The FDA is responsible for protecting the public health by assuring the safety, efficacy, and security of human and veterinary drugs, biological products, medical devices, our nation’s food supply, cosmetics, and products that emit radiation. The FDA is also responsible for advancing the public health by helping to speed innovations that make medicines and foods more effective, safer, and more affordable; and helping the public get the accurate, science-based information they need to use medicines and foods to improve their health. -Food and Drug Administration
With the latest food recall still underway, one could make the argument that members of the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) don’t actually eat food, at least not the the same things they are allowing to make it to our plates. Or perhaps the FDA only employs individuals with private gardens and free roaming chickens in their own spacial backyards. If so, the rampant oversight and lack of quality assurance makes more sense. Not saying it is right, but it would be easier to digest it all. Pun intended. Instead, there are few guidelines and regulations, and as a result even fewer plans in place to deal with public panic and illness once bad apples actually make their way into the bunch. Occasionally, regulatory laws are put forth, but companies often find the time and cost to implement them too high and the penalty too low, making it more economical to do the wrong thing. British Petroleum (BP), anyone?
I don’t trust big business. I don’t trust any type of organization that would make profit a priority over people. I don’t trust Wal-mart. But…is a bad job better than no job? This is the question I posed to a group of students today when discussing whether Wal-Mart should be allowed to enter into the city of Chicago.
Every issue I learn about reminds me how important it is to see the world with a nuanced lens. While initially I would argue HELL NO, Wal-Mart only destroys communities and hinders small businesses; I now understand that it is more complicated than just another big business out to make a bottom line profit.
Nneka is kind of like the perfect cross between Lauryn Hill and M.I.A.; she sings and raps with ease, and writes wonderfully empowering songs, while also speaking for a people largely ignored and invisible in mainstream Western culture (you know: that massive, ridiculously diverse group of people we Westerners refer to as, simply, “Africans”) . As her brilliant album cover suggests, Nneka fashions herself as the voice of the African Diasporic experience, recalling everyone from Ms. Hill and Erykah Badu to Bob Marley and Fela Kuti. Born and raised in Warri, Nigeria before leaving at the age of 18 to live with her German mother in Hamburg, it could be said that her very existence embodies a clashing of African and Western cultures, and so she’ll surely fascinate Afrocentrics and NPR listeners in the coming months. But I can guarantee you that no amount of intellectual masturbation and hype can outshine Nneka’s brilliant, and downright moving American debut album, Concrete Jungle. Basically a collection of songs taken from Nneka’s two previous albums (both unavailable in the US), the album is an eclectic and freewheeling, yet somehow 100% cohesive mixture of hip hop, soul, rock, pop, reggae, afrobeat, funk, and trip hop.
Concrete Jungle stuns, inspires and enthralls from beginning to end, and confirms without question that Nneka has the potential to be among the most vital and fascinating voices of pop music in the years to come. Believe the hype.
So, I watched President Barack Obama give his second State of the Union Address and felt totally dejected like a pimply teenage girl who’s searching find her identity. Yep, to say the least the speech did feel quite underwhelming and non-surprising . . . “we’re going to [fill in the blank with your best conception of democracy]” knowing that the actual end result will not liberate the many inequalities communities of color endure. Therefore, I turned my attention to the First Lady, Michelle Obama, who was dressed in a very conservative plum dress that seemed more reminiscent of a Stepford wife than a woman who was Vice President of Community and External Affairs at the University of Chicago.
But, let it be known, Michelle Obama could have had on paper sack and I would still be a Michelle Obama’s groupie because she’s from the south side of Chicago and because in some ways she reminds me of the many black women school teachers who have enriched my life by saying among many things, “Baby, you got legs. Walk,” which is why I hate for white women to call her Mrs. O.
Aloha . . . Mahalo . . . Hula . . . Hana Hou . . . are a few Hawaiian words I’ve learned this week while visiting Hawaii. You know, I think Hawaii is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen with its luscious green mountains and its sparkling blue beaches. There is something special about this place that makes me want to be less troll-like to people who attempt to break my camel’s back or who attempt to pull my last nerve. Indeed, Hawaii is a special place. Perhaps, it has something to do with the bounty of green vegetation that encircles the island. And given that I grew up in an inner city, went to school in an inner city, and probably will die in an inner city, seeing the abundance of fauna and flora is simultaneously breathtaking and a little disturbing as well.
