Ginger Networked feminism
Winter 2017
MISSION
LEIGH SUGAR LAUREN BANKA
JOEY BEHRENS
Ginger maps networks of creative people. In keeping with the logic of a network, all of the contributors to this issue were referred by an editor or contributor from a previous issue. As a feminist publication, we are committed to supporting the work of self-identified women and queer/trans/gender non-conforming individuals and strive to share the experiences and distinctive voices of those who identify as such. Our goal is to produce a zine with a diverse range of forms, content, and viewpoints.
• • ISSUE 2 • ISSUE 3 • ISSUE 4 ISSUE 1
KAITLIN McCARTHY
HAYLEE EBERSOLE
AMANDA LÓPEZKURTZ
JAN TRUMBAUER
JESSICA LAW
JILLIAN JACOBS
• • ISSUE 6 • ISSUE 7 ISSUE 5
TRACI CHAMBERLAIN
MICHAELA RIFE
LAURA PORTWOODSTACER
KASIA HALL
JANE SERENSKA
JENNIFER WEISS
ANNIK HOSMANN
GRACIE BIALECKI
CARLA AVRUCH
SONYA DERMAN
REBECCA BALDWIN
JACQUELINE MELECIO
MARIA R. BAAB
ELAINE HEALY
JEN COHEN
JESS WILLLA WHEATON
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NATALIE EICHENGREEN
ALEXIS CANTU
LIANA IMAM
MARISSA BLUESTONE
MARKEE SPEYER
COLLEEN DURKIN
KATIE VIDA
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WOLFGANG SCHAFFER
DELILAH JONES
RACHEL WALLACH
LA JOHNSON
ISSACHAR CURBEON
HANNAH MODE
HARRIS BAUER
KATIE FORD
KATHARINE PERKO
ARIEL JACKSON
RACHEL ZARETSKY ASHLEIGH DYE
ENA ´ SELIMOVIC
LAUREN ARIAN
YI-HSIN TZENG NANDI LOAF CAITLIN WRIGHT
SOFIA PONTÉN
LAURA COOPER
HERMIONE SPRIGGS
IVY HALDEMAN
HANNAH NELSONTEUSCH
FREDRIKA THELANDERSSON
CLAUDIA GERBRACHT
CLARE BOERSCH HANNAH RAWE
JACQUELINE CANTU
ELIZABETH SULTZER
STEPHANIE VON BEHR
ABIGAIL HENNING
MOLLY HAGAN
LEIGH RUPLE
ALEX CHOWANIEC
MIMI CHIAHEMEN
MOLLY ADAMS
CAROLINE LARSEN
JESSICA PRUSA
JOLENE LUPO
SAM CROW
JULIANA HALPERT LEAH JAMES
NATALIE GIRSBERGER
LAURA McMULLEN
MOLLY RAPP
SARA LAUTMAN
RACHEL BRODY
DOROTEA MENDOZA
INDIA TREAT
MARIA NIKOLIS TYLER MORGAN
EMILY ROSE LARSON
TIFFANY SMITH
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Issue NO 7 contributors Clare Celeste Boersch .... PAGE 07 Tyler Morgan .... PAGE 11 Hannah Perrine Mode .... PAGE 17 Jane Serenska .... PAGE 21 Colleen Durkin .... PAGE 27 Hannah Nelson-Teutsch .... PAGE 35 Rebecca Baldwin .... PAGE 37 Juliana Halpert .... PAGE 43 Molly Adams .... PAGE 49 Leah James .... PAGE 54 Traci Chamberlain .... PAGE 63 Jen Cohen .... PAGE 66 Issachar Curbeon .... PAGE 72
Co-founders E D ITO R
Markee Speyer D E SI G N E R
Jacqueline Cantu
On the cover: Piece from 30,000 Years: Firing performance II, 2016; by Leah James
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Clare Celeste Boersch Art for Change
I was still mourning Hillary Clinton’s Electoral College loss when I received an invitation to contribute to Ginger. The weeks following election day—after checking my phone at 4am in Berlin and the visceral wave of nausea, panic, and fear that ensued—have been an emotional blur and it was not until recently that I had the quiet of mind needed to cull my thoughts and create something to contribute. The election drew something into focus for me—that I wanted to do something. It also made clear to me that I have always operated in two spheres: my professional work in public policy in one sphere and my work and studio practice as an artist and illustrator in another. I kept these two “selves” separate, and I realize now that was a disservice that hindered my work and happiness. While I was earning my Masters degree in Public Policy at UCLA, I drew a venn diagram with Policy/Social Engagement in one sphere, and Arts in the other, and in the overlap I would drew an arrow and wrote “I want to be HERE”.
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The images are from a redesign of my website—which is an experiment in bringing my experience in art and policy together.
