Those of you who follow me on Facebook know that this week I started training to run (well...jog is more like it) a 5k. It's all part of my yearlong quest to get fit, healthy and fabulous as I approach my 40 birthday. To motivate myself and ensure that I stick with my recent healthy lifestyle changes, I decided to sign up for a fall 5k. But I wanted to participate in an event that would do more than allow me to exercise my body. I wanted to find a 5k event that revolved around an important issue--something that would allow me to flex my social "muscle" as well.
Thanks to my blogsister Renee at Womanist Musings, I've found my event. I have signed up for the Run for Congo Women in Chicago on Saturday, Oct. 3.
Are you familiar with what's happening in Congo? Militias from many countries are pillaging villages and attacking civilians. Women as old as 80 and as young as 5 have been victims of rape and other forms of sexual violence.
Despite the country's enormous mineral wealth, several years of war, on the heels of 32 years of corrupt, dictatorial rule under Mobutu Sese Seko, (1965-1997), has shattered the country's infrastructure, economy, and ability to provide basic services such as health and education. More hope than ever has arisen, with a peace treaty in 2003, and recent elections. And yet...
More than 5.4 million people have died. 38,000 continue to die every month, 1200 a day. Half of these deaths are children under the age of 5 years. Most children don't reach their 5th birthday. Women are targeted daily for gang rape, torture, and sexual slavery.
THIS IS THE DEADLIEST WAR SINCE WORLD WAR II. And yet we don't talk about the Congo. Never heard of this conflict? You aren't alone. Most people haven't. It receives almost no news coverage.
The Congolese people know they have not been worth the effort in the eyes of the world. "When 5.4 million people have died, and no one cares, we don't feel human anymore." - Jean Paul, Congolese man.
Run for Congo Women was created by everyday women to send a message of hope and dignity to women living through this conflict.
We are raising awareness and sponsorships through Women for Women International's Congo program. For $27/ month we can sponsor a war affected woman with support groups, rights awareness, job training, literacy, and other training, as well money to use at her discretion, and we can exchange letters with her. The goal is self-sufficiency within 1 year.
Today, I committed $27/month to a woman in the Congo. Surely, I can give up a few iTunes downloads and Starbucks cappucinos to help ensure a sister can live a better, healthier and safer life. Can you help me?
Support my run. My goal is to at least raise enough to support one woman for one year--$324. If you're one of my IRL friends reading this, be assured I'll be stalking you with my donation sheet. If you are one of my cyberbuddies, donate using the PayPal "donate" button below.
Congolese lives matter. The lives of Congolese women are significant. The lives of Congolese children are precious. The have waited far too long. They are worth our effort. I am running to help.
My 13-year-old nephew called me on the phone yesterday wondering about our family's roots. I have written often about how my research into my family history and DNA testing has strengthened my understanding of my identity (here, here, here and here), but this moment illustrated another reason why I will spend hours evaluating one line on an old census or spend hundreds of dollars for an analysis of genetic material. I want the youngest of my family members to be proud of their heritage, their cultural history and where their ancestors come from. Living in a society that marginalizes and stereotypes much of who you are can feel like a constant assault. Their knowledge of the past can be part of their armor, protecting their self worth.
My nephew is visiting my mom and dad in Gary, Indiana, this week. The city is still--believe it or not--in the midst of the mania that followed Michael Jackson's death. So, my mother and nephew headed across town to 2300 Jackson St., the King of Pop's former home, to witness fans' celebration of their idol's life.
In the car, after looking at the shrines and notes left by people who hail from around the globe, my nephew offered: "I feel like I am going to cry. everybody else is from somewhere. I mean, we're African American, but we really don't know where we're from. We're from nowhere."
In the spring, my nephew's class at his predominantly white school studied the people, places and cultures of Europe and the Americas. And he says that he noticed this study included very little about the contributions of people of African descent. In the history of America, his ancestors were slaves and, it seems, nothing else. I am proud that my nephew had the presence of mind to recognize this inequity and ask his teacher whether some information about black Americans and the role of Africa in the building of the United States might be forthcoming. I am enraged, however, to know the answer he received from his teacher. The class wouldn't be covering information about black and African peoples, because "The school system doesn't want any trouble."
WTF?
This classroom exploration and celebration of the rich history of Europe and the brave Europeanmen who "discovered, "conquered and colonized America (to the exclusion of any acknowlegdment of the history and contributions of anyone else--particularly people of color) left my nephew feeling rootless and unsure of his place in his own country. After all, to discuss his people is merely to invite "trouble."
My nephew never spoke about his feelings until yesterday, when the international outpouring of grief for a pop star reminded him that black people have no importance in this country and no knowledge of any other country or culture to embrace. And he called me.
I told him, we are not from nowhere. Our matrilineal line traces back to the Balanta and Fula people in Guinea-Bissau, the Mende in Sierra Leone, and the Mandinka in Senegal. And those countries and peoples have rich histories. Balanta, by the way, translates to "those who resist," because Portugese colonizers found them difficult to "govern." (Ha!) I have e-mailed a plantation I once visited in Vacherie, Louisiana, because I recall docents there explaining how the enslaved Senegalese who helped build the ornate Creole home were skilled artisans and builders, chosen specifically for their knowledge. Through a ripped out piece of wall, tour guides show how the home's original foundation (planned by African builders) remains far superior to the parts of the home built more than a hundred years later with modern materials and contractors. I want to prove to my nephew that our people never were just beasts of burden.
