Really Gay Racism: Aunt Jamima and Mr. Wong's Dong Emporium (SAY WHAT BITCH?)

In the last month, there have been two events to which I have been invited via Facebook that have made my blood pressure go from normal to cardiac arrest in less than a nanosecond.

One event was called "Aunt Jemima Brunch," which was to be held at the Yotel. The second was "Mr. Wong's Dong Emporium," which was to be held at Vlada.

Please note that I am using past tense, and while I was not responsible for bringing down either of these events, I am extremely proud that I played a key part in raising such a motherfucking ruckus that both events posted apologies, said some noncommittal white people shit about not meaning to offend people, and changed the names of their events.

Let me give you some background before I really let ya'll have it about privilege white gay men in New York and their benign yet blatant racism.

(Cue flashback sequence here)

The first event came to my attention when I was perusing my invitations to various events. When I saw the invitation at first, with a photo of Aunt Jemima from the 50s (black woman in a head wrap)...I seriously didn't know what to think. I was at work, and I called a colleague over and asked if this was being ironic or should I be angry. I sincerely had a series of confused feelings. Then I proceeded to read the various wall posts related to the event. With each reading my temperature rose until I got to the bottom of the page where one of the four white gay male planners had posted a Youtube video clip of the ITALIAN-AMERICAN WOMAN IN BLACK FACE that originated the role of Aunt Jemima in Hollywood. There was no analysis. There was no irony. This was straight up racism, and the worst thing about it is that the hosts thought the shit was funny and were relating Aunt Jemima to childhood memories of pancakes and home cooking. Nevermind that by the time any of the hosts had ever tasted a drop of that nasty ass syrup the Negress in the Do-Rag had been exchanged for a vaguely British white woman walking and talking syrup bottle....the planners insisted that their naming of the event for Aunt Jemima was just a walk down memory lane.

If any of them had been in arms reach, I would be typing this from jail with a new boyfriend named Big Larry.

And the best part of the engagement with the organizers of the Aunt Jemima event was when one of the organizers posted a note saying that, and I quote, "I am from Canada and we don't have racism there." I almost shat daggers and threw one directly at his throat.

But, after I posted a respectful note on the wall of the brunch invite and also posted a note on my Facebook page, about 200 of my closest, bestest friends went ape shit on the page and within hours it was down.

And then, in a stroke of universal justice, Hurricane Irene hit and shut the whole damn thing down anyway. #BOOM

Now...my naive self thought that perhaps the Aunt Jemima Brunch was just one of those momentary blips of white gay male racism that bubble up from time to time. Generally, I feel, that there is usuall some good time/space in between when the stupidiy settles upon the brow of another benignly racist white gay man/men....but...in contradiction to that old bromide that lightening doesnt strike the same place twice....within a couple of weeks a bright WHITE bolt of stupid lightening struck again...and in the same neighborhood.

Not two or three nights past, a couple of friends of mine sounded the alarm and sent me messages about another party happening in my neighborhood. This time it was "Mr. Wong's Dong Emporium featuring Sum Hung Dancers and the Happy Endings Massage Parlor."

I can honestly say that I have never experienced so much racism in one invitation ever. EVER.

Now...I can honestly say that with the Aunt Jemima party, I was civil and never lost my temper. With the Mr. Wong's party I went King-Kong-Climb-A-Building-Ape-Shit. Yes I did. I called upon all the powers at my command...largely because I actually am acquainted with one of the promoters, and he lives in my neighborhood, and I happen to know that while he is not brown he is a member of another oppressed group...so my rage was amplified expontentially. And it was met, matched, and exceeded by the awesome powers of GAPIMNY (Gay Asian Pacific Island Men of New York). And, after flip tripping on the two benign white racists that were hosting the party, the name was changed post haste.

Ta da.

Now, let me say, I don't think and I do not attribute any overt malintent to any of the clueless human creatures that promoted these parties. I DO, however, attribute to them that they, at the very least, knew that these themes would be risque and raise some behind the hand giggles, like when all the white boys are together and someone makes an "off-color" nigger joke. But whatever the intent the impact on brown queer folks remains the same: it reconstructs, reconstitutes, and reifies the same systems of oppression in the straight world in our own white washed rainbow world.

And, lord have mercy, if I ever ever ever ever ever hear another white faggatron again say that they can't be racist because they are gay, I am going to stick my size 10 1/2 directly down their throat and then twist at the ankle. I. Am. Just. Saying.

Thank the Lord above that there are organizations such as the Audre Lorde Project that are out there reminding folks that brown queers exist and we aren't to be fucked with and Queers for Economic Justice that organizes broke, brown, and angry queer and trans folks. In fact, QEJ is going to throw a party to show these white gay benign racist how to party without the racism. Stay tuned in for QEJam: The Party without Oppression at Bartini coming to you soon in the next month or so.

Word to your anti-racist Mama.

One Liner of the Week Award: Jersey Woman at the Laundromat

This morning, I was up early and at the laundromat before 10am. If you were to judge me by the clothing I had on, you would think I was half-a-step above a psych patient off his meds that would not be out of place preaching the gospel to a recycling bin somewhere in the East Village.

I walked the block to do my laundry, and much to my surprise the place was almost empty. Usually Sunday mornings at the laundromat is a exercise in extreme patience. Usually, I want to start shoving irritable (irritating) old ladies into the jumbo washer and lock it permanently on spin.

This morning, two women that are what the hideous little creatures from the Jersey Shore reality show will someday become were putting clothes into the dryer.

One woman was tatooed to Jesus and the other was so skinny I could see her heartbeat through her chest.

Miss Skinny says, "Oh yeah. You know I am taking tai chi and the instructor is like a master. And he is tall for a CHINAMAN, like 5'10". And you know, those people can, like, just kill you. But he's really nice."

And that, ladies and Chinamen, is the One Liner of the Week.

Who We Date: Queer Men of Color and Race

A blessing that I have found as a writer and particularly through my blogging is that more often than I ever imagined, folks that read my writing come to me with questions wondering if I've ever written on the topic or wondering if I would share my thoughts on a subject.

With total and complete humility, I am really and truly honored when that happens. And sometimes, I don't have much to offer but I always try to share my thoughts honestly, including owning when I just don't know.

But now and again someone asks a question that I have not only thought about but also lived in a really personal way. Recently, a long time acquaintance of mine from Minnesota sent me a really honest and searching email. In some real ways he and I have had parallel journeys. We are both mixed race queer kids from Minneapolis. In fact, we both grew up in the same neighborhood. We are about the same age, and, in fact, though I didn't know him growing up, we have many friends in common. I met this gentleman almost as soon as I started going out to 18+ night at the bars in Minneapolis.

Unsurprisingly, in the mid-90s, he and I were two of a very very very small handful of queer men of color in the bars at the time.

When he wrote to me, he was asking if I had ever had the experience of having a black gay man ask me if I have ever dated a black man. Or, even more directly, accused me of being only into "hot white boys." He also asked if I have had the experience upon meeting someone in person or online and politely declining their interest if I have been accused, immediately, of my declination being about the color of the person asking, specifically, black skin. He also talked about the frustration of being in those moments and feeling that based on the place the conversation had gone that he was unable to answer honestly. For him, the honest answer is that he hasn't dated a black man. In my case the answer is yes.

But the distance between his no and my yes is not all that great.

Like my friend, I grew up in what is still the third whitest state in the country. In the last 15 years, Minneapolis as a city has diversified in leaps and bounds. The city that is now is not the city, demographically, that it was in 1995. There were no queer Latin nights at the bar. The black queer community was deep underground and it organized itself through a series of house parties. The queer Latino community also eschewed the gay bars for house parties and straight Latin clubs. Indeed, we knew who each other were at the salsa bars but it was a community in the closet--a really big closet. The Asian/Pacific Islander queer community at the time would throw late night BBQs in order to get together, and they would, from time to time, go out en masse and dance all together in the same corner of the bars. The gay bars were dominated by white gay men who felt absolutely no restraint in saying clearly and to your face, "I don't date black men." And, frankly, it didn't matter how light skinned a black man was...if the skin wasn't pearly white, then you weren't on the menu. There were the exceptions, most often white men that fetishized men of color, but, overwhelmingly, the message was quite clear: Black ain't beautiful in the queer community in Minneapolis.

Add to that the conundrum of the mixed race family. I have no idea the details of my friend's family, but I was raised by my white Mother and her family. And, although my Mom is now married to her fourth husband of color, I was deeply aware of how my own family struggled with race, and I knew some of our family history around race. In particular, I knew that my Mother's relationships with men of color had caused deep divisions in the family.

