WOMXN IN REFLECTION - ZINE - Reflection on institutional racism

WOMXN IN REFLECTION/zine

Reflections on institutional racism

A year ago in Montreal, Canada, we participated in a 'Transatlantic Youth Dialogue', which brought together over 100 activists from across Europe and Canadaa, as part of the Amplify Youth Voices project. We spent four days participating in workshops, sharing ideas and working on common solutions to climate change, violent extremism and gender inequalities. This zine is an outcome of the time we spent together.

WOMXN in Reflection Zine is from womxn of colour for womxn of colour.

We wanted to bring visibility to womxn of colour, their experiences interacting with different institutions in society and their work.

In this zine you will find contributions from 21 different womxn, who share their creative reflections on their experiences. Womxn from across Europe who all have different cultural, educational and career backgrounds have come together in this zine.

We hope this zine gives scope to our experiences, and carves a space for other womxn of colour to reflect on their's.

Thank you Nadia, Zethu and Natalia Womxn in Releftion

Tessie Orange-Turner @turningorange

Nabila @ourgreatmothersdaughter

@_tyreis_ www.tyreis.art

'A CRACK IN THE COSMOS' CHARLIE IS READY @charlie.is.ready

If i peel off my skin, will the sun warm me deeper?

If i pull off my hair, will the wind touch me so er?

If i carve off my eyes, will the light guide me farther?

If i cut off my tongue, will the water nurse me longer?

If i rip off my heart, will the world love me better ?

-SV-

S en n a Vodzogbe m o .c e b g o z d o v a n n e .s w ww

For The Lovers of

'For the lovers of art and humanity' weaves together and religion through moving images, audio, and objects. autobiography to how personal identities play out in wid talking about race, identity, and colonial histories.

Art And Humanity

personal and political narratives of race, culture, It is an exploratory and experimental approach to der cultural conversation and the sensitivities of

y r t _ s i_ _ m @ i k a n Ja

The following text is a letter from my heart to all the people working in the theatre/film/TV industry (especially producers, directors, screenwriters and casting directors): I’ve never thought that my appearance or my roots could keep me from becoming an actor. I've been lucky because it really hasn’t even crossed my mind. Not until last autumn, when I started to study acting and went to see a lot of performances from different theatres, mainly in Tampere, but also in other cities. I realized that I had lived in a bubble after I had moved to Helsinki. I was so used to seeing people like me that I had ruled out the fact that I had almost never experienced the same feeling of acceptance in Finnish plays, films or TV shows. I wrote the poem in the picture last autumn as I pondered what kind of roles I would end up with hen the time arrives. The purpose of this letter is that I am proud of the fact that Fwhen I graduated, if I even “qualified” for anything.

Will my ethnicity always be present?

I recalled discussions with several people about why, for example “basic Matti” can’t be played by POC (people of colour),and the answer on several occasions was that there are so few ethnic people in the industry that they can either not be found to perform “Matti” roles or have to be spared for roles where ethnic background is essential. I think it was understandable then, because I can barely list a dozen black Finnish actors, let alone actors with an Asian background. I returned to this idea today and asked myself: well then… What are the roles that are “saved” for us? A refugee, an immigrant, a person who is in the receiving end of racism, a foreigner, or otherwise just a person whose whole life is wrapped around ethnicity? I think it’s great that all these things have been brought up in Finland, but I would like to point out that in my case, I can identify with these about as much as I do with “Matti”. And yes, of course I've experienced racism (my god, what a sentence...), and yes, actors do encounter unpleasant things, but I do not necessarily want to be always ripping open my own traumas, and at the same time, probably, glorify the white heroism of the main character as he fights against racism. nd one more: yes, as an actor, I play something that I am not, so I can certainly identify with these things through background work, but the same goes with Matti, or in this case, let’s say, with Maija. My purpose with this letter is not to say that I would never again play such roles.

A I will certainly come across with them from time to time and I will make decisions for each situation winland has taken steps in the right direction, but I'm trying to awaken discussion about that, could we run instead of crawling? Could we be brave instead of being afraid?