And I did find work in the overlap—both at the LA County Arts Commission and for local public art and public design non-profits. But I came to these roles as a policy professional and I tended to self-censor my creative and visual arts self. As a result, my creative self felt neglected. So when I moved to Berlin in 2014 with my husband, I threw myself into my artwork—at the expense of my policy interests. I have been focused almost exclusively on artwork and raising my son the last three years. In the aftermath of the election, I realized how vital and important my policy work was—how important both for civic discourse but also for my own moral bearings. I am now recommitted to public policy—I want to actively work in the public sphere. But I know now that in order to make this a sustainable commitment, I need to marry my love of design and visual arts with my commitment to furthering positive social change. One way that this new commitment has manifested is in cofounding, with Brazilian-American artist Juliana Cerqueira Leite, Art for Change—an organization that partners with artists and non-profits to use the arts as a fresh and accessible entry point for civic engagement. Art for Change believes in the power of an informed and engaged electorate, and asks what role the arts and artists can play in this. We are in early planning stages —building an all-women team of creatives, artists, entrepreneurs, and arts policy professionals. Building something so positive and with such incredible people has been a salve during a difficult time. 8
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But I also want to reflect the ideals of Art for Change in my own work—and actively use my art and policy as one “toolkit” for progressive social change. I asked myself what my strengths are and what I want to work toward. That led to a clear equation: policy/social engagement + art/design = for positive social change. This realization has led me to reframe these two selves, to bring them together to a point where one is inalienable from the other. To do this, I started where I always do—visually. The images I am submitting are from a redesign of my website—which is an experiment in bringing my experience in art and policy together. Now is the time for our country to heal divides, to find common ground, and to fight for our progressive values and rights. This project of reframing my work as an artist and policy worker is about healing my own divide and finding a common ground between these two selves—artist and policy professional—so that I can bring my whole and best self to the important work that lies ahead.
Clare Celeste Börsch is an American artist and cultural grants manager living in Berlin. She has lived in seven different countries and does not have a definitive answer to the question, “Where do you come from?” She holds a Master’s Degree in Public Policy from the University of California, Los Angeles and speaks English, German, Spanish, and Portuguese. She loves collaborations and new connections—you can find her online at clareceleste.com and follow her artwork on instagram @clarecelesteart.
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Tyler Morgan Fierce Forces
Still, we rise.
Babetown, 2012
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Mariel, 2013​
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Asatu, 2016
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Black Sands Beach, 2014
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Tyler, 2014
Raised and shaped in the beautiful land of California, Tyler Morgan is artist sharing her voice, spreading light, and emitting her power through varying forms. She is a photographer,dancer, and healer. She earned a BFA from the School of Visual Art, NY in 2013. Currently, she is working and living between Oakland,CA and Dallas,TX. Her photography is rooted in highlighting the power of vulnerability, uplifting self-exploration, and exemplifying self-growth&assurance through herself as well as other righteous beings.
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Hannah Perrine Mode HERE: Collective Memory
For this project, Hannah opened up her graduate studio at Mills College, and offered to make free cups of coffee or tea—for friends and strangers alike. She asked that in exchange they tell her about a memory they had from “here.” After they finished their story, each participant then choose a homemade color swatch to represent the feeling of that memory. Hannah froze a piece of ice for each person embedded with their color and powdered charcoal. She threw a “Memory Melt” party, open to the public, where everyone was able to gather in her studio together to celebrate the cathartic release of their memories. As guests toasted with edible colorful ice cubes, they watched their ice pieces melt together on paper to make collective memory maps, which Hannah then layered together in the resulting triptych.
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Hannah Perrine Mode is an Oakland-based artist and designer, currently pursuing an MFA in Studio Art at Mills College.• After growing up in New England, Hannah has since drawn inspiration from her own experiences in both wild landscapes and vibrant cities. Some of her favorite adventures include studying social change through the arts in the Czech Republic, leading tours of secret passages and alchemic symbols in Florence, working with a women’s weaving co-op in the Peruvian Andes, launching a beautiful start-up in NYC (and hunting down the best bar patios in Brooklyn in the process), searching for magical staves in Iceland, exploring traditional Polynesian wayfinding in Hawaii, and painting murals in elementary school gardens in San Francisco.• Since May 2013, Hannah has done a drawing-a-day, is working on an ongoing collaborative sketch swap project, and is a co-host of a monthly storytelling event in the Bay Area.• hannahpmode.com • instagram.com/hannahpmode
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Jane Serenska WhatsApp is a social media platform
I snap all the clips off the ends of all my pens as I talk to her on Skype. “You make me nervous,” I say. “Why?” “I miss you.” “I miss you too.” “I’m glad I know you.” She says this sounds harsh, final, like the end of something. That is not it at all, that is not what I meant at all.
