Hey my friends! Take a minute to read this and cast your vote many many many times. I am a member of the Young Professionals Council of the Hetrick-Martin Institute. Please support our young people!
Lady Gaga and Robin Hood Foundation: $1 Million for NYC Youth
VOTE for HMI to win $500,000!
Starting today and continuing through 6:00 am eastern standard time Friday, May 6th vote for HMI to win $500,000!
In a historic initiative, LGBTQ activist and ground-breaking artist Lady Gaga has partnered with the Robin Hood Foundation to launch an interactive contest through Facebook, of which Hetrick-Martin is a principal partner!
Lady Gaga and Robin Hood are partnering to donate $1 million between five New York City-based youth services charities. Awards will be split determined by an online vote present on Lady Gaga’s Facebook page. The group receiving the most votes will win $500,000. The winner will be revealed on May 9th at Robin Hood’s annual gala.
This contest affords Hetrick-Martin the ability to provide counseling to more LGBTQ youth and their families, clothe more homeless LGBTQ youth from our onsite Pantry, administer more free HIV tests, and serve more meals in the Café. With young people coming out earlier than ever before, the need for our unique services has increased at an unprecedented rate.
To vote you must have a Facebook account. Voting is easy:
Step 1 Go to Lady Gaga’s Facebook page by clicking here
Step 2 Click “I Like” to be able to vote
Step 3 Click on the Vote tab and choose The Hetrick-Martin Institute
Step 4 Click on the submit tab to cast your vote
You can vote as many times as you want!
A donation of this amount can have a tremendous impact on HMI and the work we do providing a safe and supportive environment for LGBTQ youth to achieve their full potential.
How you can help:
VOTE for HMI, and vote frequently! Remember you can vote as many times as you want.
Forward this Facebook link to your friends, family and colleagues.
Post on your Facebook page, forward to your friends and Tweet about it.
To learn more about The Hetrick-Martin Institute, or to make a donation, please visit www.hmi.org
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Loving and Letting Go
So, last summer my best friend, who happened to be a former boyfriend that I loved with all my heart, committed suicide. He had been in a sad place for a while, though, like most of us living through our own trials, what he saw as the things standing in his way, those things weighing on his spirit, were not as great as they felt to him. When he failed to achieve a goal he set out to do, the failure tore at him. He became a failure rather than having simply not had the resources, at the time, to do what he had set out to do. In the end, he could no longer see what everyone else could see: he was a beautiful and brilliant man that loved others and lifted others up in a way that I am not sure I am even capable of approximating. When Chris loved you, you knew what it was to have someone believe in you, totally, without compromise. He laughed at the silly and stupid masks we put on and, despite how good we thought we were at applying masks and cover up, he saw right on through it and loved what was underneath selflessly and absolutely. How could you not feel beautiful when someone loved you that way? With Chris loving me, slowly, I began to see past the face in the mirror...that distorted image of childhood trauma and low self-esteem...to that face that Chris saw. I caught glimpses of another Brandon...and when I couldn't see him...or believe in him...Chris believed enough for the both of us.
I know, though, that when I am in a place where it is hard to keep moving forward because everything feels heavy and hard, until I am able to find a vantage point that will truly let me put what I'm going through into perspective, all the love in the world isn't going to do it for me. What love does is give me strength to draw on to maybe take one more step. There were times when Chris was the love that got me through. Chris gave me the gift of allowing me to love him through hard times in the past. But last Summer, one night in July, my love wasn't enough. The last time I talked to him, the night before he died, he called me, and when I answered, he started crying and said, before hanging up the phone, that it was too hard for him to hear my voice. I know now that it wasn't Chris that called me that night. He may have dialed the number, but when I answered the phone, it was his mask that answered. It was the voice of what he perceived as his failures that shut down my beautiful Chris and plugged up his ears.
I didn't know that would be our last conversation. If I'd had even the tiniest moment of precognition, I would have kept him on the phone. I would have called him back, and if he didn't answer, I would have filled up his voicemail box with messages of love. And when the mailbox filled up, I would have texted him. I would have sent him silly pictures and inappropriate comments. I would have reminded him of all the awesome, stupid, happy, sad memories I have of our friendship. I would have filled up his inbox with anything and everything to try and shout down and crowd out those voices whispering ugly and hateful words into his spirit. And, if necessary, I would have called anyone within a 100 mile radius and had them drive to his house and held him until I could get to him myself. I would have rode Mimzy to Virginia if that is the only way that I'd had to get down there.
But, I didn't know that it was our last conversation, and less than twelve hours later, he was gone. When his boyfriend, who was staying with us that weekend, called to tell me, I didn't believe him at first. I actually thought that his boyfriend, also named Chris, must have misunderstood whatever message he'd gotten, but since he was obviously upset, I went into business mode, told him I would be back to the apartment shortly, and then hung up the phone. When I got back to the apartment, I sat, quietly, without saying much. I am not going at crying in front of other people, and Chris was in crisis, and if anything I am fucking amazing in crisis (so much so that I don't understand how to live outside of crisis mode...a fucked up way of being that keeps me in a cycle of self-sabotage...you always run back to what feels comfortable no matter how stupid it may be to do so). Though I may have had a calm face on the outside, in the inside, the whole time that I was trying to be present for Chris the Boyfriend, I was screaming inside. In fact, it got so bad that when tears started to come, I clamped down on them with a tremendous mental force because I knew that if I let the tears start that the screaming wouldn't just be inside, it would have be real. If I'd started screaming out what I was feeling, I am not sure when I would have been able to stop it. I was so sad and so angry. I wanted to go to Virginia and kick Chris' body until I could lift my leg anymore. I wanted to punch him in the face for being so fucking dumb and selfish. I wanted to take off of my belt and beat him until my arm cramped up for thinking that it was easier to pick up a gun than the phone. And once I had exhausted myself and rested, I wanted to find his parents and beat the shit out of them as well for not seeing how badly he was hurting and put his ass in a mental ward if that's what it would have taken. I wanted to find anyone that had ever hurt Chris and made him believe that those voices inside of him were telling the goddamn truth. Then I wanted to find God and kick the shit out of him too.
So, instead of doing all of that drama...I did what I do best. I stuffed all of my emotions deep deep deep down, labeled the box I put them in, and then tucked them into the deep freezer. Nothing like unresolved emotional issues ;-).
Fast forward to recently. Chris and I met in rehab. We both (him past tense struggled, me present tense struggle) with addiction. So, when I started going back to the fellowship of which we were both members, I spent most of my first meeting not thinking about my own shit...but remembering Chris. I remembered all of the love and encouragement he gave me when we were both starting out on this path together. And then came the survivor's guilt....but mostly...I just remembered him and let the memories run one into the other, which, would have been awesome, except one of my visions of Hell is breaking down crying, seemingly spontaneously, in front of 200 some odd folks in one room. I have a hard enough time crying by myself, at home, in the middle of the night, with the shades pulled and the lights off. Though the feelings aren't as overwhelming now, every time I walk into one of those rooms and sit down, Chris is right there and all of the sadness and love for him is right there too.
Today, when I was having coffee with Mark, with whom I usually attend meetings, I told him about Chris and who Chris had been, how he'd died, and what he meant to me. I told him about Honey Bun and how amazing she is and that she is thinking about going to Heaven soon. He listened. He heard me. I kept from completely crying, but a few tears leaked out, but Mark gave me permission to cry, which is a gift that I appreciate though I sure as Hell wasn't about to break down in the middle of Chelsea on a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon with half the gays in the city rolling through to get a non-fat skim milk light mocha coconut banana dark roast espresso latte americano frappe-gay-cino.
But it did help me realize that I still had some things I needed to let myself work through where Chris is related. It helped me admit and own that I have grief that I need to let go so that it doesn't continue to be something I use any means necessary to escape from...and I realized that if I told him that Honey Bun maybe leaving soon, if I asked for support now, that maybe when it's her time...I can let myself feel what I need to feel and then let those feelings go so that they do not become another excuse to self-medicate and numb myself. Especially since once that old bird is dead and has the ability to pop in whenever the Hell she feels like it, I am afraid that she would show up, switch in hand, and whoop my ass if I self-medicated to deal with her passing. I can hear her now, "Dumb ass Negro...you know better...and since you want to act simple...I am going to simply whoop your little black butt until the dumb is all beaten off of it."
Aright, I have half a dozen or more friends coming over in three hours for Easter dinner, and I have a mess of greens sitting by the sink that aren't going to cook themselves, so I better have at it. It's Easter, and Easter is about family, so I thought I had to make sure that Chris, my family, was remembered today. Love you.
I know, though, that when I am in a place where it is hard to keep moving forward because everything feels heavy and hard, until I am able to find a vantage point that will truly let me put what I'm going through into perspective, all the love in the world isn't going to do it for me. What love does is give me strength to draw on to maybe take one more step. There were times when Chris was the love that got me through. Chris gave me the gift of allowing me to love him through hard times in the past. But last Summer, one night in July, my love wasn't enough. The last time I talked to him, the night before he died, he called me, and when I answered, he started crying and said, before hanging up the phone, that it was too hard for him to hear my voice. I know now that it wasn't Chris that called me that night. He may have dialed the number, but when I answered the phone, it was his mask that answered. It was the voice of what he perceived as his failures that shut down my beautiful Chris and plugged up his ears.
I didn't know that would be our last conversation. If I'd had even the tiniest moment of precognition, I would have kept him on the phone. I would have called him back, and if he didn't answer, I would have filled up his voicemail box with messages of love. And when the mailbox filled up, I would have texted him. I would have sent him silly pictures and inappropriate comments. I would have reminded him of all the awesome, stupid, happy, sad memories I have of our friendship. I would have filled up his inbox with anything and everything to try and shout down and crowd out those voices whispering ugly and hateful words into his spirit. And, if necessary, I would have called anyone within a 100 mile radius and had them drive to his house and held him until I could get to him myself. I would have rode Mimzy to Virginia if that is the only way that I'd had to get down there.
But, I didn't know that it was our last conversation, and less than twelve hours later, he was gone. When his boyfriend, who was staying with us that weekend, called to tell me, I didn't believe him at first. I actually thought that his boyfriend, also named Chris, must have misunderstood whatever message he'd gotten, but since he was obviously upset, I went into business mode, told him I would be back to the apartment shortly, and then hung up the phone. When I got back to the apartment, I sat, quietly, without saying much. I am not going at crying in front of other people, and Chris was in crisis, and if anything I am fucking amazing in crisis (so much so that I don't understand how to live outside of crisis mode...a fucked up way of being that keeps me in a cycle of self-sabotage...you always run back to what feels comfortable no matter how stupid it may be to do so). Though I may have had a calm face on the outside, in the inside, the whole time that I was trying to be present for Chris the Boyfriend, I was screaming inside. In fact, it got so bad that when tears started to come, I clamped down on them with a tremendous mental force because I knew that if I let the tears start that the screaming wouldn't just be inside, it would have be real. If I'd started screaming out what I was feeling, I am not sure when I would have been able to stop it. I was so sad and so angry. I wanted to go to Virginia and kick Chris' body until I could lift my leg anymore. I wanted to punch him in the face for being so fucking dumb and selfish. I wanted to take off of my belt and beat him until my arm cramped up for thinking that it was easier to pick up a gun than the phone. And once I had exhausted myself and rested, I wanted to find his parents and beat the shit out of them as well for not seeing how badly he was hurting and put his ass in a mental ward if that's what it would have taken. I wanted to find anyone that had ever hurt Chris and made him believe that those voices inside of him were telling the goddamn truth. Then I wanted to find God and kick the shit out of him too.
So, instead of doing all of that drama...I did what I do best. I stuffed all of my emotions deep deep deep down, labeled the box I put them in, and then tucked them into the deep freezer. Nothing like unresolved emotional issues ;-).
Fast forward to recently. Chris and I met in rehab. We both (him past tense struggled, me present tense struggle) with addiction. So, when I started going back to the fellowship of which we were both members, I spent most of my first meeting not thinking about my own shit...but remembering Chris. I remembered all of the love and encouragement he gave me when we were both starting out on this path together. And then came the survivor's guilt....but mostly...I just remembered him and let the memories run one into the other, which, would have been awesome, except one of my visions of Hell is breaking down crying, seemingly spontaneously, in front of 200 some odd folks in one room. I have a hard enough time crying by myself, at home, in the middle of the night, with the shades pulled and the lights off. Though the feelings aren't as overwhelming now, every time I walk into one of those rooms and sit down, Chris is right there and all of the sadness and love for him is right there too.
Today, when I was having coffee with Mark, with whom I usually attend meetings, I told him about Chris and who Chris had been, how he'd died, and what he meant to me. I told him about Honey Bun and how amazing she is and that she is thinking about going to Heaven soon. He listened. He heard me. I kept from completely crying, but a few tears leaked out, but Mark gave me permission to cry, which is a gift that I appreciate though I sure as Hell wasn't about to break down in the middle of Chelsea on a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon with half the gays in the city rolling through to get a non-fat skim milk light mocha coconut banana dark roast espresso latte americano frappe-gay-cino.
