I've been contemplating writing a blog or rant after this week's election of Donald Trump to the US Presidency. But then, what hasn't been said? On all sides, everyone has an opinion, or someone to blame, and the stories of protests and hate crimes grow.
The latter is the most concerning to me.
Many of you are gearing up for holiday dinners where red and blue folk come together to feast. I've heard some of you say that you aren't going this year or your plans will have to change.
Hold on. Stop, right there.
If you truly believe in social change, or racial & gender equity, then you really have to go.
You are on the front lines of a war that has been simmering under the surface and is starting to boil back over our country. You probably didn't choose to be in this position; you were probably born and then college-educated away from these folks. But they're still your people. They're still part of you.
And we need you.
We need you to gear up and head to the front lines.
So this blog will serve as a rally cry and hopefully, encourage some tactical preparation (not all strategies work for all families* - be smart with your choices. And if you have additional strategies - share them in the comments below!)
LISTEN MINDFULLY
When Trump comes up, breathe. You knew this was going to happen. Someone is going to be very chipper about this. Some may outright gloat. You know your family. Prepare, practice, and breathe.
Mindful listening is one of the most important ways to practice and embody Love. So, if you say 'Love Trumps Hate,' this should be one of your ways to show it. (See Thich Nhat Hanh with Oprah for more)
Don't try to interrupt. Don't try to argue your finest points, culled from hours of reading the Huffington Post.
Just don't do it. You aren't here to compete. The election is over.
Your goal is to reestablish connection with your family.
Ask questions about how they saw the election and campaigns. Really try to understand them and WHY they voted as they did.
Ask them about their values. What do they think is important? What is worth fighting for?
Let them talk and try to understand them and how they see the world. This is crucial for moving forward or building community with them.
They may try to poke you with trigger words or their own questions back. They may scare you with a deep white supremacist belief system. Just shake your head and say, "I really want to understand you. Because I haven't been able to understand why you or anyone else would vote for him. Clearly there's something I'm not getting."
KEEP YOUR CONCERNS IN THE PRESENT AND FUTURE, NOT THE PAST
Ask them if they've heard about the increase of hate crimes against diverse groups of people this week. Ask them if they've seen whywereafraid.com. Tell them about what you saw on the bus or at work. Tell them what happened to your neighbors. Tell them what happened or is happening to you.
OWN these moments. Do not use hypothetical stories or hearsay. Concrete, real examples are much more powerful. AND you do not, I repeat DO NOT, have to defend Bill or Hillary Clinton's unethical behaviors...your ability to call out racist/sexist people (including the President-Elect) is from your OWN position. I can call out a sexual predator. I can call out a liar. I can call out a hater. I can condemn that behavior. My values compel me to condemn this behavior.
Ask your family what they think about these things or what they would do if it was them. And not from a place of defensiveness, but sincere curiosity. Are they impacted by others' situations? Have they also seen or heard things from friends? This is a way to subtly make them aware of their privilege, if they haven't heard anything. You can remind them of how they may not have to see or deal with this form of terrorism. (NOTE: Be careful with the term 'privilege,' it is entirely coded and a trigger word with many conservative folks. And remember, you cannot shame people to change. They must willingly join a movement based in Love.)
CALLING OUT VS. CALLING IN
Many have written about how we stay critical and accountable to one another in our movements toward social justice, while at the same time, allowing for different opinions and perspectives. If your family members are to become our allies in this movement, they have to feel welcome here. They will not join any group as a shamed or punished member. And if we believe in a future where ALL voices and bodies are welcome, that includes your racist uncle. Sorry, but it does. Practice multiple strategies for different contexts. Whether calling in or calling out, the goal is to help someone identify a place where they might change language, behavior, and/or tone. Be careful of using or defending the term Politically Correct - another trigger word in conservative circles.
Addressing Fear: Most racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, xenophobia, etc. cannot be overcome without a psychological understanding of the root causes of these fears. If you were raised by and around these folks, chances are YOU, also, once held these fears. When did you become aware of your prejudices and insecurities? How did you feel when you became aware - ashamed, hurt, guilty? What did you do to overcome these feelings? Explore back through your own consciousness-raising, these are paths that others can follow.
Addressing the Hierarchy of Oppressions: who has it worst? This is a debilitating route for any of us to take. We can and must work toward Liberation with an intersectional approach. Family members may feel that their class struggle is worse than race or sex discrimination. We can validate their fears of Capitalism, while at the same time pointing out that it is futile to compare it to someone else's experience of racism in this country. We can also remind them that more people share their struggles, than don't. Their struggle doesn't have to be theirs alone. We all want more economic security and can help each other, rather than fight each other.
ESTABLISH POSITIVE, NEW FAMILY NARRATIVES/TROPES/SCRIPTS
If your family identifies as Christian, then help them dig deeper into their Christian values. How can we be a family that practices what we preach? How can we be more like Jesus? How can we spread His Word in a way that is consistent with His message? How do we 'love our enemies?' How might we 'turn the other cheek?' Why did He perform miracles to feed and help so many? Why is the story called The Good Samaritan and not The Good Person?
