Womanist and Feminist Go Head to Head

Melissa Harris-Lacewell, a womanist and professor at Princeton University engages with Gloria Steinem during this recording about the intersection of gender, race, and political issues. You're not going to hear much better ass-kicking than this, folks.

The beginning 10 minutes is all news stuff, but THEN the awesome stuff hits. It's 37 minutes total and WELL WORTH it. I played it while I cleaned my apartment. Random "WHOOHOOO!" and cheering erupted from my dusting as I listened to this brilliant Harris-Lacewell dominate the 2nd wave feminist icon, Steinem.

LISTEN UP!

A Bi-Racial, Bi-Cultural Pinay Sings Maybe

In the musical, Annie, there is a song called, "Maybe." This song frames the small corner in which orphan Annie wonders about the whereabouts and hobbies of her biological parents. Growing up, my sister, an intrinsically talented piano player used to glide her hands over the ivories and order me to sing along in my loud and often off key voice.

Maybe far away
Or maybe real nearby
He may be pouring her coffee
She may be straighting his tie
Maybe in a house
All hidden by a hill
She's sitting playing piano,
He's sitting paying a bill
Betcha they're young
Betcha they're smart
Bet they collect things
Like ashtrays, and art
Betcha they're good
(Why shouldn't they be?)
Their one mistake was giving up me!
So maybe now it's time,
And maybe when I wake
They'll be there calling me "Baby"
... Maybe.
Betcha he reads
Betcha she sews
Maybe she's made me
A closet of clothes
Maybe they're strict
As straight as a line...
Don't really care
As long as they're mine
So maybe now this prayer's
the last one of it's kind...
Won't you please come get your "Baby"
Maybe

While I am most certainly not an orphan, I sang this song frequently enough and loud enough to memorize its words and contemplate its tugging profundity. Singing, I would often try and project how I would feel growing up without knowing my roots, who I belong to, and yearn for a sense of history. Belting the lyrics out time and time again brought me to a deep connection with Maybe. For me and my family, love was never in question, but belonging and history was always in doubt. With two immigrant parents, I struggled for every inch of self-understanding. In my younger years, life was much smoother feigning disinterest and apathy toward my ethnic roots.

In Nadia's deep pool of reflection she asks children of immigrants: Do you think your parents thought that being born in the u.s. means you are outside the influence of their home country/culture? Do your parents think of you as americans? The old truism says that immigrants are in search of a better life for their children; what were your parents seeking for you?

My parents are legal American citizens, but they will tell you that I am all-American. Two worlds, equal in force, combat for my brainpower and loyalty. In one corner is my Filipino-Spanish blood; a living paradox of the colonizer and the colonized beating in the same heart. In my Filipino existence, there is family-centered prayer and religion, loud gatherings, food, rice, music, raucous dancing, and an almost ridiculous disregard for time and deadlines. No home is complete without an altar in the living room, no dinner is worth having unless it's eaten three times over. In my Pinay eyes, mistaken identity is my identity. If not Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Hawaiian, Vietnamese, Indian, Mexican, Loatian, Malaysian, Samoan, or Native American - then I was rendered invisible. The only place where I ever felt racially understood was with my own family. Not only did my siblings understand what it meant to be Filipino, they understood what it meant to be Filipino-American; to be raised Filipino while living in the United States. That bond, sealed with the most intimate clarity, can never be broken.

In the other corner is my American world. This is the east coast born, Midwest raised existence. This is where I made a salad for the first time in college and began questioning Catholicism. My American identity is the fast driving, fast talking, eye rolling independent
daughter who couldn't stand Filipino summer picnics and hated making eye contact with any other Asian Americans because it was a lightning-quick reminder of the awkward reality that I was more comfortable navigating an all White crowd of folks than connecting with another grrl of color. Back then, even if it's hell, familiarity always triumphed. This side of me that effortlessly understood White society through private schools, privileged friends, also took in the cool absence of any other grrls of color in my White mainstream Midwest manners. She lived in the forefront, elbowing and trying to beat the Pinay out of me. She almost won.

The Pinay, thankfully, overcame. And in the epitome of Filipino spirit did not expel the American out, but, rather, invited her in as a passenger. They both existed in equal position, but only one had the steering wheel.

Endlessly explained in simplistic and binary terms, bi-culturalism is the fusion of two cultures,
yielding a rare lived experience that specializes in multi-understanding, multi-reasoning, and multi-facets. Children of immigrants have a wider periphery than most. It's both a characteristic and reward of our dueling/dualing lives.

When I think about the years I spent in utter anguish and rage, I wonder why. I wonder what would have helped ease my acidic bitterness. It was not so much that I was different, it was more the fact that everyone assumed that I was just like them. The visual difference was evident, my brown skin spoke more across a hallway than anything. In the face of difference, most people just try to comfort themselves by drawing commonalities. Normally, forging connections in hopes of establishing a relationship is acceptable and expected. Over time, however, relentless emphasis on sameness and commonality qualifies the differences as insignificant and dispensable.

