people of color. I have just one more question:

How do you look?

damn mathematics...i'm tired

i am sitting in a cafe with slightly inflated coffee prices and i am tired. i am tired of preparing to study for a final exam on tuesday that i know i am going to fail. this is why i am convinced that math is of the devil. it is evil and those who choose to proliferate its use around the world are satan's pawns. i hate math! i hate statistics! i boycott the number line and all calculations, principles, and theorems. all i want to do is go home to my lovely bed and sleep. i could write an ode to my bed. it is so lovely and welcoming. i hate to make my bed because i don't feel that a made bed is inviting. the converse of that thought is that when i wake up most mornings and drag my still-tired self from the shower, my bed mocks me, laughs at me, taunts me with hoarded body heat. some mornings i surrender to temptation and slip my damp body between the covers, basking in the warmth still present in the disheveled mountain of covers and pillows shrouding my bed. other mornings i am forced to continue with my morning routine rueing my alarm clock and the demands of the day that take me from my sweet slumber. further, i find that the bed is much more inviting when there is someone to share it with. the obvious reasons are great, but i love to curl up to another warm body in the winter. the cocoon of warmth created is blissful on a cold morning. the weekends are made better when one can spend the morning snuggled in bed with their honey, sharing body heat, bedclothes, and their dreams. i don't like sharing the bed as much in the summer. i love the cool sheets as i rub freshly shaven legs across them, allowing the temperature of the sheets to cool my body. it is a pleasureable experience to slide nude between the sheets. as the humidity of the night air steals the coolness from the part of the bed on which i lie, i can move to another spot to cool my balmy skin. i also love lie in bed in the spring before my body has adjusted to the time change, and feel the cool morning air. for the better part of the last six years, I kept a fan running all-year-round. the fan ran so much, the motor burned up. but i still love the feeling of cool air blowing across my face as i burrow further underneath my covers. i love the bed. i love it.

but, alas, i still hate math.

am i a race traitor?

i hesitate to post this. i am afraid that many who read my blog will think that discussing race and racism are my only foci. i want to tell those reading my blog that i do live a very full and interesting life. i have a number of really good, supportive friends. emerson is one such friend. please visit her blog when you can. you can find it here. If you aren't forwarded there, go to http://thebigsigh.blogspot.com. she is one of my oldest friends and i truly appreciate her. we don't only talk about race or being black. our current conversations have revolved around jay-z's "encore" and the number seven (wink, emerson). but, i am moving futher from the question i posed as the title of the post.

as a result of the letter/email that i sent to my advisor, i met with her twice--once with just the two of us and a second time with the other class participant. i spoke with her, a white woman, about things that i've never shared with a white person. i shared with her a number of things that i heard growing up. when i was young, i had a number of "close" white friends. my mother would often comment to me and other family members that she wished that i had just one good black friend. my sister's best friend at the time was a young woman in our neighborhood named, andrea. andrea was black and came from a similar class and family structure as ours. since i was very young, my mother prepared my sister and i for successfully dealing, working, and interacting with the white world. she let us know that white people will stick together, they will always defend each other even if one is wrong. she prepared us for the world by also telling us that white people cannot be trusted, that they will befriend you and take your thoughts, ideas, and soul--if you let them. to a certain degree, when i was younger, i thought that this was a certain type of racist-speak. i half-heartedly listened to mother thinking that what she was telling me was similar to the racist speech that white people circulated about us. but, secretly, i longed for a black friend. i wanted my mother to be happy with my friends and invite them into our home. i thought that, to a certain degree, i was less than my sister in my mother's eyes because i didn't have black friends.

as i got older, i experienced everything that my mother said about white people. i saw, first-hand, how one of my friend's abandoned me because she thought that i received an academic accolade due to affrimative action and not my ability and merit. as a result, another friend continued to be her friend while she chose to allow our friendship to slowly disintegrate and become unrecognizable. over the course of a few months, i experienced how white people expect privilege and blame black folks when they don't get their way or when their privilege doesn't get them what they have come to expect as a result of that unearned privilege. i shed tears over losing my friend because i was black. despite our years of interaction and exchanging "bff" (best friend forever) necklaces, it was simple for them to walk away from me. but, they had each other. slowly i understood that my mother spoke from a desire to protect her baby when she spoke to me about race and white people. she didn't think less of me, she ached for the moment she knew would come, the moment she would have to put me back together as i cried in her arms--this almost-woman. i cried myself to sleep wondering why things hadn't changed. my mother had grown up during "jim crow." much of her first-hand experiences with white people were from afar, second-hand, and eventually, as an adult. those things that she had observed as a child were still true. how did i reconcile that as a fifteen year old? how do i reconcile that now? even as i sit here, over a decade away from that incident, i wipe my tears hoping they don't flood the keyboard of my laptop. another thing that has stayed with me since then,

white people will knowingly cause pain without apology.