If your family claims "white" identity, help them dig deeper into what that means. Ask them what connects you to other light-skinned people, really? Because what you know from studying history, the only reason whites continue to identify together is to keep other groups down, not because there is some inherent connection between descendants of different regions of Europe and Scandinavia. Discuss the differences of race and ethnicity. Your family should celebrate it's actual ethnic heritage(s), rather than a heritage built on segregation, oppression, and hate. Tell them you have no pride in being white. Help them be proud of your French, German, and Swedish heritages; claim your immigrant stories and struggles.
If you find a strong level of resistance to changing family scripts, keep using 'I language' to claim your space:
I want all people to feel safer.
I think we become better people when we get to know different people and learn to trust each other more.
I think it's important to stay open to learning new things.
I want us to be the people who save lives and help people, and provide refuge to those who are desperate for safety.
I believe that freedom isn't just for you and me. It is for all people, even if they are different than us.
I think we're better people when we practice Love.
If your family members try to disassociate Trump's social agenda from his economic policies or anti-establishment rhetoric, remind them that they cannot separate those things. Votes don't come with caveats or line-item vetoes. They are an overall endorsement of promises and perspective. Certainly, the folks committing hate crimes believe that other Trump voters are with them and support their actions. That's why they're bolder. Family members, who truly want to disassociate, can and should join our efforts to stand against hate, to resist our families being torn apart by increased incarceration and mass deportation, to support those fighting for dignity and equal access, and to help protect all of our constitutional and inalienable rights.
DEBATE
Do your homework. There are a few key talking points to address with most Trump supporters. Anticipate and be prepared for these. Others have done some of this work for you, but it is always best to grow and learn for yourself. Look through multiple sources - credible and noncredible - and understand that distinction. Use tools like this to see how different worldviews are constructed and maintained.
Choose your battles. You cannot counter everything and expect that the family is growing closer together. It is exhausting and futile. Listen and look for the most important arguments - raised volume, color/flush in face, repeating, etc. These are the ones you will have to address to persuade them to think different.
Never lose your values. Regardless of what you've heard, debate isn't about winning and losing. It is about how we come to conclusions/decisions and what information we utilized to get there. One doesn't have to get the other person to concede, to feel successful in a debate. But one does have to have a clear message or goal. Yours should revolve around our highest value: Love. What gets us closer to love? Who is demonstrating love and how?
LAST WORDS
Thanksgiving might not go very well. That's okay. Hopefully things don't go too bad and y'all still plan to have Christmas dinner together.
If you believe in nonviolent r/evolution, you have to be willing to engage in multiple battles, on multiple fronts, and you have to remain committed to social justice values, embodying them in your conflicts and acts of resistance. We know that we will not realize true social change through violent means. The master's tools never dismantle the master's house. You must enact change with Love. Sometimes it will be Tough Love, because actions carry consequence.
My hope is that you don't want your family to be left behind when so many of us are building a more hopeful, sustainable, inclusive path to the future.
I believe we will win these battles and more of our conservative families will step across a steep divide to join us, but only if we find the ways to communicate with them.
We cannot put this work on the backs of our queer communities, friends and allies of color, and nonChristian congregations. It is not their burden to carry. They have carried this long enough.
This is our responsibility. This is our duty.
Be thankful. Be kind. And let's do this.
*If there is abuse, addiction, or other potential threats, please seek other resources (see below) to assist you and know that self-preservation is more important than building allies with Trump supporters.
Additional resources: (feel free to share more links in the comments)
Al-Anon Family Support: http://www.al-anon.alateen.org/
American Civil Liberties Union: https://www.aclu.org/
Amnesty International: http://www.amnestyusa.org/
Anti-Defamation League: http://www.adl.org/education-outreach/
Australian Human Rights Commission: https://itstopswithme.humanrights.gov.au/resources-1
Mental Health Support: https://www.mentalhealth.gov/
National Alliance on Mental Illness: http://www.nami.org/
National Resource Center on Domestic Violence: http://www.nrcdv.org/
Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network: https://www.rainn.org/national-resources-sexual-assault-survivors-and-their-loved-ones
Southern Poverty Law Center: https://www.splcenter.org/what-we-do
The True Colors Fund: https://truecolorsfund.org/
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Wednesday, November 2, 2016
Thoughts on being multiracial as I wait for the Ancestry DNA results
Until the philosophy which holds one race superior,
and another inferior,
is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned,
everywhere is war.
Bob Marley
I feel blessed that one of the messages that Mom drummed into my head was "different isn't good or bad. It's just different." It's a lesson that has stuck and one I have shared many times as an educator. I often use this mantra as a foundation to give myself strength to explore more, in those times when I am uncomfortable or in cultural shock. Breathe. It's just different. Not bad or good. Just different. I've learned so much with this approach. (Look, I've eaten balut on a few occasions; this is a courage-giving mantra!) I've made friends and fallen in love with people from different lands and cultures. I embrace integration and the free movements of people across the globe. I look to others for knowledge, experience, and strength. I continue to see remarkable acts of survival, kindness, and good humor in diverse places and faces. I have faith in people. In humanity.