Reassess how POC are portrayed and how they are described? Don’t get me wrong, some of you are already on the right path and I want to emphasize that the “from my heart” at the beginning of the letter is real, because I know that most of you who read this are already going in the right direction. However, I still saw a brown Face (!!!) on a big theatre’s stage this year, so there is still a long way to go. I/we need your help so that these things could be properly discussed and through that people would understand better each other which would lead to the actual change. All in all, I hope that in the future, POC roles would be more humane, built with knowledge of the backgrounds, more on display, but still as common as Matti (sorry already for all Mattis…), and not exotic freaks that only are there for to be “that one black kid”. I do not want this just because the future as a POC actor scares or to secure my own employment, but I hope this for the sake of every person in Finland who has experienced racism. What kind of people are shown in the movies, theatre, or TV is your responsibility, and while you sometimes think that drama, etc. can’t change the world, you can’t even guess how important it is to see people who look like you and experience that way that you are an accepted part of this society. Personally, I haven’t had this experience since childhood (and still don’t), but maybe the next generation will. I want to believe it with all my heart.

With love against hatred, Senna Vodzogbe, Finnish actress

S en n a Vodzogbe m o .c e b g o z d o v a n n www.se

@zielavie

You don't belong here It cost six-hundred-and-sixty-nine pounds to prove I belonged here but that wasn't enough eighty-pounds to reconsider and still that wasn't enough Fifty-pounds weekly on legality Extra hours, long nights red-raw eyes, I want to give up brave face, study harder prove my character, I'm a good person I swear I'm a good immigrant My future lies in your hand and yet you do everything to deny me what you know is my right You would rather line your coffers than do what is right Do you know how much it costs?

Three-hundred-and-seventy-two pounds the rest is filthy lucre I applied for naturalisation (citizenship for individuals under the age of 18) in 2014. I had been in the UK for around 12 years at that point, I had spent most of my life in the UK. It was my home. The laws around citizenship for minors have changed year-on-year which is why I had applied so late (I turned 18 a few months after applying).

There was very little guidance about how to apply, in addition to how to apply when you have specific/special circumstances (which I did). I applied and got refused, the letter they sent was vague and generic. They didn't provide adequate reasons for why, what I was lacking etc. I appealed the decision and this was once again refused.

At that point I was depressed, deeply anxious and unsure what to do next because my future depended on me getting citizenship. Through research I found an amazing charity Just 4 Kids Law, and a movement called Let Us Learn which was built up of other young people in my situation. Through them I met Solange Valdez who founded a migrant charity called PRCBC who worked to get children their citizenship in the UK. Why? because there is lack of guidance, and the Home Office relies on families giving up after a refusal even when they know these children have a right to citizenship.

We took my case to a judicial review stage which meant challenging the state in court. Most immigration related cases are no longer covered by legal-aid, so I was paying a contribution because my mother was not in a position to financially help due to our current situation. I was working part-time and in my last year of a-levels whilst this was all happening. It involved getting character references from teachers, friends and groups I was a part of, writing a statement about why I deserved citizenship and how I would be a good and contributing member of society.

We got all the evidence together and in the end the state settled outside of court, which they have done in the past as I was not the first to take it this far. They gave me my citizenship on July 4th 2015. Unfortunately, there are many more children and young adults who are in the situation I was in and are not able to get the same results. The state continues to make a profit from the rights of minors in the country: the price of citizenship is now over ÂŁ1000, meaning they now make over ÂŁ600 in profit.

Toni Murphy www.tonimurphy.com @wordsbytoni

“This drawing is about Israel’s white supremacy and European antisemitism. It’s called “worst of both worlds” after something a Belgian acquaintance joked when he learned my family was Jewish and Moroccan. The photos refer to the cultural, political and geographical marginalisation of non-white Israelis, and to the systematic abductions of Yemeni Israeli children during the foundation years.“

@_annzzi

Tessie Orange-Turner @turningorange

@vilecogovittoria

Some thoughts in some time

My mother sold me a lie that being tall and black was a blessing, when in fact it was a curse when growing up in a white catholic school. Being shorter was out of the question but, straighteners straightened every coil, kink and curl. Perhaps somehow, I believed I could fool my peers into creating a space for me. My early teens are framed by the changing rooms of M&S and my ever-exploding breasts. Over spilling into nights spent researching how to make them smaller. Maybe if they would just disappear into my armpits or migrate onto my back it would stop me being chased around the playground to the beat of ‘big tits’. I wonder if god ever saw those groping hands?

I left school and let my curls spring back but lost every ounce of body fat. The mould had changed but the space for me remained the same. I began swimming in a world of white waters.

I got told one time to use my blackness. But what is blackness in the eyes of a white American director man? How could I suddenly activate this blackness that he spoke of? A blackness that has been stolen, lynched, beaten, burnt and shrunk and been sold back to us in the form of Kim K Tell me what was so scary about scary spice?