I will tell him that black history is a part of American history and we have contributed greatly to the founding of this country. Our story is not solely one of dysfunction and despair. I will tell him about his paternal great-great-great-grandfather, who was born enslaved but within the decade after emancipation had taught himself to read and write and acquired land that remains in the family to this day. He also founded the first school in his town for African American children. One of my nephew's maternal great-great-great uncles was an educator who was tapped by Booker T. Washington to help open the first black school in Tuskegee, Alabama. And there are lots more stories--some big and inspiring, some seemingly small and mundane.
This opportunity--to not just talk vaguely of African kings and queens in an attempt to boost a child's self-esteem, but to share real stories of real people--I think, is priceless.
A lot of people don't get my interest in the past. "Isn't genealogy something old folks are into? Why are you bothered with that?"
This is why. This is why.
Oh, the irony...
Last week, the town where my nephew lives (and I live with my husband and stepson) was named among the top 10 places to raise a family by a major magazine. This isn't the first time our city has earned this tag, and like always, one of the things to be praised is the great school system. Interesting how "greatness" can be relative, depending on who your children are.
Sometimes being a progressive can be a huge pain in the ass. Like when you can't play a shitty little iPhone game without assessing its socio-racial implications.
I downloaded the addictive game app, Expedition Africa, to my phone yesterday and was in the middle of navigating my team through murky swamps populated by crocodiles, malarial flies and strange diseases, led by a host of spear-carrying guides, when something came to mind. It was this:
The Expedition Africa game is created by The History Channel and is a companion to the channel's new series "Expedition Africa: Stanley & Livingstone," which is produced by Mark Burnett of "Survivor" fame. The New York Times says of the series:
An eight-part series, "Expedition Africa" follows three men and one woman as they fight heat, snakes and one another to retrace the route that [Henry Morton] Stanley took in 1871 to find the missing explorer [David Livingstone] in the wilds of what is now Tanzania. The 970-mile trek from Zanzibar to the remote village of Ujiji took Stanley almost nine months; the History channel team tries to do it in 30 days.
Needless to say, the panoramas and perils of the African interior pale next to the chafing of strong personalities. Like "Survivor," this isn't so much a tour of exotic locales as it is an exploration of the horrors of spending too much time, in too tight a circle, with other people.
These four explorers, experienced scientists and world travelers bait and irritate one another with the kind of venom usually associated with the African puff adder. At times the underlying tension is such that it's a relief that Mr. Burnett didn't elect to duplicate a more drastic expedition — the wreck of the Medusa or the Donner party. Read more...
I have not seen the series "Expedition Africa," but from the description, it, like my iPhone game, takes a decidedly colonialist view of the African continent. "Survivor" does this, too, in its use of "exotic" locales. The challenge of these shows involves (mostly white and mostly American) participants enduring life in spaces deemed nearly unendurable by "average" (read: mostly white and mostly American or European) humans. They are about exploring the dark and strange. They are about conquering native flora and fauna (Of course, off the television, it is often about conquering the "natives," too.) If native inhabitants, who "endure" life in the area everyday just fine, show up at all, they are not humans, but merely resources for the Western conquerer's exploration. In the case of Expedition Africa the game: Spear-carrying guides, who you can, by the way, sacrifice to make better time or for food or if you don't have enough medicine to protect all the members of the expedition from those pesky disease-carrying flies--not just resources, expendable resources. It is troubling that this very biased view has become the predominate one, to the exclusion of others that add texture and context and reality to the story of the African continent.
Even if we accept Stanley and Livingstone's [and Burnett's] view of the African continent as accurate, we must still acknowledge that it is narrow. There are certainly crocodiles, malarial flies and strange [to Westerners] diseases in Africa, but these things--along with war and famine--have come to be our sum understanding of a diverse continent of a billion people, 53 countries and 61 different territories, more than 1,000 languages, myriad cultures and religions; geography ranging from tropical to subarctic, desolate villages and metropolitan commerce centers, such as Cairo, Egypt; Cape Town, South Africa; Nairobi, Kenya; and Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. It is not that the colonialist view of Africa is not proved true somewhere, the problem is that it is the only view we ever see and we amplify it to be true of everywhere. Africa is continually judged by the worst it has to offer and reduced to cobbled-together traits that fit cultural and racial biases, while we ignore the hand of the Western world in creating many of the area's problems. (Hmmm...rather like American cities populated mostly by black people) One stupid iPhone game hardly matters in the scheme of things, but Expedition Africa is yet another example of a larger and unchallenged view that DOES matter to Africans and people of African ancestry. A friend once told me, with no irony, that "nothing good ever comes out of Africa." (Apparently, humankind not withstanding.) Don't bits of pop culture like Expedition Africa contribute to this widely-held belief?
Lastly, I am uncomfortable about continuing to celebrate colonialists like Livingstone and Stanley--now that we allegedly "know better." Surely, we must weigh this:
Perhaps one of the most popular national heroes of the late 19th century in Victorian Britain, Livingstone had a mythic status, which operated on a number of interconnected levels: that of Protestant missionary martyr, that of working-class "rags to riches" inspirational story, that of scientific investigator and explorer, that of imperial reformer, anti-slavery crusader, and advocate of commercial empire.
His fame as an explorer helped drive forward the obsession with discovering the sources of the River Nile that formed the culmination of the classic period of European geographical discovery and colonial penetration of the African continent. At the same time his missionary travels, "disappearance" and death in Africa, and subsequent glorification as posthumous national hero in 1874 led to the founding of several major central African Christian missionary initiatives carried forward in the era of the European "Scramble for Africa."[1]Read more...
