“Our visions begin with our desires.” –Audre Lorde
For the last three weeks I’ve literally sat on pins and needles worried about my family/friends in Nashville. I’ve clicked channel after channel hoping for a news update about the widespread flooding in the city. Each time I went searching for news I was bombarded by corporate oil spills and possible terrorist attacks. For days ABC, CNN, NBC, CBS, and the like chose to feature news stories that provide epic material for future Hollywood blockbuster movies. But, the question is: what about the flooding in Nashville? What about the hundreds of people who have lost their homes and cherished photos? What about the people who have to start, yet again, building a life for themselves and their families? Do their stories matter?
Honestly, I do not mean to romanticize this tragedy, but I am utterly upset at the lack of sustained news coverage. You would think that the national media would actually do its job and report “national” news, but, of course, these stories are not sexy. They do not solicit a type of entertainment consumption that we have grown accustomed to consuming. They don’t show naked brown and black bodies gyrating to the rhymes of hip hop. They don’t show Steven King’s gore. They are not about sex, conspiracy, espionage, lies, and betrayals. Simply, they involve everyday people who are casualties of Nature a force that does not discriminate in its wondrous and disastrous workings unless it’s assisted by the Word Bank’s debt loan program then it does specifically target individual countries like Haiti and Indonesia.
This week I had the opportunity to speak at Spelman College’s 8thAnnual Seven Women at the Cross. For those who are not familiar with Seven Women at the Cross Services it is a time when women preachers and speakers recount the last seven days of Christ living on Earth through the stories of the women he met on his way to the Cross. So, I thought I would share with you the speech I gave about the widow woman in Mark 12:41. Of course, it is a black feminist interpretation of the text.
“A poor widow came and put in two small cooper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciple and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on” (Mark 12: 41)
The story of the widow woman in Mark 12:41 is fundamentally a story about women pursuing their purpose . . . their most burning desire . . . that which calls them back to their center . . . irrespective of what it may cost them. And because they are widows the cost is high. You see, it’s a miserable existence to be a widow woman in a patriarchal culture because you are not valuable. To make you valuable in Biblical times as a woman you had to fulfill your purpose of first being a good daughter then a good wife, and most importantly being a good mother meaning you spent most of your time catering to the wishes of your father, your husband, and your children. That was your purpose.
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.
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.”
Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I swear I saw commercials for the movie The Blind Side more times than I caught the ads of those cats singing the free credit report jingle. (F-R-E-E that spells free/credit report dot com, baby…) Environmentalists could learn a lot from Hollywood; that place recycles scenarios more often than a tree hugger sneers at Hummer drivers.
The trailers for the movie indicate that The Blind Side is yet another addition to that long list of white savior movies. I haven’t seen it and don’t plan to (In grad school, we call this not being bound by the text.), but it seems that Sandra “I’m doing this movie to make up for playing a racist in Crash” Bullock saves a big black kid from the perils of blackness. (Crabs in a barrel. You know the deal.) I guess the Based on a true story tagline wants to goad me into not being critical of the movie, the genre. Whatever. The movie has provided an occasion to address the white savior film. Since I’ve seen every episode of Webster and Diff’rent Strokes and Dangerous Minds (twice), I’m going to provide a primer for Negro saving for any and all white folks with plenty of money and love in their hearts to adopt a hapless black kid. And for you black youth out there, pay attention. You might find something useful here to make yourself more marketable. Read more »
I faced history one day and found myself. Beginning in my 9th grade year of high school, I was a “Facing History and Ourselves” student in Cleveland, Ohio. My first experience with this organization was with a Holocaust survivor named Max Adelman. I can still hear his voice ringing in my ear as I remember him stating that, when he was in the work camps he use to wonder “does the world care,” arriving on the negative side of this question. I also realized that at one time, I didn’t care. In middle school I was known as the class bully, taking my title so far that once I nearly broke a kid’s arm.
I faced history one day and and became an activist. Listening to Max Adelman made me look within myself, and challenged me to make sure I was caring for everyone, even those outside of my universe of obligation. When the class lesson was on identity, it allowed me to put my life into perspective, understand who I was as an individual, and illustrated that I can have an impact on the society around me. When the class lesson was about making choices, it challenged me to study the history of the world and my personal past, so that in high school I was no longer the class bully, but the student that spoke against violence in and outside of school. When my facing history class started the session on choosing to participate, I became committed to activism. In high school, I went on to fight for youth rights and became the co-founder of a non-profit called Ohio Youth Voices.
Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry said Precious was awesome and that everyone should go see it. Since I am the most obedient of Negroes, I saw it last Friday. If Flavor Flav is the world’s greatest hype man, this duo is officially the world’s greatest hype machine. I found Precious slightly underwhelming, uninspiring, and lacking much of what makes the novel, Push by Sapphire, so powerful. Sorry, Ms. Winfrey. I had no “A-ha!” moment. Read more »
“Where were the cops?” asks Letzbeforreal in his mini-video. His question is not new. He, like everyone else, is looking to hold some bigger entity accountable for the murder of Derrion Albert. He wants to lay blame where it does “the most good.” Others assign blame to the administration of Fenger High School. Despite this, Letzbeforreal’s female guest and those who agree with him suggest that neither the Police Department nor the City Administration care about murders involving black youth. Ultimately, I think we all want to be able to hold someone, who has the ability to alter situations, accountable. I think, however, that to blame the school or CPD falls short of examining the root causes of youth violence in America, particularly in the case of Derrion Albert.
If you haven’t seen it, I encourage you to add Trouble the Water to your Netflix queue, or rent it–people still do that, right? It was released on DVD today. I wrote a response/review of the documentary after seeing it at the Black Harvest Film Festival last year. Trouble the Water, which follows the before, during and after Hurricane Katrina experience of ninth ward residents Kimberly Rivers Roberts and her husband, Scott, got nominated for an Academy Award, but I guess a French guy on a wire–voluntarily danger–was a lot more compelling than being reminded of this country’s EPIC FAILURE during the disaster. That shit is a movie-going buzzkill.
The other week, my dissertation writing partner and I were talking about extreme sports. Neither one of us could understand why folks find watching and/or participating in them so much fun, so fascinating. In response to our lackluster feeling about the genre she quipped, “Being black is an extreme sport.” Remembering Trouble the Water, maybe she’s right. Check it out.
i guess that i am what you can call an environmentalist, or at least a mild one. i believe in reducing, reusing and recycling. i believe in and practice buying locally. Each and every day i make an effort to reduce my waste and consumption. i am concerned with global warming and all of that jazz, i promise i am.
But the plight of the billions of people in the world who struggle to acquire the basic necessities of survival like food, clean water and shelter is an even greater concern. That’s why i find the WWF’s Climate Change campaign so ridiculous and disturbing. Whenever one of those damned commercials comes on TV, i cringe.
All of the hunger and devastation in the world and they want me to donate money to save some polar bears?
Get the fuck outta here with that bullshit. Read more »
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.
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.”