so i shared these thoughts with my advisor. i put myself back in that vulnerable position. in addition, i told her that when i speak with other black people about experiences with racism, i don't have to tell other black folks how i feel. they know from experience, they intuit my pain, they empathize with the psychic damage racism does to me because their psyches have been and will be damaged in much the same way. when black people choose to speak about issues of race, they are coming from a vulnerable position because in that moment of speaking about how pervasive and damaging racism is, it is the first time they have had to put the experiences into words. so, in many ways, just speaking about race and racism is about proving to white folks how hurt we are by their thoughts, feelings, words, actions, and policy decisions. we have to search for the words to help white folks understand the damaged place from which we speak. and, often, it is more damaging to try to put it into words because we relive those moments in time. unfortunately, there are too many of those incidents to count. james baldwin wrote that there are virtually no words to describe the atrocities that black people have encountered living in this white world. other black people understand this and we talk with each other in feelings without words. white people expect words. and, with my advisor, i explained that. i feel like i am a race traitor.

in much of my post, i referred to my mother. i feel as though i have implicated her as a racist as she has had the most impact on my racial development. i cannot talk about my development without explaining her influence. but i am telling my story and i don't want people to harshly judge her. she is a phenomenal woman. i guess i know that much of what i say will be hard for white people to understand. and, rather than focusing on my experience, they will look to blame someone. the easy out is to do what i've seen many white people do to black children, telling each other that it comes from the home. also, i've outted part of the black experience to white people. i wonder at the dangerous ways whites may use this information against people of color--against me. while i am unsettled by sharing this information with other white people about the ways in which i see the world, i cannot remain quiet. we all have responsibilities and we must claim our culpability in this stagnant, foul-smelling dysfunctional country. racism isn't mine--i didn't create and i don't sustain it through my actions. i cannot remain quiet. in order to change the way things are we have to name the hurt in order to get past it.

but, in my mind, i'm afraid i've hurt black people--especially those closest and most important to me.

listening to the pain...

do these words decribe how pain feels, the desperation? it exists somewhere between the words and the screen, between the words and the listener's ears, between the word and paper, between the speaker's brain, heart, and mouth. ignore the words and listen to the pain...

Heard 'Em Say (Kanye West)

And I heard 'em say,
"Nothing's ever promised tomorrow today."
From the Chi, like Tim its a Harda-way,
So this is in the name of love, like Robert say,
Before y'all ask me to go get a job today,
Can I at least get a raise on the minimum wage?
And I know the government administered AIDS,
So I guess we just pray like the minister say,
Allahu Akbar and throw em some hot cars,
Things we see on the screen is not ours,
But these niggas from the hood so these dreams not far,
Where I'm from, the dope boys is the rock stars,
But they can't cop cars without seein' cop cars,
I guess they want us all behind bars.
I know it.

And I heard 'em say, nothing's ever promised tommorow today.
And I heard 'em say, nothing's ever promised tommorow today.
Nothing's ever promised tommorow today.
But we'll find a way
And nothing lasts forever but be honest babe,
It hurts but it may be the only way.

They say people in your life are seasons,
And anything that happen is for a reason,
And niggas gun clappin and keep to squeezin',
And Gran keep prayin' and keep believin',
In Jesus and one day that she'll see him,
Till then walk in his footsteps and try to be him,
The devil is alive I feel him breathin',
Claimin' money is the key so keep on dreamin',
And put those lottery tickets just to tease us,
My aunt Pam can't put them cigarettes down,
So now my lil' cousin smokin them cigarettes now,
His job try to claim that he too niggerish now,
Is it 'cause his skin blacker than licorice now?
I can't figure it out...
I'm sticking it out....