But it did help me realize that I still had some things I needed to let myself work through where Chris is related. It helped me admit and own that I have grief that I need to let go so that it doesn't continue to be something I use any means necessary to escape from...and I realized that if I told him that Honey Bun maybe leaving soon, if I asked for support now, that maybe when it's her time...I can let myself feel what I need to feel and then let those feelings go so that they do not become another excuse to self-medicate and numb myself. Especially since once that old bird is dead and has the ability to pop in whenever the Hell she feels like it, I am afraid that she would show up, switch in hand, and whoop my ass if I self-medicated to deal with her passing. I can hear her now, "Dumb ass Negro...you know better...and since you want to act simple...I am going to simply whoop your little black butt until the dumb is all beaten off of it."
Aright, I have half a dozen or more friends coming over in three hours for Easter dinner, and I have a mess of greens sitting by the sink that aren't going to cook themselves, so I better have at it. It's Easter, and Easter is about family, so I thought I had to make sure that Chris, my family, was remembered today. Love you.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Make that Change
Today, I changed my phone number.
It may not sound like much but it is a big deal. It's a huge deal, actually.
Minnesotans are the masters of passive aggressive behavior in all of its myriad incarnations. Indeed, we raise passive aggressiveness to a fine art.
I've written before about my struggle to stay the hell away from crystal meth. Addiction is a sneaky son-of-a-bastard, and the mind of one battling addiction is about as simple as chaos theory or finding a Fibonacci sequence in a fractal. My recent battle has not been without its set backs but compared to where I was a few months ago, the momentary setbacks that occur now and again are aberrations instead of impending patterns of doom.
For a queer man dealing with meth addiction, there are two great electronic enemies that can lead one quickly back to using: the computer (specifically online cruising sex sites) and cell phones. Let me be clear that I am not judging cruising sites. In fact, I think sex cruising sites are pretty damn awesome tools for negotiating consensual sex of all types and varieties if the person accessing the sites is able to maintain his boundaries and, in the case of addicts, is secure enough in his recovery to maintain a healthy distance from those that combine recreational sex and drug use. At this particular point in my recovery process, I am a long long way away from being able to safely access cruising sites. And, frankly, that is not really a problem. My cell phone, however, has been.
The cell phone is the other big electronic enemy, and it can be for many reasons. For those that have SmartPhones, the sex cruising sites are readily accessible, in fact, several of them have apps for both Android and the iPhone. For me, that isn't the problem. My problem is and has been the fact that when I am in a good place, I do the sensible thing and go through my phone and erase the phone numbers of folks with whom I have used or that I know use. That's a no brainer.
Here is where the passive aggressive piece comes in.
I learned long ago that I can make myself feel all good and shiny by deleting the numbers in my phone, all the while knowing that deleting the numbers is actually fairly useless, because I know that as long as the phone number itself stays the same, eventually, SOMEONE will text. Dealers are savvy, and if they haven't heard from a former client for a time, they are sure to check in. And folks with whom you may have connected in the past are likely to text or call at the most vulnerable of times. In fact, I have gotten into more trouble with my sobriety from former dealers or tricks texting or emailing at a time when I am emotionally vulnerable or, my other danger time, feeling extremely happy and content (nothing like a little self sabotage!) than from anything else. In fact, I can remember only a couple of times where I actually made a decisions to go out and use, tracked down a dealer, etc. All the other dumb moments came courtesy of a little electronic ditty announcing the arrival of an email, text, or phone call.
I have a kazillion times made the statement to myself or to David that I am going to change my phone number. I even got as far once as calling AT&T, but when they told me that they were out of 646 numbers, but I could keep my 646 if I went into the store, I hung up and never made the trip the six blocks to make the change in person. Besides that one aborted half attempt, I generally have talked myself out of it using every possible excuse from laziness (who wants to go through their contact list and text or call everyone to announce the change) or I decide that I can't possibly change my number because I am waiting for a call back from a job, or it was just posted on a flyer, or it's listed in this or that place and I might miss something important in the lag time between when I get my new number and when I can get it out into the world. Never mind that I almost NEVER get phone calls (texts are my main form of communication), and never mind that almost everyone that has my cell number also has my email address and/or is connected to my Facebook account. So, really, it's not like we are living in 1992 with a landline, no caller ID, using TelNet and the Gopher, and still hearing recordings when calling to order a pizza about rotary dial versus pulse dial phones.
I totally just dated myself. Yes boys and girls...there was a time before the 3G network...called the Pre-iPad Age when typewriters roamed the Earth and men and women wrote letters using paper, pens, and the U.S. Postal Service, the electronic version of Battleship was state of the art gaming, and the only thing an Apple computer was good for was playing Oregon Trail.
Ahhh the good old days. There is a dissertation just waiting to be written about the impact of the Internet age on addiction, sexual negotiation, HIV/AIDS, and the death of the club scene. Ohhhhh Gender and Women's Studies at the U of MN................
Oops...I got distracted...back to the point.
Today, I struck my inner addict a mighty blow. A blessing of having lost/destroyed two iPhones in recent months as well as having my computer hacked and crashed is that I lost my iPhone back ups. Most of the naughty numbers were permanently removed during that process. I triple checked my phone today to make sure that no borderline or possibly icky numbers remained anywhere in it, and then I called Apple and made the number change. The sweet woman on the phone took 15 minutes to FIND me a 646 number (after first telling me that they were all gone, then saying I would have a 347 number, then telling me THOSE were all gone, and I would have a 201 number--who ever heard of a 201 number?---she disappeared and when she returned she had a shiny new 646 number for me. She had to manually look through a spread sheet of phone numbers that (wait for it) are not listed in numerical order. Ummm. Duh. But I was very happy that she took the time to ease my transition a little by keeping me in the same phone number clan.
So, while for most folks, the act of changing a phone number is no big thing...for me...it is letting go of another way that my tricky tricky brain has used to maintain connections to a part of my life that I am trying to let go. They say its progress not perfection, which is basically a sucker punch to the face for this overachieving perfectionist, but learning to forgive myself and give myself the space to make mistakes and then LEARN FROM THEM is all part of this process of leaving behind those things that once served a purpose but now serve only to keep me from being the human being that I was put on this Earth to be.
Thanks to all of those folks that have loved me enough that I had the strength of spirit to pick up the phone and make that change today. I know that I have a stupidly ridiculous long ass way to go...but I am starting to believe that I might actually get there.
It may not sound like much but it is a big deal. It's a huge deal, actually.
Minnesotans are the masters of passive aggressive behavior in all of its myriad incarnations. Indeed, we raise passive aggressiveness to a fine art.
I've written before about my struggle to stay the hell away from crystal meth. Addiction is a sneaky son-of-a-bastard, and the mind of one battling addiction is about as simple as chaos theory or finding a Fibonacci sequence in a fractal. My recent battle has not been without its set backs but compared to where I was a few months ago, the momentary setbacks that occur now and again are aberrations instead of impending patterns of doom.
For a queer man dealing with meth addiction, there are two great electronic enemies that can lead one quickly back to using: the computer (specifically online cruising sex sites) and cell phones. Let me be clear that I am not judging cruising sites. In fact, I think sex cruising sites are pretty damn awesome tools for negotiating consensual sex of all types and varieties if the person accessing the sites is able to maintain his boundaries and, in the case of addicts, is secure enough in his recovery to maintain a healthy distance from those that combine recreational sex and drug use. At this particular point in my recovery process, I am a long long way away from being able to safely access cruising sites. And, frankly, that is not really a problem. My cell phone, however, has been.
The cell phone is the other big electronic enemy, and it can be for many reasons. For those that have SmartPhones, the sex cruising sites are readily accessible, in fact, several of them have apps for both Android and the iPhone. For me, that isn't the problem. My problem is and has been the fact that when I am in a good place, I do the sensible thing and go through my phone and erase the phone numbers of folks with whom I have used or that I know use. That's a no brainer.
Here is where the passive aggressive piece comes in.
I learned long ago that I can make myself feel all good and shiny by deleting the numbers in my phone, all the while knowing that deleting the numbers is actually fairly useless, because I know that as long as the phone number itself stays the same, eventually, SOMEONE will text. Dealers are savvy, and if they haven't heard from a former client for a time, they are sure to check in. And folks with whom you may have connected in the past are likely to text or call at the most vulnerable of times. In fact, I have gotten into more trouble with my sobriety from former dealers or tricks texting or emailing at a time when I am emotionally vulnerable or, my other danger time, feeling extremely happy and content (nothing like a little self sabotage!) than from anything else. In fact, I can remember only a couple of times where I actually made a decisions to go out and use, tracked down a dealer, etc. All the other dumb moments came courtesy of a little electronic ditty announcing the arrival of an email, text, or phone call.
I have a kazillion times made the statement to myself or to David that I am going to change my phone number. I even got as far once as calling AT&T, but when they told me that they were out of 646 numbers, but I could keep my 646 if I went into the store, I hung up and never made the trip the six blocks to make the change in person. Besides that one aborted half attempt, I generally have talked myself out of it using every possible excuse from laziness (who wants to go through their contact list and text or call everyone to announce the change) or I decide that I can't possibly change my number because I am waiting for a call back from a job, or it was just posted on a flyer, or it's listed in this or that place and I might miss something important in the lag time between when I get my new number and when I can get it out into the world. Never mind that I almost NEVER get phone calls (texts are my main form of communication), and never mind that almost everyone that has my cell number also has my email address and/or is connected to my Facebook account. So, really, it's not like we are living in 1992 with a landline, no caller ID, using TelNet and the Gopher, and still hearing recordings when calling to order a pizza about rotary dial versus pulse dial phones.
I totally just dated myself. Yes boys and girls...there was a time before the 3G network...called the Pre-iPad Age when typewriters roamed the Earth and men and women wrote letters using paper, pens, and the U.S. Postal Service, the electronic version of Battleship was state of the art gaming, and the only thing an Apple computer was good for was playing Oregon Trail.
Ahhh the good old days. There is a dissertation just waiting to be written about the impact of the Internet age on addiction, sexual negotiation, HIV/AIDS, and the death of the club scene. Ohhhhh Gender and Women's Studies at the U of MN................
Oops...I got distracted...back to the point.
Today, I struck my inner addict a mighty blow. A blessing of having lost/destroyed two iPhones in recent months as well as having my computer hacked and crashed is that I lost my iPhone back ups. Most of the naughty numbers were permanently removed during that process. I triple checked my phone today to make sure that no borderline or possibly icky numbers remained anywhere in it, and then I called Apple and made the number change. The sweet woman on the phone took 15 minutes to FIND me a 646 number (after first telling me that they were all gone, then saying I would have a 347 number, then telling me THOSE were all gone, and I would have a 201 number--who ever heard of a 201 number?---she disappeared and when she returned she had a shiny new 646 number for me. She had to manually look through a spread sheet of phone numbers that (wait for it) are not listed in numerical order. Ummm. Duh. But I was very happy that she took the time to ease my transition a little by keeping me in the same phone number clan.
So, while for most folks, the act of changing a phone number is no big thing...for me...it is letting go of another way that my tricky tricky brain has used to maintain connections to a part of my life that I am trying to let go. They say its progress not perfection, which is basically a sucker punch to the face for this overachieving perfectionist, but learning to forgive myself and give myself the space to make mistakes and then LEARN FROM THEM is all part of this process of leaving behind those things that once served a purpose but now serve only to keep me from being the human being that I was put on this Earth to be.
Thanks to all of those folks that have loved me enough that I had the strength of spirit to pick up the phone and make that change today. I know that I have a stupidly ridiculous long ass way to go...but I am starting to believe that I might actually get there.
Labels:
Addiction,
ATT,
Crystal Meth,
Minnesota,
Passive Aggressive,
Recovery,
Stinkin' Thinkin'
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Fuck Cancer or Why Death is Stupid
PLEASE NOTE....THIS BLOG IS A PURE VENT/RANT. Proceed at your own risk.
Let's do a quick recap.
My cousin Jim died from leukemia in September 2008
My friend/mother of choice Mrs. Mona Harris died of colon cancer in 2009
My best friend Chris killed himself last summer
My beloved friend Tiffany died from a sudden heart attack at the ripe old age of maybe 43 last fall.
My Honey Bun (Aunt Sis) is dying from bone cancer and has been in and out of intensive care for the last month.
I am so fucking sick and tired of death and I have a special hatred of cancer. I get that death is a part of life. I understand and believe that this life is only part of our spiritual journey. I understand that everything, including myself, will die one day.
Fuck philosophy and all that esoteric go into the light bullshit. I want my friends and family in THIS life. Thank you very much. God has enough folks to entertain him and can hold off on collecting any more folks that I love for the next 50 years or so. Is that selfish? HELL YES!