...against this:
In the late nineteenth century, the European imperial powers engaged in a major territorial scramble and occupied most of the continent, creating many colonial nation states, and leaving only two independent nations: Liberia, an independent state partly settled by African Americans; and Orthodox ChristianEthiopia (known to Europeans as "Abyssinia"). Colonial rule by Europeans would continue until after the conclusion of World War II, when all colonial states gradually obtained formal independence.
Independence movements in Africa gained momentum following World War II, which left the major European powers weakened. In 1951, Libya, a former Italian colony, gained independence. In 1956, Tunisia and Morocco won their independence from France. Ghana followed suit the next year, becoming the first of the sub-Saharan colonies to be freed. Most of the rest of the continent became independent over the next decade, most often through relatively peaceful means, though in some countries, notably Algeria, it came only after a violent struggle. Though South Africa was one of the first African countries to gain independence, it remained under the rule of its white settler population, in a policy known as Apartheid, until 1994. Read more...
It is men like Livingstone and Stanley (who famously said, "the savage only respects force, power, boldness, and decision" and who battled accusations of brutal treatment of indigenous guides in his later life) who helped to erradicate myriad African cultures, exterminate African peoples, further global racism, and put African bodies on display (Famously, Sarrtjie Baartman, a Khoisan woman exhibited naked in a cage, after death, her genitals held in a French museum until the 1970s. Or, so-called African "pygmies, such as Ota Benga, exhibited by the New York Zoological Society at the Bronx Zoo, alongside the apes and others in 1906.). In this context, a game based on Stanley's exploits seems horrifying.
Expedition Africa is still on my iPhone. But damn it if knowing "too much" history makes enjoying this silly game, launched as a marketing ploy by cable network, not so easy.
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Quick...what do a lot of progressive blogs have in common (despite liberal idealogy). That's right--kittehs and puppehs! Even Daily Kos takes time out from raging against the machine to coo over the cute and furry. It occurred to me that I hadn't ever introduced readers to my menagerie of crazy pets. Gasp...my bonafides are in danger! So, this is the first post of three introducing readers to my four-legged family members.
Name: Bad Juju (aka "The Juj" or "Protest Kitty")
Age: 3
Profile: Bad Juju is the baddest cat in the Midwest. He runs thangs. When I first spotted him at the Humane Society, Juju was lounging spread eagle on the bed in his cage, while his brothers and sisters were forced to ball up all together in the corner sans soft bedding. The workers there had named him Mufasa--the king of the pride. Bad Juju is an alpha cat all the way. He earned the nickname "Protest Kitty" because unlike most cats who can be shooed away easily, The Juj holds his ground. If I, say, want to sit on my own safa and watch TV, but Juju is already there, rather than submit to my gentle attempts to scoot him over, Juju will dig in. If I am insistent, he will become dead weight like a G8 protestor faced with cops in riot gear. (Juju shall not be moved!)
Even though I am the one who rescued him, Juju has a bizarre attachment to my husband. (The ingratitude!) They are best buds. Juju follows Mr. What Tami Said around the house like a dog and cries when he can't get to him. They play this game where Juju stalks and attacks my husband's hand, followed by general roughhousing. (Boys...whatevs!)
Hobbies: Running wildly about the house; leaping at invisible intruders on the wall (Juju can catch some serious air! He's like the Michael Jordan of cats.); lying on the couch next to Mr. What Tami Said, paw on his knee; waiting for the dog to come around the corner and ambushing him (Note from Juju: Ha! Stupid dog!); playing in/drinking the dogs water; trying to convince Raja, my older female cat, to love him (Note from Juju: If she'd quit running and get to know me, she'd be enthralled by my awesomeness. Everybody loves Bad Juju!)
I grew up in a sprawling, modern split-level two blocks from the beach. When the winds get vigorous and churn up the water, you can stand outside my childhood home and hear the waves crashing and smell that sandy, watery, fishy aroma that Kramer once tried to bottle on an episode of "Seinfeld." Our beach community was a hybrid of working, middle and upper-middle class. The block where I grew up contained mostly the young families of professionals--the veterinarian on the corner, my best friend's mom the CPA with Arthur Andersen, educators like my parents--and older folks like our grandmotherly next door neighbor, Mrs. Kaminsky, who always spoke tearfully and passionately about "the old country." In the racially turbulent 70s, we were proudly a multi-cultural group; and the block and neighborhood remain so. Mine was a close-knit neighborhood, where most everybody knows everybody. Stop in the Beach Cafe on a Friday night (decor hasn't changed since 1979, but they serve the best boned-and-buttered perch you have ever had) and you're sure to run into a few old teachers, your insurance guy, a former classmate's mum. The area has a vocal and active citizens group that fights tirelessly to protect the town and its residents, and boost the local economy. I spent my childhood, riding my bike around our hilly, woodsy neighborhood, trying not to get the wheels of my Schwinn stuck in the sand. My friends and I built forts in the woods, played "road trip" and Dodge-Baseball (a sport of our own design) and lived for the newest issue of Tiger Beat magazine. Nearly 20 years since I left my hometown, most of my contemporaries are living successful and fulfilling lives, as am I.
I grew up in Gary, Indiana.