There never was or ever will be an entire reconciliation between cultures, tongues, creeds, and lifestyles. After realizing that separateness was no longer necessary, there were no longer two individuals in the car. There is no longer one passenger and a driver, there is only one driver: Me, a conglomeration of two worlds that is not accepted into either world as a whole. Without fluent Tagalog, or trips to Manila, I am a not a "real" Filipino. Without peanut butter and jelly and baseball, I am "foreign" or "exotic."

This country, my country of origin, is obsessed with Black and White as the only two races, as the only racial conflict, as the only communities of conflict. In every experience of academia, media, and social conversation about race, Black and White are polarized to model the dynamics and yawn-boring patterns of racial tension in the US. Shameless in its ignorance, the United States frequently groups Asians in one category, one hand glossing over our black hair and smudging our skin until its all yellow. I am Brown.

The Latino community continuously gains signficant ground, but Asians are the wallflowers of the race conversation. Deemed pleasantly invisible and poetic in distinct features, Asians are Asians and nothing more, nothing less. If we continue to operate in the same outdated model of an umbrella-ed Asian category, I shudder to think of how many lifetimes it will take until bi-racial and bi-cultured issues will come to surface.

I grew up to be my own self translator. To this day, I still walk into every room and automatically survey its occupants, my mind quickly calculating likelihoods, conversations, percentages, and potential detonating bombs. After almost three decades, my intuition is dead on accurate. It is a learned survival skill to know when to relax or guard yourself. Navigating the Midwest as a grrl of color was like a stepping through a mine field. Careful, careful.

My parents did not come to this country to give their unborn children a better life. They came to this country to help their families who were alive and poor, sick and marginalized, stuck and helpless. My parents came to work to send their earnings home, to do better not for themselves but for their immediate families. Selfless, sacrificing, and urgent, my parents reaped the benefits of this country for others, never themselves.

I was sixteen when I attended my parent's naturalization process. Uncertain as to why I was resistant to their American citizenship, I watched with sadness as they proclaimed their allegiance, but could never articulate exactly why. Their legal ties to the Philippines, on paper, were gone. A land I had never seen except through stories of poverty and heat, the Philippines cradled my parents' hearts and loyalties. Today, I see the reasoning as to why becoming a citizen was necessary for them, but the ceremony rang false to me. I kept questioning the logic, "Why not let patriotism be reflected through human service, merit, decency, and dedication, rather than history tests and ceremonies? Why ask my parents to essentially choose between birthplace and home?" It did and continues to seem like such an unjust choice.

My parents were in constant flux in how to let their children be Filipino-American. Only now I can appreciate how difficult it must be to pass traditions along to your children in a completely unfamiliar environment and then watch it simply be considered and sometimes disregarded. The sound of cultures clashing arrives in the form of unasnwerable questions. Is dating in the US better because we have freer sex with less guilt and more condoms? Is American Catholicism better than Filpino spirituality that celebrates family prayer, tradition, and rosaries? Is it better that college students in the US typically blow off their undergraduate experience in favor of beer, experimentation, and spring break roadtrips? Do I lead a "better" life than my parents?

It depends on who you ask. If you ask any US born citizen, they would say that I have a more comfortable, stable, and privileged life. Is that "better?" I don't think so. Is it better to leave home and be considered an American adult at 18 or live with your parents until you are more certain of what you want from life and have latent independance? Is it a better life to live with your elders and learn how to take care of them or send them off to nursing homes and/or hire personal nurses? Is it better to have have endless choices with indecision or fewer choices with less freedom?

I am 28 years old an have been married two and a half years. I am childless and live in city where I do as I please and answer my cell phone in restaurant booths. My mother, by the time she was my age, had flown halfway across the globe to work at the United Nations and attend Columbia for two years while she supported her family and sent her siblings through school. She quit Columbia after realizing her benign-tumored ovaries weren't going to give her the timeframe most woman would have. At 28, she was married with one child and another on the way.

Do I live a "better" life than my mother? Easier, perhaps. Better? I don't know. I've often questioned as to whether I am as strong as my mother. That, also, I don't know. Our lives, cluttered with various obstacles and failings, cannot be compared. I will never know the pain of leaving my country of origin to rebuild my entire life in support of others. And she will never know the unrelenting pain of isolation and misapprehension.

The question of authenticity used to haunt me. The stiff armor built due to racist, belittling degradation and the humiliation of admitting I cannot speak Tagalog once paralyzed me. I now keep a healthy perspective of authenticity, grounded in the Pinay pride I carry; the knowledge that I am a product of two worlds; two mothers who nursed with radically different idelogies and I am not 50/50. I am 100% original, unprecedented, authentic, and rare.

I still wonder about my roots, my history, and whether I will ever truly find belonging. The difference now, when I sing Maybe, is that I am singing in reminicence of how I once was lost, orphaned by a Black/White only debate. I also resist the notion that bi-cultured, children of immigrants are wondering lost and then suddenly, one day, are self-found. We are in constant state of unfolding, each moment bringing more sense and experience to our natural state of bi-plexity. I have always been in this process. The difference now is that I am less afraid.

Steinem Calls Gender Over Race

Jenn's got a great post, Pitting Race Against Gender, that gives some thought to Gloria Steinem's article that was featured in the New York Times this morning, "Women are Never Frontrunners."

Steinem basically says that if a womyn had Obama's credentials, she would not be given the same weight due to gender. True dat.