I’ve bitten away all the skin from the middle of my lips and now I’m not sure where my mouth begins and my lips end.
“Detail-oriented” is a nice way of saying “neurotic.”
“What’s up?” I ask her on the internet messaging app, WhatsApp. “What’s up? You called me?” “Lol,” she says, “Butt dial.”
She goes to bed at my four pm and leaves me with my night time. My thumbs, bloodied but clear of hangnails, hover centimeters below the reminder, “Last seen 4:26 pm.” I try to think of something nice to say
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for her to wake up to. I think of her sleeping peacefully and I feel calm.
The swirl of short hairs on the back of my head, all equally unsure in which direction they should grow, must be the shore of clinical depression. I can feel it sloshing through my head filling up the sharp dents my cheekbones make in the air around me. My glasses slide down my nose to escape it. Blackheads form where freckles were. Tears leap to their deaths. I push my mouth to her face, or my thumbs to my screen, hoping to pour some of this onto her.
“Romantic” is a nice way of saying “codependent tendencies.”
If you can’t love yourself, be in a long-distance relationship.
If you can’t love yourself, find someone who loves you and is asleep for most of your day.
If you can’t love yourself, only look at your body in nudes. It makes no difference whether you are naked or the bottoms of your trousers rolled, selfies are remnants of you.
I visit her in London and speak to my therapist on the phone. She calls me through WhatsApp and we talk about x-rays and Michelangelo. I tell her I’ve called my therapist. 22
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and she says she feels defensive when someone reads her horoscope.
I hold her in a breakwater I made with my arms and smooth her curly hair with my long fingers. She places her hand on my chest and I think I am a person. Then I think I should write that down. I wonder if I should stop kissing her and write a love song. I decide not to, thinking that writing a love song would be like sending her a message in a bottle as she stands next to me on the beach. Instead I try to memorize what I want to remember about why I want to write a love song. I dream of broken pens. In the morning, women’s voices wake me.
She smokes out of the window of our Airbnb in Paris, drinking coffee and taking toast. I take pictures of her and ask if I can post one on Instagram “No,” she says, “I look awful.”
Last night she cried when I told her I don’t feel comfortable in my body. She said she feels sad for me, she wishes she could do something to help. It’s easier to love my writing and my nudes, I think but don’t say. WhatsApp is a social media platform where I am curated by visions and revisions. I only use mirrors to reflect the screen of my phone as I take selfies with the back camera. I only date people from Tinder.
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“I love you” is a nice way of saying, “Do you love me?”
I tried to file my nails to short sharp points but ended up clipping them. She took me to get my hair cut and I got it buzzed. “You don’t know how beautiful you are,” is her way of saying, “I know you are hurting.”
I watch the hot water of her shower make a long red path down her body. Maybe I always feel like I should kiss her more, not just out of love for her, but because I cannot be satisfied by any amount of kisses I lap from her lips. But I know I will never kiss her so much that she cannot speak because I would rather drown than never hear her voice.
Jane Serenska is in her fourth year of a five-year BA/MA program in Women’s and Gender Studies at DePaul University where she will also receive a Bachelor’s in Literary Studies. She was nominated for Issue #7 of Ginger Zine by Alexis Cantu, a pivotal member of her friend group and a staggeringly talented musician. Jane started Spread Your Own Gossip, a reading series in which self-identifying women tell stories about themselves, in March 2016. Since then, the series has hosted five readings across Chicago and, with the help of collaborator, Alison Ogunmokun, is planning many more in 2017. When she’s not organizing a reading, Jane makes coffee, plays bass, and enjoys conflict resolution. • instagram.com/sweetbbjane • facebook.com/SpreadUrOwnGoss
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Colleen Durkin My Mother Myself
C o l l e e n D u r k i n 27
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C o l l e e n D u r k i n 29
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C o l l e e n D u r k i n 31
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Photographer, motorcycle rider, bone collector. True trill beast down for the downest shit. Colleen has a wide range of commercial and editorial clients from Nike to Nylon. Based in Chicago but deeply rooted in all things everywhere, her photography and luminous spirit can be experienced around the globe.• colleendurkin.com • instagram.com/colleendurkin
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Hannah Nelson-Teutsch It’s My Honor
Maya Angelou says that every woman should have a recipe for a meal, that will make her guests feel honored. To me, this recipe is just that; a Christmas meal that has marked my holidays for as long as I can remember, written in the hand of someone beloved to me. It is a totemic object with the power to transcend time and space, and a little bit of practical magic, but more than that I cannot seem to say.
Hannah Nelson-Teutsch is an artist, writer, and academic living in working in Berlin. Her transdisciplinary work explores the power of landscapes real and imaginary to reflect, and renegotiate our past, present, and future.