Throw on top of that all of the media messages we get about what constitutes beauty...and you have a trifecta of factors, particularly in a city with almost no visible queer community of color or examples of brown and black men loving each other openly, which has lead to many a person of color in Minneapolis that, indeed, is only into "hot white boys."

Further, my friend went on to discuss the fact that sometimes people are just attracted to a certain type of person, look, etc. And that there are folks that won't date someone because of their skin color, but he had a hard time wrapping his head around why folks would go into the world and start from a place of assuming that if they are turned down for a date/hook up by another man of color that the reason must be about race.

I really have no problem understanding that.

I have heard too many times and been told to my face or via chat on a hook up site that, "I am cute but I don't do XYZ," that I am suspicious, particularly with white men, when it comes to that. I don't assume the rejection is based on race unless they admit that it is, but when they do, I about lose my mind.

And, when a man of color asks me or accuses me of not being interested because he is black, I general have a very compassionate reaction and understand where that question originates. It originates in the very real racism, and in the case of queer men of color, internalized racism that exists overtly in the queer community. Unless said person that I've rejected is being a straight up biznatch, I generally am really clear about why it is that I am not interested...usually its because the man has a butter face, but, instead of saying that, I simply outline, nicely, that this or that isn't working for me. And, if necessary, I can always pull out my slut book and list off the 100 or so black men that I have quite happily dated and or rode like a mechanical bull at a country bar in Texas. Ahem.

That's Brandon now...Brandon in 1995 wouldn't have dated a black man to save his life. And that shit was all about me.

I grew up with a Step-Dad that beat my ass so badly that I still take anti-PTSD medication to this day. I grew up in a family where I received, never ever consciously, indirect messages that black was somehow bad--as I knew that my family had been angry with my Mother for dating black men....so....in a child's mind....logically....dating black men must be a bad thing. Being mixed race and one of the "smart kids," I had been given shit by other black kids in my neighborhood and all throughout school, so by the time I left for college, except for the black kids in my magnet program in high school, I didn't want anything to do with the community--and I had never experienced the very real and beautiful educated and loving black community that exists nor did I understand the roots of the anger of those beautiful black men that ridiculed me in school....I had been the target of anger from black men that were justifiably pissed off at white folks but since they couldn't attack them, I was the next best thing. And then coming out when and where I did and being told clearly that black wasn't beautiful was the final nail in my self-hating coffin. I then ran off to a school with exactly 9 U.S. born students of color about half of which were black. So, you know, not a lot of unlearning negative messages about blackness and beauty coming from that quarter (though there were a lot of white fake hippy children playing djembe and taking African dance...GOD HELP ME!)

I didn't think about any of that nor did I engage with any of that when looking at the men that I was dating, I just told myself that I just wasn't attracted to black men and that, you know, people are attracted to different people, so what's the big deal.

The big deal was all that shit beneath the surface that was the real reason why I wasn't attracted to black men...and it had nothing to do with black men, everything to do with me, but...and this is the part that is about community...by not engaging with the truth behind why I wouldn't date black men...and by turning a number of black men down...I was replicating the exact cycle of hurt that was dividing black and brown men from each other and made me unable to find my own people beautiful.

I was lucky. I transferred from my first college to the University of Minnesota, and Minneapolis had started undergoing a radical demographic shift and queer people of color were asserting themselves into the community. Folks were also pushing back against the racism found there. I started doing national work with other queer people of color and was given the opportunity to work in close community with loving people that knew EXACTLY the reason why it is so hard for brown men to love each other, and, through their gentle love, I was able to start seeing that my lack of attraction wasn't really just a "preference," but a result of a series of personal historical and community history events that decided for me what constituted beauty and attractiveness. I worked at a queer youth organization that was mostly queer youth of color organizing with other queer youth of color. And we all struggled around these issues together.

Finally, I made a decision that I was only going to date men of color and for almost four years that is exactly what I did. I had the blessing and the privilege to look into my own past, see my wounds, and work to heal them with other people that had experienced the same thing.

And because of that, to this day, when I am confronted by anger from men of color that immediately believe that I am not interested in them because of race...I understand. For me, now, it isn't true. And I am able to share clearly why it is that I am not interested in a particular person with the complete and secure knowledge that it isn't about race. (And I am fairly certain that the parade of nations that has made it way through my bed including some lesser known island nations in Micronesia is a certain indicator that the days of only white men in my bedroom are long gone). But I understand the anger. I appreciate the anger. And I hope that the reasons for the anger will one day no longer be there.

But that is going to take more intentional work on the part of brown and black men to examine the decisions we make, understand the decision we make, heal from any wounds that we have taken, and then look again at who we love and who we fuck. And, if at that point you still have a preference for this or that type of person that includes a particular shade of skin, you at least know that it is actually a preference and not a choice that was made for you by history, racism, and a standard of beauty that most often doesn't include men with skin like ours.

One Liner of the Week Award: Server at My Moon in Williamsburg

Now and again, someone says something so racist and so off the cuff/out of the blue, that you can do nothing more than laugh. In fact, when the person is a clueless European waitress, it makes it even more hilarious.

Yesterday, I went to a send-off brunch for my dear friend Natasha. Tasha is one of those amazing and beautiful people that can't help but do good work in the world. She is off on August 31st, my birthday incidentally, to the Solomon Islands where she is working with the American Bar Association to draft anti-sex trafficking laws for the island nation.

To begin with, My Moon is beautiful. It is an old warehouse that has been turned into a restaurant/bar. It's easy to find it, as it is just a couple blocks from the L train. The atmosphere was nice, but the hamburger I had was probably the worst burger ever. The meat was juicy but flavorless, the bun toasted just enough to be dry without being crisp, and if that wasn't bad enough, there was the server.

I enjoy eating jalapenos on my hamburger. So when it came to be my turn to order, I said:

"Do you have jalapenos? Could I get some jalapenos on my burger?"

The server looks at me for a second and then she says, "We must have jalapenos, there are three Mexicans working in the back."

Half of our table looked up in disbelief. Allison looked at me and said, "Did she just say..."

And I just nodded and said, "Yup."

And that, my dearest readers, is the One Liner of the Week.

Tom Tancredo Rhymes with Jim Crow

To invoke the power of the great blogger Divine Grace, former Republican Congressman Tom Tancredo is a douchenozzle.

He is also a racist bastard that, during his opening remarks at the Tea Party (I calls 'em Teabaggers) Convention, stated that "Obama was elected because we don't have a civics, literacy test in this country before people can vote in this country." (Read the Alternet.org article)

Jim Crow say what?

Speaking in the Nashville, TN, in a South that has never healed from the physical, spiritual, and psychic wounds of slavery and Jim Crow, Tom Tancredo said in his "outside voice" that Jim Crow era voting barriers should be reinstated to keep the ignorant from participating in Democracy. And by ignorant he meant to say niggers. Teabaggers are ok but carpet baggers will not be tolerated.

And wouldn't you know it, the crazy ass fuck nuts in the audience applauded. Holy shit.

When I first read this story yesterday, my jaw hit the table so hard that I left a dimple imprint in the Formica. It is a new fucking day and a great big leap backwards when white folks are no longer afraid of backlash or severe outward consequences by saying uncoded racist shit in public. Pre-Obama it would have been the immediate death knell of the Tea Party if a speaker at their "convention" aka "klan rally" said anything resembling what Tancredo said. There is no way in hell a former Vice Presidential candidate would have kept her appointment to give the keynote speech. Republican legislators would have immediately decried the organization, and it would have quietly broken apart or pulled their sheets back over their heads and returned to burning crosses in colored folk's front yards.

Not now. There's a nigger in the White House. The coloreds done got uppity and forgotten their places, and it's time for Granny to pull up her knickers, rub on some extra Fixodent, and get to kicking ass and tying nooses.

I am listening to NPR this morning, and they were reporting on the convention, and low and behold there wasn't a word spoken concerning Tancredo's remarks. WTF man? Oh yeah....they get money from the gubernment, and there is a recession don't you know. Can't rock the boat by doing any real reporting.

Wake up people. The true measure of the state of racism in this country is not the fact that a black man is in the White House. The true state is measured by what the opposition says and gets away with impunity. Racism is alive and well, and it has taken off its white robes, put on a suit and started a new white power movement called the Tea Party.

