via 道 on 2/26/11
[A picture of two squares, one purple, one blue. And equals sign is between them]
THIS IS COLORBLINDNESS.
(I am pretty much completely unable to distinguish this two squares. Others, obviously, can. More reddish purples I can start noticing a difference. But it's still tricky.)
Ignoring people's race? Not colorblindness.
and people who say they're "color-blind" don't ignore race, not at all. that's code for "I don't believe structural racism exists and will waltz around in White/Cis/Able-bodied/Hetero/Thin/etc. Supremacy blissfully/willfully unaware of my privilege"
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Monday, February 28, 2011
Fwd: eateroftrees:[A picture of two squares, one purple, one blue....
Fwd: emphasis pronoun: Dear western cis feminists,
via 道 on 2/28/11emphasis pronoun: Dear western cis feminists,:Try to remember that your cissupremacist culture is the one that denied us the use of terminology that works for us, that can adequately describe our pain, our self conceptualization and how we feel, the underlying and epic truth of our existence that you deny.
It is your culture that resulted in less effective means of describing what it is to be trans like "woman/man/nonbinary trapped in a male/female/unassigned body", "female or male or nonbinary brain", "gender dysphoria", "sex change", "person who wants to become gender A" and etc.
It is you and your people, cisgender people, who stole from us the means to communicate to you what we are and how we are. So don't go attacking the phrasings we use as though we weren't forced to use them by a society that completely and utterly erases our very existence and validity within its very language and puts everything in terms of your experiences only, as though they were used objectively when better terms existed already.
You kicked us into this shit hole. We're only trying to climb back out. Get your boots away from our fingers and try fucking thinking outside your cissupremacist little world.
Fwd: Sabbaticals for Organizers of Color
Sabbaticals for Organizers of Color
Applications Due April 5, 2011
Dear Colleague:
The Center for Social Inclusion invites applications for the 2011 Alston Bannerman Sabbatical Fellowships from long-time organizers of color who would benefit from the opportunity to step back, reflect, and recharge. Fellows are awarded $25,000 to take sabbaticals for three months or more. Please forward and post this announcement widely, and encourage qualified organizers of color you know to apply.
To qualify for a fellowship, an applicant must be a person of color; have more than ten years of community organizing experience; be committed to social change work in communities of color; and live in the United States, Puerto Rico, Guam, American Samoa, or the U.S. Virgin Islands.
Beyond the basic eligibility criteria, the program seeks applicants whose work: attacks root causes of inequity by organizing those affected to take collective strategic action; challenges the systems that perpetrate injustice and effects institutional and structural change; builds community capacity for democratic participation and develops grassroots leadership; acknowledges the cultural values of the community; creates accountable participatory structures in which community members have decision-making power; and contributes to building a movement for social change by making connections between issues, developing alliances with other constituencies, and collaborating with other organizations.
Alston Bannerman Fellows use their sabbaticals to travel, study, visit with other organizers, read, write, acquire new skills, plan, evaluate, explore new interests, spend time with their families, recover their health, and restore their spirits.
For more information and an application:
2011 Alston Bannerman Sabbatical Fellowship
Best regards,
CENTER FOR SOCIAL INCLUSION
sloore:
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balm and talismans...