Breathtaking for all the reasons listed above. But disturbing because I seem to be allergic to Mother Nature and of course I have capitalism, pollution, and chemically enriched foods to thank for all of this. Furthermore, seeing all the vegetation and the beauty of Hawaii is equally unsettling because it reminds me of how privileged I am and how many in my immediate biological family will never be able to visit the land of Hawaii because they do not have the funds and/or time to do so.
Yep, you’ve guessed it this blog is not about Hawaii per se, but more about my inner turmoil with dealing with my increasing class privilege. I know the phrase “inner turmoil” seems a tad bit dramatic, but it’s the best phrase I can conjure up to use while struggling with jet lag. Also, Hawaii is a metaphor for talking about privilege. Well, even though my going to Hawaii was based on my services of being a part-time grad school nanny. It still feels like a privileged state because I did not have to pay for anything. Furthermore, the child was extremely well-behaved and I had an abundance of time to explore Hawaii. So, to say the least I felt inner turmoil about being in Hawaii when so many in my family struggles to keep their heads above water.
Recently, my mother told me she and my two younger siblings will have to move yet again because of a faulty housing agreement. This will make the fifth time they have moved in the last five years. Of course, my mother told me not to worry about her because she’s a hustler, but I can’t stop worrying about her and the need for my younger brother and sister to have a stable place to lay their heads. In addition to this, my older sister is continuously in and out of the hospital because her insurance–which she got only a year ago after working at the job for two years–does not provide her with the best doctors to ensure correct diagnoses. And these examples of hardships are just the tip of the iceberg.
In response to me telling people I have “inner turmoil” about my class privilege, they say, “Well, you’ve made the right decisions in life. You’ve worked hard in school and so you deserve to have.” There is something unsavory about their response because they assume I’ve made the right decisions at every moment of my life and that if you make one bad decision than you are forever doomed to be poor living pay check to pay check.
They said it would make my life better. They said I would find my “purpose.” It was my 8th grade school year. My pastor said I should read this book that would change my life. The name of the book was A Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren. It’s always interesting to reflect back to my pre-teen life and think about the different things I was involved in. Some of my childhood experiences were amazing and shaped who I am today, other experiences—like buying Rick Warren’s book—are just embarrassing. I was reading a book by one of the most divisive and homophobic/anti-gaymen in America, at 13.
The author of the very same book, seven years later is now in the limelight being accused of supporting the Uganda Anti-Homosexual Legislation Bill. Proposed on the 13th of October 2009 by Member of ParliamentDavid Bahati, the Bill would criminalize key aspects of comprehensive HIV/AIDS prevention education and imprison health-care workers who refuse to report sexually active gay patients to the police. If enacted, it would also broaden the criminalization of homosexuality in Uganda, including introducing the death penalty for HIV positive people who have previous convictions, instituting extradition for those engaging in same-sex sexual relations outside Uganda, and penalizing individuals, companies, or media organizations who support LGBT rights.
I read the New York Times article titled “Food Stamps Usage Soars, Stigma Fades.” The article is about the lessening of stigma regarding the use of food stamps. What comes to mind when you think of the U.S. welfare system, specifically food stamps or the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP)?
For me, I remember seeing black single mothers with multiple children (read: more than 3) in the grocery store handing multi-colored slips of paper across the counter to the cashier. Others, like President Ronald Reagan, associate with this program certain women, like Linda Taylor, Barbara Williams, Arlens Otis, and Dorothy Woods. As defrauders of government sponsored welfare programs, these women’s public “transgressions” aided Ronald Reagan to stir the public imagination and create the “welfare queen. ” In his most famous of quotes regarding the welfare queen, He said:
“She has 80 names, 30 addresses, 12 Social Security cards and is collecting veteran’s benefits on four non-existing deceased husband. She’s got Medicaid, getting food-stamps, and she is collecting welfare under each of her names.”
In honor of World AIDS Day 2009, I want to open up a conversation/discussion about sex.
Sex makes me nervous! I get nervous both before and after sex. I am nervous because in my head I picture this spinning chart of numbers and statistics that makes me realize that sex is the ultimate Russian roulette. You pull the trigger you get a risk-free nut; you pull the trigger again and you get a parting gift.