I've been thinking about my town's reputation lately. Gary has had a featured role in the many re-tellings of the King of Pop's life story. And the perceptions of journalists who try to capture the ethos of the Midwestern steel town on the Great Lakes, one of the first northern industrial towns to elect a black mayor, a city that is now nearly 85 percent black, don't match my reality at all. I suspect that many writers are interested in myth-making--telling a good "boy breaks free of urban blight to make good" tale. But I also suspect that views of Gary, Indiana, like those of many places viewed as the domain of black people, suffer under the weight of racial bias.
I don't mean to imply that Gary does not have very real problems. It has, at various times, held the title "Murder Capital of America." But I find that people are all too willing to accept that the problems of a black city are all one needs to know--the full story. Black cities are judged by the worst of what they have to offer. I think this is because crime and poverty and poor education and other urban ills fit the prevailing belief of what blackness is and what black folks will accept.
Gary was founded in 1906 by the United States Steel Corporation as the home for its new plant. The new city was named after the chairman of U.S. Steel, Elbert H. Gary. For years, Gary thrived, bouyed by the fortunes of industry. Generations of city residents, of all races, raised families and prospered there. Then, two things happened. The steel industry began to decline in the 1960s. And, in 1967, the city elected its first African-American mayor, Richard G. Hatcher. The day after Hatcher's historic win, "for sale" signs went up all over the city, beginning a decades-long white flight. What the free market and racism began, the Reagan administration and the crack epidemic finished. Gary is profoundly struggling today and it has been for a long time.
I acknowledge the city's troubles, but the blanket assumptions and judgments about Gary and its people trouble me. They are the same assumptions that people make about New Orleans and Detroit and Washington, D.C. These cities are not good cities filled with good people struggling under the weight of poverty, racism and changing industry. Popular wisdom says that these cities are worthless dead ends populated by the hopeless and the criminal. No one has a good life in these cities. No one gets a good education. Ambitious people don't live here. There are no nice homes here. No one is safe here. There is nothing to be valued here.
Look at the comments about Gary, Indiana, that I found on City Data's Web site:
Part of that county (Lake) is very nice. Gary is horrendous, similar to the high crime parts of Indianapolis. Look up statistics on homicides, for example.
I live in Indiana and I would never go there.
A few years ago I used to survey for one of the largest firms in Indy. As such, we traveled a good bit. One thing that I would always do would be to buy a newspaper in the city that we were working in just to see what was going on and also to get a feel for the city.
I kid you not on this one....
In the newspaper from Gary, there was an article saying how one gang felt like it was being discriminated against. The quote that I remember the most went along these lines "When we kill a member from another gang, we get first degree murder, but when they kill one of us, they only get manslaughter"
In the same newspaper there was also an article about some 6th grade students at a private Catholic school beating one of the Nuns.
Up until recent years it held rank for awhile as "Murder Capital of the U.S.". It's pretty bad. There are pockets and areas that are not so bad, of course, but there are many areas you do not want to drive through, even in daytime. When DH and I were dating we had gone to the beach and heading back home to western Lake County, IN (Gary is in eastern Lake Co.) we had to detour off the interstate for an accident. Detour took us through "downtown" Gary, main streets. Smack in broad daylight on a sunny summer afternoon stood a guy on a street corner who pulled a handgun out of his pocket and motioned with it (as one would do when talking with their hands). The few people on the corner near him didn't even blink. Scared the bejeebers out of me. Very high crime, known for political corruption, sadly gang infested. Most of the north end of Gary is industrial (heavy industry, the giants of steel mills sprawl on the L Michigan shoreline that in decades past employed generations of local families). Thanks to Mital Steel purchases lately, many are coming to life again and are not the abandoned-looking metal cities they were in the 80's>90's. Pockets of very far west end of Gary has an almost rural feel to it, as does the very far south end (known as Calumet Twp.). Many residents have southern roots, having come here to work for the steel mills one to three generations back. Up through the 60's I've heard downtown Gary was the place to shop the large department stores. Not true today, they are long gone. DH has told me there are some stately old mansions in some parts of Gary (I have an interest in architecture and love to see old homes) but he will not take me to see them, the area is too dangerous. West central Gary is home to a large I.U. campus which recently announced plans to expand. Also along the L Michigan shoreline (to the east of the mills) are some beautiful old homes situated on L Michigan.
But Gary is only a portion of Lake County, which is quite varied, from blue collar to white collar to upper level executive to farmers with expansive land. To the NW along the lake is Whiting, a quiet, qaint little blue collar town on the lake. Hammond is south of that, some parts bad, some parts not. A city. Central part of the county is standard suburban life. Munster (central west, on the IL border) has one of the best school systems in the state. Go further south to Crown Point (county seat, John Dillinger made it famous for breaking out of the jail), nice little town (although new residential construction is booming). And further south yet you will find vast farms. Not as many as there used to be due to development, but they are still there.
If you're coming to the area, there are better/safer/just as affordable places to stay than Gary.
So, Gary is a "horrendous" place filled with nun-beating animals. Steer clear! I think it is not such a coincidence that the areas of Northwest Indiana that are praised in the posts (despite having some of the same problems that Gary does) are those that are overwhelmingly white, which translates to safe and good. There is no acknowledgment that good and bad things can happen in any city.
I used to loathe telling people, especially white people, that I was raised in Gary. The person would look at me with a mixture of sorrow and the respect you give someone who has survived combat. One woman once said to me, "Ooohhhh....your parents must be sooo proud of how far you've come. I bet it was too dangerous for you to even walk around when you were growing up." That person was flummoxed by the idea that my parents are post-graduate-degree-holding professionals, that my upbringing was solidly middle class and suburban, and that my education superb...in Gary...big, bad, black Gary, Indiana.