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Rebecca Baldwin
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ĂœBER DEN BLUTWEG ERREICHT PROLAKTIN DIE BRUSTDRĂœSE (OVER THE BLOODWAY REACHES PROLACTIN THE BREASTDUCTS) by Alexis Knowlton babies in Africa babies in China babies in the Middle Ages babies in caves with sabertithtoogers babies with bad mothers babies bitten by insects babies with smallpox babies with mental retardation babies in orphanages babies whose parents were and are on drugs babies in Brazil babies in South America babies left out on the street in Ancient Rome babies sacrificed to the Gods babies killed before they are born babies of slaves working in the fields babies without fathers babies without mothers babies left crying and crying and crying babies with their ears pierced babies of prostitutes given to nuns babies sent down the river in a basket poor babies
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Alexis Knowlton is a painter and conceptual artist living in Berlin. She studied at RISD, the Yale School of Art and the University of the Arts Berlin. Her work has been exhibited internationally and she is currently working on self portraiture- and finding child care. leadpipe.us • cafereviewreview.com Rebecca Baldwin is a performance artist living in Brooklyn. She studied at RISD and is currently working on her MFA at Hunter College. She is in the process of starting a radio station called Mixed Signals. realestatescores.events • debtmeditation.us • mixedsignals.us Mary Baldwin: Becca and Alexis met at Rhode Island School of Design as freshmen roommates in September, 2000. They shared classes, critiques, and clothing during their four years at RISD, both graduating as Painting majors in 2004. They have kept in touch through the years with visits to San Francisco, New York, and Berlin. An enduring friendship. Healther Knowlton: Interpret reality from the spot you’re standing on ... not from a distance. Choosing = the greatest gift = Freedom. Be safe and have fun. “ad astra per aspera” ... to the stars with difficulty. Art is faith. Experience is always more valuable than things. And from my grandmother ... “it’s a great life if you don’t weaken” Love you both, Heather.
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Juliana Halpert
Why Like This, 2015
J u l i a n a H a l p e r t 43
Parrot Room, 2016
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How to Make a Good Confession, 2016
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Caroline with Camera, 2015
Juliana Halpert is a writer and photographer living in Bushwick. She has recently contributed writing to Artforum and Daylight Digital, and shown work at Black Ball Projects in Williamsburg. Her street and her website are both perpetually under construction.
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Molly Adams Feminist Bird Club
To me, bird watching is a form of active meditation. It requires patience and stillness, but also an alert and attentive eye. As you spend more time in your outdoor environment, you get to know different species, what habitats they prefer, and what times of the year you can and can’t see them. This encourages a deeper understanding of the seasons and local landscapes that continues to unfold overtime. Even if you don’t like birds, this practice of active looking can allow you to stumble upon secrets that not all New Yorkers stop to see. The Feminist Bird Club is dedicated to getting outside in and around NYC and having an ongoing conversation about women’s safety/rights. Patches will be made each year, with proceeds going towards an organization that supports women’s rights. 2016 patches sold out within a month, raising $300 that was donated to Planned Parenthood NYC.
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The club was founded in October 2016, after friends started expressing interest in wanting to join me on bird walks, and two months after Karina Vetrano was murdered while jogging near a waterfront park in Queens-just miles from a spot I’ve often gone birding alone. The issue of safety was reiterated not too long after this, when I was harassed in a wooded area of public park in Brooklyn. The goal was to create an opportunity for women to feel safe while exploring the natural world in and around NYC. Men are absolutely welcome, as long as they consider themselves feminists and understand the need for feminism in birding and the world in general. If you are reading this and don’t understand the need for feminism in the field of birding, here are excerpts from interviews I did with two experienced birders who identify as women that were willing to briefly share their stories about sexism and gender-bias.
For my first interview, I reached out to Caroline, the owner of Ladybirder, a birdwatching tour company in the UK. For years, she has led birdwatching groups in Wales and abroad in West Africa. Molly: Can you please describe an occasion where you experienced sexism in the field while birding? Caroline: My experience of very unpleasant sexism in West Africa occurred at a national park that is considered one of the top birding locations. Despite telling my guide that I was an experienced birder in West Africa, he seemed to think I had no idea of the species in the park and repeatedly showed me common birds. I explained several times that I wanted to see the park’s specialities. He would say, “oh look, a bulbul” (the most common bird in the country) while pulling me up close and ‘helping’ me focus my binoculars. This invasion of space and complete disregard for my experience made me so angry, I eventually walked away and threatened to report him. He abused me with awful names and said not to bother as “no-one takes notice of women.” M: What have you done in response to this awful experience? C: It was a great learning experience. As a regular visitor to West Africa, I setup my own guiding business, Ladybirder... unfortunately, due to the embedded sexism and the fact that I am not West African, the business has failed. I now concentrate on the sexism I can cope with in the UK...I am planning a female only birding holiday company in Wales.