I mean come on. Really come on. My Honey Bun has lived a full and beautiful life. That woman survived the segregated South and raised three beautiful children AND, when my Dad's Mama died at the age of 31 from leukemia, she and my great-granny raised my Dad. Until this bone cancer really started to affect her, Honey Bun was still cleaning houses to pay her bills. That woman has earned an easy retirement full of joy and the love of her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and her great-nieces and nephews. She should be sitting on her front porch in Ronceverte, WV drinking little glasses of wine or mason jars of blackberry brandy and telling us all stories about her life, embarrassing stories about our parents, and reminding us of how much beauty there is in our history despite the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
That woman should get to die peacefully without pain at around the age of 115...and until then she should be physically fit and living her life on her own terms just the way she always has. Let her drop dead because her heart is so full of joy it can't handle it anymore and stops beating.
The same goes for Mrs. Harris, Chris, Tiffany, and Jim. Bring them back and let them have the love and joy that they deserved! BRING THEM BACK RIGHT NOW (but not as zombies...that wouldn't be right). Stupid fucking Lazarus got to come back to life, and he didn't do shit to earn that.
I am just tired of death and pissed off by it. None of these people have left this life or are leaving this life because it was their time. They are leaving it because some asshole corporation spent years dumping toxins into the atmosphere and water and their bodies couldn't resist it. Chris is the exception, but don't get me started on the stigma of mental health, HIV and addiction, his death was just as unnatural as all the others. And Tiffany was a black woman in America...enough said.
I am tired of folks sending me pat sayings and religious bullshit about folks having moved on to glory. Yes. I understand that. I know that they are all happy, and I know my Honey Bun is going to have the biggest damn mansion of all when she gets to Heaven, her traveling shoes are going to be Manolo Blahnik's and her robe is going to be made by Elie Tahari. Great. Lovely. She's earned it. But that doesn't do a damn thing for those of us left behind.
And, newsflash, DEATH IS PERSONAL!
ALL DEATH IS ABOUT EVERY PERSON WHOSE LIFE HAS BEEN TOUCHED BY THE ONE THAT HAS PASSED ON! EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO THEIR PAIN AND GRIEF! NO ONE OWNS THE DEATH OF A LOVED ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE!
No one gets to negate my pain or sadness because his or her pain or sadness is greater. My mourning does not take away from, detract from, or lessen anyone else's.
I blame Nurse Jackie for this blog. That damn show is amazing, and the actors should all win Emmy's...and then they should hand them to me, so I can beat them all to death for making me cry. Those deaths would be justified. Just saying.
Anyway...there was no point to this blog entry besides venting some shit out. I feel much better now. Thank you.
Let's do a quick recap.
My cousin Jim died from leukemia in September 2008
My friend/mother of choice Mrs. Mona Harris died of colon cancer in 2009
My best friend Chris killed himself last summer
My beloved friend Tiffany died from a sudden heart attack at the ripe old age of maybe 43 last fall.
My Honey Bun (Aunt Sis) is dying from bone cancer and has been in and out of intensive care for the last month.
I am so fucking sick and tired of death and I have a special hatred of cancer. I get that death is a part of life. I understand and believe that this life is only part of our spiritual journey. I understand that everything, including myself, will die one day.
Fuck philosophy and all that esoteric go into the light bullshit. I want my friends and family in THIS life. Thank you very much. God has enough folks to entertain him and can hold off on collecting any more folks that I love for the next 50 years or so. Is that selfish? HELL YES!
I mean come on. Really come on. My Honey Bun has lived a full and beautiful life. That woman survived the segregated South and raised three beautiful children AND, when my Dad's Mama died at the age of 31 from leukemia, she and my great-granny raised my Dad. Until this bone cancer really started to affect her, Honey Bun was still cleaning houses to pay her bills. That woman has earned an easy retirement full of joy and the love of her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and her great-nieces and nephews. She should be sitting on her front porch in Ronceverte, WV drinking little glasses of wine or mason jars of blackberry brandy and telling us all stories about her life, embarrassing stories about our parents, and reminding us of how much beauty there is in our history despite the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
That woman should get to die peacefully without pain at around the age of 115...and until then she should be physically fit and living her life on her own terms just the way she always has. Let her drop dead because her heart is so full of joy it can't handle it anymore and stops beating.
The same goes for Mrs. Harris, Chris, Tiffany, and Jim. Bring them back and let them have the love and joy that they deserved! BRING THEM BACK RIGHT NOW (but not as zombies...that wouldn't be right). Stupid fucking Lazarus got to come back to life, and he didn't do shit to earn that.
I am just tired of death and pissed off by it. None of these people have left this life or are leaving this life because it was their time. They are leaving it because some asshole corporation spent years dumping toxins into the atmosphere and water and their bodies couldn't resist it. Chris is the exception, but don't get me started on the stigma of mental health, HIV and addiction, his death was just as unnatural as all the others. And Tiffany was a black woman in America...enough said.
I am tired of folks sending me pat sayings and religious bullshit about folks having moved on to glory. Yes. I understand that. I know that they are all happy, and I know my Honey Bun is going to have the biggest damn mansion of all when she gets to Heaven, her traveling shoes are going to be Manolo Blahnik's and her robe is going to be made by Elie Tahari. Great. Lovely. She's earned it. But that doesn't do a damn thing for those of us left behind.
And, newsflash, DEATH IS PERSONAL!
ALL DEATH IS ABOUT EVERY PERSON WHOSE LIFE HAS BEEN TOUCHED BY THE ONE THAT HAS PASSED ON! EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO THEIR PAIN AND GRIEF! NO ONE OWNS THE DEATH OF A LOVED ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE!
No one gets to negate my pain or sadness because his or her pain or sadness is greater. My mourning does not take away from, detract from, or lessen anyone else's.
I blame Nurse Jackie for this blog. That damn show is amazing, and the actors should all win Emmy's...and then they should hand them to me, so I can beat them all to death for making me cry. Those deaths would be justified. Just saying.
Anyway...there was no point to this blog entry besides venting some shit out. I feel much better now. Thank you.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
The 2011 Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry
Dear Friends:
I am happy to announce the call for submissions for the second year of the Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry.
The Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry will be awarded to a poet that demonstrates the power of spoken word to address issues of class, sexuality and race in a way that transcends rhetoric and creates movement.
The winner will receive $300, and the winning poem will be published at My Feet Only Walk Forward (www.myfeetonlywalkforward.blogspot.com). Two honorable mentions will also be named.
The winner of the 2010 Carey Prize was Saymoukda Vongsay, who has also generously volunteered to make a donation in support of this year's prize.
I welcome other donations in support of the prize. If donations come in that exceed the prize total, I will increase the prize amount. There are very very very few prizes that support the work of spoken word artists, and I hope you will consider making a contribution. Donations can be made at the address provided below. Please make checks payable to David Berube (this is so that ya'll don't think I am trying to keep the moola for myself!).
About the Prize:
Alfred C. Carey was a hard working man from Northern Minnesota. He worked in construction, specifically roofing, while raising a family of 8, including three children not biologically his own. He represented a series of beautiful and sometimes hard contradictions in race, class, and history. He also, without a vocabulary around race and sexuality, accepted all of his children and grandchildren for who they were without judgment. This award is named in the honor of my grandfather who died in 1997.
Rules:
You may submit up to three poems no longer than a combined total of six pages double spaced.
You may also submit audio recordings in CD format. The recordings should not exceed 9 minutes in length.
Along with your submission please include a cover page that states your: Name, Address, Telephone Number, Email Address, Website Address, and a brief biography of no more than 6 sentences.
ALL SUBMISSIONS MUST BE POSTMARKED BY JUNE 30, 2011. WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED JULY 15, 2011.
Authors retain all copyright to their works, and if you would like samples returned, please include a self-addressed stamped envelope.
Make submissions to:
Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry
c/o Brandon Lacy Campos
462 W. 52nd Street #3N
New York, NY 10019
I am happy to announce the call for submissions for the second year of the Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry.
The Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry will be awarded to a poet that demonstrates the power of spoken word to address issues of class, sexuality and race in a way that transcends rhetoric and creates movement.
The winner will receive $300, and the winning poem will be published at My Feet Only Walk Forward (www.myfeetonlywalkforward.blogspot.com). Two honorable mentions will also be named.
The winner of the 2010 Carey Prize was Saymoukda Vongsay, who has also generously volunteered to make a donation in support of this year's prize.
I welcome other donations in support of the prize. If donations come in that exceed the prize total, I will increase the prize amount. There are very very very few prizes that support the work of spoken word artists, and I hope you will consider making a contribution. Donations can be made at the address provided below. Please make checks payable to David Berube (this is so that ya'll don't think I am trying to keep the moola for myself!).
About the Prize:
Alfred C. Carey was a hard working man from Northern Minnesota. He worked in construction, specifically roofing, while raising a family of 8, including three children not biologically his own. He represented a series of beautiful and sometimes hard contradictions in race, class, and history. He also, without a vocabulary around race and sexuality, accepted all of his children and grandchildren for who they were without judgment. This award is named in the honor of my grandfather who died in 1997.
Rules:
You may submit up to three poems no longer than a combined total of six pages double spaced.
You may also submit audio recordings in CD format. The recordings should not exceed 9 minutes in length.
Along with your submission please include a cover page that states your: Name, Address, Telephone Number, Email Address, Website Address, and a brief biography of no more than 6 sentences.
ALL SUBMISSIONS MUST BE POSTMARKED BY JUNE 30, 2011. WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED JULY 15, 2011.
Authors retain all copyright to their works, and if you would like samples returned, please include a self-addressed stamped envelope.
Make submissions to:
Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry
c/o Brandon Lacy Campos
462 W. 52nd Street #3N
New York, NY 10019
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Addiction, HIV, and the Healing that We Need: A Community Call to Action
Let me go on ahead and give a testimonial up in this piece for a minute. I am a recovering meth addict. And while there was an element early on, back in the late 90s, when I was bedazzled by the glam party boys at the club, my meth addiction had nothing to do with that. Meth came later, post HIV, and my meth addiction had everything to do with the mind blowing numbing power of the drug, the power of the drug to let me feel beautiful, wanted, loved, in control, powerful...for as long as the high lasted, I was Superman and all the bull shit of the world just bounced off of my chest.
Let me preach on this for a minute. I know you all are the choir but sometimes the choir needs to hear the sermon too. When you grow up a man of color in a country that is designed to shut you up and, if it can't, lock you away...when you come out in a queer community where, at least where I was from, you are told to your face, “Sorry...you're cute...but I don't do black/brown/not-white,”....when you are targeted and tokenized...when you are outside peeking in....any thing that resembles a key or a pathway to acceptance becomes very attractive and BECAUSE we did not then and still do not love each other deeply, fearlessly, strongly, toughly, wholly enough...we do not give ourselves nor those that are coming after us the spiritual or communal strength to love themselves despite what the world or anyone in it has to say about the matter.
If we want to see an end to the spread of HIV, if we want to see the end of addiction, if we want to see beautiful brown, black, red, and yellow men loving each other wholly, beautifully, powerfully, then we need find a way to build each other up spiritually and communally...all the prevention messages in the world don't mean SHIT without the work to heal the wounds that most of us are born with....I knew all about condoms and how to protect myself from HIV. But when faced with a moment (even illusory) of feeling whole, wanted, loved, and accepted....I was wiling to give up just about anything to have that moment.
This isn't about some "gay party and sex" ethos. That idea is dismissive and simplistic. It is also a shiny, pretty masquerade masking what's really going on beneath the surface. What's really going on underneath is a world, despite the GLAAD Media Awards, despite Ricky Martin coming out, despite Ugly Betty and Will & Grace, despite gay cruises and gay carnivals, despite the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, despite the right to mimic failed heterosexual relationship structures as evinced through state sponsored marriage, despite a welcoming church here and there, despite “It Gets Better,” and despite all the superficial bullshit where queer people, queer people of color and especially genderqueer and trans people of color are targeted, wounded, hurting, marginalized, isolated and struggling--at least for a good chunk of their first two decades of life. And, my friends, don't get it twisted, each and every one of us knows that what happens to us in the first 20 years of life is most likely what we are going to spend the last 60 years of our lives trying to heal...if we have the privilege to do so and if we live long enough.
So, when I read half-assed assertions about what is REALLY needed to curb meth addiction, when I read folks that have never struggled with addiction coming up with the same old tired solutions to dynamic issues of mental health and spiritual wounding, I really want to start screaming. The fact is that the solution to meth addiction is not MORE FEAR. It is not MORE JUDGMENT. It is not MORE SHAME. It is not simplistic answers to a complicated problem. And there is no single solution for an addiction and a wounding that is absolutely personal. When one goes into the emergency room with chest pains, the doctor doesn't apply the same diagnostic and healing plan that she gave to the patient just before you with chest pain. Your healing path is personal and specific to the nuances that are you. Some of the techniques applied may be universal, but the situations of each surgery are unique and require specialized care. The same is true of addiction, and don't let anyone tell you differently.
With all my heart, I wish that the moment any queer and/or trans person of color turned 18---before we send them out into the adult world--, they were whisked off to a magical queer camp where for a year they are given the tools and the love, and lots and lots and lots of therapy, to start undoing the hurt that they have already, inevitably, received.