When I was growing up, in the summertime, people would flock from Chicago and neighboring cities to Gary's beaches, which were located in my neighborhood. The tourists coveted the clean sand and picturesque dunes. They marveled at the expensive homes lining the lakefront. They enjoyed our quiet, close-knit neighborhood. And usually, they failed to realize that they were soaking in the sun and sand in the one place in NW Indiana that everyone thinks they should avoid. I remember clearly that once my little brother, riding his bike around the neighborhood where we had lived for some 20 years, was told by some of those tourists to "go back where he came from." I remember, too, how my best friend, who worked at a lakeside concession stand, would laugh at the reactions of illegal parkers who were told they would have to pick up their impounded vehicles in Gary. "Wh-why do we have to go there?" You're already there, asshole.
Idyllic neighborhoods, professionals, beaches and quiet streets--those things don't fit in the "black, urban neighborhood = bad = beware" narrative.
I have noticed a tendency, particularly among my white friends, to view areas strictly as either "good" or "bad." In good areas, you are always safe. Bad areas are to be avoided at all costs. I suppose it makes people feel safer to think that crime and other bad stuff only happens to those people over there, who must have done something to bring it on themselves. This thinking makes it easier to deride and dismiss cities places like Gary. The truth is that even in the cities that house the worst neighborhoods, there are good ones. Even in places with the worst in criminality, most people are working every day and living their lives on the right side of the law. There are plenty of people who earn degrees and return to struggling cities to try and make them better. In the urban areas I know of, people are more hopeful than hopeless.
White, suburban areas don't have a lock on good things; black, urban areas aren't the only place bad things happen. Gary, Indiana, is not perfect. But it was my home. And the city, and my friends and family who still live there, deserve better than derision and blanket assumptions. There is good there, just as there is good everywhere.
Michael [Jackson] and race? I never thought much about Michael and race until his skin began to pale, his afro turned into a pressed and feathered shining coiffure, and his African nose began to morph into some grotesque facsimile of a European one. For this, people tsk and shake their heads at Jackson. Sell out! Self hater! We are aghast that his father ever made fun of his nose and skin. We take his tampering with his physicality to mean that he hated his blackness. Perhaps he did. But we are lying to ourselves if we think that Michael Jackson's form of self hatred is any more pronounced than that of many, many black people. Michael is unique in that he had the money to erase features that are devalued in our society—even by the oppressed communities that are most likely to possess them. Have you not heard the "you so black" teasing on the playground? Have you not heard the mocking of "soup-cooler lips" and "big ole noses?" Have you not noticed that most black women will not be caught dead in public with "nappy" hair? Have you not seen the dearth of brown-skinned women with African features prized in videos on MTV and BET or heard the praise from current pop culture icons, like Kanye West, for biracial video girls whose African features are sufficiently muted?
I think in our rush to condemn Michael Jackson for equating whiteness with beauty and worth, we doth protest too much. Michael really is the man in the mirror. He reflected the hang ups of the black community back to us.
I've had a long love affair with music. My favorite songs provide a soundtrack for my life. My childhood was set to a mix of classic 70s rock, R&B, bubble gum pop and my dad's old record collection--Motown, Chi-Lites and Spinners; my teen years were lived to the sound of the second British Invasion--the glam boys (Duran Duran, Wham) and the emos (The Smiths, The Cure)--plus the emerging stars of hip hop, before success killed it; my college earnestness played out to 10,000 Maniacs, R.E.M., U2 and John Mellencamp, with a dose of sex from INXS, and just enough Bell, Biv, DeVoe and hip hop to keep my black card. Post college, I re-discovered my love of R&B and embraced neo-soul, but came to terms with the fact that this black girl will always be a rock chick, no matter what anyone says. My tastes as I approach the end of my 30s is a hybrid of all these things, and throw in some folk, alt country and singer/songwriters like Ray LaMontagne. I suppose I'm not so different from my fellow Generation Xers. I'm currently reading Daphne A. Brooks' exploration of Jeff Buckley's music lover's classic album, "Grace." She says of our generation's musical influences:
I was born in 1968, one year and 364 days after Jeff Buckley, and I feel as though our memories collide in the strange brew of sound and images that came leaping off the vinyl and jumping off the screen in the 1970s: Al Green and the Eagles. Big Bird and Laugh-In. The Jackson Five and David Bowie. Free to be You and Me and Morgan Freeman on The Electric Company. Elton John and the Spinners. Carol Burnett tugging her ear and Diana Ross all decked out in mink at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Froot loops and land sharks. Pam Grier and Diane Keaton. Jackson Browne and Thelma Houston. Earth, Wind, and Fire and the Fonz. Sammy Davis Jr. and Jose Feliciano. Stevie Nicks and Stevie Wonder. President Nixon and Fat Albert. Jimmy Carter and Chic. Schoolhouse Rock and Parliament Funkadelic. The Mod Squad and the Sunshine Band. Kasey Kasem and the Sweat Hogs. Linda Rondstadt and Jerry Brown. Jim Jones and Chico and the Man. The Jerry Lewis telethon and Steve Martin on SNL. Spielberg matinees and Quadrophenia midnight runs. Rocky Horror and The Wiz. Sweet, Sweetback and Sybl.