After having sex, I hate the immediate realization that I am at risk for a slew of different diseases: Herpes, Gonorrhea, Chlamydia, HPV and HIV are just a few of the “gifts that keep on giving,” especially for us black folk. After that thought come the charts and statistics:
The homosexuality controversy in black faith communities has reached a feverish pitch, especially with Tonéx’s and Donnie McClurkin’s recent admissions. Probably most renowned for the rumors regarding their sexuality, these two black gospel singers have become the centerpiece to the debate of the role homosexuals should play in black faith communities. Unfortunately both men’s livelihood as pastors of their respective church has led them to depend financially on a community that by and large forces/prefers silence on same-sex desires and human rights. Yet, both these men have carved a space in gospel music to openly acknowledge their desires. Tonéx by stating that his preference is for the same sex; Donnie by (abstaining and) persecuting other homosexuals as not being willing to be delivered from “the perversion of homosexuality.”
When I was a child, I lived with my grandmother for 6 years of my life. I had to deal with the old traditionalist methods of coming inside when the streets lights came on or only listening to gospel music on Sundays. Yesterday my grandmother turned 78, and she is still as lively as ever, living in Tupelo, Mississippi.
What would you do if you had living, breathing history right in front of you? If someone could tell you first hand what the great depression was like from an eight-year-olds perspective. Or if you could hear about old people fighting for equality when they were teenagers, when risk was higher and safety was not just a “ride home” away. What if someone could give you anecdotes about a time before I-pods and XM radio, an instant before HD flat screen television and movies being watched on blue-ray disc? What if you could hear about race riots, corruption, and struggle?
What If you could listen to history from the voices of the oppressed, instead of the perpetrators who are usually in power? What if? Would you listen? Would you pause your busy life and take the time to hear these stories. Is it more important than your Friday night movie, your Saturday night club, your weekly outing?
If you could, would you?
Well, you can. You can experience a primary source of history through our grandparents and great grandparents, through volunteering at nursing homes, and talking to the church elders. There are so many people around us everyday of our lives that are eager to talk about the past and their perspective on how society has arrived to where we are today.
Just as youth struggle to be heard, I believe that our senior citizens have an equal struggle also. If they are not being condescended, than they are only being listened to out of respect for their age. I think we miss great opportunities to better ourselves by not using these stories to learn from the past.
Yep, to say the least the speech did feel quite underwhelming and non-surprising . . . “we’re going to [fill in the blank with your best conception of democracy]” knowing that the actual end result will not liberate the many inequalities communities of color endure. Therefore, I turned my attention to the First Lady, Michelle Obama, who was dressed in a very conservative plum dress that seemed more reminiscent of a Stepford wife than a woman who was Vice President of Community and External Affairs at the University of Chicago.
green mountains and its sparkling blue beaches. There is something special about this place that makes me want to be less troll-like to people who attempt to break my camel’s back or who attempt to pull my last nerve. Indeed, Hawaii is a special place. Perhaps, it has something to do with the bounty of green vegetation that encircles the island. And given that I grew up in an inner city, went to school in an inner city, and probably will die in an inner city, seeing the abundance of fauna and flora is simultaneously breathtaking and a little disturbing as well.
bit dramatic, but it’s the best phrase I can conjure up to use while struggling with jet lag. Also, Hawaii is a metaphor for talking about privilege. Well, even though my going to Hawaii was based on my services of being a part-time grad school nanny. It still feels like a privileged state because I did not have to pay for anything. Furthermore, the child was extremely well-behaved and I had an abundance of time to explore Hawaii. So, to say the least I felt inner turmoil about being in Hawaii when so many in my family struggles to keep their heads above water.
If enacted, it would also broaden the criminalization of homosexuality in Uganda, including introducing the death penalty for HIV positive people who have previous convictions, instituting 
I read the New York Times article titled “
“She has 80 names, 30 addresses, 12 Social Security cards and is collecting veteran’s benefits on four non-existing deceased husband. She’s got Medicaid, getting food-stamps, and she is collecting welfare under each of her names.”
Sex makes me nervous! I get nervous both before and after sex. I am nervous because in my head I picture this spinning chart of numbers and statistics that makes me realize that sex is the ultimate Russian roulette. You pull the trigger you get a risk-free nut; you pull the trigger again and you get a parting gift. 