So let me ask you to join me in figuring out a real solution. I am going to talk to my friend Maurice Jamal, the folks at the Audre Lorde Project and a couple of other folks and see if we can pull together a series of long term discussions in queer/trans communities of color, with queer/trans people of color, facilitated by queer/trans people of color, to try and find long term solutions not to addiction but to the root causes that lead to addiction. HIV and Addiction are symptoms. The symptoms need to be addressed but until the underlying wound is healed, no matter how much love and support is thrown at the symptoms, they are going to keep returning. I, for one, am tired of the symptoms. I am ready for healing---and I can't do it by myself.
Let me preach on this for a minute. I know you all are the choir but sometimes the choir needs to hear the sermon too. When you grow up a man of color in a country that is designed to shut you up and, if it can't, lock you away...when you come out in a queer community where, at least where I was from, you are told to your face, “Sorry...you're cute...but I don't do black/brown/not-white,”....when you are targeted and tokenized...when you are outside peeking in....any thing that resembles a key or a pathway to acceptance becomes very attractive and BECAUSE we did not then and still do not love each other deeply, fearlessly, strongly, toughly, wholly enough...we do not give ourselves nor those that are coming after us the spiritual or communal strength to love themselves despite what the world or anyone in it has to say about the matter.
If we want to see an end to the spread of HIV, if we want to see the end of addiction, if we want to see beautiful brown, black, red, and yellow men loving each other wholly, beautifully, powerfully, then we need find a way to build each other up spiritually and communally...all the prevention messages in the world don't mean SHIT without the work to heal the wounds that most of us are born with....I knew all about condoms and how to protect myself from HIV. But when faced with a moment (even illusory) of feeling whole, wanted, loved, and accepted....I was wiling to give up just about anything to have that moment.
This isn't about some "gay party and sex" ethos. That idea is dismissive and simplistic. It is also a shiny, pretty masquerade masking what's really going on beneath the surface. What's really going on underneath is a world, despite the GLAAD Media Awards, despite Ricky Martin coming out, despite Ugly Betty and Will & Grace, despite gay cruises and gay carnivals, despite the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, despite the right to mimic failed heterosexual relationship structures as evinced through state sponsored marriage, despite a welcoming church here and there, despite “It Gets Better,” and despite all the superficial bullshit where queer people, queer people of color and especially genderqueer and trans people of color are targeted, wounded, hurting, marginalized, isolated and struggling--at least for a good chunk of their first two decades of life. And, my friends, don't get it twisted, each and every one of us knows that what happens to us in the first 20 years of life is most likely what we are going to spend the last 60 years of our lives trying to heal...if we have the privilege to do so and if we live long enough.
So, when I read half-assed assertions about what is REALLY needed to curb meth addiction, when I read folks that have never struggled with addiction coming up with the same old tired solutions to dynamic issues of mental health and spiritual wounding, I really want to start screaming. The fact is that the solution to meth addiction is not MORE FEAR. It is not MORE JUDGMENT. It is not MORE SHAME. It is not simplistic answers to a complicated problem. And there is no single solution for an addiction and a wounding that is absolutely personal. When one goes into the emergency room with chest pains, the doctor doesn't apply the same diagnostic and healing plan that she gave to the patient just before you with chest pain. Your healing path is personal and specific to the nuances that are you. Some of the techniques applied may be universal, but the situations of each surgery are unique and require specialized care. The same is true of addiction, and don't let anyone tell you differently.
With all my heart, I wish that the moment any queer and/or trans person of color turned 18---before we send them out into the adult world--, they were whisked off to a magical queer camp where for a year they are given the tools and the love, and lots and lots and lots of therapy, to start undoing the hurt that they have already, inevitably, received.
So let me ask you to join me in figuring out a real solution. I am going to talk to my friend Maurice Jamal, the folks at the Audre Lorde Project and a couple of other folks and see if we can pull together a series of long term discussions in queer/trans communities of color, with queer/trans people of color, facilitated by queer/trans people of color, to try and find long term solutions not to addiction but to the root causes that lead to addiction. HIV and Addiction are symptoms. The symptoms need to be addressed but until the underlying wound is healed, no matter how much love and support is thrown at the symptoms, they are going to keep returning. I, for one, am tired of the symptoms. I am ready for healing---and I can't do it by myself.
Labels:
Addiction,
Healing,
HIV,
Maurice Jamal,
The Audre Lorde Project
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Aries Birthdays!
Good lord almighty. Nine months ago this weekend, about 2/3rds of my friend's parents were knocking boots and making babies. Last night I had five birthday party invitations and I knew of seven birthday parties taking place in various spots in New York City. The ungodly reality of the subway in New York on the weekend is that at any given time about half of the trains aren't running due to "track and service upgrades," so for any party not taking place in Manhattan, I was able to decline and blame it on the MTA. In fact, one party that I am really sad to have missed, my friend and co-NYAC board member Tanya Paperny's, sounded like it was going to be an amazing artistic and debaucherous romp of an evening. Unfortunately, it was going to be an hour both ways to and from the party, and with a number of parties taking place last night, I just couldn't do it. Or, to be more realistic, if I took my ass on an hour train ride to the outskirts of Brooklyn there was no way in Hell that I was coming back in time for anything except to take my ass to bed.
By luck and great fortune, three groups of my friends, all independent of one another, converged for post-birthday party cocktails at G Lounge in Chelsea. Though there are nearly 9 million people living in New York (exactly 4,783,1232 of them are queer), it is a small city sometimes. After hitting up my gal pal Briana's super fab 30th shin dig at Bourbon Street near my apartment, I joined the group convergence down at G Lounge.
It was pretty much my most fun evening out since moving to New York. I got to see some amazing good people (Kirk, La Marr, Barbie, and Tim to name a few!) and I met a number of other great folks between the two spots. Not going to lie, I made out with a couple of folks last night....and I was glad to have done it. The energy was amazing, and it was one of those moments in life when good people intersect with you, and the chemistry was such that a little lip action was a celebration of the spirit of the moment (as well as being pure carnal deliciousness). In fact, I am super excited to get to know better a couple of the folks I met last night.
I was supposed to meet up with my friend Kenyon and his people in town from New Orleans, but time got away from me, and I knew that if I hit another club, I would be in rough shape today. I stuck to wine last night, and I also made sure to eat and pace myself. Even with all of that, I woke up this morning saying, "John Dillinger tote bags!" After which I projectile vomited the combination of two pizza slices and a bowl of Basic Four with soy milk that I ate right before going to bed. It was the food and not a hangover that caused the vomitaring, but it wasn't cute. And now I really have to do laundry ;-)
Anywho...all's quiet on the Westside this afternoon. David and Mimzy are in Connecticut so that Mimzy can have her follow up cooter examination at the vet, and I am indulging my new addiction: Pocket Frogs. Thanks for an awesome evening last night New York City.
By luck and great fortune, three groups of my friends, all independent of one another, converged for post-birthday party cocktails at G Lounge in Chelsea. Though there are nearly 9 million people living in New York (exactly 4,783,1232 of them are queer), it is a small city sometimes. After hitting up my gal pal Briana's super fab 30th shin dig at Bourbon Street near my apartment, I joined the group convergence down at G Lounge.
It was pretty much my most fun evening out since moving to New York. I got to see some amazing good people (Kirk, La Marr, Barbie, and Tim to name a few!) and I met a number of other great folks between the two spots. Not going to lie, I made out with a couple of folks last night....and I was glad to have done it. The energy was amazing, and it was one of those moments in life when good people intersect with you, and the chemistry was such that a little lip action was a celebration of the spirit of the moment (as well as being pure carnal deliciousness). In fact, I am super excited to get to know better a couple of the folks I met last night.
I was supposed to meet up with my friend Kenyon and his people in town from New Orleans, but time got away from me, and I knew that if I hit another club, I would be in rough shape today. I stuck to wine last night, and I also made sure to eat and pace myself. Even with all of that, I woke up this morning saying, "John Dillinger tote bags!" After which I projectile vomited the combination of two pizza slices and a bowl of Basic Four with soy milk that I ate right before going to bed. It was the food and not a hangover that caused the vomitaring, but it wasn't cute. And now I really have to do laundry ;-)
Anywho...all's quiet on the Westside this afternoon. David and Mimzy are in Connecticut so that Mimzy can have her follow up cooter examination at the vet, and I am indulging my new addiction: Pocket Frogs. Thanks for an awesome evening last night New York City.
Labels:
Birthday Parties,
Bourbon Street,
G Lounge,
New York City,
Parents,
Sex,
The Ritz
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
For a Better Democracy: Ranked Choice Voting
Despite what the 24 hour news cycle and modern pundits would have you believe, democracy as practiced now in the United States is neither the model for democratic practice internationally nor is it a static exercise practiced once a year in November. Nor is democracy simply the act of voting.
While, the practice of modern democracy in the United States enjoys a longer, more stable history than perhaps any other modern state, the history of democracy in this country has been one of struggle. What is now held up as sacred—universal suffrage, the rights gained under the 1963 Voting Rights Act, and diminished barriers to voting for people of color—are all hard won rights that have been taken through massive grassroots action and often times have been paid for in a cost measured in lives lost. While the premise of democracy is that the demos, Greek for common people, should hold the ultimate decision making power in a polity, the actuality is that there has been and continues to be a struggle between the demos and a minority that enjoys and maintains privilege through limiting access to democratic practice and the institutions that are reserved for the elite through electoral gate keeping.
Nowhere is this gatekeeping more apparent and more rigidly defended than in plurality voting winner takes all elections. The basic premise of democratic practice is majority rule, minority rights. The actuality of the U.S. tradition of democracy is that of minority rule with majority rights. Candidates that win with less than 50%+1 of the voting public, sometimes with much less than that—Jesse Ventura's 1998 Minnesota gubernatorial win with 37% of the vote is one recent example, still claim a mandate to govern. No gubernatorial candidate in Minnesota has won a real mandate to govern in more than two decades. Because of winner take all voting systems, a candidate no longer has to convince a majority of the electorate that his or her ideas are in the best interest of the state and its people, they only have to convince a large enough minority with narrower interests and less concern for the broader collective welfare to turn out in margins just large enough to beat the other candidates. When a candidate no longer has to challenge his or her own views in order to meet the needs of the broadest good, self-interest and politics trump public service and communal well-being. Democracy is reduced to “beating the other guy.” And political offices become prize fight trophies instead of public trusts. The deeply polarized and vitriolic rhetoric of recent election cycles bear clear testament to this deepening and disturbing reality.
Thankfully, winner take all elections are not the only option. Ranked Choice Voting (RCV), a voting system that requires a winner receive a true mandate to govern and allows for deeper, more nuanced, yet still straight-foward and simple voting not only changes what happens in the ballot box but also the tone, rhetoric, and ideology that dominates the campaign trail. RCV, also known as Instant Run-Off Voting, is used in municipalities across the United States, including Minneapolis and San Francisco, as well as for national elections in Australia and Ireland, allows voters to rank their candidate preferences on the ballot. If no single candidate receives 50%+1 of the vote, then the lowest vote getter is dropped and his or her votes are redistributed to the voters second choice candidate, etc.. This process continues until one candidate passes the required 50%+1 benchmark guaranteeing that he or she actually has the confidence of the people when forming a government.
When candidates are forced to not only consider their narrow ideological base of supporters but also the social and political priorities of broader set of voters, it has been demonstrably proven that the tone, style, rhetoric, and reality of the practice of democracy changes---less vitriol, broader base building, and fewer or no negative ads. When a candidate is forced to consider not only his base but also the needs of those that lay further afield from his personal preferences, the result is public policy that requires a broader view that is much less likely to infringe upon minority rights.
Because of the possibility for such wide reaching impact, a commitment to ranked choice voting should be an active part of a progressive platform that weds outside-of-the-system direct action organizing and movement building with electoral reform. As the recent attacks on organized labor in Wisconsin have clearly demonstrated, as long as the electoral system continues to volley back and forth across polarizing lines, more and more harsh and intractable public policy will be the result. As a movement building opportunity, the attacks on organized labor in Wisconsin are priceless but the emotional and psychic cost on communities constantly under siege by the very people that are supposed to represent their interests is not one that can be long sustained without long lasting wounds.
Ranked Choice Voting, which inherently inhibits these types of reactionary figures from earning (or barely squeaking into) public office, is a launching point for sensible, just social change. When our voting system reflects the nuanced choices of the electorate, including the viable promotion of third parties, the public policy that results from the ensuing compromises is very simply better for everyone. From education to health care, when elected officials are forced to incorporate the broadest possible coalition to win election as opposed to a slim and fervent minority, real social change and progress towards justice is not only possible, it becomes probable without sacrificing anyone for political gain.
For more information on ranked choice voting, check out FairVote Minnesota the national organization FairVote: The Center for Voting and Democracy.