That's not what I have a problem with. "What worries me" is this statement: "Gender is probably the most restricting force in American life..." but then asserts, "I’m not advocating a competition for who has it toughest."

Spoken like a true 2nd wave White mainstream feminist "icon" from the New York Times the morning of the New Hampshire primary.

She argues with the following:

"Black men were given the vote a half-century before women of any race were
allowed to mark a ballot, and generally have ascended to positions of power,
from the military to the boardroom, before any women..."

Right. Because the right to VOTE being given to black men over a century ago proves that gender overwhelms race. Yes, let's focus on how White women were restricted the right to vote while ALL Black slaves were restricted the right to live. Let's focus on the few men of color who have "ascended into positions of power" and not the holistic picture of how race and gender interface for all communities of color. There may be some gende/race arguments for the political scene, but that is quite different from making a statement that gender is the most restricting force in America.

Look, I'm not going to go head to head with Steinem and argue what is most pressing for womyn in America - race or gender. What I do know is that as a US womyn of color living in this country is that the two are so inexplicably interlaced that I resist ANY individual that pitts once against the other, especially a White mainstream feminist. What I find most often, too, is women like Steinem (White liberal women) call gender over race. Let's rally all the women together once more because we're all being denied the right to vote and the men of color are making it into the boardroom before any of us are.

There's a reason why I use the word gender/ace as one entity. I cannot separate the two. But, I'm a womyn of color, my opinion probably doesn't fare well next to Steinem. Once again, gender is the tool being used as the great equalizer among women.

Let's look past the military and the boardroom, which Steinem quotes as two examples of Black men's ascension into positions of power. Let's look at economics among women. Take a look at the US economic standing between white women and compare to the womyn of color. I think that tells you everything you need to know about the power of race and gender.

When womyn of color are not the suffering majority from poverty, illiteracy, poor health and education; when I witness White womyn truly listen to womyn of color and learn how to be true allies; when feminism and gender is not used as a big umbrella to bypass issues of racism - THEN I will read the New York Time article again and consider her points. Until then, I find it ludacris to make such statements as Steinem. If you wanna talk gender/ace issues, let's talk about it in the real way that real people experience them. But, I guess for this conversation, we're focusing on the privileged - Clinton and Obama - and ignoring the real gender/ace dynamics of the marginalized.

Thanks, Jenn, for the link.

Filipina Takes Action; Frannie Richards Up Against Fil-Am H&M Lawyer

h/t AAM

Remember Frannie Richards?

She's the women who is bringing up charges against H&M for discrimination a few month ago. After encountering an H&M associate with a slew of racist and sexist comments, Richards has taken action.

H&M has now recruited a Filipino lawyer Joseph J. Centeno, to represent their case. Centeno, a partner with Obermayer Rebmann Maxwell & Hippel LLP in Philadelphia, is - GET THIS - Commissioner to the Philadelphia Human Relations Commission. He is friggin' in charge of enforcing anti-discrimination ordinances and HE'S THE ONE REPRESENTING H&M.

I'm trying not to drop f-bombs, but WHAT THE ---- IS THIS?

So the case of Filipina vs. H&M and Filipino lawyer is set.

I can officially say that this disgusts me to the bone.

Centeno - This is a slap in the face to Frannie Richards and to many Filipinos everywhere.

Asian Women Targeted in Sexual Assault Attacks

h/t to AAM

In Seattle, four womyn have come forward saying they have been sexually assaulted and the assaults have occurred in a bus stop. As the police describe the attacker as growing more and more bold - he first began touching woman and is now grabbing them and forcing them to the ground - they are cautioning women in certain areas who use the bus to be extra weary. All of the survivors are Asian American womyn.

My beef, once again, with sexual assault is that law enforcement and media always end with a Be Careful Ladies! message. What if these womyn - Asian or not - do not have the luxury of options or trying to be more careful than they already are? Or maybe this is an assault on the rights of womyn - Asian or not - to use public transportation without fear of being raped or her body being violated? How about, instead, the message be

WE WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS FORM OF RACE BASED VIOLENCE

How about we write, "We will not silence or persuade women into altering their lives out of fear of a sexual predator," instead of spreading cautionary tales and hoping more womyn come forward?

We will not be silent. We will not be afraid.

2nd Edition of Asian American Women...

Thanks to BFP for the this:

2ND EDITION OF ASIAN AMERICAN WOMEN ISSUES, CONCERNS, AND RESPONSIVE
HUMAN AND CIVIL RIGHTS ADVOCACY

Announcing the second edition of
Asian American Women: Issues, Concerns, and Responsive Human and Civil
Rights Advocacy

by NAPAWF Founding Sister, Lora Jo Foo
Published by iUniverse

Asian American Women: Issues, Concerns, and Responsive Human and Civil
Rights Advocacy reveals the struggles of Asian American women at the bottom
of the socio-economic ladder where hunger, illness, homelessness, sweatshop
labor and even involuntary servitude are everyday realities. The health and
lives of Asian American women of all socio-economic classes are endangered
due to prevalent, but inaccurate stereotypes which hide the appalling level
of human and civil rights violations against them. The book captures their
suffering and also the fighting spirit of Asian American women who have
waged social and economic justice campaigns and founded organizations to
right the wrongs against them.