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M: Would you be able to speak a bit more about the examples of sexism that you’re dealing with in the UK and what you’re doing about it? C: No real problems in Wales with sexism… just acceptance of the male-domination of birding and that men and women enjoy birding in different ways. Which is why I hope Ladybirder succeeds here. M: I hope so too. Do you have any advice for female birders who are experiencing sexism during their own time in the field? C: My only advice is to never rise to the bait. Birding is a wonderful hobby but men can find it competitive… a bit like hunting but with binoculars and telescopes rather than guns. Sexism usually takes the form of ridicule and derogatory remarks. Ignore them. Buy the best equipment and know how to use it. Never engage in debates about birds that you are not sure about...if you see a male birder in full combats with a huge telescope and $3000 binoculars, just walk the other way…
Caroline’s awful account of what happened to her in West Africa encouraged me to reach out and find others who had more ideas on how to combat sexism and manifest safety in the field. I got in touch with another phenomenal female birder that was interested in sharing her experiences in the Midwestern United States. In order to respect this birder’s wish to remain anonymous, I will refer to her using the pseudonym, Wren. This year, she is ranked among the top 10 birders in her state for seeing the most birds, and is currently the only female on that list. During her holiday, while she was fogged in on a multi-day long birding trip in the wilderness of her state, she wrote to me to offer some insight into her experiences as well as discuss some solutions. One of the first issues we discussed was the male dominance of the field of bird watching, and wildlife biology, and how it can easily be seen online on platforms like facebook and eBird. eBird is an amazing reference/data collection tool that allows people to log the birds they see at a particular location. This allows the Cornell Lab of Ornithology to study population and migration data, while individuals can keep track of their “life lists”, as well as see where the best birding locations are. Wren stated that, “ I just started tracking my birds on eBird this year mainly because 1) Science! 2) there was such a low percent of women in the top 100 Birders for the year - It has ranged from 14 to 16.” The more people that we see women participating in
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things like this, the larger our voices will become, and hopefully the more inviting it will be for ladies to join in. Here, Wren shares an account of one of many gender-biased experiences, that I think several women, birder or not, will unfortunately be able to relate to: “I went to see a rare bird that had been reported—my nonbirding husband came with as we were on vacation and he is awesome. When I got there, there was a line of white men looking for the bird—mostly middle-aged or older. They had been there for quite sometime and had not seen the bird—they thought it had left. I got set up and found it in probably less than 5 minutes. When I said out loud that I found it and it was in my scope—none of them responded. I watched it, took some photos, (made a comment to my non-birding husband about dudes...), husband got a good look and then said again that it was in my scope if anyone wanted to see it. They were all looking in the wrong direction. Finally one looked in my scope and said “ I don’t see it” seemed like a brush off. Eventually I convinced them all I wasn’t full of shit and they got to see the bird.” This sadly is not an experience that is unique to birding. Women around the world are constantly questioned and doubted within their fields due to gender-biases that, in many cases, are continuing to be reinforced. For example, the United States just elected a man that has openly harassed, mocked, and denounced women, rather than a woman who is infinitely more qualified than him to run an entire country. This sets a very devastating example for people everywhere, showing that no matter how experienced you are, a terrible man driven by greed and corruption can still be chosen over you. After the election, I have seen several women and their male allies come together and organize ways to make sure that women’s rights are not jeopardized further in the United States. And although globally there is still an overwhelming amount of work to do when it comes to gender equality, I believe that now is the most important time to “start from the ground up”. We need to constantly consider and correct dynamics in our personal relationships, as well as policies.