While, the practice of modern democracy in the United States enjoys a longer, more stable history than perhaps any other modern state, the history of democracy in this country has been one of struggle. What is now held up as sacred—universal suffrage, the rights gained under the 1963 Voting Rights Act, and diminished barriers to voting for people of color—are all hard won rights that have been taken through massive grassroots action and often times have been paid for in a cost measured in lives lost. While the premise of democracy is that the demos, Greek for common people, should hold the ultimate decision making power in a polity, the actuality is that there has been and continues to be a struggle between the demos and a minority that enjoys and maintains privilege through limiting access to democratic practice and the institutions that are reserved for the elite through electoral gate keeping.
Nowhere is this gatekeeping more apparent and more rigidly defended than in plurality voting winner takes all elections. The basic premise of democratic practice is majority rule, minority rights. The actuality of the U.S. tradition of democracy is that of minority rule with majority rights. Candidates that win with less than 50%+1 of the voting public, sometimes with much less than that—Jesse Ventura's 1998 Minnesota gubernatorial win with 37% of the vote is one recent example, still claim a mandate to govern. No gubernatorial candidate in Minnesota has won a real mandate to govern in more than two decades. Because of winner take all voting systems, a candidate no longer has to convince a majority of the electorate that his or her ideas are in the best interest of the state and its people, they only have to convince a large enough minority with narrower interests and less concern for the broader collective welfare to turn out in margins just large enough to beat the other candidates. When a candidate no longer has to challenge his or her own views in order to meet the needs of the broadest good, self-interest and politics trump public service and communal well-being. Democracy is reduced to “beating the other guy.” And political offices become prize fight trophies instead of public trusts. The deeply polarized and vitriolic rhetoric of recent election cycles bear clear testament to this deepening and disturbing reality.
Thankfully, winner take all elections are not the only option. Ranked Choice Voting (RCV), a voting system that requires a winner receive a true mandate to govern and allows for deeper, more nuanced, yet still straight-foward and simple voting not only changes what happens in the ballot box but also the tone, rhetoric, and ideology that dominates the campaign trail. RCV, also known as Instant Run-Off Voting, is used in municipalities across the United States, including Minneapolis and San Francisco, as well as for national elections in Australia and Ireland, allows voters to rank their candidate preferences on the ballot. If no single candidate receives 50%+1 of the vote, then the lowest vote getter is dropped and his or her votes are redistributed to the voters second choice candidate, etc.. This process continues until one candidate passes the required 50%+1 benchmark guaranteeing that he or she actually has the confidence of the people when forming a government.
When candidates are forced to not only consider their narrow ideological base of supporters but also the social and political priorities of broader set of voters, it has been demonstrably proven that the tone, style, rhetoric, and reality of the practice of democracy changes---less vitriol, broader base building, and fewer or no negative ads. When a candidate is forced to consider not only his base but also the needs of those that lay further afield from his personal preferences, the result is public policy that requires a broader view that is much less likely to infringe upon minority rights.
Because of the possibility for such wide reaching impact, a commitment to ranked choice voting should be an active part of a progressive platform that weds outside-of-the-system direct action organizing and movement building with electoral reform. As the recent attacks on organized labor in Wisconsin have clearly demonstrated, as long as the electoral system continues to volley back and forth across polarizing lines, more and more harsh and intractable public policy will be the result. As a movement building opportunity, the attacks on organized labor in Wisconsin are priceless but the emotional and psychic cost on communities constantly under siege by the very people that are supposed to represent their interests is not one that can be long sustained without long lasting wounds.
Ranked Choice Voting, which inherently inhibits these types of reactionary figures from earning (or barely squeaking into) public office, is a launching point for sensible, just social change. When our voting system reflects the nuanced choices of the electorate, including the viable promotion of third parties, the public policy that results from the ensuing compromises is very simply better for everyone. From education to health care, when elected officials are forced to incorporate the broadest possible coalition to win election as opposed to a slim and fervent minority, real social change and progress towards justice is not only possible, it becomes probable without sacrificing anyone for political gain.
For more information on ranked choice voting, check out FairVote Minnesota the national organization FairVote: The Center for Voting and Democracy.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
One Liner of the Week Award: Sweetie

Like most queer homosexual gays of my generation, I saw "Too Wong Foo," in the theater. The opening of that movie, from Salt-n-Pepa's Body Beautiful to the drag pageant, was perhaps the best opening of any movie ever. EVER! Don't argue with me.
I can remember distinctly when the busty drag queen MC walks on stage in her tiny hat and says, "HELLO HELLO HELLLO!" Never in my gayest dreams did I ever imagine that one day I would not only meet her but also give her the One Liner of the Week Award.
Here's the story.
Last night, David, Vinnie, and I headed down to the Times Square Comedy Club to see our friend Chad Pace aka Divine Grace in a drag queen lip synching game show audience interactive play:"The Ultimate Drag Off." From the beginning, the super campy show was awesome. As folks were being seated, a cheap Russian whore aka Sweetie's daughter, made her rounds from table to table telling us to to "wote" aka vote in each round. She was also the only biological girl in the show.
As the show swung into full effect, Sweetie took the stage as the game show host. She was fantastic. She worked the crowd like a true performer, and her comedy was on!
At one point, she was talking about Jennifer Hudson, and then said something in drag queen Spanglish, which is a little known dialect of Old Homo, when she spotted me in the front row and said to me, "That was for our Latin brother, ummmm, or Asian, ummm...or whatever bastardized mix you happen to be."
And that, ladies and ball tuckers is the One Liner of the Week Award.
I later forgive her for her light dash of racism when she said that I was hot and looked like Michael Yeoh from E! TV...if, that is, he would come out of the closet.
Do yourself a favor, if you are in NYC, go and see "The Ultimate Drag Off," tell Sweetie that Michael Yeoh's gay cousin sent you.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Real Ghost Story, e.g. Some Scary Shit!
Every since I was a wee one, I have had creepy encounters with our much deader cousins. Like most kids, I saw the ooogy boogy shadowy creatures that vanished around a corner when you tried to stare them down. While I didn't SEE dead people as a kid, I knew when they were around. My skin would try to crawl off of my body, or there were places that other folks had no problem walking around, I was aware that there were folks hanging about that would prefer that anyone with a pulse pick up and kindly move along. I never really talked about it, and I have no proof that my tingles and feelings were anything more than gas.
My only other super powers are that elevators tend to show up and open up as I am walking up to them, with no one in site, and in some ancient ass buildings that have nothing resembling modern equipment AND if there is a person that I know, and that said person is in a city in which I am in, and I don't know that they are in town, I tend to run into them. That second power wigs me out in that it has happened on the beach in Florida (ran into two friends from Minnesota), five times on the island of Puerto Rico (ran into five friends from Minnesota on five separate occasions in five separate locations on the island), in a gay bar in Denver, in Times Square, and, most recently, I ran into my Non-Romantic Life Partner (who lives in Indiana) a block from my house in New York as he was on his way to a gay bar (he hadn't told me he was in town.....sneaky).
But, in the last couple of years, my third eye seems to have been propped open and given a monocle. A couple of years ago, I was sitting on the floor of the beautiful old Victorian home I shared with three women in Oakland, chatting with David on Facebook. It was a beautiful morning, about nine a.m.. I was sitting in the "family room," when I looked up and out of the door into the foyer. The sun was shining through the front door, and a white woman in a old white lacy night gown took two steps up the stairs towards the second level. With her second step, I could see the heel of her foot clearly and the nightgown was kicked up a little bit as she walked up the stairs...then she disappeared.
I told David I'd seen a ghost. Packed up my computer. Left a bright yellow post it note on the fridge that said, "I SAW THE GHOST," and then I beat it up out of that piece and headed to work.
Fast forward to just a few months ago. when I woke up from a dead sleep feeling like someone was trying to choke the hell out of me. I could feel a weight on my body, and when I opened my eyes, standing next to my bed, clear as shit, was an old white man dressed in a frock coat, buckled shoes, hose, and a three corner hat. He was holding up a deed or some other legal document in his hand, and he looked mad as Hell. I thought I was dreaming, and I even closed my eyes and opened them again to see if maybe I was. No luck. Dude was still standing there. I sat there staring at this old creep for about 10 minutes before he finally faded away. I even tried to wake up David, but he was too far gone into Morpheus' world. You can bet I prayed my ass off and called on the name of the Lord before finally drifting back to sleep. The next day I lit up some sage, and I haven't heard from that dude or anyone else lately.
That is until last night.
Last night, I was minding my own bidness (that's right BIDness). I was sleeping and having a relatively traumatic dream about my little cousin Lonnie David (he had somehow hurt his leg and was having to do some sort of toddler physical therapy) when I woke up to see a possible white/possible mixed-race dude...from approximately the same era as old three point hat man. This man, however, did not have a deed. He was barefoot wearing old cotton pants with a drawstring waist, he was shirtless, and he was angry. I got the distinct feeling that he had been a laborer of some sort. AND, at some point, the man had been confined in a tight place with chains, because I found myself pounding the wall over and over again wanting to be let out of somewhere. I didn't get the feeling that he had survived the Middle Passage or anything that dramatic, but at some point, his ass had been in some type of bondage. When I saw old man three point hat....I did some research and had some help from my pal Adam Waterman and discovered that where I live used to be a very large farm owned by an old family that basically held this land for about two hundred years from the 1600s to the 1800s. There had also been workers that lived along the river nearby, and even closer by there had been a family cemetery for the family that owned this land. My guess is that the workers that lived around here were also buried in the vicinity. At least one of those workers is still hanging around.
While I walked away from my first ghostly experience in this apartment with the distinct feeling that the old man in the hat was trying to let us know clearly that this was HIS land, this second ghost was just angry and wanted folks to know something about him or to remind someone that he had lived. The anger from both was palpable, but I felt much less direct animosity from the second than the first, though the second one was not trying to be my friend either.
Looks like its time to smudge again.
In the last year, I've been visited in my dreams by Yemeya and Ogun. I have been visited in the waking world by two ghosts. If I might make a suggestion, I would like to be visited next by a leprechaun with a pot of gold...cuz if I am going to have to interact with spirits and stuff....at least I could make some coins off of the whole experience (well...not Yemeya and Ogun....I don't mess with Gods...no I do not).
My only other super powers are that elevators tend to show up and open up as I am walking up to them, with no one in site, and in some ancient ass buildings that have nothing resembling modern equipment AND if there is a person that I know, and that said person is in a city in which I am in, and I don't know that they are in town, I tend to run into them. That second power wigs me out in that it has happened on the beach in Florida (ran into two friends from Minnesota), five times on the island of Puerto Rico (ran into five friends from Minnesota on five separate occasions in five separate locations on the island), in a gay bar in Denver, in Times Square, and, most recently, I ran into my Non-Romantic Life Partner (who lives in Indiana) a block from my house in New York as he was on his way to a gay bar (he hadn't told me he was in town.....sneaky).
But, in the last couple of years, my third eye seems to have been propped open and given a monocle. A couple of years ago, I was sitting on the floor of the beautiful old Victorian home I shared with three women in Oakland, chatting with David on Facebook. It was a beautiful morning, about nine a.m.. I was sitting in the "family room," when I looked up and out of the door into the foyer. The sun was shining through the front door, and a white woman in a old white lacy night gown took two steps up the stairs towards the second level. With her second step, I could see the heel of her foot clearly and the nightgown was kicked up a little bit as she walked up the stairs...then she disappeared.
I told David I'd seen a ghost. Packed up my computer. Left a bright yellow post it note on the fridge that said, "I SAW THE GHOST," and then I beat it up out of that piece and headed to work.
Fast forward to just a few months ago. when I woke up from a dead sleep feeling like someone was trying to choke the hell out of me. I could feel a weight on my body, and when I opened my eyes, standing next to my bed, clear as shit, was an old white man dressed in a frock coat, buckled shoes, hose, and a three corner hat. He was holding up a deed or some other legal document in his hand, and he looked mad as Hell. I thought I was dreaming, and I even closed my eyes and opened them again to see if maybe I was. No luck. Dude was still standing there. I sat there staring at this old creep for about 10 minutes before he finally faded away. I even tried to wake up David, but he was too far gone into Morpheus' world. You can bet I prayed my ass off and called on the name of the Lord before finally drifting back to sleep. The next day I lit up some sage, and I haven't heard from that dude or anyone else lately.
That is until last night.
Last night, I was minding my own bidness (that's right BIDness). I was sleeping and having a relatively traumatic dream about my little cousin Lonnie David (he had somehow hurt his leg and was having to do some sort of toddler physical therapy) when I woke up to see a possible white/possible mixed-race dude...from approximately the same era as old three point hat man. This man, however, did not have a deed. He was barefoot wearing old cotton pants with a drawstring waist, he was shirtless, and he was angry. I got the distinct feeling that he had been a laborer of some sort. AND, at some point, the man had been confined in a tight place with chains, because I found myself pounding the wall over and over again wanting to be let out of somewhere. I didn't get the feeling that he had survived the Middle Passage or anything that dramatic, but at some point, his ass had been in some type of bondage. When I saw old man three point hat....I did some research and had some help from my pal Adam Waterman and discovered that where I live used to be a very large farm owned by an old family that basically held this land for about two hundred years from the 1600s to the 1800s. There had also been workers that lived along the river nearby, and even closer by there had been a family cemetery for the family that owned this land. My guess is that the workers that lived around here were also buried in the vicinity. At least one of those workers is still hanging around.