When it truly matters, I believe people aren't as messed up as the internet bots make us think. We sometimes deny responsibility for things that are entirely in our control or don't understand our own power to change things. But, I think most people share similar values than not. I've taught in some of the most diverse classrooms in the San Francisco Bay Area, and every year I saw evidence of this: Family. Health. Security. Knowledge. Love. Justice. Honor. The exact details are often different (not bad or good), and the conversations about those details always open the door to exploring these cultural differences. Why do we call different ideas the same word? Are we talking about different ideas or different practices of the same idea? Why do these differences cause war? How can all of us be fighting for freedom?
As a mixed race kid, I often saw these differences. I didn't have academic language and experts to learn from, but I was attracted to other mixed identity and queer kids because we shared outsider perspectives and could be more honest, more real, with one another. We often swapped stories of what it was like to visit one side of our family. We discussed how we had to talk or act different (code switch) with different relatives or in different locations/situations. We talked about doing this and tolerating behaviors because we love our families...each culturally distinct side of our families. We found (or tried to find) ways to see them as not that different from one another. Or at least not too different that we couldn't bridge those gaps.
I've always felt pride that my paternal grandparents crossed oceans to meet and fall in love in San Francisco decades ago. Ethel came over from Denmark through Ellis Island when she was a very small child, with her parents and older brother. Julius came as a merchant marine from a refugee camp outside Baghdad, although his family was from northwestern Iran. They shared Christian faith and a language in common (English) and started a beautiful family. If they were both alive today to see their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, they would beam with pride.
My mother's side has its own fascinating and intriguing history. My grandfather, Super Swede, through his father, carries a strong Scandinavian lineage. The paper family tree I have names them back for hundreds of years. (although it is only half of his DNA makeup) His mother's side is more complicated and still to be explored. My maternal grandmother, along her father's side has roots in America and pioneer life dating back to early colonial life. But her mother's, my great-grandmother Ruth, still holds quite a bit of mystery. (And a lot more Scandinavian bloodline than previously thought.) Both of my grandparents had their DNA results completed recently. My mom's results confirmed their combination of these results. They are 100% European with ancestry spanning Scandinavia to Eastern Europe.
A few evenings ago, my son Julius and I spit into little vials, to send our DNA to be decoded via the good folks at Ancestry. My prediction is that my results will show 75% European and 25% Middle Eastern based on what I know of my heritage. My son's results (his father was a donor from Central America) should have more illuminating effect. I'm excited to see deeper into our histories, as DNA testing allows.
I think more people should do it. No, I'm not working with Ancestry or anything, I just think it's particularly eye-opening, especially for people who believe in such thing as pure race, or pure culture. The DNA trail often challenges that. More times than not, it shows how small the world is, and how mixed people have been for eons. I think having this awareness can allow people to get along better across differences. This video is always a charming testament to the idea: that perhaps we are all cousins.
And if we are all really mixed and products of migration, displacement, and bondage, then maybe we could find a strong, shared foundation with which we envision a new humanity. One where we are all similar in our differences and mixed identities. One where we feel interconnected and interdependent. One where everyone we meet could be a distant relative. One where we all have stories and perspectives to share. One where we value others' stories and perspectives because they enrich our lives. One where we love deeply because of such intrinsic, shared human experience. One where our love and relationships are so unique because through all of the endless possibilities we found each other, here, now.
Almost forty years ago, Harvey Milk said,
Gay brothers and sisters, you must come out. Come out to your parents. I know that it is hard and will hurt them, but think about how they will hurt you in the voting booth! Come out to your relatives. Come out to your friends, if indeed they are your friends. Come out to your neighbors, to your fellow workers, to the people who work where you eat and shop. Come out only to the people you know, and who know you, not to anyone else. But once and for all, break down the myths. Destroy the lies and distortions. For your sake. For their sake.
I feel this way about my mixed race/mixed ethnicity folks. You know who you are. The ones who deny how complex your heritage may be, so you just claim one ethnicity, or one race. Do the deep work. Accept and acknowledge the many differences that make up You. These differences are not good or bad. They are essential. Without these differences, you would not exist. A child I know was parroting Donald Trump's anti-Mexican rhetoric last spring, and I had to cut him off with one direct question, "aren't you half-Mexican?" He turned red and got very quiet. The self-hate is growing strong with this one. And with so many others. When he should be feeling very proud for his Mexican heritage. (which has its own complicated DNA stories)
So, the lesson here, is to dig deep and own your lineage (with all its shameful and celebratory details). DNA testing opens doors for folks who do not have paper trails to follow. It allows us to see a bigger picture about our relationships in the world. It helps us understand ourselves and how we came to be. It has the power to create the shared cultural experience necessary, for us to embody a new way of being and thinking about one another, across difference.
I can't wait to see our results!
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Pain in Public
Reading Ashley Smiley's story this morning on my Facebook news feed, I couldn't help but reflect on my own experiences. As a white, cis-gendered woman, I struggle with how to support Black folks in times like these. My presence, my body, often creates barriers through which meaningful dialogue isn't always possible. But I remain committed to this struggle, so here's one of my own stories to continue this important discussion and invite reflection and insight.
Last year, my friend Jessica, a Black woman from Oakland, became very upset at a conference of community members in W. Oakland organizing against gentrification. Former Oakland Mayor Jean Quan had the audacity to show up, even though predatory lending and foreclosure auctions flourished under her watch. The thing was, the conference was crowded. There was not room for everyone to join the morning session, but the waves parted for the Former Mayor to join the conversation, when they didn't for those like Jessica, who were struggling with displacement in that actual moment.