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via Liquor&Spice on 2/28/11
"Black Girl Pain" Talib Kweli ft. Jean Gray
[Hook]
My mama said life would be so hard
Growing up days as a black girl scarred
In so many ways though we've come so far
They just know the name they don't know the pain
So please hold your heads up high
Don't be ashamed of yourself know I
Will carry it forth til the day I die
They just know the name they don't know the pain black girl
[Talib Kweli]
I do it for the people, I do it for the love
I do it for the poet, I do it for the thug
This is for victory, and this is for the slaughter
I do it for my mother, I do it for my daughter
Promise I'll always love ya, I love to kiss and hug ya
You and your brother should be looking out for one another
I'm so blessed, man, y'all the reason I got up
Somebody put his hands on you I'm getting locked up
I'm not playing, that's the prayer I'm saying for Diani
And if I die then she'll be protected by Amani
That's her bigger brother and I love the way he love her
She a girly-girl, she love to imitate her mother
But she a Gemini, so stay on her friendly side
She'll put that look on you, it's like somebody' friend just died
My pretty black princess smell sweet like that incense
That you buy at the bookstore supporting black business
Teach her what black is; the fact is her parents are thorough
She four reading Cornrows by Camille Yarborough
I keep her hair braided, bought her a black Barbie
I keep her mind free; she ain't no black zombie
This is for Aisha, this is for Kashera
This is for Khadijah scared to look up in the mirror
I see the picture clearer through the stain on the frame
She got a black girl name, she living black girl pain
This is for Makeba, and for my Mamacita
What's really good, ma? I'll be your promise-keeper
I see the picture clearer thru the stain on the frame
She got a black girl name, she livin black girl pain
[Hook]
[Jean Grae]
This is for Beatrice Bertha Benjamin who gave birth to
Tsidi Azeeda for Lavender Hill for Kyalisha
(ALTHLONE) Mitchells Plain, Swazi girls I'm repping for thee
Mannesburg, Guguletu where you'd just be blessed to get through
For beauty shining through like the sun at the highest noon
From the top of the cable car at Table Mountain; I am you
Girls with the skyest blue of eyes and the darkest skin
For Cape Colored for realizing we're African
For all my cousins back home, the strength of Mommy's backbone
The length of which she went for raising, sacrificing her own
The pain of not reflecting the range of our complexions
For rubber pellet scars on Auntie Elna's back I march
Fist raised caramel shining in all our glory
For Mauritius, St, Helena; my blood is a million stories
Winnie for Joan and for Eadie, for Norma, Leslie, Ndidi
For Auntie Betty, for Melanie; all the same family
Fiona, Jo Burg, complex of mixed girls
For surviving through every lie they put into us now
The world is yours and I swear I will stand focused
Black girls, raise up your hands; the world should clap for us
[Hook]
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thefeeloffree:riverspikin:Remember that girl that sang with...
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via 道 on 2/19/11
Remember that girl that sang with Lagbaja? Here she is in all her beatific talent. Ego.
Her gown game is ridiculous.
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Philanthrocapitalism or Paternalism in New Guise?
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via maia medicine on 2/25/11
Philanthrocapitalism or Paternalism in New Guise?: It appears that over the last 30 years wealth and political power have become more concentrated as has market power and its natural bedfellow, political power. Incomes have become more unequal with the spoils of market and political power going disproportionately to captains of finance and industry. If not corrected, some among us may begin to question the value of an economic system that has ceased to deliver universal opulence to worker, rentier and investor alike.
The answer to this from those who still value a capitalist system appears to be creation of a new class of philanthrocapitalists who, like Andrew Carnegie, after eroding consumer surplus and perhaps a soupçon of individual liberty (along with workers' wages (I didn't talk about this)) to gain higher profits, will turn around and redistribute that wealth in some way of their own choosing. That redistribution will presumably benefit us all, though we may have little say in it.
And I, a big fan of Carnegie-financed libraries and universities and foundations, am left to ask the question I have always asked even of those same libraries, universities and foundations. Would we all have been better off if Carnegie had simply paid his workers higher wages? Would we all have been better off if Carnegie had simply charged lower prices? These were the opportunity costs of those libraries, universities and foundations. Wouldn't it have been better to increase consumer surplus and consumer sovereignty (and consumer wages)? I mean, my tastes and preferences happen to coincide with Carnegie's, at least as far as libraries, hospitals, universities, and foundations go. But what if the people working for him would have preferred to buy their own books or educate their children their own way? Or even party hard and long? Why do a wealthy philanthropist's tastes and preferences trump those of the people they employ? Make no mistake here. We're talking paternalism by a group of elites, just as surely as when the guvmint does it.
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dreamhampton1:Pumzi.
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kokoamoon:By Mambu Bayoh
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msalexismarie:PLEASE HELP ME SPREAD THIS VIDEO!!!!!!These are...
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via 道 on 2/28/11
PLEASE HELP ME SPREAD THIS VIDEO!!!!!!
These are young boys from Stuyvesant High School (Ardi Demaliaj, Loren Weiss, Peter Ferguson, Arthur Rentzler and Joseph L. among them). Yes, Stuyvesant High School. Supposedly the number one high school in New York City. These boys are supposedly the best and the brightest. They are spewing hatred and talking about a young Black woman who attends the school. I wrote a letter to the principal of this school, Stanley Teitel, asking that these boys be reprimanded and he refused to disclose any information to me in terms of how this situation would be dealt with. Please help me spread this video around to show what truly goes on in institutions like this. The overt racist acts perpetrated against these young Black children, who are unfortunately a small minority in these larger white institutions. Help me to make a change. We have to stop things like this from continuing. It is not enough to simply give these boys a pat on the wrist. This is not just an isolated, individual incident. This is what is, and has been, going on for many years now. Something MUST be done!