Uh, And I heard 'em say, nothing's ever promised tommorow today.
And I heard 'em say, nothing's ever promised tommorow today.
Nothing's ever promised tommorow today.
But we'll find a way
And nothing lasts forever but be honest babe,
It hurts but it may be the only way.

With every worthless word we get more far away,
And nothing's ever promised tommorow today,
And nothing lasts forever but be honest babe,
It hurts but it may be the only way.

a letter...

This is the email I sent my advisor:

Hi (advisor),

I realize that I am behind the deadlines. But I am operating from a very unfamiliar place. Before I help you understand my position, let me say that I understand that deadlines are a part of academia and, in no way, am I trying to rock the boat or disrupt the system. I do not mean to offer excuses, but what I hope to be a sincere disclosure of where and who I am.

On Wednesday, the conversation that we had at the end of class was very disheartening. The discussion of the Smith article became personal for a variety of reasons. In trying to explain my reaction to the article, I felt as though I was being silenced. Now, I very well know that this was probably not intentional, however, it seemed as though the last twenty minutes or so were spent trying to convince me that Smith was not obviously centering whiteness and demeaning people of color/non-mainstream culture. Usually, these discussions don’t become personal. I will simply disengage from these conversations before I will allow the to effect me personally. I have learned to adopt this stance especially when speaking to white people about issues of culture and color. I realize that I have unique ways of understanding the world that are often antithetical to the domination/subordination schema that orders our lives. On Wednesday, I was trying to convey that the Smith article denied the humanity of the participants as well as my own humanity by reifying and circulating a number of old, pervasive racial tropes and stereotypes. The comments that I offered on Wednesday were from a place that I don’t speak from often—rarely in class and never with whites. Because I viewed you and [other class participant] as allies, I was trying to convey that the Smith article was painful on a number of levels. I was trying to speak with you both from a place that I have never gone to before with whites as an adult—deeply personal and ultimately, the raw version of how I view the world. I did not expect, however, to be told that my reading of the article was wrong. To be fair, I know that those words were not used in our conversation; however, this was my perception. I discerned that I, as a person of color, was being forced to prove the ways in which the article was psychically and racial damaging similar to the burden of proof that current social milieu demands. I was required to prove racially-motivated psychic detriment and, given the immediate backlash, I would fail. Then, as we were hurriedly escaping the room, you told us to overlook the content of the article and focus on how Smith used the vignettes and how they functioned in the piece.

Let me explain, my choice to undertake this work is intrinsic. My decision to come to Wash U. is deeply rooted in my sense of self, community, and an extreme desire to impact the ways in which the world operates, unfairly castigating and often denying the humanity of marginalized people. I am committed to that goal. I would sacrifice my life or whatever necessary to better the world in which we live. When I was told to overlook the content of the article, I almost immediately disengaged from the conversation and the place of vulnerability from which I spoke. I was reminded of all the times that I had tried to trust white individuals and they failed to be the people they said that they were. To overlook the content of the article would mean that I overlook my own humanity and the humanity of the girls I felt (and still feel after re-reading the article several times since class) Smith disenfranchised. I liken it to a teacher reading the book Ten Little Nigger Boys in an urban classroom and telling her students to overlook the use of inflammatory language and the caricatures of blacks and, instead, focus on number recognition. I use this as an extreme example to express what I assessed as a blatant disregard of my experience rendering it and me invisible. After the paper that we collaborated on, I consider you an ally. What I experienced in class on Wednesday, whether intentional or not, prompted me to call upon white racial tropes that have been culturally iterated and reiterated by life’s experience—never trust white people, they will always turn on black people, they always stick together, and, fundamentally, they don’t care about the thoughts, feelings, and realities of black folks. This is why I am in a unique place. I am well aware that the deadline has passed, but I am not at a place where I can turn in my assignments. I find myself disengaging. Because the graduate process has been difficult for me and my sense of self is stabilizing, I cannot, do not, and will not allow myself to get as low as I once was. My voice of self-protection would just as soon allow me to completely disengage rather than hurt myself physically or mentally again. The place of vulnerability from which I spoke on Wednesday is all I have and I cannot overlook that—it would be to my detriment and certain demise to disregard or ignore it for the sake of an assignment or deadline. And, trying to reconcile last Wednesday’s class with how deeply personal this work is for me and my personhood has produced a sense of inertia. I keep thinking what I would do if this were my dissertation or a book publisher, but it seems disingenuous to compare this situation to an improbable, hypothetical dilemma.