We stood outside while Jessica screamed at the world, people driving by, people walking by, anyone and anything that moved outside that conference. I checked myself that I wasn't going to be the one to try and silence her emotional display. It was real, it was deep, and as a friend, I needed to let her release a lot of what she was feeling.
As one after another, mostly Black women, tried to calm her down, I tried to reason with them that she needed to release. That we shouldn't calm her, that we shouldn't be scared of her emotions, that she needed support and understanding. The police had driven by several times after we were out there, and I knew them stopping would escalate the situation more than stop it. PTSD for folks who have dealt with police before, is a real thing. Do I let her scream and yell with the threat of them stopping? Do I try and silence the emotions that she can't contain any longer? What the hell do I do? How can I remain conscious of my privilege, my body, in this moment?
It was interesting to watch the faces of the men and women I engaged with, hearing a white woman say that we were going to stand back, listen, and let Jessica release because she had every right to be upset. They agreed on such a deep level, while at the same time were worried about how the perception of a 'crazy Black lady yelling and screaming outside the community center' might keep people from coming in; I imagine they may have also had to stifle their own intense emotions to avoid being labeled the 'angry Black person' at some point in their own lives. Some continued to try to get Jessica to be quiet, while others began to build bridges by listening to what she was saying and then seeking points of connection.
We were not kept from attending the other sessions. In fact, many of the people outside talking and listening to Jessica were encouraging her to get in and share her emotions and situation to the people in the space. This community found a way to allow for a public emotional outburst, that made everyone uncomfortable - even me, at times - and tried to turn it into something productive.
At lunch, we were eating with our children and friends. Again, the Mayor passes by, triggering Jessica. Jessica stood in the road (which was blocked off for the lunch festivities) unleashing a barrage of criticism at Quan for being at the conference when Quan wasn't willing to do the work to help keep Black people in Oakland when she had the POWER to do something...For Quan cheering on the encampment in downtown Oakland during the Occupy movement, then sending the police and the Department of Homeland Security to assault and evict us with tear gas.
After a few moments, the shocked bystanders and people sitting outside eating, were really listening to what Jessica was yelling and many of them found themselves agreeing. People began applauding and saying "yea!" after Jessica's points. Quan left the area. And Jessica received a round of applause for calling out the Former Mayor, for telling it from her heart, for speaking truth to power.
I took a risk, by trying to keep everyone from shutting down Jessica's outbursts that morning. It was awkward as heck, approaching the Black women who were coordinating the conference to engage them on how we could allow for my friend's emotions to be okay in that space. I learned a lot about my own privilege and was reminded how we toe the line of offense and disrespect so often. This experience reaffirmed my belief that compassionate communication and a commitment to mindful listening have power that is intimidating, awkward, and potentially, totally transformative.
That day could have definitely ended differently. It could have ended with my friend arrested, her child taken away, or even her being injured or killed. We have to be willing to listen and support without penalizing or criminalizing the very real emotional experiences of Black people in America. James Baldwin said, "to be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage all the time." In most de-escalation training, the first steps are about being present as a listener. Holding back judgment, listening with eyes, ears, and hearts, and validating others' experiences are some good strategies.
Would love to hear others' strategies and stories of support. We MUST be present and supportive of one another, especially in times of crisis, in order to build this better way we so often talk about.
Last year, my friend Jessica, a Black woman from Oakland, became very upset at a conference of community members in W. Oakland organizing against gentrification. Former Oakland Mayor Jean Quan had the audacity to show up, even though predatory lending and foreclosure auctions flourished under her watch. The thing was, the conference was crowded. There was not room for everyone to join the morning session, but the waves parted for the Former Mayor to join the conversation, when they didn't for those like Jessica, who were struggling with displacement in that actual moment.
We stood outside while Jessica screamed at the world, people driving by, people walking by, anyone and anything that moved outside that conference. I checked myself that I wasn't going to be the one to try and silence her emotional display. It was real, it was deep, and as a friend, I needed to let her release a lot of what she was feeling.
As one after another, mostly Black women, tried to calm her down, I tried to reason with them that she needed to release. That we shouldn't calm her, that we shouldn't be scared of her emotions, that she needed support and understanding. The police had driven by several times after we were out there, and I knew them stopping would escalate the situation more than stop it. PTSD for folks who have dealt with police before, is a real thing. Do I let her scream and yell with the threat of them stopping? Do I try and silence the emotions that she can't contain any longer? What the hell do I do? How can I remain conscious of my privilege, my body, in this moment?
It was interesting to watch the faces of the men and women I engaged with, hearing a white woman say that we were going to stand back, listen, and let Jessica release because she had every right to be upset. They agreed on such a deep level, while at the same time were worried about how the perception of a 'crazy Black lady yelling and screaming outside the community center' might keep people from coming in; I imagine they may have also had to stifle their own intense emotions to avoid being labeled the 'angry Black person' at some point in their own lives. Some continued to try to get Jessica to be quiet, while others began to build bridges by listening to what she was saying and then seeking points of connection.