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Phylicia Barnes: Still Missing 2 Months Later (flyblackchick.com)
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Another Afro Latina writer...
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via Liquor&Spice on 2/28/11
To add to this list, I'd recommend Puerto Rican author Mayra Santos-Febres.
I read her novel Nuestra señora de la noche /Our Lady of the Night for a class I had on Caribbean sexuality in literature (taught by the fabulous gay, Rican scholar Larry La Fountain-Stokes! Seriously, like my fav profesor evarrr!).
The novel's about Isabel la Negra, an iconic Puerto Rican madam. It's a great story that deals with colorism, racism, latinidad, sexual violence, sex work, neocolonialism all in really complex ways that I for sure didn't completely understand. (we had to read the book in Spanish and write a reaction on it in just one week. Larry's a fun and brilliant prof but he plays NO GAMES with coursework! lol) I actually just re-discovered this book in my basement and might read it again sometimes soon. Or I might pick up Sirena Silena which is her most famous book.
Anyone else read anything by this author?
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xicanagrrrl:buttahlove:Amore by Tinae OMG! She looks so...
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via 道 on 2/28/11
Amore by Tinae
OMG! She looks so beautiful in Peach!
*Inspiration*.zomg… that dress!!!
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Afro Latino writers...here's a list to get you started.
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dreamhampton1: Joyce Bryant. Bronze Bombshell. 1948.
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someecards pic of white man in a tux, joyfully waving a...
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via Liquor&Spice on 2/27/11
someecards pic of white man in a tux, joyfully waving a statuette as he clutches a microphone. set against a lavender background text says, "Let's watch the whitest Academy Awards in decades this Black History Month."
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dreamhampton1: THEE SATISFACTION
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blackfeminismlives: Ms. Vera says rise up. ...
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Washington Independent: Abortion Ban for American Indians Only (March 5, 2008)
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via 道 on 2/27/11
Washington Independent: Abortion Ban for American Indians Only (March 5, 2008): Following scant debate, the Senate last week approved an amendment to an Indian health care bill that would permanently prohibit the use of federal dollars to fund abortions for Native Americans except in rare cases. The move has prompted an outcry from women's health advocates — who point out that a similar ban has existed on a temporary basis for years — and from tribal groups, who are asking why Native American women should be subject to restrictions not applicable to other ethnic groups. Some charge that the Senate proposal is overtly racist.
The issue is a sensitive one in American Indian communities, where women are statistically more likely to be victims of rape or sexual assault than other American women — but also where victims very rarely use the exceptions to the current federally funded abortion ban in the wake of those crimes. In the face of that discrepancy, advocates say, Congress should encourage victims to take advantage of the available services, not impose tighter restrictions.
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vintageblackglamour: ...
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via 道 on 2/27/11
Hattie McDaniel Arrives at the Coconut Grove by Rita Dove
late, in aqua and ermine, gardenias
scaling her left sleeve in a spasm of scent,
her gloves white, her smile chastened, purse giddy
with stars and rhinestones clipped to her brilliantined hair,
on her free arm that fine Negro,
Mr. Wonderful Smith.
It's the day that isn't, February 29th,
at the end of the shortest month of the year—
and the shittiest, too, everywhere
except Hollywood, California
where the maid can wear mink and still be a maid,
bobbing her bandaged head and cursing
the white folks under her breath as she smiles
and shoos their silly daughters
in from the night dew…what can she be
thinking of, striding into the ballroom
where no black face has ever showed itself
except above a serving tray?
Hi-Hat Hattie, Mama Mac, Her Haughtiness,
The "little lady" from Showboat whose name
Bing forgot, Beulah & Bertha & Malena
& Carrie & Violet & Cynthia & Fidelia,
one half of the dark Barrymores—
dear Mammy, we can't help but hug you crawl into
your generous lap tease you
with such arch innuendo so we can feel that
much more wicked and youthful
and sleek but oh what
we forgot: the four husbands, the phantom
pregnancy, your famous parties, your celebrated
ice box cake. Your giggle above the red petticoat's rustle,
black girl and white girl walking hand in hand
down the railroad tracks
in Kansas city, six years old.