The last question we tried to tackle was one about safety. As two women who often go out into the woods alone, we have both been in situations where men have approached us, made us uncomfortable, and made us question if we should be out enjoying the natural world alone. After brainstorming with Wren, I created this short list of suggestions that we came up with in an attempt to start thinking about how to make the world of birding a safer and more equitable place:
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•T alk to the men in your life and make sure that they know when not to approach women who are alone and why. •T alk with other birders, men and women, about the issue of gender bias in birding. We cannot make changes unless we acknowledge it and make conscious decisions to change it. •T alk to your friends and family to make sure that they know the importance of treating women and anyone that they consider different than themselves with respect. •T ake kids outside and teach them how to observe the natural world while being non-competitive and treating one another with respect. •R ead or listen to J. Drew Lanham’s thoughtful comments on Birding While Black lithub.com/birding-while-black/# • Bird in groups or a pair when possible. • I f it is not, always tell someone where you will be birding and you’re going to a place that doesn’t feel safe, trust your instincts. Bring pepper spray or know how to use your binoculars, tripod, scope, or camera lens for self defence. •R ead Life List, by Olivia Gentile. This is a detailed account of the life of Phoebe Snetsinger, an infamous female birder who, after being diagnosed with cancer, went on to see 8,674 species out of a possible 10,223, and survived being brutally raped in New Guinea. •T each all boys and men that rape is inexcusable, and that it is never an option. “ I get nervous when I bird alone but, I don’t let that stop me. I traveled nearly the length of the state this weekend, about 1000 miles, looking for birds by myself. I know there’s always an inherent risk, but I love birding that much.” —Wren
Molly Adams is a Conservation Educator at the New York Aquarium in Brooklyn, NY and has a MA in Marine Conservation. She is also a clinic escort at Dr. Emily’s Women’s Health Center in the Bronx, a member of the National Women’s Liberation’s committee for Access to Abortion/Birth Control, and the founder of the Feminist Bird Club. • Patches and walk information available at molly-adams.com/feminist-bird-club
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Leah James 30,000 Years: Firing Performance II, 2016
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L e a h J a m e s 57
Fishkill: Perfomance 3, 2016
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L e a h J a m e s 59
Fishkill Campfire: Performance 4, 2016
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Leah James is a Canadian artist living and working in New York who has exhibited her work internationally and in the US. She co-organizes Side Effects Gallery, an artist run project space in Brooklyn. • Practice: Bringing together prehistoric technology and contemporary ceramics, I have been creating outdoor kilns to fire, harden, and alter raw clay. I consider the firing and preparation of the kiln to be a performance in and of itself.
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Traci Chamberlain Two Works
Washing Walls One summer my mother told me to help her wash the walls like she did with her mother, Her mother who had three jobs but no husband so she took her widower’s despair to the Department store and exchanged it for a vacuum, which she ran at three in the morning Because she could never get used to sleeping alone.
Her mother had a coal-burning stove that smoked more than the man who fed it, So taking rag to wall was expected of a housewife, A housewife who filled those expectations but whose own were left devoid, Whose daughter learned that women always accept less than they should.
My parents had electric warmth, Baseboard heaters that creaked and stung you when you ran into them, When you didn’t heed the red warning they left against your skin, Your skin which is the first line of defense in situations like these.
My parents had ten years of synthetic warmth, Before the chill could no longer be ignored and was outrun by longer work days My mother had half a job and half a husband, and didn’t know what to do with either, So she took rag to wall and wiped away what wasn’t there.
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Derailed On Sunday I am overcast. I cannot board the train without picking a person travelling in the opposite direction and wanting to be them instead. I consider the tracks, the bridge ten blocks north of my apartment, the knives in my kitchen door. I don’t get creative because I know I’m such a tease. How frustrating it is, to be both hopeless and practical, as hopeless as my train which is stopped due to traffic. The westbound train flies by ahead of schedule. The person I choose today gets off at the next stop and straightens his tie. How lucky for him to be heading to a party, where he’ll sit on a couch and tell a pretty woman all his problems, who will sleep with him because she’s mad at her boyfriend, who has slept with more people than she has but she still had to teach him how to kiss; this boyfriend, when hearing of how she spent her Saturday, will head downtown to find this bastard, and the bastard will be pushed onto the tracks in fervor of their confrontation, and in the morning I’ll be late to work.
Traci Chamberlain is a New York-based writer. Her Tumblr is in its infancy, so please be kind. Twitter: @tracistpatience • Tumblr: tracistpatience.tumblr.com
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Jen Cohen Standing Rock: A Spiritual Journey
From a very early age, I felt a connection to Native Americans. Each year during my childhood, my father would frequently take my sister and I to visit the Seminole and Miccosukee Reservations, as well as the annual Pow Wow, where I would study the dances, eagerly listen to the soulful singing, and note their body language. I so desperately wanted to be them. It was there, with the beating of the drums gently sounding in the background, that my father told me I was Native in my heart, and thus, at the age of three, I was convinced I was Native American. I carried that identity with me everywhere I went for many years, collecting everything and anything that would teach me the culture and customs of the Native tribes. It wasn’t until the tender age of twelve, just when I hit puberty that I found out I was a member of a different tribe, one not indigenous to the Americas. After that dreary, overcast day, I suppressed my devotion to my pseudo-culture, no longer giving thanks nor singing praise to 66
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November 21, 2016 A Water Protector stomping out a fire in a crop field just outside of camp that was instigated by an infiltrator.