This is me. I was born in 1969. Perhaps this is why Brooks and I--two black women--are both captivated by self-proclaimed "mystery white boy" Jeff Buckley.
This week, my iPod has been churning out a strange brew of memorial music. Michael Jackson's death has me digging into my catalog of Jackson 5 hits and MJ chart toppers. And as the music flows..."Got To Be There"..."Maybe Tomorrow"..."I Can't Help It"..."Thriller"..."Human Nature"..."You Rock My World"...I'm remembering how much of my life soundtrack includes Michael. And how much this artist that I largely dismissed after "Thriller" is entwined with my life story. Like Michael, I am from Gary, Indiana. I went to Roosevelt High School, just like the older Jacksons. (Some friends even once found Jermaine or Jackie's name in an old book.) I have seen 2300 Jackson St. many times--just another little steeltown bungalow. The first concert I ever attended? The Jackson 5. My grandparents took me. I was all of 3 or 4. Pretty much all I remember was the screaming and Janet Jackson's Mae West schtick. I am appreciating Michael because his music is woven all through my soundtrack.
I appreciate Jeff Buckley because I imagine he is, like me, a product of the influences Brooks described. I bet Jeff and I would recognize each other's soundtrack. (In her book, Brooks says Buckley learned to mimic Michael jackson's singing voice--among others--in high school.) Like Jackson's music, Buckley's music has been constant background for my working and driving and exercising this week. I go from "Off The Wall" to "Grace" to "Thriller" to "Sketches for my Sweetheart the Drunk" and around again. "Grace," a perfect album containing the most perfect song ever performed, "Hallelujah," is a Gen X album for sure--a cornucopia of influences. One minute Buckley is singing an aria ("Corpus Christie Carol") and the next he is wailing like Robert Plant ("Eternal Life"). (The artist once said he was the love child of Nina Simone and Led Zeppelin.) And that amazing, multi-octave voice! From Wiki:
Jeff Buckley's performance of "Hallelujah" may be my favorite song of all time. The song was originally sung by folkie Leonard Cohen, but like Luther Vandross did with myriad songs, Buckley took it, "put his stank on it" and now he owns it. Several artists that I admire have covered "Hallelujah"--k.d. lang, Brandi Carlile--and their efforts are nice. I even have a "Hallelujah" playlist on my iPod. But no one captures the beauty and the raw pain of love like Buckley does in his version. Hear it. (You Tube will not allow embedding, but please follow the link. It is well worth it.)
I also appreciate the bluesy "Lover, You Should Have Come Over" from "Grace."
"...all my blood for a kiss upon her shoulder." Beautiful. Poetic. Jeff Buckley can make you cry like no one else.
This week, I downloaded Buckley's second album, "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk," and discovered "Everybody Here Wants You." Here is Buckley the chameleon--not operatic or rock and roll, but soulful, laying back in the cut of a groove. Again, follow the link to hear it.
Of course, by the time "Sketches for my Sweetheart..." (his second album) was released, Jeff Buckley was gone:
On the evening of May 29, 1997, Buckley's band flew in intending to join him in his Memphis studio to work on the newly written material. That same evening, Buckley went swimming in Wolf River Harbor,[94] a slackwater channel of the Mississippi River, while wearing boots, all of his clothing, and singing the chorus of the song "Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zeppelin.[95] A roadie of Buckley's band, Keith Foti, remained ashore. After moving the radio and a guitar out of reach of the wake from a passing tugboat, Foti looked up to see that Buckley was gone. Despite a determined rescue effort that night, Buckley remained missing. On June 4, his body was spotted by a tourist on a riverboat and was brought ashore.[95]
The autopsy to clarify the cause of Buckley's death confirmed Buckley had taken no illegal drugs before his swim and a drug overdose was therefore ruled out as cause of death.[96] In order to clarify the situation of his death, this statement was released from the Buckley estate:
Jeff Buckley's death was not "mysterious," related to drugs, alcohol, or suicide. We have a police report, a medical examiner's report, and an eye witness to prove that it was an accidental drowning, and that Mr. Buckley was in a good frame of mind prior to the accident.[97]
Sometimes, I hear a song after being apart from it for a time and I fall in love with it again like one might an old paramour. I remember the rhythms and choruses and breakdowns that first won me over, and I remember where I was in my life when the particular song was playing. I'm re-discovering the work of Michael Jackson and Jeff Buckley this week--pop and pathos (How GenX of me.). Both men exited this mortal coil way too soon, but they live on in the soundtrack to my life.
Sphere: Related Content
According to Macon D at Stuff White People Do and Craig Brimm at Kiss My Black Ads (Both wonderful blogs that you should be reading on the regular), a Minneapolis-based retailer, Chicago-Lake Liquors, has launched a new ad campaign that depicts middle class white folks acting "black" (or rather the minstrelized version of blackness popularized by BET).
Funny or offensive?
I vote for the latter. What at first may elicit a snicker becomes troubling when pulled apart. (Some folks say you can't analyze comedy, but I maintain that good comedy can indeed be weighed and turned over and still be funny.) When I'm faced with something allegedly comedic that rings my "racially offensive" bells, I try to ask myself "What's so funny?" I mean, what about the situation in question is supposed to make me laugh?
In this case, I think the funny is supposed to come from two things: the "black" street slang (Those black folks sure do talk funny!) and the notion that good, middle class, white people (read: normal people) would adopt such behaviors as their own.