The man who advised you, now
that you were famous to 'begin eliminating"
your more common acquaintances
and your reply (catching him square
in the eye): "That's a good idea.
I'll start right now by eliminating you."
Is she or isn't she? Three million dishes,
a truckload of aprons and headrags later, and here
you are: poised, between husbands
and factions, no corset wide enough
to hold you in, your huge face a dark moon split
by that spontaneous smile – your trademark,
your curse. Not matter, Hattie: It's a long, beautiful walk
into that flower-smothered standing ovation,
so go on
and make them wait.
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yoursublime: High Priestess Of Soul
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alinakaur: lizzieester: My girl Bri. Shot with a Canon Rebel...
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daughtersofdilla: Illustration by Pat Cummings from Just Us...
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via 道 on 2/28/11
Illustration by Pat Cummings from Just Us Women by Jeannette Caines, Harper & Row, 1982.
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quazimottoonwax: Duro Olowu Show Fall ‘11
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fashionandgirlystuff: yes , I rock blue lips :)
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“We Created A Circle”: Reflections on the CFC Retreat
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via The Crunk Feminist Collective by rboylorn on 2/28/11
We began making plans for our first Crunk Feminist retreat months in advance. The first attempt, in May, failed because of an unexpected death in Brittney's family. We initially planned a workshop-like gathering in Atlanta on Emory's campus but the postponement, coupled with hectic schedules and life's work, lasted one year.
Our second attempt, scheduled for February 2011, nearly a year from when we started, would be a weekend getaway in the mountains of north Georgia. Eight of us confirmed our plans to attend. Aisha Durham, Moya Bailey, Asha French (and baby Asali), Susana Morris, Brittney Cooper, Sheri Davis-Faulkner, Whitney Peoples, and me (Robin Boylorn).
In preparation for the trip we collaborated plans over email, including the selection of a logo designed by Aisha and the design of t-shirts, care of Brittney and Sheri.
On the Friday of our journey we met at Sheri's house in Atlanta.
The agenda said that we should be there by 1:30 EST. But then there was the getting there part. Susana and Brittney had to "make groceries". Asha had to get the baby together. We relied on our own time and took advantage of the delay to bond together. We had traveled a long way to get t/here.
We came from all over. Aisha the farthest—from College Station, Texas. Robin and Brittney from Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Susana from Auburn, Alabama. The other CFs were already local. We were traveling to Mountain Top Cabin Rentals in Blue Ridge, Georgia for a reprieve, a retreat. We packed up a rented car with groceries and toiletries for the weekend and congregated in the driveway, dancing, talking shit, bonding over the bliss of finally, finally all being in the same place at the same time. An hour behind schedule we got on the road. Sheri and Moya driving. Whitney and Brittney riding shotgun.
Separate conversations in the car quickly melded into one as we discussed teaching, research, sex, and music. We stopped at Longhorn ½ the way there and spent time checking in with each other, vocalizing our goals for the weekend, and sharing how we were doing. Only a few of us were meeting for the first time. Collectively, we all felt that the weekend was timely, something we needed for reassurance and renewal. We got back on the road with a little over an hour between us and our retreat. An hour later we were picking up keys from the office, which was closed. It was already dark. Our anxious anticipation quickly turned to silent frustration as we searched for a road with no name and a cabin with no number. The twists and turns up the mountain were calamitous, steep, long. It would have been scary had it not been for all of us having all of us. After passing the road and turning around, stopping at two cabins (one occupied, one unoccupied), and nearly giving up and going back, we finally found our place, "A Beary Good Life."
Everyone praised Jesus, "grown man Jesus" as Susana said, either in their minds or out loud, when we finally made it to our cabin in the pitch black dark and in one piece. And the stars were beautiful.
A group of women can unpack a trunk full of groceries quickly and meticulously. After a quick tour of the premises we selected sleeping arrangements and congregated downstairs for an impromptu meeting.