Avatar: Great White Hopeless But See It Anyway

So, on the surface (and beneath the surface) Avatar is what David Brooks describes as a "White Messiah" movie a la "Dances with Wolves" and a dozen other popular cinema, literary, and animated fables. The movie is of course about a white man that goes native, and in this movie he literally goes native in the end swapping his human body for an alien body, and leads the indigenous people to salvation. He falls in love with an alien version of Malinche/Pocahontas/Sacajewea/Insert Any Other Woman's Name Here Blamed for Giving Access to Her People By the Colonizers. And, of course the indigenous people are at one with the natural environment, have perfect bodies, exist without war amongst themselves, and live in a big tree. They are the noble savage perfected.

I should have hated this movie for all of those reasons, but I absolutely loved it.

I won't allow that James Cameron was sophisticated in his race analysis. He wasn't. But what he did was provide a very clear depiction of what corporatism and white colonization has done and continues to do to indigenous peoples and populations around the world. He doesn't represent the corporate/military industrial complex on Pandora as having some sort of benevolent intentions...he strips away the niceties that are often present in these movies that portray the "bad white guys" as simply misguided or doing evil in the name of good or higher intentions. He tells it like it is and shows how decisions are really made in the real world when indigenous communities are sitting atop a valuable resources that is desired by the industrialized world. And, the part that won me over, was that James Cameron, for the first time that I can remember in a major world wide cinema piece, directly and clearly makes the connection between capitalism, corporatism, and the military industrial complex. He shows clearly and definitively that they are conjoined, something many of us already knew, and that they can not and will not exist separate from one another. He pushes all of his characters to their illogical extremes. But in doing so gives a more realistic view of the "bad guys" than one is likely to get in a corporate backed theater in the Western World.

He also does a weak critique, but a critique none-the-less, of the clash between Western scientists and indigenous science and technology. Let's be clear, indigenous communities have had and continue to have technology that is culturally appropriate and may not look like Western technology but is still technology. Unfortunately, Western science fails to understand or understands incorrectly indigenous knowledge, medicine, science and technology. And, in this movie, they fail again. Except Sigorne Weaver, who magically comes to a complete understanding of the indigenous science and faith system just before she departs to live with Eywa. Pullllleaassse.

One interesting side note is that Cameron did something interesting. He used a derivation of the Aramaic word for God, which is Elaw. I know this because I use that name for God in the novel that I am writing. Score one for Cameron actually opening a book and doing some research.

In the end, I found value in watching Avatar, but not for the reasons, I am sure, that James Cameron wanted. The plot was thin, but it did communicate some messages, starkly, that the world needs to hear.

On another tip, entirely, I fully believe the special effects in this movie will redefine special effects in the way that the Matrix did almost a decade ago.

In the end, I support folks going to see Avatar. Walk into it knowing that it will again be a storytelling of the Great White Hope. If you accept that up front, you will be able to get past it and enjoy the movie for what it does offer in terms of originality. If nothing else, see it in 3-D...cuz...really...the special effects are fucking cool.

Some of My Best Friends Are White

As a matter of fact two of my best friends are white and the third is black. So using Mendelian genetics, I think that actually makes one of the white friends mulatto.

But seriously, I love white people. I let some white people carve pumpkins in my house last night AND I let them use my bathroom. My Mom is white, and I don't hold that against her (anymore), and I sleep with a white man every night...and now that the Summer has ended he gets paler by the day. I am thinking about getting him a sun lamp before his skin gets any whiter and he starts reflecting light.

I think white people are very articulate. They are funny (that Kathy Griffin is a riot). And they sure are a musical people (N'Sync rules!). And boy oh boy can they move...I mean those white folks on Dancing with the Stars are AMAZING. And considering how queer I am, you know I appreciate all those Rogers and Hammerstein/Stephen Sondheim Broadway tunes. Thank you White America!

But seriously, a good friend of mine (he's white)....noted that I had been directing my anger lately at the shenanigans of white people. And truthfully between Glen Beck and Perez Hilton (I know, I know, that one is Cuban, but the Latino community voted to strip her of her Latinidad until she stops speaking in any public forum)...anyway...from Glen Beck and Lou Dobs to that idiot in Arizona with the "sweat lodge," white folks have been pissing me off a lot lately. But, I am an equal opportunity bitch master, and so yesterday I had to call out a dumbfuck black woman that was more worried about her food stamps than she was about the fact that she left two children in a house that caught on fire killing one of the kids.

And, frankly, since Obama took office many white people have decided that we are living in a post-race America. I still haven't gotten my 40 acres and a mule or a check for my share of 400 years of free labor by my ancestors (plus interest)...so just as soon as I get me a stretch of prime downtown Manhattan real estate and a check for roughly $1 billion dollars (I will cut the IRS a deal and settle their back taxes bill for a cool half-billion)...I will declare the United States to be post race. Until then, I am going to continue to write about the laughable yet sad attempts by racial terrorists to kill Barack Obama (there have been at least three plots foiled that I know about...curse those kids and that dog!)...until Lou Dobbs is yanked from CNN by his balls for his vilification and racist diatribes against undocumented immigrants...until Don Imus is dunked in a vat of Pink Lotion for daring to refer to black women as nappy headed...until transgender women of color are no longer targeted by white men for sexploitation and murder...until white privilege is a history lesson instead of an object lesson on racial reality....until no justice of the peace DARES to decline to marry a mixed-race couple...until white folks can tell me apart from Tiger Woods, Barack Obama, and Derek Jeter...until the day I die...I am most likely going to be on the case of white folks like...well...white on rice.

I love you white people, I just don't love what you do (sometimes). And I know that all white people are not guilty for the sins of the idiot few, which is why I rail against specific incidents as opposed to white folks in general. And I totally think that white people should be allowed to sit anywhere on the bus they want....just as long as its in the back.

Just kidding. Rosa Parks wouldn't like that at all.

This blog is dedicated to Divine Grace...one of the most awesome white people I know.

Black Face and Interracial Marriages

Ummm hello? *tap* *tap* *tap* Is this thing on? Can someone please let the world know that it has lost its goddamn mind. I mean come on people. What the fuck is going on here?

So, let's have a quick recap.

Last week, Harry Connick, Jr. was a guest judge on an Australian television show where six doctor's showed up in black face to do a mock performance by the "Jackson Jive." In the show's defense, the guys were gonged and Harry let them have it after the show. Although, we did find out that the same group, 20 years previous, had been on the show and WON doing the same routine also in black face.

Yesterday a justice of the peace in Louisiana denies an interracial couple a marriage license as he does not believe in mixing the races that way, though he has loads and loads of black friends, and he lets them use his bathroom (I can't make this shit up...it's in the article people).

Today, French Vogue released its new issue with a 14-page spread of a white model in black face. Ummmm what the fuck? Was Tyra Banks unavailable? Where the hell was Naomi Campbell?

The next person that tells me that because we elected Obama we have become a post-race society, I am going to beat the hell out of them with a copy of French Vogue (and, btw, "French" "Vogue" is redundant).

Was there some sort of stupidity chemical that was spritzed into the air that only affects certain white people? Do black folks need to riot again and burn some shit down to get the attention of these motherfuckers that all of a sudden seem to have thought that bringing back Minstrel shows and Mamie dolls is chic and fashionable?

I swear to the Lord that he had better help these people before I open up my window and start taking picking off models I see heading towards Prada headquarters with a .22. Come on people WAKE THE FUCK UP!

I can't imagine how anyone in their right mind would think that black face in this day and age is funny. I don't understand how a justice of the peace can just decide that Loving v. Virginia didn't happen, that he knows better than the Supreme Court, and that he is going to go ahead and make a choice for two grown ass people.

I wish he had tried to tell my Mama that she couldn't marry my Daddy. She would have been a Lifetime Movie for Women called, "I Gouged Out His Eyes When He Lost His Mind and Told Me I Couldn't Marry My Black Husband." Work Mama, work.

I am thinking about calling my Congressperson and suggesting that they pass a bill that requires the weather person to also give the Stupidity Pressure right along with the Barometric reading and weather forecast every day. At least then I will know whether or not I should open my email, log into Facebook, or read my Twitter feed. If the weatherman got on the air and said, "Today will be partly sunny with a high chance of ignorance," well, I will be able to decide whether or not I want to put on my dumbass galoshes or just turn over and go back to sleep until the Fucknut High Pressure Front passes.

Good God.