Macon D wonders:
Are these ads racist? Or are they making fun of racist white people? And if they're "only" doing the latter, does that really make the contemporary blackface here any more acceptable?
I don't think the ads are making fun of the dominant culture, though it seems so at first. The ads are making fun of behaviors and language deemed "black" by showing white people indulging in them. They are highlighting "otherness" using the mainstream as a backdrop. If you think the joke is not about blackness, but about poking fun at urban, street lingo and style, consider why none of the ads feature a straight-laced, middle class, black guy. Why? Because all black men are expected by the dominant culture to talk jive. It's not funny when a black person says "pimp tight" and sports gold fronts, cause you know, that's just what we do.
I am stymied by what message these ads are trying to send. The prices at Chicago-Lake Liquors are so low that they make even good, white folks indulge in coonery? I suspect there is no message; this is one of those aggravating campaigns that seek to raise awareness of a brand through nonsensical, "edgy" ads that draw a lot of heat for a moment in time. The flash point? Race. I have no doubt some hipsters in a Twin Cities ad agency are sitting around right now, fist bumping and congratulating themselves on a job well done. "We rock, yo!"
Some folks (including me, sometimes) quibble over whether the blog Jezebel qualifies as "feminist." Having lurked around the joint for awhile, I would say it definitely has a third-wave feminist ethos. That means the site's bloggers regularly lay a smack down on media that exploits women. So, I was surprised to find an endorsement for "Straight Stuntin'" magazine among today's posts. For those who have blessedly not been exposed to the hip hop booty fest that is SS, click over to Jezebel for a gallery of images from the pub. (Probably NSFW--Be prepared for plenty of thonged asses, weaves and bling) Jezebel writer Dodai says of the pin-up rag:
Straight Stuntin is a hip-hop/pin-up magazine I stumbled on, and I probably should be completely offended by it, but I'm absolutely fascinated instead.
Most commenters to the post share the OP's fascination, marveling at the pneumatic gleuteus maximi rather than railing against exploitation. And that makes me uncomfortable. As I write this, I'm trying to parse exactly why.
Venue
I have to admit that I might not be so bothered by this post if it had, say, been posted by my blogsister Professor Tracey on Aunt Jemima's Revenge. Why? Because as a blog with a predominantly black readership, AJR feels like a place where "we" can discuss black pop culture without the judgment or generalizations of the mainstream. Something feels icky about a readership of mostly white women evaluating a black magazine that objectifies black women and, for the most part, deeming it acceptable. The amazed ogling of black behinds in a mainstream has shades of Sarah Bartmann:
Some of these women's asses seem to defy gravity. I am actually dumbstruck by them. I know, I know we aren't supposed to relegate a woman to her parts, but I just feel kind of humbled by the two asses in the third picture. Kind of like being in ass church. I feel reverence and awe.
Do these women have cellulite that was Photoshopped away? Or do darker skin women just not get cellulite the way my white ass does? Or is that one model onto an anti-cellulite secret with her cupcake diet?
Even among other women--among other so-called feminists--our physicality is deemed freakish, something to be weighed and pondered and questioned. And I do realize that the OP is a biracial/black woman and several black women, including a model who will appear in a future SS issue, participated in the comments thread. The fact remains that for the majority of readers, this post represented a bit of cultural tourism, as evidenced by the comments and questions about black beauty standards and black women's bodies that the piece elicited.
The Celebration of Exploitation
I mentioned that I might have been less bothered by the SS post if it has appeared on a black feminist blog. But the truth is, I'm fairly certain that Aunt Jemima's Revenge or Womanist Musings or What About Our Daughters or any of the myriad black women-run blogs would never write a positive post about "Straight Stuntin.'" Black feminists have long spoken out against hip hop's degradation and objectification of black women, and we have seen first hand the results of this brand of sexism on our communities, on black relationships, on young black girls' self-esteem, on sexual violence. Of course, the positioning of black women as sexual objects did not start with hip hop. The Sapphire stereotype is at least as old as the slave trade. This is the baggage--baggage that our white sisters don't share--that we bring to analysis of magazines like "Straight Stuntin.'" This is a know your history moment. How can you analyze "Straight Stuntin'" outside of the aforementioned context?
I should add that I believe in sex positive feminism (though I suspect that the Jezebel writers and I might disagree on what exactly that is) I am not zero-tolerance on pin-ups or porn. (Far from it.) But there is a difference between finding enjoyment in sexuality and the female (or male) form and viewing another human being as an inaminate receptacle--a "trick," "ho" or a "chickenhead." The SS view of women is not about celebration, but almost Biblical disdain and distrust of women as anything beyond sexual tools. Consider this advice from a SS article "10 Model Commandments:"
Ladies, one of the worst things in the whole wide world has to be a [sic] unsanitary female. Body odor or not being shaved at the right time in the right places are definitely not a go. Your parents should have taught you about hygiene when you were younger or you should've learned it in hygiene class when you were in school.
Ah...yes...I remember well when my mother and I had "the talk" about Brazilian waxing..."Unsanitary female?" WTF? Other "commandments" caution women not to steal, lie, have "attitudes," or use "your coochie with everyone who makes you a promise." How novel an idea--black women as dirty, tricky whores!