Tell me what makes me exotic? Did I fall from tree?

I can never be your caramel sister, just like you will never be my flat white.

Claudia Cumberbatch-Chedzoy @claudiliaaaaaaaaaa

Zethu Maseko zizweruby.com @Zetzina

@primaprimaveravera is a Mexican American artist living in East London. She is inspired by her family, culture and language.

This project is Mommyhector, and it was inspired by Prima's grandmother's story and home. Growing up, Prima could not say Abuelita, so she called her grandmother Mommyhector.

I AM NOT THE GROUND I am not the ground.

In the past, I have gotten confused and thought that I must be the ground. I saw little difference between the texture of my skin and the gravel beneath my feet. I saw little difference between the rain that flowed through the earth and the blood that ran from my limbs.

One and the same.

I thought of myself only as something to be stepped on.

I wanted to be a person. I longed to be lifted from the bottom, but my body did not hear. My skin wanted to stay as gravel and I forgot my dream.

Like concrete that is discarded and left to endure all weather, weeds soon began to grow.

No one knew what had caused it. No one knew of a cure. So, each appointment, the doctor would recommend a new weed killer. Each season, I would take my shears and try to pull them out. I could never reach the roots. The disease festered in my body and soon my mind was ensnared behind the thorns pointing from the stems.

I could not see the young girl staring back at me in the mirror. I could only see a grey figure drowning in the yellow fluid that leaked from a rotting crust. Something that could not be loved.

M: I woke up in the middle of the night and you were scratching so hard.

Like it wasn’t your own leg. There was blood all over the bed.

O: I don’t remember that. I didn’t know that it was a scar. I thought that it had always been there - like a birthmark.

AThe weeds grew to a forest. Each leaf that appeared blocked out the light and trapped more torrid heat. Sweat would run into the cracks of my flesh, causing me to cry out as it sizzled. I was in a prison with no doors. No windows. No floor.

I was trapped in a ball of poisonous plants that fed my self-hatred as I watered its roots.

Against the darkness, my back was arched in the air. I was forced to contort myself into positions away from the nettle-vined sphere that was eager to feast.

I met someone who relished in me. I managed to hide my wounds, so all that they saw was some other flawless beauty. As we spoke, our words dipped and bounced around each other.

But, unfortunately for me, the leaves did not know peace.

As I raised my hand, they slithered into sight. The words I sent lost their balance and shattered against the iron wall that rose between us.

Unforgiving for my betrayal, the thorns ripped through my melanin and turned it to an eyesore. I was no longer arched in the air. I saw no reason to run but instead opened my arms to the green knives that gleamed as they ran through me.

B:

Maybe the two have become linked?

O:

I don’t understand what you mean.

B: Maybe your skin is trying to tell you something is wrong.

Sometimes, the body c an be the way that the mind communicates with us.

I’ve never thought about it like that before.

Beasts like to see their prey run; they enjoy the bloodlust that comes with the chase. And so, the vines soon became bored of my flesh. It was in one of these distracted moments that the sun came.

Its rays glided through the darkness and turned the plants to shreds.

They began to fight over my body. Both wanted me as their possession. I was caught in the midst of warfare between the sun and its children. I was stabbed and scorched until the brambles wilted and sunshine brought my carcass back to life.

I still live with the tracks across my skin from where the weeds used to live. Occasionally, they even come back to try their luck. To see how quickly I will give up.

They don’t know that the sun’s embers are hidden in my soul. I reach for the gold and scorch a path through the swamp. As I walk away, I can sometimes hear it crying out; begging me not to leave.

Olamide Florence Adeoye is a 22-year-old writer from London, England. Her writing usually focuses on sexuality, identity and personal experiences. She has had her work previously published in Desert Rose Literary Magazine.

When she is not writing, she is researching untold black history in the UK. Twitter: @florrenceeaa Insta: @floadeo_yeah, @sharptxngue

Tessie Orange-Turner @turningorange

Hello. I wanted to start this conversation today. One that is not me defining who I am to you, in order to continue this hierarchical structure that the institution politely brings forth. I mean technically I might not fit the status-quo of successful artist to even be considered. I wanted to bring to you today the real conversation. The emotional one. The one that you truly might feel connected too- the world has sectioned us off and made our achievements seem inaccessible. This conversation is brought to you as a form of encouragement, a start-jump into meditative thought to alleviate your understanding of self, as creative in all- being.