White Noise: White Adults Raising White Children to Resist White Supremacy

This article is reprinted with permission of the author, Susan Raffo. I met Susan Raffo twelve years ago while a student at the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities. From day one, when I met her in a race and privilege workshop, I was in awe of Susan. My awe turned to adoration and my adoration to love and respect as I came to know and work with Susan, her partner Rocki (an amazing anti-racist organizer and justice worker in her own right), and later was privileged to be a part of the community that welcomed their daughter, Luca, into the world. I have been to the majority of Luca's seven birthdays, and she is, as I have said publicly, my favorite young person.

Susan sent me this article yesterday with a sweet note about many of the conversations that she and I have had on these topics both before and after the birth of Luca. Susan is my family as surely as my own Mother or my partner, David. I have grown up with Susan, been raised in some aspects by Susan, been Susan's peer, and had the honor of learning with Susan. She has been many things to me throughout almost a decade and a half, and I love her for her gentle ways, her willingness to look closely at herself and her privilege, her loving way of holding the people she loves (INCLUDING ME) accountable, and the myriad of ways, times, and circumstances when she has loved me when I could love myself enough. If you are a parent, particularly if you are a white parent, this article is one that you should print out and post next to your child's bed and above your own.




White Noise: White Adults Raising White Children to Resist White Supremacy

written by Anti-Racist Parent contributor Susan Raffo of White Noise

It hit me while I was still pregnant. Standing there at the Mall of America, looking up at the huge rotunda of bright lights and countless stores, I realized something. This baby I carried inside of me, at this point no bigger than a knucklebone, was going to be privileged with a capital “P.” And with that awareness, I entered a place of contradiction. You see, I could already feel the mama-self growing in me; that place where my bear claws would live, where the desire to do anything to make this child safe, make this child whole, would growl as it grew stronger. That mama-self doesn’t feel like a choice. It’s in there, hooked around my mitochondria and woven into the DNA.

But there’s this other self; sometimes called the political self or the activist self or the stand back and pay attention self. It knows that my child — white and raised by white parents in a family where the adults have the gift of education, have choice about their work, and own their own home — is a privileged child. Every gain my mama-self wants to support my child in making will be on the backs of other children, children with mother’s whose mama-selves are just as fierce as mine but who have to fight against real monsters like hunger or violence.

And this is the contradiction that crept into my belly standing there, at the Mall of America. I felt sad, and a different flavor of fierce. Luca’s creativity, her curiosity and her passion have the time and space to be priorities when we think about raising her. We don’t have to protect her daily from violence or spend most of our time finding food. All children should have the same kind of space. Standing there in the Mall of America, my fierceness shifted and grew larger. It became less about my child and more about the community of children. In other words, my question was not “what is the best for my daughter” and more, “what is the best for all children?” How does this question affect how I parent? How do my partner and I – and all of our friends and families – raise our children in a way that honors the lives and struggles of all children?

Whiteness

Here is what we noticed right away: both the race of our daughter and the economic privilege of our family. We have enough – not a lot, but enough. And we are white women raising a white daughter. Here is the question that followed that: how do we, from the very beginning, start raising Luca to be a different kind of white? What does it MEAN to be a different kind of white? This feels about way more than having a commitment to anti-racism. It feels like being a different kind of person entirely.

As a quick aside, my partner and I have a belief system about race, racism and white privilege that assumes that the legacies of slavery, the attempted genocide of Native Americans, European colonialism and its affect here in the Americas and elsewhere in the world has created a present day moment of inequity based on skin color, language, culture of origin and so on. Within that belief system, the fact that my partner and I have light skin and ethnicities with the majority of ancestors being European gives us a kind of privilege. There isn’t the space in this article to explain what we mean by white privilege and white supremacy and racism. At the end, there are resources listed for further exploration.

So, white parents raising white children. We looked at books and blogs. We googled for magazine articles and newspaper features. We talked with our friends – white and of color – and kept coming against the same thing: there is hardly anything out there that directly talks about raising white kids to be anti-racist, to work against white privilege, to be a different flavor, an accountable and creative flavor, of white. There are resources about raising children to live in a multicultural world. There are resources about raising your children to respect difference. There are books about nonviolent child-rearing. But really thinking about what kind of white your kid might be? It’s not out there. And here’s why: most of us white adults don’t really understand what it is to be white ourselves. We sometimes have language about being Irish- or Italian-American, or about growing up on a farm, being Midwestern or from the mountains, but this whiteness thing? The ways in which being white affects our sense of who we are and the communities around us? We usually have no words.

My partner and I decided that if we’re going to raise a white child we want to pay attention to how she becomes white and how she is white. It’s the same thing as paying attention to the fact that she is a girl, that she likes to dance but isn’t so into playing soccer, that she gets shy in front of lots of people she doesn’t know. Each of these things is about her, and each is about the world around her.

Paying attention to how our child becomes white is about a lot of things: and we already know that we don’t know half of them. Sometimes it means paying attention to all of the ways in which being white gives her a kind of “get out of jail free” card, a kind of free pass into better jobs, more income, and less stress and struggle. It means watching and learning from what happens when she pops out of me, all instinct for survival and connection to mama, and starts to grow a personality and set of understandings about herself and the world. It means learning what there is to be proud of, to celebrate, about who she is in the world as a white person.

So, since this is true, we decided to get help. And while folks of color probably are smartest about what being white means, after all, they have to deal with us all of the time, they aren’t the ones who have to fix this part of the crazy mess. It’s up to us to figure this one out. I mean, if as white parents, we can’t figure out how to help our white kids become compassionately or powerfully or collectively white, well, then who can? It’s pretty much our responsibility.

Laying the groundwork

We gathered together a group of white friends, parents every one of them, and decided to form a group. We call it White Noise as a way of describing the everyday annoying distraction from thinking and paying attention that’s akin to living with white privilege. Our kids are all young – the oldest is Luca and she’s only seven. And we sure haven’t figured everything out. But we figure it’s time to bring the light in. The more we share what we’ve learned, the faster it’s going to grow. And growing our understanding of how to raise a white child to make being white an entirely different thing, that’s what we want to grow.

Right now, we call what we do “laying the groundwork.” Meaning, since we have young children whose needs and questions are still more simple than complex, we figure we’re just trying to help their bodies get clear about whiteness. At the end of the day, there is no single recipe for how to do this. Raising white children is really about just plain raising our children to pay attention to all of who they are. We can’t protect them from anything. The best we can do is prepare them to carry the tools they need to weather the multiple storms their lives will bring them. That’s why we call the work we are doing with our young children, “laying the groundwork.” Our intent is to support them to experiences themselves and the world around them in a way that will feed their ability to not only do anti-racist work but also be anti-racist “from the ground up.”

Making whiteness visible

Somewhere around four years old, we started to notice Luca, when describing her friends, only “raced” her friends of color. Meaning, when she was describing people to us who she knew, she described her friends of color as “Black” or “Native” but her white friends as “with red hair” or “tall.” Already, at four years old, and living in a multiracial community, white had become normal for Luca. Normal in a way that means invisible. So, one of the first steps is to just plain make whiteness visible. This means making sure that all of us, when we are describing people, talk as much about white friends as we do our Black or Asian friends. But making whiteness visible is more than that.

The minute we are born, we are surrounded by information. Some of it is directly pointed out for us by the adults in our lives. Most of it goes completely unnoticed by all of us, children and adults alike. Making whiteness visible means seeking to notice the presence of whiteness in every aspect of our lives. How do we do this? We practice everyday. What does that mean? Well, one example is when we walk into a store or into a restaurant or down a neighborhood street, we ask: “Who is here?” and then we notice. Once we notice who is here, we began to intentionally wonder about why they are here. And then to notice who isn’t here. And to wonder the same thing.

A story for explanation: we are out running errands and we all get hungry. We stop by a coffee shop. Right away, Luca notices, “There are only white people in here.” Raquel and I both look around and see that she is right. So then we ask, “Why might there be only white people in here?” We notice that the coffee shop is in a predominantly white upper-middle-class neighborhood. So we assume that drop-in traffic is going to be mostly local. We wonder if people of color might not come by this coffee shop or this neighborhood because it might not be comfortable or because they wouldn’t feel welcome or reflected back by the staff or other customers. We next wonder if there are people of color who would even be interested in this coffee shop – maybe the culture of this coffee shop is one that mostly white people are attracted to and so some folks of color are choosing to not come here, or to instead go somewhere that will better reflect their experiences. Then we talk about what it is like for us to be in this coffee shop – noticing that when we are white and we fit in with the other white people, we barely even notice that we are white. We talk about how there are different kinds of white people, but even though there are different kinds, we don’t really need to think about race when we are among all white people. This is important. We notice that we don’t need to think about or even notice race when we are around other white people.