The Double Standard
This is what really rankled about the Jezebel post: The crimes against women that I mentioned above are almost always derided on the site, but in this case they are basically ignored. Many commenters praised "Straight Stuntin'" for showcasing thick women with big butts rather than the usual lithe, model types. But is that the point of criticism against the objectification of women--that the objectification isn't broad enough? One commenter pegged how I am feeling:
so, if it is a black magazine featuring a fetishized body part ( ass..) then ...IT IS OK? And the fact that the men are dressed and the woman reduced to their body image..that is ok?
I am speechless............This magazine is like many others of the same genre,...exploiting and degrading........regardless if the "ladies" are NOT white and/or size zero.
Indeed.
Why so little criticism of "Straight Stuntin'" on Jezebel? Is it because readers believe the magazine has been endorsed by the black OP? (In a reply to the above commenter's post, the OP said she does not endorse the magazine, but finds it "intriguing," which I think is kind of a hedge.) Is it because white feminists don't "get" objectification of black women? (Like how many black feminists were turned off by Hillary Clinton's embrace of BET founder and black woman exploiter Bob Johnson, while white feminists overlooked it?) Is my baggage coloring the way I respond to this post?
Recent posts here and over at Mes Deaux Cents and The Angry Black Woman clarified something I've been thinking for a while: Learning the history of our country and the world should be a major focus in homes and in schools. I know...I know...this is a techie world, where math and science rule. But here's the thing, all our new gadgets and conveniences won't mean a thing if our society lies in ruin, because we repeat the mistakes of our ancestors again and again.
I love learning about history. I read books about it. (A favorite is Lies my Teacher Taught Me by James W. Loewen. Check it out.) You can always find The History Channel on somewhere in my home. I love "American Experience" on PBS and the series "Pioneer House." I like touring historic homes, especially those that offer a peek into the lives of the former occupants--how they lived, loved and what they believed. (If you're ever down in Louisiana, visit the Laura Plantation, a sugar plantation run by generations of Creole women. You can also look inside a slave cabin and learn how those women exploited the expertise of skilled slave labor.)
I find learning about the past--politics, culture, wars and personalities--empowering. It puts the present in context for me and helps shape my views on modern challenges. It makes me a better citizen of my town, state, country and the world. Knowing the history of my family--what my forefathers and foremothers struggled through to succeed--makes me stand a little taller and not want to let them down.
These days, though, we suffer from a profound case of historus stupidus (that's Tami Latin). If we had learned the lessons of Vietnam, would we be in Iraq today? If we understood the insidious history of fascism in the world, would we be more vigilant about our freedoms? If white Americans knew more about The Tuskegee Experiment , the Indian Removal Act and the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II, would they understand why so many people of color are mistrustful of the government and the mainstream? If Melyssa Ford knew Sara Baartman's story, could she call exploiting her sexuality for public consumption "just a job." If Sherri Shephard had ever cracked a history book, learned about Constantine I, or, heck, read the Old Testament, would she have embarrassed women, black women and Christians everywhere on national television? Speaking of religion, if we understood what religious fundamentalism does to societies, would we be more concerned about growing fundamentalism in this country?
If we knew our history, I mean really knew it, wouldn't we all be better off?
James Baldwin has a great quote about this country's history that I think can be applied to history as a whole, "American history is longer, larger, more various, more beautiful, and more terrible than anything anyone has ever said about it."
The word went out that Garnier's hostesses should be BBR — "bleu, blanc, rouge" — the colours of the French flag. The expression is widely recognised in the French recruitment world as a code for white French people born to white French parents, a court was told, in effect excluding the four million or so members of ethnic minorities in France.
La Cour de Cassation, the equivalent of the US Supreme Court, said that the policy was illegal under French employment law, upholding a ruling given by the Paris Appeal Court in 2007.
Let me get this straight: Women of color are unacceptable as L'Oreal employees, but good enough to buy the company's shampoos, lipsticks and skin creams. They don't wish to pay us, but want our purchases.
Angry silence...
From now on, as far as L'Oreal is concerned, this black woman will take her green to a company that appreciates me as more than a consumer.
Want some shampoo? Support a sister trying to get her business on, while providing natural products that are nourishing to black hair (no nasty petroleum). I am addicted to Oyin Handmade products. Check out their site, created by amazing mixtress Jamyla Bennu. It's better for your hair, body, soul and self-esteem than L'Oreal.
This is "very damaging stuff," Sanford declared at one point, when details of Clinton's conduct became known. "I think it would be much better for the country and for him personally (to resign)... I come from the business side," he said. "If you had a chairman or president in the business world facing these allegations, he'd be gone."
Explaining his decision to back impeachment articles against Clinton, he added, "I think what he did in this matter was reprehensible... I feel very comfortable with my vote."
Mark Sanford on former House speaker-to-be Bob Livingston (R), upon learning of the Congressman's affair:
Rep. Mark Sanford, R-S.C., said he would be "struggling" during Christmas over whether to support Livingston, even though the speaker-designate had not broken the law. "We as a party want to hold ourselves to high standards, period," Sanford said.
But one House Republican, Mark Sanford, said: "The bottom line is that he lied under a different oath -the oath to his wife."
Yes, the sanctity of marriage must be protected from "the gays," not...say...presidents who get Oval Office BJs, senators with wide stances or governors with escort services on speed dial or round-trip tickets to Argentina.
Mark Sanford equivocating, name dropping, invoking the Lord and admitting to cheating on his wife:
I am a wife, womanist, writer, stepmother, music lover, black woman, sister, nappy advocate, American, yogi, bibliophile, daughter, student, Midwesterner, progressive, eccentric...none of these things define me, but they are the building blocks of who I am.
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