We encourage you, fellow sisters, to meet with your chapters and discuss
your thoughts and ideas about the issues the book raises. Several of the
chapters of this second edition were updated by women activists and
advocates around the country. We encourage you to invite these courageous
women to your meetings so that they may share their experiences and help
facilitate active and productive discussion.

To thank you for your hard work and commitment to the movement, current paid
NAPAWF members may purchase the book at a discounted rate. Supplies are
limited so order your copy today! To place an order, please visit our
g%2FutviTF5Oj8> online store or email
aawbook@napawf.org. If
you aren’t a current paid member, sign up today so you can take advantage of
this special discount!
Paperback: $19.95 $15.00 NAPAWF Members Only!
Hardcover: $29.95 $25.00 NAPAWF Members Only!

Katherine Heigl's Sister, Anti-Asian Sentiments

Gossip blogs can suck my big toe.

The anti-asian sentiments found in gossip blogs are appalling, racist, sexist, and downright infuriating. I never link to sites that I don't read, but apparently some gossip blog (Idon'tlikeyouinthatwaydotcom) has some choice words to describe the surprise that Katherine Heigl was a bridesmaid for her sister and the bride is of asian-descent.

OH MY GOSH. WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO? HOW CAN KATHERINE GREYSMULTICULTURALANATOMY STAR HAVE A HAPA SISTER?

I guess we could ignore logical steps in ascertaining how and why Heigl's sister is of a different racial and ethnic make-up. Mhm, second marriages, adoption, bi-racial identities...no? Of course, we can always just pander to the lowest common denominator and resort to racist and sexist commentary.

Thanks to Jen for bringing this ugly out into the open.

Desperate Times, Desperate Apologies from Desperate Housewives

When I googled "ABC Apolgoy," the apology about the anti-Filipino comment made on Desperate Housewives that insulted the medical schools in the Philippines and the Filipinos specifically in health care was fourth or fifth on the list.

When something derogatory is said and then claim you didn't mean for it to be offensive, it makes you wonder what in the world you expected millions of people to think after an insulting comment?

Please.

Diploma THIS

You can always count on Reappropriate to bring up issues that are so significant and often overseen.

On the last episode of Desperate Housewives, a show I do not watch, Teri Hatcher's character made a comment that denigraded the Philippines and the integrity of medical professionals schooled and educated in the Philippines.

Never mind that the Filipino population is the second largest immigrant population in the USA. Never mind the extrememly high percentage of Filipinos in the healthcare profession.
Never mind the insinuation that Filipino educated medical professionals are second-hand and not on the same caliber as US-trained medical personnel.

I'm boiling.

I normally don't do online petitions, but this one demands an apology from ABC about the writing of this particular episode to the Filipinos and to Filipino-Americans.

AT THE LINE, SIGN HERE.

Rethinking Flickr

MAMA MIA.

This has me rethinking everthing I have done with photography, privacy, and changing the settings on my flickr account.

Highly disturbing, incredible in analysis - this story has STEREOTYPE written all over it's lens.

What Does It Mean to be Asian-American?

There's more to the hyphen than most realize.

MABUHAY!

A Letter to White Feminists

This essay aged a few months, but it came at a time when a borrage of requests landed in on my doorstep to "help" White feminists become more aware of their racism. In my own work to combat internalized oppression, internalized inferiority and superiority, I have found an invaluble community of Radical WOC to challenge and support me. Many thanks to BFP, Blackamazon, Lex, Fabulosa, Sylvia and the fierce supporters both on and offline.

For every human, fear is a natural component of life. In every situation, fear plays a part of our decisions in whom we choose to love, leave, vocation, direction, and faith. Fear, without discernment, can have a paralyzing, sometimes permanent cage in one’s life.

When I counseled individuals struggling with addiction, this quote hung on my corkboard, “The possibility of change is so fearful that most will stay with what is familiar to them, even if it is hell. The unknown is that daunting.”

For a feminist of color, fear encapsulates much of the process of self-actualization, or as I call it, tapping into the often frozen fountain of love and potential. Feminism, the multi-defined movement that centers justice on issues relating to women and gender, is hardly the warm home where a woman finds herself. Feminism, for women of color, depends largely on the level of ready availability of community, resources, support, and education.* (Education, not the formal academia style, but the roots of educating. A means of broadening one’s knowledge to lead a richer, fuller life.)

Mainstream feminism, theory and political action that receives primary attention and recognition, will often directly clash with the culture and experience of women of color. Mainstream feminism, while boasting strides that women of color are in fact included; transgender folks, individuals with disability, and non-heterosexual identified women continue to remain unwelcomed. In other words, mainstream feminism has fallen short of creating a place of friction. You want easier winds. The objectivity of mainstream feminism is often mildly fought negotiation and radical sisterhood, overlooking the basic premise that most non-white women were born with in their blood: Difference is inevitable, necessary, and good. Compromise is not always necessary or even needed. The simple existence of difference is needed. Compromise is not.