Making whiteness visible means noticing the books we read, the movies or television shows we watch, the people in our families and neighborhoods, and the rhythm of everyday life. It’s a practice for white people, just like meditation or parenting is a practice. If we don’t do it constantly, we don’t notice.

Learn together

Don’t assume you have to already know everything before you start trying to teach your children. You know the syndrome: the perfect parent syndrome. Our kids look up to us. They ask us questions about the world around them and wait for us to share what we know. When they’re young, we are all-knowing in their eyes. It can be scary to have to admit to your child that you are clueless about some aspect of the world around you.

Figuring out how to be white is something we do together with our children. We can tell them what we have experienced, our ideas and struggles and understandings, but living in the world with consciousness as a white person is not about getting it right once and then being done forever. It’s about making mistakes and learning and then making more mistakes and then learning more and inch by precious inch, feeling the world open up around us.

Learning with our children is about being in process, in struggle, in family with the most important people in our lives. It is about sharing the fact that this is life-long work, that we are all learning together, and that your child has some valuable things to teach you even as you have things to share with them. That last piece is really important. The minute our kids are born, they are learning –both directly and indirectly – how to be white, which includes how to be a racist. Thandeka in her book, “Learning to Be White: Money, Race and God in America,” states that the first act of child abuse directed towards all white children is that the minute they come out of the womb, they are being taught to be racist. So the game has already started, whether or not we ever directly address race and whiteness in our family. But kids have something we don’t have. Even though they have already started learning their whiteness, it hasn’t embedded itself over decades of experience. Their brains and nervous systems are still literally creating their bodies, their identities, their sense of self in the world. Much has already been established no matter when we start, but much is also open for shifting and changing.

Some of what is confusing to adults is likely to make gentle sense to children. Some of the places where we adults make this thick and complex is likely to be simple and poetic to our children. In listening to the questions they ask, the reflections they make, we can learn a whole bunch about how whiteness grows.
Know your own shit. Oh lovely shit, oh layered deep old stuff which gets triggered by the innocent voices of our children. The shame of it. The guilt. The embarrassment. What do I do if my child says something racist? What will others think of me? Will they look over at me, knowing what a horrible mother I am, because my son just came out with something funky about that woman’s hair, her skin, the way she talks? What will people say?

This is a big one. A really big one. As soon as we encourage our children to reflect on the world around them, to say what they are thinking and feeling and to invite conversation, well, they start to talk. And they will say things just about everywhere. And in front of just about everyone. And they will ask questions. Why is your hair like that? Did you notice that your skin is really dark? Wow, look, my mom’s arm is really white next to your arm! How come all the Black kids play basketball? Did you know that your grandfather was probably a slave? Your kids will say things that are beyond what you could possibly imagine. And they should say those things. Because this is how they learn. But they are only going to learn if you are open to hearing them. Which means knowing your own shit. Here is what we mean by that: What is going on for you when you hear your kids say something that triggers your “that’s racist” button? What emotions come up? What are you concerned about? What do you do when those emotions come up? We have all seen parents, when reacting to something their child has said, looking quickly around and saying, “shhhh, that’s not a nice thing to say,” or “Stop that! Don’t be rude!!” or any number of other things. We know the feeling in our bellies when we are walking through the world, thinking about our grocery list or the drive back home, when junior says something that immediately makes us feel exposed and visible. As white people. As potentially bad parents. Raising our children to be white is about knowing our reactions and finding ways to NOT shut our children down when they ask those kinds of questions.

Of course, this is also complicated. It’s a different thing to have a three-year-old making a comment about a stranger in a store, it’s another thing for a 13-year-old to say it. Embedded in supporting our children to ask questions and be open to learning about the world around them, is also teaching them about respect. Teaching them that people are not objects but individuals with feelings and complex lives. Because the reality is that while our children are reflecting on the world around them, the people of color they are reflecting about are real people who just might not be in the mood to hear yet another person talk about their hair – even if it is a gap-toothed five year old. Everything about this work includes supporting our children to act as respectful members of communities, every single day and in every single context.

Another part of knowing your own shit is knowing your own story, all of it. What is your culture? Did you grow up in a city, a suburb, the countryside? What celebrations and rituals did you grow up with? What kind of food? Do you have a word for it? What did you learn about work? About taking care of your own family or other people? Who felt “like you” and who felt different? What is your culture?

The other piece of knowing our own shit is knowing our own understandings of race and whiteness. What did you learn about race and whiteness when you were a child? Really, spend time here. Think about the kinds of things you were directly taught and the things you witnessed. Notice what your life looks like, who the people are who surround you, your sense of why different people are different form you. Think about what it means for you to be white, to be an anti-racist. Find people you trust to talk to about these things. There is a whole bunch you can talk to your children about, and there’s a whole bunch you need to learn with other adults. Don’t stop thinking about yourself, noticing your beliefs, your reactions, your concerns. Stay with your own work.

Don’t immediately go big, stay specific. Remember those reflections our children make in public places – or sometimes private? The ones that make our insides flare up as we struggle to make sure our own shit doesn’t get in the way of our children learning? This is about those times. Example, when Luca was walking by the basketball court in our neighborhood park, she suddenly asked why only Black people play basketball. In my belly flared up things like: oh shit, that’s so racist. It isn’t only Black people that play basketball, and oh god, I have to help her understand the complexity, and on and on. But here’s the funky thing about young children: she was only describing what she saw and asking about it. It is true that when Luca walks by this playground, most of the time the people she sees are Black men. And so she wants to know why. And while the answer is complex and many-layered, there is an answer. Or there are answers that will unravel over the time of her growing up. It’s a legitimate question based on an observation. Stay specific, listen to what your child is saying or watch what they are doing. Are they in distress? Are they worried or having any kind of emotion? Is it just a question? Before making any assumptions about what your child’s question might mean, ask them about it. Refer to knowing your own shit and learning together. Keep the channels of conversation and learning open.

Here’s another example from a white friend of mine: she picked up her white grandson from his preschool. His first comment to her was: “I don’t like Black people. I don’t think I want them to be my friends”. My friend freaked out, her emotions rose up to the sky, and she jumped in immediately, asking with an anxious voice what he meant but also saying that of course he doesn’t know all Black people, and a whole bunch of other things that she doesn’t remember because her emotions were so high. And as she was talking, she saw him retreat into himself, getting quiet and logging away the information that this wasn’t something he should talk about.

And my friend kicked herself from here to the preschool and back, knowing that she had goofed but feeling overwhelmed. As she later asked more questions, she learned that her grandson’s school had just done a chapter on the civil rights. During this chapter, there was a lot of conversation about Black folks as a people or as a community. Her grandson knew Black folks but he knew them as individuals. He had never thought of anyone as a “people.” While he knew Black folks out in the world, there was only one Black child in his preschool class: a boy who, for whatever reason, teased him a lot. So my friend’s grandson put things together in a pattern in his head: “this kid is a Black kid and he is mean to me. Black kids are part of a Black people. I don’t like playing with this Black kid and I don’t want to be his friend. Therefore, I don’t want to be friends with Black people.” If you take away the sting and the legacy of racism, you’ve got to admit there’s a logic to this.

As we talked about it, my friend wished that she had just hit the pause button after her grandson spoke. She wished she had started right away with asking questions, not putting any kind of value on his words until she understood what he was actually talking about. Because now she has to undo something, one of the somethings that white supremacy depends on. She has to undo this idea that some things are not “polite” to talk about, that there is something uncomfortably emotional about talking about Black people, that grandma freaks out when you bring it up so don’t bring this kind of stuff up.

And every single one of us is going to have to undo moments like this. Because we will all make mistakes. Because we are learning as we go. We make mistakes and we will continue to make them. The important thing is to keep coming back, being honest with our kids about our own struggle, and asking for their help in figuring this out.

And maybe that’s how this article will end. As we enter our third year of White Noise, the group focus is shifting. There are some new people joining in the Fall, some people who are stepping out. We now share a groundwork among ourselves as adults, and we share some thoughts about how to start laying the groundwork with our children. In our meetings, we laugh a lot, we freak out, we forget to bring up important things, we spend too much time talking about the easy stuff and sometimes we dip into the hard and scary things that move us all forward.