the sky, to the trees nor to the Great Spirit or natural miracles of everyday life, and I unhappily engaged in the social norms of becoming a “white” teenaged girl. This fall, after a grueling and stressful year, I wrapped from the reality show I sold my soul to for the summer months, and planned on taking a road trip with a good friend on my quest for purpose. Just before I set off for this unforgettable journey, I received a package in the mail from my mother. It was a box of all of my Native American memorabilia that I had collected. Rummaging through my early life in a box, a slew of emotions came over me. I was going through a huge transition in my life (still am), tenaciously demanding answers and signs from the universe to no avail. I was suffering from a loss of motivation, a loss of purpose, a loss of guidance. Suddenly, I was sitting on my bed surrounded by all of these items that reminded me of my childhood, and how I was so certain of my identity and myself back then. It also reawakened my interest in Native culture. I immediately got excited for the upcoming adventure to the Four Corners. I had never been west of Illinois, so to see this vast land that was always the backdrops of old westerns and stories, was magnificent. And though most of the land was Native owned, it was still appalling to see them living on reservations, and struck by poverty and indecent facilities. Their culture had been sucked from them when they were forced to abandon their lands and assimilate into a westernized society. They continue to be stereotyped and forgotten by society at large. It was in Arizona and New Mexico, and speaking with members of Pueblo and Navajo Nations that I discovered I wanted to share their stories with the world. I wanted to give Native Americans the platform to have their voices heard on a grander scale than on the sidewalks of museums, historical sites and towns. After my trip, while waiting at the airport for my flight back to New York, I learned about what was happening in North Dakota. Protesters were blocking construction of the proposed $3.8 billion Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL), which spans 1,200 miles carrying Bakken crude oil. The pipeline threatens to contaminate the Missouri River, which provides water not only for the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, but for millions of people downstream. When I found out that the pipeline had been rerouted through a Native reservation, I felt compelled to donate my energy to defending their rights. I was no longer going to hide in the shadows of comfort and
November 22, 2016 Law enforcement officials barricading Backwater Bridge on the north side of Hwy 1806. There are razor wire blocking access, along with multiple rows of law enforcement vehicles. In the foreground are remnants from Sunday night’s violence against the protectors.
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November 23, 2016 Entrance into the Oceti Sakowin camp, with visible signs of non-violent resistance and flags representing hundreds of Native Tribes that have come to support this movement. The camp grew to about 10,000 people by Thanksgiving, developing its own efficient sanctuary. People from all over the world flocked to the cause for clean water and human rights.
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privilege, I was going to stand by the people I once adopted as my own, no longer ashamed, even if I was a wannabe. I had the time and the freedom to go, so within a week I raised donations, both material and monetary, found a ride share forum online, met a new friend, and we drove out to Standing Rock from New York on November 18th. We arrived to Oceti Sakowin camp on November 20th, the day that all hell broke loose, becoming a major turning point in the movement. This was the day they attempted to murder the non-violent protectors by spraying them with water cannons to give them hypothermia, fired tear gas canisters directly at people, which led to one woman losing her arm and another amazing woman, Vanessa “Sioux Z Dezbah� Dundon, losing her eye, and shooting rubber bullets at other defenders. But before I go more in depth with my awakening and beautiful experience, here is background on the issues. The Standing Rock Sioux Tribe is federally recognized, and their Reservation was established through the Indian Appropriate Act of 1889. The Act broke up the Great Sioux Nation into smaller reservations, and 2.3 million acres formed the Standing Rock Reservation, spreading across South Dakota into North Dakota. The Tribe does not own all of this land, however: state and federal government and non-Indians own a percentage. The area is a hub for wind, solar and other renewable energy, but there was a push to develop oil in the Bakken in 2006, by fracturing (sometimes artificially) the bedrock and extracting the oil from it, making North Dakota second to Texas as a Wi n t e r 2 0 17
leading producer of American oil. However, it was proven to be extremely flammable, corrosive and poisonous over the years due to the high levels of natural gas, namely easily-ignitable propane and butane. When transporting oil by rail became too volatile, pipelines became all the rage. Except pipelines don’t change the danger of explosion and has the additional risk to leak. Enter: Enbridge, Inc. Enbridge, Inc., an energy delivery company based out of Canada, decided to shelve their plans for the Sandpiper pipeline in Minnesota after four years of resistance from Native Tribes in that area, and invested $1.5 million into Dakota Access LLC, assuming that they would get much faster results. The Dakota Access Pipeline would collectively run 1,800 miles from close to the Canadian border, through the northwest side of North Dakota, down to the Gulf Coast of Texas. It was originally projected to cross the Missouri River north of Bismarck, but that was rejected, as it would pose a potential threat to Bismarck’s water supply. Hence, it was rerouted to cross the Missouri River twice, once in Lake Sakakawea and the again just north of the Standing Rock Reservation. These pipes and valves were purchased at a discounted price from a company in Thailand, and could potentially be faulty. Although the pipeline will be going through their land, potentially affecting them directly before it affects the rest of the country, the Natives will not benefit from this black snake. Solely the oil companies will benefit.