When discussing mainstream feminism, One radical feminist of color wrote,“ I normally do not participate. I want woc feminism to be so much more than just anger. I want it to be so much more than just reacting to stupid white people.” (Ahh, Fabulosa Mujer...)

Perfecto.

The empowerment of WOC, a force that history has yet to fully document, strikes fear into the heart of mainstream feminism. After all the careful thoughts, studying, language acquisition, and open panel discussions, many White feminists have asked me is it possible that I have been participating in oppressive behavior? Toward other women? These questions prompt pause and, in that pause, fear.

This fear often yields two reactions. One White and or mainstream feminists to sink their desperate claws in to the shoulders of WOC feminists and beg for a tutorial, a lesson for change, how to be better, live better, make others feel better. How do you get rid of conflict? Discomfort? This ugliness between us? This ugliness between us is not something that can be rid of by simply talking about it. It must be undone by your mind, your soul, your truthful admittance that you are living off the expenses of the marginalized and your extravagance has a price. You center yourself in your theory, why not center yourself in your decolonizing, de-racist work?

The second reaction is my favorite, and by far, more entertaining to read on blogs: TOTAL DISMISSAL of WOC and anger of the possibility that a progressive feminist has not thoroughly checked her knapsack and must be sent back to Peggy McIntosh for further examination.


What woc have known is that their lived experience is that of an entirely different species than that of their dominantly privileged counterparts. The corners of life that most privileged people dare not even speak or consider are the shadows in which woc not only visit, but exist and breathe in. How could their perspective not be deeper, to include the light and the shadow, the blood and the cells, the suffering and the redemption?

These truths of antiquity for WOC flow from their pens as if from their blood. They know mess. They hold both the blunt and the shy in their calloused hands. Our forefeministmothers knew they needed a different space and feared what that might be, where it would be. And so, many of them waited. They waited in the margins, too afraid to approach the center, too afraid to leave.

Then, suddenly, a shift occurs. A momentun begins. WOC realize that the margins extend beyond ourselves, and there are Others, so many Others hanging onto the little bit of faith, hoping Something will change, hoping their voices will be heard, hoping their blood will stain deep enough that will rouse an feminist investigation.

Radical WOC can spot each other. We find community and have broken off from the margins and turn our backs to an agenda that never served us, never truly listened to us, or even loved us enough to try and understand Brown, Black, and grey matter.

This shift, the No More Margin Living illustrates the current state of grassroots organization and separatism that is currently transpiring: WOC planning, strategizing, theorizing, building, and moving away from the margin and recreating a circle of their own, one with no margins known; an open circle with nothing in the center but deliberate inclusion and focus on the Other. It's a circle, but with no vortex. It emphasizes knowledge, history, colonialization impact, imperialism - all found in self stories, in the narrative, not the text. It is no wonder, then, that when WOC begin to voice their own experiences White women begin to cry from dismantled sisterhood and intersectionality.

Please understand this: sisterhood was never whole to begin with.

The ability to live, move forward, progress WITH, not despite, difference is a conception that mainstream feminists have yet to embrace. And while the “mentionable” effect( aka giving shoutouts, sidebars, quick links, and forget-woc-not stats) provides a literary alibi which testifies that WOC are not being ignored, the truth is that the agenda on the clipboard largely remains dictated by white, middle-class, academy educated, Eurocentric American women. And the clipboard is not being passed around.

Well, we don't need your clipboard. We have our minds. I am over this and am unafraid. So the only tutorial I can give is this: get over your fear. Walk out into the unknown, if you are that committed to anti-racism within feminism. Be willing to give up your comfort and privilege of ignorance and safety.

Let me know, but I'm not waiting.

Women of Color Blogging Issues

This article from Reappropriate tackles some of the most pressing issues for women of color bloggers who have been run off their own blogs with threats and silencing.

I can't say that I've encountered as much hate as some other bloggers, but I can only imagine the level of intimidation and hostility they have encountered.

The online and offline world are connected, whether you want to believe it or not. Human behavior translates onto the screen and affects the blogger similarly to offline encounters of racism, sexism, and homophobia. The only difference is that commenters get to "anonymously" threat and attempt to silence WOC. Cowards.

And similar to how I will not be silenced in the "real world" offline, I will not be silenced in my own space, my blog that I have created. "Sudy" is not untouchable or immune to the verbal hurts, but she is most certainly fierce and resilient. So, let this be my declaration of buoyancy. I may take breaks, I may sometimes need to regroup, but I will not be silenced, so don't bother leaving threatening comments at my door. You are not welcome here, trollers. I am in solidarity with women who have been silenced by rape and violence, and I am in solidarity with women who have been silenced by stalking, threats, and initimidation.

So, listen up trollers:
I cannot and will not be bullied on my own blog, so take your mouth foam elsewhere.

Facebook Hate

An apology came later with and the infamous, "I'm not a racist," disclaimer.

RIGHT.

Technology + Highschool + Racism + the likes Imus/Isaiah Washington behavior = Irresponsible and irrevocable damage to young Asian-Americans

For links to the lame apology and more, go to and give a h/t to The Anti-Essentialist Conundrum

We Are the Daughters

I wrote this poem for myself, and for all the transforming women of color I met this weekend in Detroit. Mabuhay.