Recently, we’ve been talking about the aspects of our cultures that really prop up white supremacy. We’ve been talking about how the protestant work ethic is one aspect of white supremacy, the particular values about how we approach work and “responsibility”, what gets called laziness or self-indulgent, how we think about the relationship between work, family and community. We have talked about the difference in valuing relationships and community versus valuing “getting things done.” We have talked about how raising our children to code-shift is an important part of resisting white supremacy. This means being able to move across cultures and communities without losing a sense of themselves and without assuming that everyone else has to be just like them. And we are talking about moving outside of our own comfort zones in figuring these out. Meaning, not just reading books and getting together to discuss, but maybe, actually, playing; with our kids and not just alone as a bunch of serious adults.

We will continue to learn together. As our children get older and enter different developmental stages with different relationships with friends, community and self, we will need to figure out new things. And at the end of the day, we know this group is far more for us adults than for our kids. Because they will be living their lives separate from us. Their choices will be their own and their mistakes their own as well. By laying the groundwork, our hope is that we support our children to feel empowered and creative as white people to live in the whole world, with wide open eyes and a sense of accountability and celebration. And that in living in the whole world, they might be part of shifting the pattern so that there are more children with each successive generation who also truly have access to the whole world. What we have realized is that we can’t take our children’s privilege away but we can work to shift our collective understanding of what that privilege means.

A good basic article on White Privilege is by Peggy McIntosh: http://www.amptoons.com/blog/files/mcintosh.html

White Privilege: Essential Readings on the other side of Racism (an anthology) by Paula S. Rotherberg, Worth Publishers

White Supremacy Culture by Tema Okun http://www.prisonactivist.org/archive/cws/dr-culture.html

Acknowledgements: Susan, Raquel, Susan, Nicola, Amy, Lisa and all past members of White Noise, Vikki, Kris, Kristen, Kristin, Jen, Laura, and Karn.

White Noise is a group of white parents with white children who have been meeting for two years to learn together and support each other in ending white supremacy.


(Editors Note: I also know Tema Okun, and she is amazing as well. Check out her stuff for sure).

An Open Letter to the GOP

Dear Grand Old Party:

You suck.

I don't mean in that gloryhole, backalley, 1970s pre-condom porn kind of sucking. I am talking about that drippy cheesy uncut leporitic yeast infected dick head kind of way.

Let me explain.

You are a party run by complete tit jobs that can't keep it in their pants or their ass in the country. Let's start with Governor Sanford. What the fuck? Let's see...if my Mom in her glorious job at Target at the Miller Hill Mall in Duluth, Minnesota, were to up and skip town, not tell anyone (including her bosses...in Sanford's case the people of the state of South Carolina) where she were going, they would bounce her ass from that job so fast she would leave skid marks on the surface of Lake Superior. Yet, jacktard adulterous over privileged white ass Governor Sanford chokes out a well acted out "I'm sorry," admits to having had NUMEROUS affairs, and then goes right on being governor.

White privilege is amazing. Republican White Privilege is fucking astounding.

Next, let's talk about Rush Limbaugh's Oxycontin addicted ass. This monkey bitch motherfucker gets up on the airwaves, spouting neo-Nazi regressive rhetoric, basically hates everyone that isn't fat, white, male, straight and more Conservative than Queen Victoria, and you all tremble in your soulless boots whenever he passes gas. Take this as a loving suggestion, when I say to you, GOP, that it's time to let your balls drop into your nut sac and let Rush know that if he SITS on his microphone instead of vomiting into it, he may find more satisfaction in this life.

Who should we talk about next? Let's see...Mitch McConnell can basically kiss my rosy black ass...I bet if you check his closet, you will find a white suit or two with a nice white pointy hood that goes remarkably well with the rest of the ensemble. Trent Lott showed his true colors when wishing Dixiecrat Strom Thurmond a happy 181st birthday, and Strom Thurmond (God help his soul, cuz you know he is in a place hotter than his black maid's coochie), was advocating for the segregation, subjugation, separation, and denigration of black folks all the while fucking his maid and paying for the upkeep of his mixed race daughter. Hmmmm integrity is a word that the GOP should look up in the dictionary. Then eat the page it was written...it's the only damn way any of you will get integrity into your systems.

And, of course, the coup de grace, George W. Bush. I will say that at least George H.W. Bush, asshole of a conservative that he was, at least had a well articulated philsopohy behind his regressive madness. His inept C minus son that snorted and drank his way through college and then pissed his way through his Presidency managed to single handedly wreck more havoc on the United States than any other president in the entire country's history. The Civil War did less damage to the fabric of U.S. society and created fewer long term causalities than George W. Bush's eight years in office mauling the country and sucking it spiritually, emotionally, and financially dry has done or will do. Somebody call the Nuremberg Trials back into session. Break out the rope. You missed one.

In this country, there are good and well meaning Republicans. But, as long as those Republicans continue to trade their financial security for their ethical beliefs...they are as culpable for the actions of the most idiotic and regressive of their party as if they were mouth shitting into a microphone or gutting social services or taking bribes themselves.

So, GOP, take a page from Sarah Palin's play book...know that your idiocy has led you to a place of consummate ineffectualness...resign...quit...cut and run...get the fuck out. You are so through.

Love,
Brandon

Roosevelt Island of the Damned: Rookies versus the Dish

Updates: The issues detailed in this story about the interactions with members of the Roosevelt Island community have been referenced in a number of local media sources from Roosevelt Island: NYC 10044, Roosevelt Islander, and Roosevelt Island 360. This update is from 5 June 2009.


(Please note...there are no photos from the game this week as David was off playing Jets and Sharks with a friend of ours...we are going to have a rumble after I post this blog.

The journey to and from Roosevelt Island was somewhat of an adventure yesterday. I arrived at the subway station at 57th and 6th street to find that the F train was running in only one direction. Of course, being new, I was convinced that the island was down by Brooklyn...and when I saw there were no downtown trains I became dismayed. I approached the glass box habitat of the MTA workers, and I laid my anxiety at their feet.

“Hey, since there are no downtown trains, how do I get to Roosevelt Island.”

“Roosevelt Island is uptown.”

“Oh I am so new.”

At this point the Blatino behind the glass started cracking up and said, “Can you say that again, please.”

“I am so new.”

At that point he fist bumped me...our fists separated by about an inch of Plexiglas.

“How do I get to the island then?”

“Just go down those stairs right there. And, you know, there is a mental hospital on the island...you may wanna check it out.”

I cracked up and went to find my train.

The station should have been a clue as to what I would find on the island. The stop was largely deserted. It was sort of like the opening salvos of a horror movie. The unwitting Manhattanites boarding the Hell Train populated by the souls of the damned.

I emerged onto Roosevelt Island to a magnificent view of the Manhattan East River skyline. The island itself was an idyllic massive public housing project. For an island that was first settled by Dutch settlers in 1659...the island had very little in the way of architecture that predated the 1960s. Notable exceptions were a couple of old disease sanitariums, a church, and a house from the 18th century.

The island was beautiful. It was a sunny day marred only by the intense number of amputees roaming the streets. For the first time I saw a wheelbed. Much like a wheel chair with two large wheels in front and two smaller wheels in the back, but it was wheeled by a gentleman that had nothing below his butt checks.

I surmised there must be a hospital that focused on amputees nearby. I later found out that I was indeed correct.

I arrived at the softball fields a good 15 minutes before any of my teammates. I spent my first ten minutes staring out at the East River, at an industrial site, chanting and sending good juju to the team.

Once some of the other boys arrived, we began chatting with some of the folks there from the other teams already on the field. Turns out Roosevelt Island is a little bit like the Village of the Damned.

The field on which we would be playing was beautiful. A stand of birch trees at one end. A natural outcropping of native rock to the side of the fields. And raging idiotic local residents screaming racial and homophobic epithets out of their apartment windows.

Turns out when the other teams first arrived the locals had decided that despite the fact that our league had purchased permits to play on the fields that we should bow to them and allow their little rug rats to play ball on the field. It got so rowdy that the police came and arrested one of the parents. The families scattered, but mid-way through the second game of the first set of teams playing, we were treated to a whole host of obscenities. The best part ever was that the man screaming these things was sitting in the window with his two little boys standing next to him. That's what I call good parenting.

I wanted to scale the building and bitch slap him.

It also didn't help that a guy from one of the other teams playing was a complete and total drama queen, and was advising us...in the middle of the day...surrounded by amputees and old ladies...to walk in groups and carry our bats in our hands. Responding to idiocy with barely veiled racism is not necessarily the way to go.

That was the bullshit of the day....