We were not kept from attending the other sessions. In fact, many of the people outside talking and listening to Jessica were encouraging her to get in and share her emotions and situation to the people in the space. This community found a way to allow for a public emotional outburst, that made everyone uncomfortable - even me, at times - and tried to turn it into something productive.
At lunch, we were eating with our children and friends. Again, the Mayor passes by, triggering Jessica. Jessica stood in the road (which was blocked off for the lunch festivities) unleashing a barrage of criticism at Quan for being at the conference when Quan wasn't willing to do the work to help keep Black people in Oakland when she had the POWER to do something...For Quan cheering on the encampment in downtown Oakland during the Occupy movement, then sending the police and the Department of Homeland Security to assault and evict us with tear gas.
After a few moments, the shocked bystanders and people sitting outside eating, were really listening to what Jessica was yelling and many of them found themselves agreeing. People began applauding and saying "yea!" after Jessica's points. Quan left the area. And Jessica received a round of applause for calling out the Former Mayor, for telling it from her heart, for speaking truth to power.
I took a risk, by trying to keep everyone from shutting down Jessica's outbursts that morning. It was awkward as heck, approaching the Black women who were coordinating the conference to engage them on how we could allow for my friend's emotions to be okay in that space. I learned a lot about my own privilege and was reminded how we toe the line of offense and disrespect so often. This experience reaffirmed my belief that compassionate communication and a commitment to mindful listening have power that is intimidating, awkward, and potentially, totally transformative.
That day could have definitely ended differently. It could have ended with my friend arrested, her child taken away, or even her being injured or killed. We have to be willing to listen and support without penalizing or criminalizing the very real emotional experiences of Black people in America. James Baldwin said, "to be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage all the time." In most de-escalation training, the first steps are about being present as a listener. Holding back judgment, listening with eyes, ears, and hearts, and validating others' experiences are some good strategies.
Would love to hear others' strategies and stories of support. We MUST be present and supportive of one another, especially in times of crisis, in order to build this better way we so often talk about.
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
The Power of Shuffling Songs on Tough Mornings
There be no shelter here
The front line is everywhere
There be no shelter here
The front line is everywhere...
Zach De La Rocha screams these words to me as I drive across Las Vegas, the most artificial city in America, and my new home of 3 months. The music is up LOUD. I'm sitting in traffic near the Strip, and I imagine that the people in cars around me are probably pissed off that they have to sit next to my car. I'm hard of hearing and it was borderline too loud for me. Electric guitar and pounding drums fill the air. The bass line is catchy and my fingers play the steering wheel, and for the first time today, I feel strong.
Almost happy.
Almost.
As a white woman in America, I should be able to get in my car and go about my errands, without too many worries. I'm not worried about being pulled over. Being followed around the stores I frequent. Having the police called to supervise my purchases. It's relatively boring most days, being a white lady driving a hybrid.
But, as a white woman committed to anti-racist life in America, part of my duty in these times, is to bear witness. To not look away. To not detach from the reality facing my Black friends. To be present. To listen. To understand. This means, not turning off the computer because it's breaking my heart, yet again, today. To keep trying to talk to my white friends and family about this crisis and to remind them that while they criticize folks' protest styles, there are dead bodies in the street. Now is not the time to sit and figure out the PERFECT way for Black people in America to express their discomfort at the system of apartheid we force on them. Now is the time for good people to say, "Enough!"
The story of Terence Crutcher has hit especially close to home. He was leaving a Music Appreciation class at a local community college when his car broke down. Before I watched a video or looked at his picture... I knew Terence...without actually knowing Terence. After ten years of teaching Communication in SF Bay Area community colleges, Terence would have fit right into my classroom. Big, middle-aged Black man, out to get the letters that might prove something to someone. He would have blown people away during his speeches. It happened every time. When Osa got up and performed Pulp Fiction, I was worried Campus Safety would crash through the door to "protect" us from one of the best oral interpretations most of us had ever seen. The man had skills! When Michael did his Informative on Michael Jackson (cause most of these young kids didn't know enough about him when pressed), he had another student queue up the music, so he could throw open the classroom door to the first few beats of Billie Jean and moonwalk into the room to start his speech. His singular glove sparkling as he hit every signature Michael Jackson dance move for a class full of 18 and 19 year olds, holding their phones to record this man being so outlandish for them.
I smile when I think of the stereotypes broken and stomped on in my classroom each term. The ways people from total different walks of life, could get up and give a speech to one another, letting each other in to see a different way of thinking, of being, of existing in the world. It was a privilege to teach community college Communication Studies for the last decade.
But one of the reasons I left, was because I have a high level of empathy. I know... I don't talk about this a lot. As a highly empathic person, I often shield myself. And people think you're a little weird when you tell them you can feel pain that others are having, or anxiety, or stress... so you just don't bring it up at parties. But whatever. It's relevant to the post, because even though I have the white privilege to ignore or look away from the steady stream of public lynchings, my body won't allow me.
I remember being a teenager and seeing what happened to Rodney King. I grew up in a mostly white community and I didn't know a lot of Black people then. I didn't understand police brutality wasn't new. It was just caught on video tape and made public for the first time. It felt new, and viscerally, I couldn't watch it. It physically hurt.