While I walked away from my first ghostly experience in this apartment with the distinct feeling that the old man in the hat was trying to let us know clearly that this was HIS land, this second ghost was just angry and wanted folks to know something about him or to remind someone that he had lived. The anger from both was palpable, but I felt much less direct animosity from the second than the first, though the second one was not trying to be my friend either.
Looks like its time to smudge again.
In the last year, I've been visited in my dreams by Yemeya and Ogun. I have been visited in the waking world by two ghosts. If I might make a suggestion, I would like to be visited next by a leprechaun with a pot of gold...cuz if I am going to have to interact with spirits and stuff....at least I could make some coins off of the whole experience (well...not Yemeya and Ogun....I don't mess with Gods...no I do not).
Thursday, March 24, 2011
You and Me: Needs You and YOU! (New York and San Francisco!!!)
It is my hope that My Feet Only Walk Forward is a not only a vehicle for my own special moments (aka rantings, musings, and emotional vomit....see the footer below...it even says so...), but I also hope that this blog is challenges folks; helps folks think through their own thoughts, feelings, and beliefs; sheds light on some of the ways in which the world works; promotes and highlights amazing artists, organizers, performs and their work; and helps connect people to one another through the inter-webs (please note connects PEOPLE to one another...not people to computer monitors). As I am approaching my 500th blog entry here at My Feet Only Walk Forward, and as I have looked back over the last three years of this blog, I have noticed, with much love and pride, that this blog is becoming more and more of the things I hope it will be. I appreciate all of you that have brought your work to my attention, have suggested blog topics, have shown me love, and have used what you have found here in your own work. From classrooms to audition monologues, My Feet Only Walk Forward has gone places I never dreamed it would go when I posted my first blog three years ago this month. Thank you to all of you that have supported this work.
Today's blog entry is another example of the ways in which I hope to continue fulfilling the mission of this blog. My boy Kirk Grisham is a fierce researcher and tireless advocate in the area of HIV/AIDS research and prevention. He is currently the Project Director of the You&Me study at Columbia that is examining the relationships between black and white men. Please check out the information about the study below, and if you or someone you know are the folks that Kirk is looking to find, please get in touch with him! This is important work for the community, and it can't happen unless YOU participate.
You & Me Study!
Principles:
The You & Me Study is based on the principles of community-based research, which emphasizes the experiences and knowledge of its participants. Collaboration between academic researchers and community members is a hallmark of the You & Me study. Contributions of community members have been and are essential to the development and execution of the study; we value and respect your views. We know that couples are the experts on their own relationships; by speaking with us and reflecting on your experiences in your relationship, you are taking an active role in a project that will benefit the community.
What We're Doing
The mission of the You & Me Study is to gain a better understanding of relationship dynamics and the contextual factors that shape them in order to develop interventions to improve the sexual health of men in same-sex relationships. Little health research has focused on same-sex couples, and even fewer studies have included Black and interracial same-sex couples. Talking with couples will allow us to better understand the relationship context that men must negotiate as they make decisions that affect their sexual health.
Why We're Doing This
Men who have sex with men (MSM), especially Black and White men, account for the majority of HIV/AIDS cases in the United States. Even though about half of all MSM are in steady relationships, little research has focused on same-sex couples. Although there is compelling evidence that couples continue to be at risk for HIV, we know very little about relationship factors associated with risk. Our study builds on previous research in the ongoing Gay Couples Studythat has found that agreements between partners are important to reducing HIV risk. You & Me will examine how agreements and other relationship-based factors may influence HIV risk behaviors among same-sex couples.
For more information click here for the You & Me Study Facebook page.
And here you is the You & Me Study webpage.
Today's blog entry is another example of the ways in which I hope to continue fulfilling the mission of this blog. My boy Kirk Grisham is a fierce researcher and tireless advocate in the area of HIV/AIDS research and prevention. He is currently the Project Director of the You&Me study at Columbia that is examining the relationships between black and white men. Please check out the information about the study below, and if you or someone you know are the folks that Kirk is looking to find, please get in touch with him! This is important work for the community, and it can't happen unless YOU participate.
You & Me Study!
Principles:
The You & Me Study is based on the principles of community-based research, which emphasizes the experiences and knowledge of its participants. Collaboration between academic researchers and community members is a hallmark of the You & Me study. Contributions of community members have been and are essential to the development and execution of the study; we value and respect your views. We know that couples are the experts on their own relationships; by speaking with us and reflecting on your experiences in your relationship, you are taking an active role in a project that will benefit the community.
What We're Doing
The mission of the You & Me Study is to gain a better understanding of relationship dynamics and the contextual factors that shape them in order to develop interventions to improve the sexual health of men in same-sex relationships. Little health research has focused on same-sex couples, and even fewer studies have included Black and interracial same-sex couples. Talking with couples will allow us to better understand the relationship context that men must negotiate as they make decisions that affect their sexual health.
Why We're Doing This
Men who have sex with men (MSM), especially Black and White men, account for the majority of HIV/AIDS cases in the United States. Even though about half of all MSM are in steady relationships, little research has focused on same-sex couples. Although there is compelling evidence that couples continue to be at risk for HIV, we know very little about relationship factors associated with risk. Our study builds on previous research in the ongoing Gay Couples Studythat has found that agreements between partners are important to reducing HIV risk. You & Me will examine how agreements and other relationship-based factors may influence HIV risk behaviors among same-sex couples.
For more information click here for the You & Me Study Facebook page.
And here you is the You & Me Study webpage.
Labels:
African-Americans,
Columbia University,
HIV,
Men,
Men of Color,
New York,
San Francisco,
Study,
White,
You and Me Study
Monday, March 21, 2011
Juan Williams is a Coconut
Growing up, I was taunted and traumatized by words like coconut and Oreo. For those not in the know, calling someone coconut (or Oreo or pineapple or apple) is a way that brown, black, and red folks often respond to other brown, black and red folks that, in their opinion, "act white." The connotation is that a coconut (which I keep writing as cocunt....which is a vagina shared by Siamese twins) is an individual that is brown or black on the outside and white on the inside. --(Asian kids that acted white were pineapples, Native kids that acted white were apples--most likely Macintosh as I don't know many Green indigenous folks so Granny Smith just wouldn't work in the same way, and if someone called me Honey Crisp I would probably have been delighted and gave him a kiss).
Now for most of us that grew up being called one of these variation, the experience was traumatizing and the impetus for the taunting had little to do with us "acting white." It had everything to do with the the anti-intellectualism that has been ingrained in many of our communities, so, for example, when my Mother moved us from Duluth, MN to a black neighborhood in Kansas City, MO, my brother and I were attacked as "coconuts and Oreos," because of our northern English (we were also called "proper," by kids in the hood...which would make me cry)--and also because of the fact that the reading book that I had in 2nd grade was the one that they were using in the 5th grade in Missouri. There are many things I love dearly about the South but the public education system is not one of them. Attitudes toward education in many working class and poor people of color neighborhoods are forgivable as inherited relics of Jim Crow and slavery. Just like many relics, though, the reverence for perception versus the honoring of truth causes all kinds of fucked up situations. Someone pass me an Oreo, I need some comfort food.
Today, however, despite my own experience with being labeled a coconut, after reading an article on the Huffington Post concerning former NPR commentator Juan Williams (who was fired from NPR) making a statement in an Op-Ed for The Hill newspaper calling for the defunding of NPR, I posted the article on Facebook and in my comments on the article I referred to Juan Williams as a coconut. I would like to revise and extend my remarks.
My old high school pal Lara Christley sent me an email asking me if I meant that Juan was brown on the outside, white on the inside. I realized when I got her email that I did mean exactly that but, at the same time, not exactly that at all. What I really meant to say is that Juan Williams is brown on the outside and Republican on the inside. The fact that I conflated whiteness with Republicanism, for me, is one dimensional and problematic in that I know fierce fierce fierce white folks that want not a damn thing to do with Republican politics or the fucked up legacy of ultra conservatism in this country. Yet, while examining my use of the word, I found that I was still comfortable with my word choice.
Ain't that a contradiction.
In my mind, and this I stand behind, Republicans and Republican values AS THEY EXIST TODAY, are what have and continue to drive us directly towards our own doom. Those values and the policies that they have spawned have almost exclusively been championed by white folks and have only been implemented by white folks in power. There has not now nor ever been a majority people of color in any state or federal legislature, and never has there been a critical number of people of color in any of the decision making bodies of the Republican Party or in the various right wing think tanks that have developed the pro-military, anti-choice, anti-democracy, pro-business, anti-working folks, racist, heterosexist, hateful policies that have largely dictated the direction of this country since 1981.
There have been idiotic brown folks that have somehow been so self-hating that they have happily drunk the GOP and fundamentalist Christian Kool-Aid and taken up causes and values that are antithetical to their own well being, insults to their ancestors, and deadly to their progeny, but thank God those crazies have rarely had a national platform to spout their idiocy and give the GOP "examples" of the diversity that they claim exists under their "big tent." Juan Williams, though, does have a national platform and has used it in a way that betrays his own history and throws his own (our) community under the bus....then happily backs up over it.
I am not having it.
I wish there was another word that I had at hand that could communicate my complete and utter disgust with Juan Williams, his statement, and his politics. I wish the word that I chose and used did not lump all white folks into a monolith and perhaps communicate the idea that I believe that all white folks are evil. I obviously do not...I, unlike Juan Williams, am not self hating. If my own Mother was any whiter, you would be able to see the sunlight reflecting off of her skin in deep space. But I can not, will not, and shall not tolerate any person of color that willfully turns his or her back on her community for personal gain. And in the grand lexicon of the people of color experience I can think of no word or phrase, no form of condemnation, and no manner of rejection that is more direct or more final than labeling an individual one of those words that I once so despised (and still do when used against a child whose only sin is that he or she has managed to achieve some level of education in a country and educational system specifically designed to assist them in failing) when hurled at me while playing double dutch.
As a child, the worst insult you could hurl at another black person was coconut. Today, I am making a decision to revive that word but with a new meaning. NO LONGER does coconut mean a black or brown person that "acts white." A coconut is an individual so fucked up and so willing to dismantle the very few (and let's be real, when talking about NPR, very flawed) vehicles for communication and democracy that have not been completely corrupted by corporate America that he or she is willing to walk away from justice and into the arms of the same people that would happily string their ass up, light them on fire and have lunch...if only it were still legal to do so.
In Juan Williams' case...if you crack his ass open....you won't find white skin....you will find Fox News and Rupert's Murdoch's Bitch stamped in place of his spine.
Now for most of us that grew up being called one of these variation, the experience was traumatizing and the impetus for the taunting had little to do with us "acting white." It had everything to do with the the anti-intellectualism that has been ingrained in many of our communities, so, for example, when my Mother moved us from Duluth, MN to a black neighborhood in Kansas City, MO, my brother and I were attacked as "coconuts and Oreos," because of our northern English (we were also called "proper," by kids in the hood...which would make me cry)--and also because of the fact that the reading book that I had in 2nd grade was the one that they were using in the 5th grade in Missouri. There are many things I love dearly about the South but the public education system is not one of them. Attitudes toward education in many working class and poor people of color neighborhoods are forgivable as inherited relics of Jim Crow and slavery. Just like many relics, though, the reverence for perception versus the honoring of truth causes all kinds of fucked up situations. Someone pass me an Oreo, I need some comfort food.
Today, however, despite my own experience with being labeled a coconut, after reading an article on the Huffington Post concerning former NPR commentator Juan Williams (who was fired from NPR) making a statement in an Op-Ed for The Hill newspaper calling for the defunding of NPR, I posted the article on Facebook and in my comments on the article I referred to Juan Williams as a coconut. I would like to revise and extend my remarks.
My old high school pal Lara Christley sent me an email asking me if I meant that Juan was brown on the outside, white on the inside. I realized when I got her email that I did mean exactly that but, at the same time, not exactly that at all. What I really meant to say is that Juan Williams is brown on the outside and Republican on the inside. The fact that I conflated whiteness with Republicanism, for me, is one dimensional and problematic in that I know fierce fierce fierce white folks that want not a damn thing to do with Republican politics or the fucked up legacy of ultra conservatism in this country. Yet, while examining my use of the word, I found that I was still comfortable with my word choice.
Ain't that a contradiction.
In my mind, and this I stand behind, Republicans and Republican values AS THEY EXIST TODAY, are what have and continue to drive us directly towards our own doom. Those values and the policies that they have spawned have almost exclusively been championed by white folks and have only been implemented by white folks in power. There has not now nor ever been a majority people of color in any state or federal legislature, and never has there been a critical number of people of color in any of the decision making bodies of the Republican Party or in the various right wing think tanks that have developed the pro-military, anti-choice, anti-democracy, pro-business, anti-working folks, racist, heterosexist, hateful policies that have largely dictated the direction of this country since 1981.