I recognize that I could have just put something together and never share this with you. Unfortunately, grades don’t mean much to me in light of my experience here. I would (and will) take any grade you gave me and repeat the courses if necessary. However, if I didn’t share this with you, I would disengage from this process, ever distrustful of you and your intentions. And that is irreconcilable with my beliefs and the values by which I have chosen to live my life. That is not a relationship that I want to cultivate and pursue with anyone, let alone my advisor. I, rather, choose to respond to you as an ally. Regardless of your response, sharing this with you will, indeed, allow for my own personal and academic forward movement.

Respectfully and honestly,
(nonwhite&woman)

overlooking content (for Tookie)

in a meeting last week with my advisor and another student, both of which are white women that interrogate issues of white privilege, i was decidedly offended by an article we were asked to read. the article, ""We Feel Like We're Separating Us": Sixth Grade Girls Respond to Multicultural Literature" by Sally A. Smith, contained a number of problems--hot spots if you will--for me as a black woman. this article sought to understand and describe the complex identities young adolescent girls take on in a book club while reading texts written by a black author. the group of girls smith interacted with and oberserved was racially diverse--two "african american" girls (i prefer black, but that's a post for another day), one latina girl, "one had a European father and a latina mother," and two "European American" girls (i prefer white,***please see african american).

there were a number problems that i had with the article. first, smith relies very heavily on black identity models. i don't think that blacks can develop an identity. being able to fully develop an identity and choose who one wants to be is a privilege granted to whites and, too often, denied blacks. blacks are forced to develop bounded identities. this became obvious to me as smith referred to one of the young black women as "articulate." the assumption, as i see it, is that being articulate goes against the norm; in other words, most blacks are unintelligible. smith further highlights the double quandry of black identity, when she assigns negative connotations to the other black girl's behaviors. smith writes, "The sixth participant, Tara, is African American. She held strong opinions...though often off-task in book club, when her attention was focused, she was a vibrant and thoughtful member" (p. 366). smith doesn't share with the reader what Tara's off-task behaviors were, however, the reader--assumedly white--simply knows that black people often get off task (read: lazy), but when they focus they can achieve a great deal. how much of this rhetoric has been circulated about black students since 1954? too much. while i have a great deal more to say about the article, it is not the reason for my post.

i brought up in our discussion one of the passages in the article that didn't sit well with me. in this interaction, smith is interacting with her study participants as the "Facilitator." She sets up the dialogue by saying that the book club group, herself included, were discussing black people passing as white as describe by a couple of anecdotes from the two black girls in club. smith writes,

Tara: And another thing, it's really screwed up, but my grandfather, he's really light complected, and he
was riding the bus, and the bus driver said, 'Mr. you can sit in the front, because White people aren't
supposed to sit in the back.' And he said, 'That's okay I'm Black."

Nereida: [the latina girl] You'd think he's sit up front!

Facilitator: That must have been hard for him to say... (pp. 369).

so i took offense to this interaction. i shared with the women in this discussion that this interaction proves to me that many people think that black people want to be white. most of the black people i know have no desire to be white. in the fire next time, james baldwin writes, "white Americans find it as difficult as white people elsewhere do to divest themselves of the notion that they are in possession of some intrinsic value that black people need, or want" (pp. 94). I tried to share this with them. instead of acknowledging the pain--yes pain--that i felt around this passage of the article, we, instead, spent the next twenty or so minutes discussing how they didn't believe that the author meant it that way. I kept at it. I wanted them to understand that this passage is speaks to the assumption that blacks want to be white and that was painful for me. it was like a slap in the face. i've wanted to be a lot of things in my life, but i have never, never wanted to be white. to go back to baldwin, he eloquently describes my sentiments. he writes, "But the Negro's experience of the white world cannot possibly create in him any respect for the standards by which the white world claims to live" (pp. 22). but i don't think that white people understand this, i mean really get it.