I remember years later, hearing the story of Amadou Diallo, and realizing that this wasn't just an LAPD thing. 41 shots. Can you even imagine what that kind of assault feels like on the body? For standing on your porch? For reaching for your ID?
Oscar Grant, who was shot on the Fruitvale BART station platform on New Year's Eve. My students knew him. One was his cousin.
My awakening has been deep, on a visceral level. I may not be a Black person in America, but I can feel the anxiety and pain of our neighbors grieving right now for people they don't actually know, yet somehow could be anyone they do know. I don't believe in essentializing cultures but I do believe in DNA memory. Cultural groups, especially those who experience severe social trauma - genocide, enslavement, colonization - carry the pain AND the resilience of their ancestors for generations. It's something I think most white people recognize with Black folks. There's an unspoken solidarity between Black folks...that they know they are in this together.
It's been a LONG time since I changed my profile picture on Facebook to a Black rectangle. I did this to demonstrate my own solidarity with #blacklivesmatter and to recognize the ongoing grief and lack of justice in Black communities.
For these are my friends and former students and friends of former students being shot in the streets by those who we entrust to protect us. And today, the pain of losing Terence, feels like the pain of losing one of my favorite students. I am feeling pain and grief on an overwhelming level and this essay has been percolating in me since this morning. I am feeling anger at watching another Black body lay on the ground dying, ignored. I am feeling the anxiety from friends who aren't sure if they want to leave the house today.
The waves of pain and grief come and go, like tides these days. It's hard to cope most days and I'm over here trying to keep it together for my friends whose bodies are treated as "threat" and "suspect" daily...When a friend is so depressed they don't leave the house for a few days because Korryn Gaines' story was too close to their own worst nightmare. It hurts. I can't make it better. It's my pain too. It's our pain. And just as how you may have earlier questioned my ability to feel this...I'll throw that question right back to my white friends and family who believe I inundate their FB feeds with "depressing" stuff - How can you not feel this?? How can you check out?!
But just as our ancestors felt the pain of lives taken too soon and terror at what lay outside, they also felt the hope and strength of those who gave them life. They pushed forward to make progress for us today. With sheer determination and a strong amount of anger and resentment, folks continued this march toward liberation and integration. And so shall we.
It is a worthy fight. It is not an easy fight. But it is so worth it. I've seen what a group of diverse people can do when they have the tools and space to communicate and build new communities. We are on a righteous path.
And we will not let things continue to be 'business as usual.' We will disrupt and inconvenience the status quo until something changes. We will stand tall to death threats and we will honor our dead by fighting back, by resisting those who would continue to inflict terror (and those who ignore those who inflict terror) on people within their own communities.
As Assata said, and as my brothers and sisters in #BLM continue to echo:
It is our duty to fight for our freedom.
It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.
As I passed the Strip and headed toward the more residential part of Las Vegas where I live, my music shuffled to the next song.
I see them coming after my soul
Wanting to take control...
But I, I'm not afraid, no....
And it occurred to me, another confirmation that sometimes life does provide the necessary soundtrack for the day you might be having. I cruised along singing with Etana, tears streaming down my face, thinking, "fuck you, Betty. Fuck you."
The front line is everywhere
There be no shelter here
The front line is everywhere...
Zach De La Rocha screams these words to me as I drive across Las Vegas, the most artificial city in America, and my new home of 3 months. The music is up LOUD. I'm sitting in traffic near the Strip, and I imagine that the people in cars around me are probably pissed off that they have to sit next to my car. I'm hard of hearing and it was borderline too loud for me. Electric guitar and pounding drums fill the air. The bass line is catchy and my fingers play the steering wheel, and for the first time today, I feel strong.
Almost happy.
Almost.
As a white woman in America, I should be able to get in my car and go about my errands, without too many worries. I'm not worried about being pulled over. Being followed around the stores I frequent. Having the police called to supervise my purchases. It's relatively boring most days, being a white lady driving a hybrid.
But, as a white woman committed to anti-racist life in America, part of my duty in these times, is to bear witness. To not look away. To not detach from the reality facing my Black friends. To be present. To listen. To understand. This means, not turning off the computer because it's breaking my heart, yet again, today. To keep trying to talk to my white friends and family about this crisis and to remind them that while they criticize folks' protest styles, there are dead bodies in the street. Now is not the time to sit and figure out the PERFECT way for Black people in America to express their discomfort at the system of apartheid we force on them. Now is the time for good people to say, "Enough!"
The story of Terence Crutcher has hit especially close to home. He was leaving a Music Appreciation class at a local community college when his car broke down. Before I watched a video or looked at his picture... I knew Terence...without actually knowing Terence. After ten years of teaching Communication in SF Bay Area community colleges, Terence would have fit right into my classroom. Big, middle-aged Black man, out to get the letters that might prove something to someone. He would have blown people away during his speeches. It happened every time. When Osa got up and performed Pulp Fiction, I was worried Campus Safety would crash through the door to "protect" us from one of the best oral interpretations most of us had ever seen. The man had skills! When Michael did his Informative on Michael Jackson (cause most of these young kids didn't know enough about him when pressed), he had another student queue up the music, so he could throw open the classroom door to the first few beats of Billie Jean and moonwalk into the room to start his speech. His singular glove sparkling as he hit every signature Michael Jackson dance move for a class full of 18 and 19 year olds, holding their phones to record this man being so outlandish for them.