There have been idiotic brown folks that have somehow been so self-hating that they have happily drunk the GOP and fundamentalist Christian Kool-Aid and taken up causes and values that are antithetical to their own well being, insults to their ancestors, and deadly to their progeny, but thank God those crazies have rarely had a national platform to spout their idiocy and give the GOP "examples" of the diversity that they claim exists under their "big tent." Juan Williams, though, does have a national platform and has used it in a way that betrays his own history and throws his own (our) community under the bus....then happily backs up over it.
I am not having it.
I wish there was another word that I had at hand that could communicate my complete and utter disgust with Juan Williams, his statement, and his politics. I wish the word that I chose and used did not lump all white folks into a monolith and perhaps communicate the idea that I believe that all white folks are evil. I obviously do not...I, unlike Juan Williams, am not self hating. If my own Mother was any whiter, you would be able to see the sunlight reflecting off of her skin in deep space. But I can not, will not, and shall not tolerate any person of color that willfully turns his or her back on her community for personal gain. And in the grand lexicon of the people of color experience I can think of no word or phrase, no form of condemnation, and no manner of rejection that is more direct or more final than labeling an individual one of those words that I once so despised (and still do when used against a child whose only sin is that he or she has managed to achieve some level of education in a country and educational system specifically designed to assist them in failing) when hurled at me while playing double dutch.
As a child, the worst insult you could hurl at another black person was coconut. Today, I am making a decision to revive that word but with a new meaning. NO LONGER does coconut mean a black or brown person that "acts white." A coconut is an individual so fucked up and so willing to dismantle the very few (and let's be real, when talking about NPR, very flawed) vehicles for communication and democracy that have not been completely corrupted by corporate America that he or she is willing to walk away from justice and into the arms of the same people that would happily string their ass up, light them on fire and have lunch...if only it were still legal to do so.
In Juan Williams' case...if you crack his ass open....you won't find white skin....you will find Fox News and Rupert's Murdoch's Bitch stamped in place of his spine.
Labels:
Anti-Intellectualism,
Coconut,
Duluth,
Huffington Post,
Juan Williams,
Kansas City,
Minnesota,
Missouri,
NPR,
Oreos
Friday, March 11, 2011
An Interview with the cast of Secret Survivors

Every now and again, I get to publish something here at My Feet Only Walk Forward that means something. A few months ago, I got an email (or phone call, I can't remember which) out of the blue from the amazing and beautifully radical Amita Swadhin. Amita had recently been elected as board chair of the National Youth Advocacy Coalition, and she was recruiting new board members. The short version of the story is that I rejoined NYAC's board after a decade absence, and I have had the honor to work closely with her over the last few months,
In the process of working together, I came to learn that Amita is a survivor of child sexual abuse (CSA). Moreover, I came to understand that she has done amazing intentional work not only to deal with her particular history but also to share with the world what it means to be a survivor of CSA. Through workshops, panels, and theater, Amita is a fierce advocate, and storyteller, for survivors everywhere. Though I am not a survivor of CSA, I am a survivor of some fairly heinous childhood physical and mental abuse, and Amita has opened up space for me to speak more forcefully about being a survivor and to be more aware of the ways that being a survivor of childhood trauma manifests itself in my own daily work.
In January, Amita mentioned to me that she and a cast of other CSA survivors would be putting on a play called "Secret Survivors" at the theater in El Museo del Barrio. When the information for the show came out, I was surprised to find that I knew three of the five members of the cast. One of whom, Lucia Leandro Gimeno, is an old friend of mine. Di Sands, no less loved, was a new friend that I'd met recently through Kenyon Farrow. And though I have yet to meet the other two cast members: Gabby Callender and RJ Maccani, I have come to know them a little through this interview, and I can say with honesty that these are tremendous people that are intentional, radical, beautiful, and giving us all a gift by telling their stories so openly and fiercely.
Please note in the interview, I will be using the following initials: AS for Amita Swadhin, LL for Lucia Leandro Gimeno, DS for Di Sands, GC for Gabby Callender, and RJ for RJ Maccani.
Interview with the cast of Secret Survivors
1) How did you all find each other? What work did you have to do with each other, first, before you were able to begin working out how to tell your story to a broader audience?

AS: knew of Ping Chong & Co.'s work because they have an afterschool partnership with Global Kids, where I worked for four years. I had seen their "Undesirable Elements" shows featuring Asian Americans telling stories of discrimination and migration, and of NYC public high school students sharing their experiences through interwoven narratives. I also knew they had created shows with refugees, children who had survived war, and people living with disabilities. I felt they would be a good home for this project. I pitched the idea of using the "Undesirable Elements" format to help survivors of child sexual abuse tell our stories in May 2009, and we began assembling a cast in September 2009.
Given that child sexual abuse is so pervasive (1 in 3 girls, 1 in 6 boys will experience child sexual abuse before the age of 18), I knew that a public call for participants would be overwhelming - how would the theater company and I vet the applications? Also, given that I was participating in the show, I knew I had to have a level of trust already established with the other cast members. I've been out as a survivor in my friend circles since 1995, and increasingly in my professional circles, so I've heard many disclosures from other survivors over the years. I have a "survivor rolodex" of sorts in my head, only because I really try to remember people's stories when they share them with me. So I started by approaching my personal friends who I knew were survivors - that's how Gabby joined the cast. RJ and I had friends in common, and he's been doing work with cisgendered male survivors for some time, so a mutual friend put us in touch. Di and I also have a common friend who I know through South Asian queer community, and she put me in touch with Di once I told her about the project. And LL and I connected because I put a call out on my Facebook status for cast members, and he sent me a private message expressing interest. Sara Zatz (Secret Survivors Director and Associate Director of Ping Chong & Co.) and I put together a thoughtful contract for all project participants, highlighting the fact that this project is not a substitute for therapy, and indicating that the script writing process might in fact retrigger trauma. We wanted to be sure people had come out as a survivor to whoever they needed to share with in their private lives, and that they had healing networks and tools assembled to be able to help them get through the creative process. To be honest, about 5 other people initially expressed interest, but withdrew from the project in the earliest stages once I shared this contract with them and discussed where they were at in their personal healing processes.

Once the five of us had agreed to the participation terms, we gathered for a six-day-long writing workshop, held over the course of two weekends. Sara and I led the workshop, which focused on a combination of theater exercises, writing exercises, and oral storytelling. We shared both our narratives and our political views, and were pleased to learn that we were very much on the same page politically as a group - especially around our analyses of the prison industrial complex as it relates to child sexual abuse. Our mealtime conversations were recorded, and Sara used those recordings, our journals, and one-on-one interviews with each of us to create the script that we are performing on Saturday. We had a therapist in the office (in a separate room) in case any of us got triggered and needed the extra support, and we also had a somatics coach visit to lead us through a series of somatics exercises to help us get grounded and centered together.
RJ: Amita and I had met each other a few times and have a number of mutual friends. I remember well her impressive karaoke skills at a joint celebration she was having with a friend of mine. Folks knew I’d been out about being a survivor and active with generationFIVE, a bay area based organization building transformative justice responses to child sexual abuse, so I’m guessing that’s why Amita approached me. Gabby and I have known each other for years and were both on the board of directors of the Brecht Forum at the time so when I heard her talking about participating in the project at a board meeting it definitely was encouragement to commit. Walking into the room at Ping Chong and Co on the first day I was really happy to see LL, who I’ve known for just as long as Gabby… probably nearing a decade now – wow. LL’s been a great buddy in this whole process. And Di, who I’ve never met before, has been wonderful too. As a group we clicked.
GC: We all knew each other in one way or another from our social activism community. Amita glued us together for this production. It was a nice surprise to show up on the first day and see familiar faces.
DS: How did we find each other? Amita knows EVERYBODY!! she told my friend about the show she was going to put together in november (while they were out seeing "precious" together). my friend said, you should meet di, she has a crazy story and can talk about it without getting upset. that's how we got introduced. i already knew LL and Gabby. RJ is also a new friend for me but now i love him and Amita like I've known them forever.

For me telling my story is not the obstacle. I'm very used to it by now. the work we did together was really intense. getting to know one another at the deepest level of intimacy, even if we've already known one another for a long time. but we also all came in there committed to getting it done, so we were never going to let the disturbing material prevent us form succeeding. we all came to this invested in the collective benefit and we kept ourselves and each other present and grounded by being very conscientious of each person's well-being. we were all responsible for reaching out in support when we could and reaching out to ask for support if we needed to.
LL: I've known each member of the cast before the project started. Some for almost 10 years and some for only a couple, all through queer organizing or community. I've known RJ the longest. We used to be part of Critical Resistance in Brooklyn. Our process was first to just get in touch with our stories, our voices, lots of writing, journaling, writing exercises and then through interviews our director wove a story together. We had lots of discussion about how we wanted to craft our stories and our political messaging one of them being: prisons are not the answer to dealing child sexual abuse.
2) Why is this work important to you as an artist/organizer/change maker?And why now? Why not last year, why not next year? What makes telling your story now, in this way, to such a large audience different than how you have told your story in the past?
GC: I have also shared my story in a film documentary called Anomaly by Jessica Chen Drammeh. Also, I have addressed CSA often as an artists and in my performance ensemble Mahina Movement. Mahinamovement.com .
If I can be brave enough to publicly speak about being victim of child sexual assault then maybe it will provide strength and courage for others who are currently going through the same thing.
DS: This work is so crucial to me because i can't see any way to fight the pandemic of CSA on this planet without making space to talk about it. it must be said and it must be heard. i'm as surprised as anyone else who knows me that i'm in this show right now, but i'm just happy for the opportunity to work with 4 incredible activists whose work i admire tremendously.

Maybe it's worth noting that i started working on this project at 29 years old, 25 years after my abuse was disclosed. i wasn't able to participate in any kind of accountability process for my abuse in the past because of my dissociated memories, so i feel it's about time that i play my part to reclaim the narrative about Wee Care and the terrifying things that Margaret Kelly Michaels did to us there.
The major difference between this and any other occasion when i have told me story is the theatrical medium. it's theater and that's so different from an intimate conversation or even straight-up testifying to any number of people. it's a different kind of witnessing experience for the audience. it anonymizes them (is that a word? i guess so), keeps them with us, holds them in their seats, present from start to finish. we offer them numerous avenues through which they can stay engaged even when they want to look away, cover their ears. and if they do get triggered, we have a very powerful safety net for them in the form of counselors who volunteer to provide support to anyone who needs it during and after the show. when i disclose my survivor history in a conventional conversation, there is not much i can do to provide my audience any safety. if i'm committed to telling anyone who will listen that yes, i'm a survivor of CSA and let's talk about it, i also don't want to hurt people with their own trauma or mine.
I think this show is a real trailblazer for creating a medium for advocacy and dialogue about what is sometimes nearly impossible to say and sometimes nearly impossible to hear, but leaving all parties feeling uplifted and hopeful-- among other things.
AS: For me, Secret Survivors feels like a culmination and a beginning. I've been wanting to tell my story publicly since I was a kid, and especially since I never got to testify against my father (who raped me for 8 years). In some ways, I have been telling my story for years - to friends, to colleagues, to some of my students (when they disclose their own survival stories to me). I first spoke publicly about being a survivor in 1997, at a Take Back the Night rally in college. And one thing that has remained constant is that people always disclose to me when I disclose to them - if they don't have a personal story to tell, they know the story of a friend or family member. And that's the thing about child sexual abuse - it is a taboo epidemic - everybody knows a child sexual abuse survivor, even if they do not know who in their lives has survived this violence. The statistics indicate this to be true. We have established nonprofits that (with only a few exceptions) point to the criminal legal system as a solution to this violence, even when my own story and the story of many others indicate that the criminal legal system has failed to heal perpetrators, and has often retraumatized survivors. When I started my MPA with a focus on public policy, I realized that the work I had attempted to do in college was still work I was committed to - creating social and political change that will end child sexual abuse. Because of post-traumatic stress disorder, I was forced to abandon this work back then, but I have now healed enough to hold this work and move forward. Initially I thought about writing my memoir, but witnessing the way mass media likes to deify individual survivors who are high functioning (like Oprah, Maya Angelou and many others), I knew I wanted to create a way for survivors to tell their stories in tandem, to take the spotlight off of us as individuals and really point to the fact that child sexual abuse is an epidemic that affects ALL of us and that is much bigger than any one person. I believe the work that the five of us have created with Ping Chong & Co. is a replicable model that can help more survivors speak out and can really begin to build a movement of child sexual abuse survivors, through storytelling, that I hope will result in the creation of viable community-based prevention and intervention strategies. What keeps me committed to this vision and this work is the memory of all those who have shared their stories with me and later fallen to self-destructive behaviors and even suicide, and the knowledge that child sexual abuse continues to be an epidemic - I want to create a world that is actually safe for young people, and I believe this is the starting point, given the frequency of this violence.