The good part of the day started when Clay showed up. He was wearing a few too many clothes for my taste. I would have preferred him to play the entire game in a pair of boxer briefs and a whistle. But, you know, that's just me. We were sitting and chatting and it came around to the...ummm....guess the ethnic mix game. Clay's guess was that I was a Hisblasian. After correcting him, telling him that I am actually a Blatinoindiwhite, he raised his hand in a very pontifical manner and declared “Hisblasian.”

It was great to see the ladies of the Rookies. Noah was crackin' the whip, including at one point when Bowman and I were having a nice chat in the outfield and the Dish had the nerve to smack a ball to Right Center. I mean. Really. Who does that.

My other gem play of the day was when I picked up the ball, the play was at second, and I threw the ball to first. I am so awesome.

We had a great game. I smacked the ball way oh way out to the edge of the field. Reggie, after threatening to pack us all up and ship us to work on a cotton field in Alabama if we didn't play aggressively, took the field to fill in for Jim who was off doing something or another. Bowman, Noah, Herrick, Scott, Clay, and everyone else treated that ball like it was the back of a Mormon missionary's head. Smack! Smack! Smack!

In the end we won 15-8.

I had to leave before the second game, so I am not sure how that one faired. If Clay did remove any more clothing, I am going to be deadly upset. But, the first game was a blast, even with the idiots in the windows and the unclean souls on the train ride over.

(Update...I found out that we lost the second game 12-4. Clay should definitely have taken his clothes off.)

Al-Shabaab and the U.S. Military: Gangs of a Feather Flock Together

Listening to NPR this morning, I heard a story about my hometown of Minneapolis. Minneapolis has the largest Somali population in the United States. Since the mid-1990s, when I first left Minneapolis for college, the Somali community went from non-existent to more than 10,000 individuals. An area of the city once known as Seven Corners is more usually called, now, Little Somalia. In the last few years I have had a chance to know and even work with amazing Somali men and women that are looking to build a strong community and sense of home thousands of miles from war torn Somalia. As a former member of the board of directors of the Headwater Foundation for Justice, I was able to fund and support the work of the Somali Action Alliance—a social justice organization focused on building positive community strength in the Twin Cities Somali community.

Thus, I was totally caught off guard this morning when I heard that Somali youth in Minneapolis, many of them U.S. born Somalis, are being recruited by a Somali jihadist organization called Al-Shabaab...a fundamentalist group that is actively committing acts of violence against the Transitional Federal Government in Somalia. At least 27 Somali youth from Minneapolis have gone missing since March. They are thought to be in Al-Shabaab training camps. Their parents have no idea where they have gone and are terrified. And none of this is helped by the fact that last October, a 27 year old Minnesotan Somali by the name of Shirwa Ahmed killed himself in an Al Shabaab suicide bombing act killing more than 30 people.

In a report given to the Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee, Andrew Liepman, Deputy Director of Intelligence, of the National Counterterrorism Center shared seven pages of testimony. In that testimony Deputy Director Liepman stated that:

Compared to most Muslim immigrants to the US, many Somalis—seeking refuge from a war-torn country—received less language and cultural training and education prior to migration. Despite the efforts of Federal, State and local government and non-governmental organizations to facilitate their settlement into American communities, their relative linguistic isolation and the sudden adjustment to American society many refugees faced has reinforced, in some areas, their greater insularity compared to other, more integrated Muslim immigrant communities, and has aggravated the challenges of assimilation for their children.

According to data from the most recent census, the Somali-American population suffers the highest unemployment rate among East African diaspora communities in the United States, and experience significantly high poverty rates and the lowest rate of college graduation. These data also suggest that Somali-Americans are far more likely to be linguistically isolated than other East African immigrants. (11 March 2009, Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee, page 4)

Basically, due to abject poverty and feelings of isolation, Somali youth are vulnerable to recruitment. Two other groups I can think of target the poor and the isolated for recruitment: Gangs and the U.S. Military.

I was surprised when I heard the report this morning on NPR. I was surprised that some of the students recruited were from Roosevelt High School, a school that was less than two miles from where I last lived in Minneapolis. (Incidentally...to anyone that heard the report this morning...the reporter referred to Roosevelt as being in the suburbs...it is not. It is in the heart of South Minneapolis). But, after reading the Senate testimony my surprise faded to dull anger.

Roosevelt High School, since I was a student in the Minneapolis Public Schools in the early to mid-90s, has been an economically depressed, highly segregated, and high violence school. While I love the Minneapolis Public Schools, I can not understand why Roosevelt has been allowed to continue down a road of under achievement and poverty and racial segregation while, for example, my own high school, Patrick Henry, has enjoyed a renaissance and is now one of the top public high schools in America. We know that gangs target these communities, so why are we surprised, in this growing global world...that an immigrant population with a homeland in turmoil would not be vulnerable to international recruitment.

When crazy white Americans convert to radical Islam and join Al-Qaeda, how can we suppose that our Muslim youth, trapped in isolation and feeling despondent, will not turn to whoever will give them hope and a sense of self...no matter how ultimately destructive that acceptance turns out to be.

And when poor students of color and poor rural whites in the United States feel they have no other option than to join the U.S. military or are actively recruited by the military using the exact same media and Internet tactics that Somali militants are using to recruit Somali youth...how can I have been surprised.

In this moment, there is no moral high ground for us. We readily sacrifice our poor and brown/black/red/yellow young people on the altar of the Oil Wars. The difference between the recruitment of these Somali youth and the recruitment of poor black Americans into the U.S. military is only that the Somali youth are being recruited into an independent militia without state power behind it. Let me be clear...U.S. Military recruitment tactics are only differentiated from Islamic militant recruitment tactics because they are state sanctioned. Just like these Somali recruiters, who use the Internet, media, and real time recruiters to appeal to the Somali's sense of duty, honor, commitment, patriotism, and sense of self worth to get them to sign up for Al-Shabaab...so do the U.S. military recruiters use the Internet, media, commercials before movies, financial incentives, and patriotic and duty appeals to recruit those that also see themselves as isolated, without much of a future, and no ability to see a way forward.

Whether recruiting young American Somalis for Al-Shabaab or young black men for the Marines, both groups are recruiting what is fast becoming or already is cannon fodder. Both Al-Shabaab and the U.S. military are offering up our young as sacrifices to a set of ideals that have nothing to do with the prosperity and welfare of their people...they are sacrifices made on the altar of power in a quest for dominance.

I do not in any way blame those that sign up for either cause. I support my little brother and my sister. They did what they believed they had to do in this world that gave them few options. Their stories are their own to tell, but I can promise you that those stories would break your heart...that for both of them...they put themselves in harms way for reasons that had nothing to do with glory and power but realities and limited possibilities.

I lay blame on the recruiters, on Al-Shabaab, and on the U.S. military industrial complex and the government that benefits from it.

It is my fervent hope that the city of Minneapolis, the Minneapolis Public Schools, the state of Minnesota, and the U.S. government take this as a wake up call. Understand that the racism and economic disparity upon which our grand U.S. society is built is the reason that our youth continue to be shipped overseas or recruited overseas to die.

The Senate report stated that there is no proof that Somali youth are being recruited abroad with intentions to return back to the U.S. to execute acts of violence. If we act now to systemically address the fundamental justice and inequality issues that make recruitment possible, we will eliminate any possibility of Somali youth turning their anger and isolation back on the U.S.
In so doing, we will save our youth from needless wars that eat our young without sating our hunger for power, wealth, natural resources and world dominance.

(The report mentioned in this post can be read here.)

I Hate Perez Hilton

I pretty much hate Perez Hilton. Well, hate may be a strong word, but I hate the entire concept of celebrity spokes people that are spokespeople for an entire community based on...well...their celebrity.

Yesterday, I was in the midst of my daily combination of cardio torture and CNN, when Miss California took the stage. It was like watching a toddler pulling a giant booger out of his nose. You watch in horror as the juicy, green, jiggling gelatinous mass makes its way from the kids nostril slowly into the child's mouth, where he slowly chews the mucus gum before swallowing. You know it is a hideous and disgusting habit, but you can't turn away even as your face tries to pull away from its bones and your stomach begins to roil. That is the exact look that CNN Newsroom anchor Tony Harris had on his face when, after a few minutes, he cut back to the newsroom saying, “I think that is quite enough of that.”