In the meeting Brittney distributed agendas and we discussed our goals for the weekend and what we hope to accomplish before Sunday. We also prophesied about Susana's feminist bakery "Real Women Have Rolls & Buns," and all of the various feminist-inspired eateries… I suggested Audre Lorde Have Mercy Cake, which would have some kind of chocolate in it and Brittney explained how by the time the bakery was fully functioning we all would be known by name, calling forth Moya Bailey Irish Cream. There was also talk of selling self decadence (oils, tea baths, etc) in the Ida B Wellness Center. Etc. etc. We talked about plans for moving forward with the blog and a crunk feminist dance at the NWSA. These plans put a smile on everyone's face. And we dismissed ourselves to get comfortable and prepared for our night's rest.
After eating Rotel (cheese dip with tomatoes) we congregated in separate spaces. Asha and the baby retired to bed. Moya and Whitney listened to music and read, respectively, in the living space, Aisha, Susana, Brittney and myself sat around the kitchen table, while Susana wrote a blog, I recorded the events of the day, and Sheri twisted Brittney's hair. We transformed the cabin into a black feminist space through transformative conversation(s), hearty laughs, and making memories would eventually lead to blissful sleep… and rest for a hard day's work.
***
On Saturday we took turns taking baths and gathered together for a hearty breakfast prepared by three of us and passing around our collective baby. The day's events both meshed together and easily transition from breakfast talk and reflections to vision board making and identifying problematic ads in the process. We talked about our life's work as ongoing, sustaining, important. Several CFs pulled the ads and articles in order to share them in classes and use them in dissertations. We cut out words and images of our visions and dreams, both for ourselves and each other. We shared our vision boards over sandwiches outside with a backdrop of mountains and a soundtrack of drums (c/o Sheri).
Afternoon naps offered necessarily sustenance and rejuvenation and led to our final meetings, discussions of opportunities for the CFC and future visions. We discussed how to sustain ourselves, each other, our collective missions. While homemade pizzas were being made, conversations took place about everything from academic jobs, to life maneuvering, to womanism. We mulled over these serious topics with brief interludes of unrelated conversations about moments inspired by songs. Pandora radio played in the background and some songs reminded us of particular moments in our life or childhood. Music brings back memories. Some good, some bad, some haunting. We took turns taking care of each other and offering words of help from our own experience(s). That night we ate—pizza, salad, popcorn, strawberry cake (not in that order) and jointly made feminist anointing oil. We also made bath teas, across the table, and talked—and laughed—and understood each other, trading kitchen table wisdom and personal struggles. We committed to be more intentional about being there for one another. Respecting each other's boundaries. Taking care of each other. The night ended with me holding crocheted yarn in my lap after listening to the bellyache laugher of my friends, doing dance steps, watching interesting videos on youtube, and relishing in not having to be serious. Subconsciously aware that our time together was almost over, we avoided sleep until after two o'clock in the morning.
***
On Sunday we took the task of memorializing ourselves in a group photo (other pictures, too, captured through Moya's vision. A brief meeting around the table reminded us of the short and long term goals we had made and strategies to not allow our dreams, our visions, to fall by the wayside. Then, in an eloquent and remarkable moment, we created a circle of strength and wisdom and love, reading excerpts of Octavia Butler's words about the inevitability of change (in Parable of the Sower) and making promises to our baby, a representation of all of us. The circle culminated in love and a reminder of what we realized in our final meeting, that the Crunk Feminist Collective is "a conduit for care."
I realized, as we closed the baby blessing, that the weight of our emotions and cares fell on the last woman in the circle (each time we gathered accordingly), who bravely and brilliantly articulated together, the culmination of who we are (as women of color feminists), what we have been through (as black girls turned grown ass women), what we envision for ourselves, and what we want for our future and for the future. Strong for each other, our circle complete, we extended support through open arms and woman strength. The retreat is over. Now it is time for change.
The day's spent.
The time together.
The memories made.
The setting.
All beautiful.
Circle un/broken.
We gathered to leave the space and to take it with us. All in a feminist day's work.
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"I use the word “gypsy” because I identify with the lifestyle."
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via http://microaggressions.tumblr.com/ on 2/28/11
""I use the word "gypsy" because I identify with the lifestyle.""- A non-Roma telling me why she used the word "gypsy" in her username, never mind that it's a racial slur. Made me feel frustrated, appalled.
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iwillnotshavemyvagina: This really shoudn’t be...
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via maia medicine on 2/28/11
This really shoudn't be surprising:
School: institution that indoctrinates you into society (teaches you norms and etiquette etc)
Prison: Where you go when you have deviated from society (through crime): re-indoctrination.
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