We Are the Daughters

We are the daughters of the forgotten, the skinned, the given-up in the trenches
by the roadside
We are the daughters once covered in blankets, helpless heaps
without shields
We are the beaten with sticks, paddles, belts, and bricks
We are the daughters of violence
And the violated
Our mothers knew the pain of childbirth without anesthesia
contractions throbbing with wariness
We are the daughters of doubters, the relentlessly uncertain
We are the first documented, freshly counted
The ones who know community by faith, street, and fringe living
Not by gathering, similarity, or food
Our mothers and fathers are the immigrants – the forced travelers – thrown
We are the daughters with honor, without legacy
With riches, without inheritance
Our traditions are storytelling, sharing, remembering
Branding it in our minds because it will not be texted, printed, distributed, categorized, considered
We are the daughters of gates
Passing through with filthy, but functioning feet
We are the ones sacrificed, priced, shamed
We are all of these
We are all of these
Our troubles are less jagged than our mothers
Our survival less in question
Our thriving dependant upon more our will, not chance
We are the daughters of the umpteenth strokes of window washers
And poor wages
We are the daughters of cruel legislature, temporary amnesty, refugee camps, and collision
We are the daughters of grain, cotton, las floras, and sugar cane
We are the divergent behaviors, red with depression, pale with negligence
We are the mules of silence, withholding, and secrecy
Our tongues speak our history, hyphens
Bridging the borders of land and sea
We are speakeasies, the back alley ways
We know the gravel and dirt roads
The railroads sound in our dreams and whistles goodbye
We are the daughters of stopped clocks, crossovers, irreverence, heat
We flip paradoxes on the tips of our lashes, especially within ourselves
We look for madness, familiar
We know the smell of grass cut by machetes
We are the daughters of failed government, tastes of sovereignty, uprising
We are the daughters of broken tsinelas, broken hearts, broken bones
We are the daughters of the vanished, the unforgiven, the debted, the disappeared, the murdered
The long funerals, the lonely guitar, the rambling corner, the panic rooms
We are the daughters of slurs and political graffiti
We are the walkers through fresh basil gardens with our fathers
The orphaned sparrow
We are the sought prize of many, those waiting to kidnap us
To lure us with scholarships and jimmies
To convince us we deserve better, we are better
Than our ancestors who couldn’t read a coke bottle
Forget them, they say
They want us
They want us badly
To be human erasure for a war waged against our blood, our families
To slowly abolish the mass graves,
glossing over them with petals and dowry
Our deliverance eradicates the atrocities, the scratched signatures allowing the rapes
their misnomers, their wide eyed pretense
they want us to bow to the ivory tower, the one granting us degrees
they want us to forget the hours, lives, humanity that was stolen from our people
they want to shave us clean from any bandages, scars, proof of their imperialistic sodomy
they want us to forsake our memories and accept their offertory
our privilege circles our feet, hopscotching our destinies, leading us away
they want us to be grateful, but not mirror our mothers
or drink from the same clay cups, or splinter from the same broom
they want us to be fed, but hungry for more, and therefore compliant
they do not know that we are the daughters of hair, Brown, restless, and fight
they want to brainwash, inculcate us
but they do not remember our mother’s blood is not a drying stain, but a free flowing wound from which we still suckle and warm ourselves
we feed ourselves
we are the daughters of vision
and we are the thieves
stealing, taking, claiming, owning the
land, fish, air we righteously and already own
we take and give back to our foremothers, we kneel before our scrolls of imprisonment
We breathe easier
But we live with memorials and pledges
Mourning
We invoke what we did not live through
We remember our reasons
Our mothers were never bought
And we cannot be sold
We are the daughters of a thousand dreams
we are both the fruition and bearers of completion
We are the daughters of swallowing caves
Erupting ground
cracking trees
and mulberry scents

We are the daughters the world hoped would die in the bellies of our mothers

We are the unlost, thrice self-found
And rejoicing

White Authors, Ethnic Characters

Interesting read here about writing fiction, creating character, and ethnicity. As a writer, I appreciate the critical exploration.
Thanks to Racialicious.

A Book is Never Just a Book: Thoughts on Full, Frontal Feminism

Ignoring the differences of race between women and the implications of those differences presents the most serious threat to the mobilization of women’s joint power.
–Audre Lorde

Oh, dear.

Starting off with a quote from the overquoted Audre Lorde could backfire. I could be immediately disregarded as cliché, academic, or at best, trite.

I’ll risk it.

Lorde’s quote is the simple backbone to much of the flesh-cutting diatribe going on in the feminist blogosphere lately. The skin of it is Valenti’s book, Full Frontal Feminism, and in some arguments, Valenti herself. The jugular of the problem though, is feminism, inclusion, and the politics of difference.

I have read Valenti’s book and I’ve read the reviews. There are two things that FFF and certain reviews have in common: 1) there are some good points points 2)I am completely turned off by the tone and style of the writer

FFF is written from a mainstream feminist to young women about feminism. There. Simple enough. Well, it might be simple, but that is quite loaded. The problem can begin with the front cover. You don’t need to be a genius to know that putting a naked white hip and calling it Full Frontal Feminism is not going to attract some negative opinion.