i think that many white believe that blacks want to be white. many whites believe that's why black people seemingly take such atrocious behaviors aimed at taking, distorting, and, eventually, snuffing out their humanity. after years of suffering, only the strongest will prevail, and at that time, those left standing, that handful, will be granted whiteness, or at least a fraction of the power that is associated with being white. in realizing that the majority of black people do not want to be white, white people would begin to realize that they are terrorizing and killing people that would never want to enact the same kind of hurt, degredation, and dehumanizing upon them--in this instance, Newton's principle would ring false--for every action there is NOT an equal and opposite reaction.

but power is an addicting drug. their fear is, i'm sure, that once in power black will be persuaded to oppress and marginalize in ways similar to the ways in which they have been oppressed and marginalized. the prevailing thought, though, is to never give blacks the opportunity to actually assume the moral high-ground. if they are deprived of food, of rights, of their humanity, then they will always have to take the moral low-ground--stealing, conniving, killing. it isn't worse than what white people have done and continue to do. but when one makes the rules and has the power to name, he can name what other people do and overlook his own actions.

this is what i tried to convey in my objection to this passage and, further, smith's article. pressed for time, my professor told us to overlook the content of the article and pay attention to the author's use of data, where the data was place, and how it functioned in the article. look at the book that i included at the top of this post. "ten little niggers." hopefully, a teacher wouldn't walk into her classroom and ask her students to overlook the content of the book to focus on the ways in which the author uses numbers and counting. for black students in the class, it is damaging. and, though i am an adult, i was damaged in my class last wednesday. i cannot overlook the content when i feel that it ultimately discounts my humanity.

i'm still looking for a way to share this with my advisor and classmate.

a delicate flower, petals in the wind

i remember my mother and father would listen to richard pryor before my father had his stroke. often company would come over and my sister and i would entertain. my mother would send us to our bedroom. it didn't matter if we fell asleep or not, i learned that the sound of pryor's voice meant is was "adult time." as i got older, i didn't care for richard pryor. in fact, i resented him. there was something that he did on his albums that forced my mother to send me from the room. after my father's stroke, my mother would put on an album to cheer my dad up. it didn't really work. but, i would hear my mother laugh from time to time. that helped me like mr. pryor. . . just a little bit though.

as my sister and i grew older, we were latchkey children. when my sister hit middle school, she would come home and sneak and put a richard pryor record on. when i came home, i promised her i would tell on her. she promptly beat me up. i gave in and listened. i didn't get much. but the laughter of the audiences he performed in front of cued my laughter. and when i laughed with them, i felt sophisticated and clued in to the hellified joke. but, honestly, 95% of pryor's message flew right over my nine-year old "worldly" experiences.

around this time, eddie murphy was on saturday night live. now, that was comedy i understood. i loved murphy's buckwheat to mary gross's alphalfa. i loved james brown rubba-dubbin in the hot tub. i laughed until i cried when eddie murphy admonished, in his best rasta voice, to "kill de white people...but not before dey buy [his] song." once murphy left snl and performed "raw," i must admit i was rather upset with him. many critics hailed eddie as the next richard pryor. murphy, himself, credited his comedic inspiration to richard pryor and redd foxx. i saw "raw" at the tender age of ten with my mother. she didn't think it was going to be nearly as raw as it was. after that, she would play the pryor albums with both my sister and myself in the room. i was usually too focused on the storyline of a book to pay much attention to what pryor was saying. i did, however, get a big kick out of the bit he did on freebasing and catching his curl on fire. that was comedy.


it wasn't until i went away to college that i appreciated richard pryor. i was in a production of "black anthology." one of the cast members had a hardy respect for pryor and performed "bicentennial nigger" in the show. that was my freshman year. spring break, i went home and pulled out all of pryor's albums from my parents' collection. with the technological advances, i was annoyed by having to listen to the the records in the living room. at the time, the record player was a huge unit that didn't move like most of the tape players in the house. i sat and listened, really listened to what pryor was saying.

as much as he was funny, richard pryor was a social critic. he described much of the anguish, disenfranchisement, and anger black people were feeling across the country. he told it how it was. he didn't sugar coat it, but he did allow us to laugh at the race epidemic and every person's individual place in that pandemic. i have developed an appreciation of richard pryor over the years. i have watched and thoroughly enjoyed a number of his films, most of the newer ones. pryor had a wonderful career that enabled a number of years of hard living. those fast times took a toll on his health. however, this is not a critique of how pryor chose to live his life, rather, this is a tribute to the man that richard pryor was.

just days past his sixty-fifth birthday, pryor died december 10, 2005. although pryor's deteriorating health removed him from the spotlight some years ago, his influence on comedians past and present is obvious, far-reaching, ever-sustaining, and truly missed. my thoughts and prayers go out to his family and fans, and to those of us who don't presently see a comedian that can describe the atrocity of living in these racist times with a spoonful of sugar like richard pryor did. thank you, richard pryor. to quote saint peter, "job well done."