I smile when I think of the stereotypes broken and stomped on in my classroom each term. The ways people from total different walks of life, could get up and give a speech to one another, letting each other in to see a different way of thinking, of being, of existing in the world. It was a privilege to teach community college Communication Studies for the last decade.
But one of the reasons I left, was because I have a high level of empathy. I know... I don't talk about this a lot. As a highly empathic person, I often shield myself. And people think you're a little weird when you tell them you can feel pain that others are having, or anxiety, or stress... so you just don't bring it up at parties. But whatever. It's relevant to the post, because even though I have the white privilege to ignore or look away from the steady stream of public lynchings, my body won't allow me.
I remember being a teenager and seeing what happened to Rodney King. I grew up in a mostly white community and I didn't know a lot of Black people then. I didn't understand police brutality wasn't new. It was just caught on video tape and made public for the first time. It felt new, and viscerally, I couldn't watch it. It physically hurt.
I remember years later, hearing the story of Amadou Diallo, and realizing that this wasn't just an LAPD thing. 41 shots. Can you even imagine what that kind of assault feels like on the body? For standing on your porch? For reaching for your ID?
Oscar Grant, who was shot on the Fruitvale BART station platform on New Year's Eve. My students knew him. One was his cousin.
My awakening has been deep, on a visceral level. I may not be a Black person in America, but I can feel the anxiety and pain of our neighbors grieving right now for people they don't actually know, yet somehow could be anyone they do know. I don't believe in essentializing cultures but I do believe in DNA memory. Cultural groups, especially those who experience severe social trauma - genocide, enslavement, colonization - carry the pain AND the resilience of their ancestors for generations. It's something I think most white people recognize with Black folks. There's an unspoken solidarity between Black folks...that they know they are in this together.
It's been a LONG time since I changed my profile picture on Facebook to a Black rectangle. I did this to demonstrate my own solidarity with #blacklivesmatter and to recognize the ongoing grief and lack of justice in Black communities.
For these are my friends and former students and friends of former students being shot in the streets by those who we entrust to protect us. And today, the pain of losing Terence, feels like the pain of losing one of my favorite students. I am feeling pain and grief on an overwhelming level and this essay has been percolating in me since this morning. I am feeling anger at watching another Black body lay on the ground dying, ignored. I am feeling the anxiety from friends who aren't sure if they want to leave the house today.
The waves of pain and grief come and go, like tides these days. It's hard to cope most days and I'm over here trying to keep it together for my friends whose bodies are treated as "threat" and "suspect" daily...When a friend is so depressed they don't leave the house for a few days because Korryn Gaines' story was too close to their own worst nightmare. It hurts. I can't make it better. It's my pain too. It's our pain. And just as how you may have earlier questioned my ability to feel this...I'll throw that question right back to my white friends and family who believe I inundate their FB feeds with "depressing" stuff - How can you not feel this?? How can you check out?!
But just as our ancestors felt the pain of lives taken too soon and terror at what lay outside, they also felt the hope and strength of those who gave them life. They pushed forward to make progress for us today. With sheer determination and a strong amount of anger and resentment, folks continued this march toward liberation and integration. And so shall we.
It is a worthy fight. It is not an easy fight. But it is so worth it. I've seen what a group of diverse people can do when they have the tools and space to communicate and build new communities. We are on a righteous path.
And we will not let things continue to be 'business as usual.' We will disrupt and inconvenience the status quo until something changes. We will stand tall to death threats and we will honor our dead by fighting back, by resisting those who would continue to inflict terror (and those who ignore those who inflict terror) on people within their own communities.
As Assata said, and as my brothers and sisters in #BLM continue to echo:
It is our duty to fight for our freedom.
It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.
As I passed the Strip and headed toward the more residential part of Las Vegas where I live, my music shuffled to the next song.
I see them coming after my soul
Wanting to take control...
But I, I'm not afraid, no....
And it occurred to me, another confirmation that sometimes life does provide the necessary soundtrack for the day you might be having. I cruised along singing with Etana, tears streaming down my face, thinking, "fuck you, Betty. Fuck you."
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Why I'm breaking up with Facebook
When I first signed on to the Facebook, it required an .edu email address. It was still a site for students, staff, and faculty of academic institutions, and a place to share resources, debate current topics, and manage a virtual soapbox/identity, connected to international networks. It was such a step up from Myspace for me. My circle of scholars, activists, and friends grew and we could share innovative classroom practices, performances, conferences, festivals, articles and essays. We could add a personal and social element to our public academic identities. I learned about the personal lives of people I engaged professionally and developed real-world friendships with people who I initially interacted with online.
Then FB became mainstream. Family, friends, and people from high school were requesting my friendship. It was awkward. Really awkward at first. I know a diverse array of people and I knew that adding this cousin or that aunt, this high school friend or that friend of a friend, meant that they would be joining or at least observing the conversations, and often politically radical or charged debates I have with colleagues.