The problem with the cover and the book is that it says it targets young women (“young,” I assume is late teen/very early 20s) and I found, frankly, it did little to address young women of color. “Even now, issues of race and class come up in feminism pretty often,” (10). Well, I just laughed out loud when I read that because race and class don’t just come up for women of color “pretty often,” it is their lived experience as human beings. Valenti breezes over this and even uses the Lorde quote when she talks about intersectionality.

Those aren’t just road blocks, they are serious, structural problems within the Movement, Feminism, Women's Centers, academic programs, the workplace, on the street, in the media...you get the point. Valenti mentions this from time to time, referencing Sojourner Truth’s, “Ain’t I a Woman?” and mentioning racism exists throughout the waves. No elaboration, just dropping some pebbles. Some of the heavy duty issues like sexual assault, poverty, public policy, motherhood that Valenti brings up are never broken down to illustrate how women of color experience them differently. It's brought up and told from a White perspective. "That's not her fault!" cry the FFF fans. It's not her "fault" but it certainly doesn't apply to young WOC does it? Or it doesn't acknowledge the different experience they may have with those issues. I think that’s pretty significant to know when trying to sell feminism to young women, especially, those of color.

Is it Valenti’s responsibility to go head first into this issue? I believe yes. The book is CALLED full, frontal feminism, so yes! What other place to discuss the pressing, urgent, undeniable exclusion of *other* women? Probably because it’s too serious. And heavy. Oh, everyone hates that combo. Such a drag.

Is Valenti responsible for speaking for others or women of color? Certainly not. I’m not looking for Valenti to pretend she has answers or have any other skin tone or background than what she has. I am, however, looking for leaders to step up and shake the racist tree of the Movement. Other issues are clearly detailed with personal accounts and stories to illustrate. Why not for issues of difference? Why not model to younger feminists how she experienced the Third Wave’s struggle in terms of racism? For anyone, Valenti or whomever, to leave it untouched or is like that old excuse White women professors used to give for not using WOC literature in Women’s Studies’ courses: they couldn’t teach it because they themselves are not people of color. (But, as Lorde points out, there are no problems teaching Shakespeare and other great works of men) Ok, so that translates into “progressive” or liberal feminists refusing to tackle issues of racist oppression because they’re White. Leave that for the colored women. Right.

Roaring reviews about disappointment came out followed by catty, non-linked accusations of the she said/she said, No I didn’t/Yes You did variety ensued. Some of the most disturbing trends were young women WOC who blogged their opinion about the book and getting whacked by a freight train of Valenti supporters and FFF Mean Girls.

Audre Lorde once wrote a letter to Mary Daly, a radical feminist theologian, about a book Daly had published. After Daly did not respond to her, Lorde opened it up publicly for discussion. Read, “An Open Letter to Mary Daly,” for details. What Lorde first privately and then publicly raises, is why in Gyn/Ecology does Daly not sufficiently explore African examples of goddesses? Why are all the images white and judeo-christian? Lorde tells herself that Daly probably narrowed her focus to deal solely with western European women. But, Daly does eventually expand in her book, poorly. And that is where Lorde takes off. She realizes that Daly interjects sporadic quotes and information to back up her assertions, but never fully recognizes or acknowledges the contributions of Black women and other women of color. She uses particles of the women of color experience to add a be-dazzler effect on her lens, but she never integrates them into her work.

These observances, publishings, and exchanges took place before I was born. And I unabashedly use the following to illustrate what is still occurring in the feminist literature canon and the blogosphere today:

What you excluded…dismissed my heritage and the heritage of all other noneuropean women, and denied the real connections that exist between all of us. It is obvious that you have done a tremendous amount of work for this book. But simply because so little material on non-white female power and symbol exists in white women’s words from a radical feminist perspective, to exclude this aspect of connection from even comment in your work is to deny the foundation of noneuropean female strength and power that nurtures each of our visions. It is to make a point by choice.

Note: is Lorde getting personal and name calling and labeling Daly a racist? No, she does something better: she gets critical with her WORK. She validates her engagment with a piece of literature by offering to the author and the world her experience. Lorde is a master of eloquent indignation. This is not about formality or jargon or the academic vibe. This is an example of a powerful woman using her voice to articulate her experience of racism by literary exclusion. Now, THAT is a feminist dialogue.

My personal reaction to the book deals with its content, marketing, and style; not with the author as a person. I found it light, at best, and skimming the feminist ocean of depth. I’m sure someone right now is saying, “But it’s not meant to be the academic, dry, serious crap. That’s what makes it so good!” Well, I happen to agree that it’s not meant to be those things, but delving deep into the consciousness of the Women’s Movement and explaining it to young women is hardly limited to theory, the academic and serious spheres. One can profoundly and radically explore with young women without being boring. On the contrary, the most fascinating and exciting feminist lessons are the ones that dig deep. It’s more than just trendy, it’s resonating.

I can see now that I am definitely not the target audience. That’s not a source of contention. I was misled, just like several other books I picked up and found, after the first chapter it was not written for me. What I have a problem with is what the book stands for and what it symbolizes. The book has a big feminist hat that says TOUR GUIDE and then frolics with young white women and splashes around in the shallow end of the ocean.