The ABCs of Me (as borrowed from dreamgirl

A - Age you got your first kiss:
I was seven. His name was tony fisher. I was in second grade, he was in the fifth. I was 99 to his maxwell smart. I thought he was an extremely sloppy kisser because he kept trying to put his tongue in my mouth. When he told me that is was called "french kissing," i thought that i was exotic. Yet, every time we kissed I would run home and chew a red pill from the dentist that indicated tartar buildup. I thought that I could hide my mature behaviors.

B - Band listening to right now:
So much. Beyonce with Soulja Slim--Check On It; D4L--Laffy Taffy; Jermaine Dupri, Dem Franchise Boyz, Da Brat, & Bow Wow--I Think They Like Me; Bow Wow--Fresh AZIMIZ; and st. louis represent: Nelly & Paul Wall, J.D. and a bunch of other no names--Grillz

C - Crush:
Great question...I honestly don't have one right now. I would like to see the train conductor and my mc

D- Drink of Choice:
Right now, during finals, Mountain Dew

E - Easiest person:
I'm not sure what this really means. Easiest person to get along with: pab. Easiest person in my department to get along with: kds. Easiest person to lay: heterosexual man, (fill in the blank)

F - Favorite band at the moment:
See "B." Favorite of all time? Tupac, of course.

G - Gummy worms or gummy bears?
worms...hands down.

H – Holiday:
the day after sex (I have it so rarely, those days have actually become nationally recognized holidays)

I - Instruments:
Piano and jazz saxophone

J - Juice:
Carrot

K - Kids:
My suga-booga: Leah. I love, love, love her. I don't get to sit her as much as I would like, but I love her to death.

L - Longest car ride ever:
My aunt can't drive...we were on our way to kansas city from arkansas. for some reason, we ended up in texas where a highway deadended. we were in the car for roughly sixteen hours.

M - Major:
Education, American Culture Studies, and pulling my hair out (it's finals time)

N - Nicknames:
i don't really have any...ain't that strange. i create them for everyone else.

O - One wish:
to graduate with my PhD while my mother looks on with pride

P - Phobia[s]:
don't really have any--except becoming involved with a man on the DL

Q - Quote:
...come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed. (Lucille Clifton; "Eve Thinking"

R - Reason to smile:
pab, not having to put up with gad, rr, being able to forgive, my mother-always

S - Song you sang last:
Fresh AZIMIZ

T - Time you woke up [today]:
9:34 AM, CDT

U - Unknown fact about me:
I am slowly starting to question love and Christianity. I believe in God, but I am not sure about the practice of Christianity. More wars have been fought in the name of Jesus. Also, the more and more I think about it Christianity is a white man's religion (Howard, 1999; Baldwin, 1961)

V - Vegetable you hate:
Hominy

W - Worst habit(s):
Procrastination

X-rays you've had:
My foot, my neck, my chest cavity, my brain, my ankle

Y - Yummy food:
I love it all!

Z - Zodiac sign:
Aquarius--"The great strength of the Aquarius-born is in their visionary nature. They are the people who take the world to the next level; they make people look at things in a different way than before. Their ability to break the rules and move beyond what others think is possible makes them one of the most innovative characters of the Zodiac."