I started sharing more personal and social information. Bringing people into my world a little more. Tried to find a balance with pedagogical, political, personal, and professional posts and shares. Tried to stomach seeing some of their posts and shares; knowing that mediated communication is so limited in nuance and that my criticisms would be taken as malicious, rather than constructive or invitational. Unfriended a few, and forced myself to keep others, to see into their worldview as much as I could. Accepted many former students and former classmates as friends, just to delete their friendships the next day. I knew that they would get my accept, cruise over to see my pics and posts, and then I could just disappear into the night. The requests only occasionally came back. Most just wanted to see into my world for a moment. And Facebook gave them the opportunity to do that.
Then the ads came. There were so many. And eventually they became omnipresent. Knowing what I had been searching on Google and Amazon, things I had already bought oftentimes, were continuing to be marketed to me. Sponsored posts came across my feed and I was offered the ability to promote my own pages, if I paid for it. It was often hard to tell the difference between ads and things my friends were sharing. And then the pages promoted AND telling me which of my friends liked them. Geesh.
A great platform and user-friendly interface made FB what it is. But the corporate consumption of our lives has grown insidiously...have you really noticed how much it has changed? Does it bug you that it knows what you do when you're not on the site? Does it bug you that FB makes a crap-ton of money selling your personal information?
My relationship with FB has become an emotionally abusive relationship.
FB tells me what I should like.
It decides who I get to see and how I get to see them.
It decides who I can be friends with, by denying people, especially trans folks and others who may use aliases, access to my friendship. (Kicked a good friend off this week per their name policy)
It sells my information and tastes to people I've never met and I am not allowed to say who gets my info, and who doesn't. I have to agree to go with whomever they want, or I can't be there.
It didn't used to be this way.
It used to be a very inviting space, full of real people and real shares. Now it's a big social experiment and I don't like feeling like a lab rat anymore.
I don't need a paternalistic website telling me who I can be friends with and who I can't; which of my friends can be here, and which can't.
I don't need my web searches and posts building a consumer identity that is sold to many bidders, while I don't earn a penny.
I've had enough. I'm stepping out in solidarity with those who FB denies access to.
I'll miss seeing and sharing. I'll miss liking and loving. I'll miss the ways each of you have challenged me and affirmed me. One typically stays in abusive relationships because there ARE good days. And often those can outweigh the bad. And they have for a long time. But this name policy thing hit a little too close to home, and it's just not ok. None of it.
Find me here http://cdubnews.blogspot.com/ or text/email me.
Then FB became mainstream. Family, friends, and people from high school were requesting my friendship. It was awkward. Really awkward at first. I know a diverse array of people and I knew that adding this cousin or that aunt, this high school friend or that friend of a friend, meant that they would be joining or at least observing the conversations, and often politically radical or charged debates I have with colleagues.
I started sharing more personal and social information. Bringing people into my world a little more. Tried to find a balance with pedagogical, political, personal, and professional posts and shares. Tried to stomach seeing some of their posts and shares; knowing that mediated communication is so limited in nuance and that my criticisms would be taken as malicious, rather than constructive or invitational. Unfriended a few, and forced myself to keep others, to see into their worldview as much as I could. Accepted many former students and former classmates as friends, just to delete their friendships the next day. I knew that they would get my accept, cruise over to see my pics and posts, and then I could just disappear into the night. The requests only occasionally came back. Most just wanted to see into my world for a moment. And Facebook gave them the opportunity to do that.
Then the ads came. There were so many. And eventually they became omnipresent. Knowing what I had been searching on Google and Amazon, things I had already bought oftentimes, were continuing to be marketed to me. Sponsored posts came across my feed and I was offered the ability to promote my own pages, if I paid for it. It was often hard to tell the difference between ads and things my friends were sharing. And then the pages promoted AND telling me which of my friends liked them. Geesh.
A great platform and user-friendly interface made FB what it is. But the corporate consumption of our lives has grown insidiously...have you really noticed how much it has changed? Does it bug you that it knows what you do when you're not on the site? Does it bug you that FB makes a crap-ton of money selling your personal information?
My relationship with FB has become an emotionally abusive relationship.
FB tells me what I should like.
It decides who I get to see and how I get to see them.
It decides who I can be friends with, by denying people, especially trans folks and others who may use aliases, access to my friendship. (Kicked a good friend off this week per their name policy)
It sells my information and tastes to people I've never met and I am not allowed to say who gets my info, and who doesn't. I have to agree to go with whomever they want, or I can't be there.
It didn't used to be this way.
It used to be a very inviting space, full of real people and real shares. Now it's a big social experiment and I don't like feeling like a lab rat anymore.
I don't need a paternalistic website telling me who I can be friends with and who I can't; which of my friends can be here, and which can't.
I don't need my web searches and posts building a consumer identity that is sold to many bidders, while I don't earn a penny.
I've had enough. I'm stepping out in solidarity with those who FB denies access to.
I'll miss seeing and sharing. I'll miss liking and loving. I'll miss the ways each of you have challenged me and affirmed me. One typically stays in abusive relationships because there ARE good days. And often those can outweigh the bad. And they have for a long time. But this name policy thing hit a little too close to home, and it's just not ok. None of it.
Find me here http://cdubnews.blogspot.com/ or text/email me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