I couldn't agree more...except....EXCEPT...Perez Hilton's crazy ass was on CNN last night pushing again for Miss California to respond further regarding her comments regarding gay marriage. Listen up Perez...the woman is against gay marriage. She didn't get crowned Miss America. She almost lost her Miss California crown. She only continues to have importance because YOU-- a jumped up member of the paparazzi-- continue to give her importance. She is vacuous flesh bag that is entitled to her opinion, no matter how wrong it may be, but by continuing to bring her into the public spotlight you take valuable air time from shit that really matters. As a matter of fact, I would rather watch a video of the kid eating the booger on infinite loop on every channel on the planet than see Perez Hilton's face on ANY news source from CNN to TMZ ever again.

.
If you think I am resentful, you should have seen the look on Tony Harris' face.

Basically, this is why I am not pleased: once again a quasi intelligent human being with a talent (his happens to be semi-witty commentary on tinsel town glitterati) has somehow been catapulted into a position where he is the face of a movement. I have never seen Perez Hilton in a room wondering how to get young people to a lobby day or making sandwiches to pack for a cross country bus trip to the U.S. Social Forum. I have never seen him on the streets or in a room of organizers wondering how to best respond to the latest murder of a trans person. He has no credibility with the community yet, by virtue of sucking dick and a good publicist, he is all of a sudden supposed to represent our community? Who the hell vetted him? Cher?

(My apologies to Cher. I actually love you, and I would be proud to have you represent me in Congress.)

This actually smells like something Karl Rove cooked up. I am going to look into that.

And, really, if the media needed a celebrity spokesperson to bring issues of importance of the queer community into a public conversation...why oh why couldn't they have gone with Wanda Sykes. There is a woman who is actually funny, politically savvy, has a deep grasp of current events, and understands and TALKS about the intersection of race, poverty, and sexuality. Oh wait...I know why...she's black. And, she's a she. Curses...foiled by sexism and racism again! .

Tell you what...Perez Hilton can do the White House Correspondents dinner next year. Put his ass in front of people who actually know something about some shit...let him make a fool out of himself...and then banish him back to his blog and to judging the occasional beauty pageant. BUT, put one of those dog shock collars with a satellite tracer on him...so if he even THINKS about talking about queer politics...we can push a button and buzz his ass on the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro if need be.

Actually, Perez, I don't hate you. I just hate what you do. I hate that our system is set up so that those that are actually fighting the good fight and have a broad based analysis of how this nation and this world really works and have thought strategically about how to change it for the better (deep breath....continue please) are the ones that can't get the local cable access station to cover an event. But a pastel gay boy with no particular analysis of social change can manage to get a CNN anchor to grimace with disgust but still cover his unsavvy and unstrategic ramblings. You are not helping anyone, and you are providing credibility to the inanities of a dumb ass blond that never would have had a forum if not for you.

(P.S. I understand that Perez is Cuban...as a white Cuban aka a person of color with white skin privilege he has an even GREATER responsibility to use his celebrity responsibly and in the service of justice...instead of just milking his access and his ability to pass in order to self-aggrandize and make a buck)

The Blacks Are Coming! The Blacks Are Coming!

Lord have mercy I can't stand Republicans. I don't hate who they are. I hate what they do. Love the Republicans, hate the Republicanism. Whatever, fuck 'em.

A good friend of mine wrote recently that we need to be partisan. Hell fucking yeah. I am partisan as hell. And the root of partisan is party...and I'll be damned if any Republicans are invited to mine. I am going to have a big ass black dyke hippy draft dodging Communist feminist Wiccan abortion doctor recovering addict as the bouncer at the door with a loaded double barrelled shot gun and Black Panther tendencies.

I heard the dumbest thing I believe I have EVER heard on the radio today:

“Blacks, blacks, blacks. The blacks are everywhere. The blacks are being promoted. I am being discriminated against because I am white.” So spoke a woman from Oklahoma interviewed by BBC America about Barack Obama and his first 100 days in office.

I love BBC America...if there is a wignut Fox news Rupert Murdoch blowin' bleach blonde former beauty queen turned pundit out in the wilds of the rural West, they will find her...put her on the radio...and giggle.

Now, pardon my French lovin' ass, but, with African-Americans making up 12% of the U.S. population how the hell are we “everywhere?” Yesterday, a story came out saying that college educated blacks are being laid off at TWICE the rate of blacks without a college degree. So where the hell are we getting promoted? Popeye's Chicken? Shit.

Has this lovely woman in Oklahoma taken a gander at Obama's cabinet? There are more women/white women up in there than there has ever been in any administration ever. I mean come on Janet Napolitano, Katherine Sebelius, Hilary Rodham Clinton, and I am sure I am missing a few.

And, for the record, back in 1921 the good people of Tulsa, OK rioted and burned to the ground what was called the Negro Wall Street (Greenwood District). They segregated black folks, only allowed them to live within a 35 block radius, refused to let them shop, eat, or go to school with the white folks, had the dubious honor of being the only city in America with segregated telephone booths, and then got pissed the fuck off when black folks spent their money on each other and ended up developing a community that rivaled any white community in the state for education and elegance. So what did they do? They burned the entire damn district to the ground. They shot women and children. They shot and let bleed to death a noted black surgeon that the FUCKING MAYO BROTHERS (you know...Mayo Clinic...best hospital in America) said was the best black surgeon walking the planet. And this heifer is going to have the nerve to get the hell up on the radio and suggest that she was being discriminated against?

Sweet Jesus.....OOOOOOOOOHHHHH SWEET JESUS!

And the Right in this country wonders why it got its ASS handed to them in the last election. They wonder why their own pundits are saying that the GOP has become irrelevant and is falling apart around them. They wonder why the hell Arlen Spectre would jump ship after 30 years as a Republican. Here's the answer, listen closely: YOUR BASE IS A BUNCH OF RACIST LOONIES SPOUTING SHIT IN PUBLIC THAT MAKES THEIR OWN MAMAS PRETEND AS IF THEY DON'T KNOW WHO THE HELL THEY ARE.

In the end, I know that this was just shooting off at the mouth by one stupid woman. Unfortunately, I know that her ignorance represents what a segment (and probably a large one) of poor, working class, white folks believe. It's not the fault of the average every day working white person that they may believe this. I lay the blame squarely at the feet of sensationalist radio personalities like this random white woman from Oklahoma who gets on the radio, makes fucked up statements like the one she made. In the end, when the James Byrd style lynchings happen, when black kids are beaten in school, and when black churches are burned to the ground it is the black community that pays the price for one woman's insipid ignorance.

What Is White Privilege?

Hey folks:

As much as possible, I try and do only original content on my page. But sometimes, as with Rocki's letter and this blog post, there shit that needs circulating. The following is one of those things.

This is Your Nation on White Privilege
By Tim Wise / September 13, 2008

For those who still can’t grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are constantly looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.

White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because “every family has challenges,” even as black and Latino families with similar “challenges” are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.

White privilege is when you can call yourself a “fuckin’ redneck,” like Bristol Palin’s boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll “kick their fuckin' ass,” and talk about how you like to “shoot shit” for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.

White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.

White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don’t all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you’re “untested.”


White privilege is being able to say that you support the words “under God” in the pledge of allegiance because “if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it’s good enough for me,” and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the “under God” part wasn’t added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.


White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you.


White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto was “Alaska first,” and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she’s being disrespectful.


White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you’re being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college--you’re somehow being mean, or even sexist.


White privilege is being able to convince white women who don’t even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because all of a sudden your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a “second look.”


White privilege is being able to fire people who didn’t support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.


White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God’s punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you’re just a good church-going Christian, but if you’re black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you’re an extremist who probably hates America.


White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a “trick question,” while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O’Reilly means you’re dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.


White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism is, as Sarah Palin has referred to it a “light” burden.


And finally, white privilege is the only thing that could possibly allow someone to become president when he has voted with George W. Bush 90 percent of the time, even as unemployment is skyrocketing, people are losing their homes, inflation is rising, and the U.S. is increasingly isolated from world opinion, just because white voters aren’t sure about that whole “change” thing. Ya know, it’s just too vague and ill-defined, unlike, say, four more years of the same, which is very concrete and certain…


White privilege is, in short, the problem.


Tim Wise is the author of White Like Me: Reflections on Race from a Privileged Son, and Affirmative Action: Racial Preference in Black and White. He has contributed essays to seventeen books, and is one of several persons featured in White Men Challenging Racism: Thirty-Five Personal Stories, from Duke University Press. A collection of his essays, Speaking Treason Fluently: Anti-Racist Reflections From an Angry White Male, will be released in fall 2008.