The N-word

So I am trying to reconcile my use of the word nigger. Being a black woman and having been referred to as a "nigger," I feel as though it is a word that I am able to use. I use it because it takes some of the sting out of it. I am not offended if another black person--not person of color--but another black person uses it. Why? I guess because we share the history and the legacy of racism and oppression. When it conmes to the oppression that whites encounter and the oppression that blacks encounter, I can say in the words of the Negro spiritual and the most Bebe Moore Campbell's most recent iteration, "your blues ain't like mine." i in no way mean to assert that my oppression is worse or better than another person's oppression. Oppression is oppression--if you fight for the equality of one, you must fight for the liberation and equality of all. If just one person or one group of people is being oppressed, then all are oppressed. But this does not get at my choice to use the word nigger.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. These pictures are worth lives, emotions, tears, anguish, oppression, marginalization, and death. These photographs serve as part of the legacy of not only black people in the United States, but white people. In these photos, white people seem to have enjoyed watching the life being drained out of the intended lynchee. Black people have lived with not only oppression, but fear. Fear of life and death, fear for the world that we will leave out children, fear that things won't get any better than what they are. So, the use of "nigger" encompasses all of that and the joy of reclamation. Things progress and move on. Ideas and themes are picked up and made over. The history of the use of this word is contentious. However, I have made the choice to distinguish between nigger and nigga. Nigga is the new iteration of nigger. It is the reclamation of the word nigger. For me, I believe that it stands to claim my birthright--taking the symbols and signification of what it means to be black and using that to empower me. But I don't understand why it is such a big deal as to who uses the word.

When it comes to the use of nigger or nigga, white people shouldn't use it--at all ever. Why? I counter with my own question: why would a white person want to use nigger or nigga? Look at these pictures, really look at them. Are white people at a place where they can separate themselves from the cultural legacy surrounding their use of this word? What is good for the goose is not always good for the gander. Are whites speaking from a place of privilege in even wanting to use the word?

I still have some thinking to do around the use of the "n-word." However, based upon the culture of oppression and white privilege, I will never, ever sanction white people's use of this word

Where I have left to go...

I've visited the states in red. I still have to visit those gray states...

create your own visited states map

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

The Miami cold chill, very little heat

I went to Miami this week for a conference. When I first arrived in Miami I was overwhelmed at the number of brown skinned people walking around. Spanish was in the air floating about me, over me. Reflecting, I think that people often talk about how wonderful and at home they would feel in a nondiverse setting. When one finds herself in that situation, it takes some getting used to. In many ways, I felt as though I was an outsider. Much of the print and conversations in Miami are in Spanish and I am not at all proficient in the language. Rather quickly though, I was excited by the prospect of being with other brown peoples. It didn't matter that I didn't speak Spanish. The combination and existence of so many different cultures, ethnicities, races, interactions, and possibilities excited me. I enjoyed basking in the cultural richness and diversity. These first steps off the plane and into Miami helped me to see that we can "all just get along." Peaceful co-existence and respect are real. Then, I went to the hotel.

Now, I expect that what I will say here will be contentious, but it must be said. I got the feeling that many of the Latino men and women that I encountered were prejudiced against me, a black woman. I would walk into a store and many of the Latina proprietresses would overlook me, speak to Spanish speaking customers that walked in directly behind me, or, oftentimes, would give me looks of disgust and disdain before ignoring me completely. I'm not sure to attribute these behaviors to my own cultural ignorance of customs and ways of being, possible oversensitivity on my part, the fact that I wasn't white, or to the fact that I am black. I was pained and, at one point, cried at what I perceived as racial castigation from another minority group. I know that racism exists between oppressed groups as well as within racial groups. I, however, had never experienced it so blatantly.



Maybe, I was green. I know that I offered a few more toothy smiles to brown skin people than I do regularly. But, I think that I was trying to show authentic acceptance hoping to receive the same. Unfortunately, though, I felt as though Latina women in Miami, as well as some Latino men, considered me to be just another nigger-and treated me similar to the ways in which most white people typically treat black me. There seemed to be more smiles for whites and other Latinos than for me. Too often, I felt as though I was receiving looks of disdain that explicitly communicated "I am not like you. Nor do I wish to be like you. I am better than you because I am not you - I am not black. I am closer to white than you will ever be. Soon, I will be able to refer to you as nigger like other fair-skinned immigrants have done over the course of history."

Let me also say that there were a number of truly kind and generous people in Miami. They were welcoming and talkative and genuinely expressed warmth and respect. But, these people were so few and far between. I don't raise these comments, thoughts, and feelings as the gospel according to me. They are, however, my thoughts and feelings, and regardless to the politically correct social conventions we have in place, I must be able to express them. I think political correctness prevents us from talking about racial, gender, and class issues that would result in coalition building and alliance formations that would topple white privilege and dominance as it exists in the contemporary social millieu. My visit to Miami was professionally successful, but socially disheartening.