November 24, 2016 The direct action on Thanksgiving (Thanks-Taking) Day, of peaceful resistance to build a bridge across the river to Turtle Island to pray for their ancestors. Thousands of Water Protectors (unarmed with signs) protest the law enforcement perched on top of the Burial Mounds, rifles and weapons in hand. This is where DAPL has stationed their bright lights and vehicles.
The Standing Rock Tribe was made aware of these plans in
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2014, but DAPL had been going around the law without tribal consultation and without a full environmental impact statement (EIS). DAPL already had destroyed multiple ancestral burial sites while constructing the pipeline, even after learning that they were sacred and archeological sites. So, on April 1st, 2016, the Sacred Stone Spirit Camp was commenced as an action of prayer. The camp grew, gaining momentum in August, and by my arrival on November 20th, the camp reached over 10,000 water protectors. Despite the intensity of that first evening, the energy and the feeling of the camp were overwhelming with solidarity and abundance. Any fear of danger or discomfort that might have rested in the backseat, suddenly was carried away by the wind, and I was enveloped by the kindness of others and the smell of the Sacred Fire, which burned everyday and night. The amount of donations, comradeship and love towards one another made you abandon the need for the outside world. It was a self-sustaining community, equipped with several kitchens, a medic tent, and healing and herbal tents. It was a nurturing society that invited you to join their culture and tradition. You had to pull your weight of course; it was a community that depended on each other. It was the first time I had ever felt a sense of belonging. I was supposed to be there. I was at the nucleus of the universe.
November 24, 2016 The view of the peaceful river, and source of life, at sunset as we walked back to Camp from Turtle Island.
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Of course there were reminders that this was still a hostile environment through the militant police force and DAPL presence and activity. On my second day, I assisted a group of protectors putting out a fire that was intentionally set to a crop field just outside of the camp. We were serenaded everyday and every night by the propellers from the planes and helicopters that flew overhead. The bright lights that were on the burial sites towering over our camp lit up the night sky, and our phones were monitored and tampered with—my battery would drain and my phone would shut down whenever the DAPL plane would fly overhead, even at full battery! There was often paranoia that spread suggesting infiltrators slithering throughout our camp, trying to divert information or instigate action. The protesters are known as “Water Protectors,� and they always led the direct actions through prayer and ceremony. I remember specifically on Thanksgiving, we all marched to Turtle Island looking up at the police and National Guard that lined the burial grounds. Thousands of us gathered around in a circle, holding hands and pleading to the law enforcement to come down and join our circle, that we were all human, that we understood their resistance, but that we were all
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from one Creator and can share emotion and the will to survive. They refused to come down, and instead formed a huddle and turned their backs toward us. It was a very powerful gesture and extremely disheartening. They chose to disassociate from their fellow Americans, and instead follow orders to terrorize and harass a group of innocent, peaceful people fighting for the sake of clean water. This water would not only affect the Natives at Standing Rock, but millions of other Americans. Standing Rock is a vortex that draws powerful forces to its battleground between light and dark, water and oil, love and greed. It has enabled me to reconnect with nature and reengage with my soul. It has reminded me of all the things to be thankful for and how I’ve taken for granted the water I use, the food I throw away in abundance, the music I had missed from the wind in the trees, the footsteps to the beat of the drums, the smiles and the eyes of those in front of me, the challenges of standing up for freedom, and the feeling of self-acceptance. I will continue to stand with Standing Rock for the sake of all life, but to also make sure that these Native Peoples are finally treated fairly and as humans. This is not the only pipeline in the US that poses risk to water supply, and this certainly won’t be the last, but this movement is the blueprint for a revolution.
November 24, 2016 The camp had grown immensely after my arrival just four days prior, on November 20. The Oceti Sakowin camp grew to about 10,000 people by Thanksgiving, developing its own efficient sanctuary. People from all over the world flocked to the cause for clean water and human rights.
Jen Cohen is a filmmaker based in New York. Jen recently went back to Standing Rock with a small crew to document the events at Standing Rock, and if you are interested in donating to their GoFundMe campaign, you can visit their page: gofundme.com/voicesofstandingrock
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Issachar Curbeon Caption
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Fly off the handles,
kick off
your lips.
Peak through a window.
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Find yourself tainted.
Faced with sameness.
Looking down your throat,
trying on skin.
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Burning a few holes:
Clearly soaked,
Clearly soiled.
Believe the ghosts in your head.
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You are a wide faced,
scorched scalp,
bare breasted,
memory.
Issachar Curbeon works as a Health Educator at the Women’s Leadership Project, providing support and creative activities that engage topics of emotional well-being and sexuality. Her passion for exploring intersections of race, gender, class, and health are rooted in her undergraduate studies at The New School in New York City. In 2014 and 2016, she received the ELLA Fellowship and the Generative Fellowship, which cultivated her use of design skills to counter reproductive oppression faced by Black women and girls.
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