Valenti often utilizes the phrase, “in my opinion,” or a variation of that. Right on. The entire book is her opinion. The facts and figures, all current and legit, are funneled through yet another set of well-meaning eyes. The frequent focus on the “ugly” fear, appearance-oriented explanations, and rocking sex freedom tips is not full, frontal feminism. It’s Part of the Surface Feminism. Once again, race, class, and “intersectionality” is the the beloved frosting. It (frosting) is definitely a must-have, but too much of it ruins the enjoyment of the actual cake.

I am rather mystified that when a White woman claims a book she has written is not an end all, be all text and then the criticism confirms the claim, why a legion of defenders comes with swords. The book is being held at both extremes. It’s been called trash – which it’s not. It’s also been the called the greatest thing ever since sliced bread – which it’s not. It speaks from and to the naked White hip cover fans. There’s no crime there. There’s just no depth there either. And as she is entitled to write what she likes, so are reviewers! In the face of critical and substantial rhetoric, you gotta grow thick skin. Yup. Ya deal. And you fight back. You just don’t fight back by pandering to the lowest common denominator and silencing others because W-W-Wahhhh, some women don’t like my shero’s book. Hello – grow a vagina and check yourself.

If we’re going to make some – ANY – progress whatsoever, we must be doing better than this. “This” being: putting out feminist literature that implies a select audience within its target audience and then exploding over negative evaluations. In a nutshell, this book is for: somewhat confident white young women, mild to intensely curious about the Movement and can stand a lot of sexually explicit language, and who want a quick bumper sticker 411 about issues of difference among women.

FFF is not for anyone seriously struggling with their identity, or any form of religious, sexual, and political binaries. This is not for anyone who is Republican or even mildly conservative (given the I Don’t Fuck Republicans shirt references). It’s far left and contributes to the division between camps (given the “feminism isn’t for everybody” explanation). Any young women of color, anyone with ties and concerns with other countries outside the USA, especially developing nations, or if you have already experienced some form of discrimination and are looking for answers won't find much haven here. Immigration, adoption, religion, family, mental illness, physical challenges, the deaf community…Leave these topical expectations at the door.

Valenti wrote a “love letter to feminism,” and just like love, we all have our own valid experiences and perspectives. But if this is the guiding love letter for young, marginalized women of difference about being in a feminist relationship, I’d probably advise to stay single and look elsewhere for companionship, in my opinion.

I SERIOUSLY Welcome You to the Feminist Blogosphere

It's funny. It really is, this whole feminist blogosphere.

Almost two months ago, I expressed some serious whore-er (get it? Play on words? Horror?) over the cover of Full Frontal Feminism (FFF) and predicted severe disagreement from other WOC. And now, months later, I now sit, having read the freaking thing, and what do I see?: sisters of color bloggers getting attacked and the feminist blogosphere's blowing up.

Maybe I should go into feminist prophesy. There's some bank to be made there.

Alright, all joking aside there is an unbelievable amount of bullshit going on about the reactions, reviews, and the jaws of life biting going on between blogs. Those unfamiliar with the blogosphere may wonder how wounds can cut so deep. Well, my friends, it's called Humanity.

If you can connect the dots between blogs, go to it.

Here are the crumbs that I can gather:
FFF is written.
FFF is reviewed.
Writers/Feminist of Color are among reviewers.
W/FOC are attacked.

Mhm.

A book about drawing out the young feminists draws out opinion, disagreeing opinion, and the insidious "commenters" who cannot stand authentic feminist opinions from women of color go to TOWN.

I could post a reflection about either the book or what has transpired, but there is way too much wisdom being written on other blogs right now to spend writing. I want to soak up their pearls before I spew my own spin on these occurences.

There is nothing, I repeat, NOTHING surprising, respectful, true, or inspiring in the ugly racism and comments hurled at women of color who have dissenting opinion. How many more times do we need to go review this lesson?

Before any feminist agenda can move forward, WOMEN OF COLOR MUST BE BELIEVED.

And I think I'll use some of my prophetic skills right now. let me peek into my feminist crystal ball:

mhmmm, it's kind of foggy...I see something, but can't make out what exactly what - WAIT! I SEE SOMETHING! It's...

a future post that slam dunks this shit.

Suicide Among Asian American Women

CNN had a front page article the other day about Asian American women and suicide.

Among all women in this age bracket (18-24), AA women had the highest suicide rate. While some readers may flutter in surprise, my eyebrows remained stagnant. No surprises found.

Let Me Dismiss the Stereotype

Interesting image on Postsecret this week, where this postcard originates.
I'll be honest, I never really understood the whole Asian exotic thing. It wasn't until I began performing mental biopsies on stereotypes did I begin to understand that Asian women are stereotyped as sexual toys, to be dominated, played with, and understood in those contexts.

What could be understood as a trivial stereotype fuels much of the oppression of women and young girls in this world.

The power of stereotype is frightening. I understand it now, in the context of human sex slave trafficking, mail brides, prostitution, and pornography. Asian women, combined with the assumed docile and quiet chacteristic, are viewed as ultimate sexual enjoyment: do whatever you want and they'll never say a word.

I have two words for whomever this postcard was intended: WAKE UP.