RJ: That’s the biggest piece, the sheer size of the audience. It’s an event, you know, which is important because an event is something that people talk about with each other like, “Did you go to that performance on Saturday? Let me tell you about it…” It opens up a space for people to have more conversations around child sexual abuse, transformative justice and many other things that we might not otherwise have a smooth-ish way to discuss. But are things that we MUST discuss because they are so deeply affecting us individually and collectively.
I’ve done a fair amount of work to get to this place in sharing my story. I really started talking about my experiences of sexual abuse in 2005. In ’06 I created a digital story about it with generationFIVE and the Center for Digital Storytelling. I’ve done a lot of related work in the years since but, yeah, I’m still scared about the performance on Saturday. I was having major blocks even just sending out invitations to people to come to the show. This is definitely the BIG coming out moment.
LL: This is the first time that i have told my story publicly. As someone who is known in the queer world most people don't know that I am a survivor. Why now is a good question. I think that theater has always been part of my history as a creative person. Any opportunity to use it to talk about issues that impact brown and black people I'm so there. I also think that the timing was right. I am in the process of attending grad school to become a therapist and social worker for queer people of color and this felt like a safe and fun way to talk about something that has impacted my entire life. If i'm going to be supporting others do their own healing I gotta be doing that work myself. It's the scariest and hardest and yet most rewarding personal transformation process I've been apart of. And to be able to share with this group of people who care of healing and social transformation it's like icing to my cupcake.
3) What are some of the challenges you have faced working together? How has the reality of being a survivor, and the multiple ways that can manifest in our bodies, minds, and spirits, made it hard to work together? What healing have you been able to find with each other?
GC: I either like to pull myself away from the group and isolate or be the hero and hold space for everyone – all strong suits I created from being a survivor. It’s hard to do either when I’m working with such a great bunch of loving, evolved human beings. We hold down the space for each other and truth be told ..we have a lot of fun!
DS: It's not too often that an outspoken CSA survivor meets another outspoken CSA survivor, so it's been fantastic to discover the conversations that can take place when the factors of stigma and shame can be zeroed-out. the thing that was tough for me in this and many other survivor group experiences is the lie of a hierarchy of suffering. having been in the unusual position of surviving CSA with a group of kids, i have always compared and contrasted my struggles to the visible signs of struggle in
my friends and peers who were also at my day care. it never felt like the right thing to do, but intellectualizing is one of my strongest coping mechanisms, so it's something i've struggled with. working with this group of folks on this project was the first time i could face that struggle with trusted comrades at my side and consider myself an equal.
I think we each had physical and emotional bills to pay for the work we did to create this show. as adults survivors of childhood trauma, our bodies and minds and spirits are very accustomed to the coping mechanisms we have at times in the past and sometimes still do depend upon to keep us functioning. this work has pushed us pretty far out of the ordinary course of experience and there is a stress reaction. everyone responds and handles it differently. i think it's actually really beautiful to see the great variety of ways that our bodies can communicate with us when they are being pushed over and beyond both societal and self-imposed boundaries. but what should also be noted and celebrated is the reward we get from knowing that our sacrifice has made a constructive and healing impact on the whole (including us).
AS: Sometimes the fact that we face similar impairments (for me, PTSD, for instance) and that we have sensitive triggers can make it hard to communicate and be sensitive. However, over the past year and a half the cast members have really gelled into a group that understands each other's idiosyncracies and we've learned, like one does in any relationship to another, how to call each other out from a place of integrity, honesty and respect. I have found somatics thanks to RJ, and have been able to further process issues like addiction, debilitating perfectionism, and difficulty setting boundaries thanks to conversations I've had with other cast members over the past year and a half. I feel blessed to be working with such fantastic comrades.
RJ: Child sexual abuse is about silence. It’s often something that is experienced solo. Child sexual abuse is an epidemic hidden away in millions of little silos. So to be breaking the silence, sharing the secret, alongside four amazing friends is a real gift and totally different than just telling “my story.” Doing this with Amita, Di, Gabby and LL is about breaking the silence AND the isolation. I feel that difference in my body, my spirit.
LL: This is a great question! I think that when conflict happened I think we were really aware of how we would regularly respond, using our survival strategies, and we dealt with them as a group and we were real generous with each other. I remember pulling RJ aside and being like "yo, this is your space too!" he's so aware of how he takes up space as someone who is white and assigned male and read as straight. he didn't talk a lot our first session. and i was not having it. this was a space for him to take up space because he is someone who has experienced oppression, he is a survivor just like me. i called him out. this is one of those spaces where not contributing and not talking is not being an ally, it's holding up the walls and not helping be part of the process. we held this kind of space for each other. as the only trans person in the group i felt really held and cared for about how gender in the space for me and for everyone, trans or no trans, is complicated and that has been impacted by our sexual abuse. we always checked in with each other and supported each other when we made time to do self care (Even if it meant being late). there is nothing like being with a group of people where touch (i.e. hugs) felt safe and healing for me.
4) Having not yet heard your stories, how does queerness intersect with being a survivor?
LL: For me, as gets laid out in the show, when i was realizing that i was queer it felt like i didn't have a right to say that i was queer because i was too scared to explore my desire for other queer people. Negotiating sex and gender and safety was incredibly difficult. So for me being a survivor and queer has taken me a long time to intergrate as a sexual person.
AS: My queerness is definitely not a result of my being a survivor. I believe I have always been queer, at least in terms of gender expression and behavior, and that my desire is and always has been fluid, when I take an honest look back at my childhood. The fact that my father raped me certainly impacted my self-esteem, self-image, relationship to my body, but that is entirely separate from my desire and gender expression. I do think it was easier to come out as queer once I figured out that I was queer, given that I had come out as a survivor 6 years prior to that. One societal intersection I perceive is that because of homophobia, male survivors seem less likely to speak out, for fear of being perceived as gay (as if being raped or molested indicates one's sexual orientation). Also, I think many people are quick to assume that I am queer because I am a survivor, and if this perception is faced by other queer folks, it may keep many of us silent for fear of feeding in to this homophobic stereotype.
GC: There is an outsider”ness” to being a survivor and an outsider”ness” to being queer. Im also a very light skinned black woman who is adopted …more outsider”ness”…. I have found myself on the outside commonality. However, this has served me well…enabling me to see beyond the usual limitations of life.
DS: i think it's challenging to think about these things, and often folks who learn that i'm gay and my abuser was a woman are pushed to yet unexplored levels of curiosity (producing some pretty heinous questions and comments). fundamentally i think sexuality and pedophilia are as different as apples and facebook-- two completely unrelated and separate planes of meaning. just like some people who use cell phones are left-handed, some survivors of sexual abuse are queer. the fact that the dominant discourse in the media populates our day-to-day interactions with folks who conflate sexuality with pedophilia only feeds my motivation to get this secret survivors project out to as many people as possible!
RJ: I’m a man who was sexually abused as a child by a teenage boy. I also had a hard experience later as an early teenager with a much older woman. Within this heterosexist culture, there are particular ways that each of those experiences are generally read that get in the way of speaking, healing and seeking accountability. Going to public schools in Cincinnati, to come out as having been repeatedly molested by another boy was not my idea of a good time. Later on, in the case of the woman, the assumption is that no matter what I must’ve wanted it, which is also not helpful. So I’d like to acknowledge that queerness allows for a much more expansive understanding of what ACTUALLY happens with our sexual experiences, amongst other things. This creates more room for us to share what is going on with us, including when we’ve been abused.
In my chosen sexual life I’ve lived a pretty straight existence. Did being sexually abused by a boy turn me off to men? I don’t know. This isn’t addition and subtraction. The ways of the heart feel more like calculus. Maybe there’s an algorithm somewhere that’ll help me figure this one out.
5) How have your families been supportive through this process? Have any of your families (of choice or otherwise) been less than supportive of this project?
GC: I am no longer in contact with the family who raised me. My friends (chosen family) have been amazing. My wife, Stephanie has been my rock throughout this entire process.
RJ: My mother and one of my uncles have been especially supportive. I’m also grateful for much of my community here in NYC… too many people to list have given me strength, often in small ways, and that’s made a huge difference.
LL: My chosen family has been there every step of the way. I think because so much of my family are part of the story (as being around when it happened) I put distance between me and this process.
AS: My family, both biological and chosen, have been supportive. I think my sister had some anxiety initially, as her story is obviously intertwined with mine, and she is much more private than I am, but she has given me her blessings to continue this work and I believe she is proud of me taking this project on. Also, my mother has struggled to accept that her public image will become complicated thanks to this work, given the choices she made when I was a child, but ultimately, she too has expressed her support for this work and has said she is proud of me multiple times in the past year and a half. I'm very lucky.
DS: In many ways my parents survived my sexual abuse right along with me! they were deeply traumatized in a different way from me, being adults and understanding the violations in ways no child can. they struggle to this day with crushing guilt knowing now what they couldn't have know then, that they trusted their child to the care of a pedophile. no matter how much forgiveness i can love them with, they may never forgive themselves. Wee Care parents handled their trauma many different ways so i feel fortunate that my parents, whatever their continuing struggles may be, have been as open as they could with me about my abuse. for most of my life they were my only source of affirmation. as i mention in the show, i don't think enough community and support exists for caregivers of survivors of CSA and i wish that my parents had had the option of support from a community of people who shared their experience- especially the other Wee Care parents.
another important community of support has been what i call the Wee Care diaspora: other Wee Care survivors, their parents, the investigators, prosecutors, judges, and therapists who worked hard to try to help us. i'm talking about dozens and dozens of people. working on this secret survivors project has brought me close to folks i haven't connected with in decades. it's also given me the opportunity to connect with other Wee Care kids as adults and to be in solidarity and supportive of one another in ways that i couldn't have imagined even just one year ago. this is such an important network of people in my life and i'm only just beginning to discover all of the connections and all of the potential for healing.
6.) What is the change you hope that this project, presented in this way (theater as opposed to a talking heads panel or After-School Special, or Oprah episode) you hope to see?
LL: This play moves people. It connects the personal and the political and I think this play can help open up a space to talking about how sexual abuse is so real and yet so invisible as an issue that we organize around. The first step to creating a world without sexual abuse is to name it and acknowlege that it exists. This play does that.
DS: I guess i talked a bit about this before. the theatrical medium is transformative and ping chong's undesirable elements series has really elevated transformative process to art. we are real people having a profound impact on an incredibly important and dynamic issue without the star power of Oprah or the intellectual masturbation of political punditry.
In fact, because of my bizarre case of CSA, i can testify to how dangerous that very media can be where CSA is concerned. that media, from Montel WiIliams to Mike Wallace on 60 minutes and the New York Times, bought (and sold) my abuser's lies of innocence hook, line, and sinker. they broadcast it as truth to millions of people. we in the Wee Care diaspora will never reclaim our story from our torturer using those same media tools that she deployed to brand us all as liars- once again exercising unlimited power over our lives, once again we were powerless to defend ourselves. we will change it one by one, audience by audience, witness by witness, until everyone knows what happened because they heard it from our very mouths, felt our scars, mapped our struggle. then, i hope, they will know the truth.
RJ: This is a nuanced peek into the lives of five people who have experienced some part of that really broad thing called “child sexual abuse”. It’s not just about the abuse but about history, vision, resilience and so much more. I hope we touch the hearts of the audience in a way that is much more profound than what can usually be achieved in the mediums you mention above. I hope that this project contributes meaningfully to the emerging transformative justice movement in this country.
GC: More visibility around how CSA affects a wide range of people. Ideally, for it to be common knowledge that CSA is truly an epidemic that needs to be dealt with immediately.
7) How can folks that can't be with us on Saturday see the show or get in touch with you?
AS: People can view two clips of the show on our website (www.secretsurvivors.org). We also hope to produce a DVD and educational toolkit to be able to share this work with many others. People can support our work with a tax-deductible contribution (designated for "Secret Survivors") here: https://www.justgive.org/basket?acton=donate&ein=13-2874863
and can contact me at: amita@pingchong.org
GC: If people want to see more of me and the work that I do they can reach me at gabriellacallender@yahoo.com/ MahinaMovement.com
DS: We are working on the creation of a video of Saturday's performance- raising money and selecting the fiercest outfits- so that as many people as possible can engage with secret survivors. but if nothing else comes out of this show, i want folks to get in touch with the fact that secret survivors is on stage in and around your life every day and everywhere you go. be inspired by the courage of CSA survivors every day, the ones who disclose to you and the ones who don't, the ones with visible scars and the ones with hidden memories, those of us who made it and those of us who didn't. be inspired to have the courage to hold pedophiles accountable in your families and in your communities without relying on the false solution of prisons and jails. have the courage to meet (y)our gaze as survivors and don't look away.
RJ: Hmmm… come find me on Facebook, or through my blog at zapagringo.com
Editor's Note: Lucia Leandro can also be stalked via Facebook!
Thank you all for opening your hearts and lives to all of us. I woke up at 4am this morning and made the mistake of reading RJ's interview responses, and, as with all of your responses, it sent my spirit and my brain into overdrive. I appreciate each of you, your work, and the love that you bring, give, and share with our communities.
(PS, on a personal note, RJ if you ever decide you want to check out the other half of the Kinsey scale...you know where to find me!)
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