Now, I know my writing might be hard to understand, and I apologise for that. But this moment we are sharing is undefined by language, but connected in experience. What I would love for you to do, is take is the words that mean something to you. I want to share with you all the relevant information I have gained form these artist talks in discovering myself as an artist in this world.

I have masked the irrelevant things like their names and who they are and what might have got them to where they are. As this conversation is about you. When we see ourselves as separate we start to disbelieve in ourselves. When we can see the other- we feel othered. We are all transmuting and growing and learning.

This is an exert from a short written piece by myself called: “A time 444 Change” I hope this finds you a moment of empowerment.

‘Now I ask you to immerse yourself in the beginning of our new song.

Where the internal change creates a stronger force.

One where brutality cannot reckon with.

Our internal vibration will create a Polyphony,

A universal frequency A hum of solidarity Rid of conflict and pain That has been oppressed onto us I hope this finds you a moment of empowerment. ‘Now I ask you to immerse yourself in the beginning of our new song.

Where the internal change creates a stronger force.

One where brutality cannot reckon with.

Our internal vibration will create a Polyphony,

from those who took it upon themselves to play the role of God The universe is within us, This is a time 444 change.

The End of The Beginning- A New Order.’

I wanted to thank you for having this conversation with me and with yourself. Whether you could understand my writing or the conflict in my mark making in justifying myself beyond the bullshit that the institution served us. I hope that you can understand and believe that you are worthy. Your voice is important and necessary to this planetary shift. I am a woman of colour and my journey is as equal to all of these people that have given us insight into their lives that surge beyond institution. This is the important conversation, the emotional one. The one that celebrates the Universalism in our individualism.

Love and Light, Daughter of the Sun, RA: Ratiba Ayadi @ratibaayadiart

Sophia Mena @lamujerpequena she/her

'I find creativity in every feeling I get, whether it's pain or pleasure. I'm expressing it to you without words' Arifa Kabir

@theewardrobewizard, theewardrobewizard.uk The red dotted line under my name Reminds me of how far I came Born to this soil with altered roots Confusion in my mind of what’s my truth The red dotted line under my name It would appear in the header and footer of each essay Isn’t it hard enough that I’m fighting sleep?

I also have to now fight these insecurities That that red dotted line has given me Screaming you don’t belong in this city The red dotted line under my name Whose fault is it that Microsoft word is made this way?

The chairman, counsellor, CEO or founder Or is it my inaudible conflict with the red dotted lines encounter.

What did you say to me?

It seems I can’t hear you over all this ethnicity Yeah I suppose my skin colours obvious And the last name makes employment hard for us But do you see me frown No, but do you see how well I balance my crown I come from where the mango trees are ripe And the birds hum love songs all night Been plucked from the motherland So here on this alien ground I stand Is this where I call home If so why isn’t my skin tone condoned But do you see me frown No but you see how well I balance my crown I don’t just carry the future in my womb I generate light where there is doom Turn a boy into a man, turn houses into homes As a woman I am capable of doing this alone So credit us please For we never asked to be seen

Not by our colour or gender But by the characteristics we render Don’t blame the men who did us wrong For not every man knows where jewels belong And no matter what shade of brown you are Or the texture of hair you were given by God No matter how many times you’ve been broken Or the amount of roots you’ve e had stolen No one can take what lies within No one can take that you were born to win This is why I cannot frown As I dance in my well-deserved crown I am made up of love, purity and strength I am a being who is heaven sent For you can leave this woman with nothing But she will always turn it into something To those who weren’t given much All you need is a woman’s touch

DEAR WHITE PEOPLE Dear White people Tell me what you are doing To stop your children From firing a literal or proverbial bullet From being freedoms hypocrite and also it’s gatekeeper Will you teach your white offspring to love and cherish thy black neighbour Or will do neither?

Will you teach them that they’ll always be the leaders Of the black men who you’ll only hire as your cleaner?

Will you continue to protest your rights to bear arms and freedom of speech So long as it prevents you from hearing the supposed negro siege?

Will you educate your lifeline about the terror of slavery But deny it’s existence in its 21st century?

Will you teach them to not see colour but character as a definition feature And that as white people, your life is way easier?

When they bring home black partners Will you be disappointed at their dishonour?

Because a negro in the family is simply unheard of Will you wonder where you went wrong?

Dear white people Do you understand the power of your position?

Through only your words, you can bid the black community good riddance Their experience of prejudice and discrimination A mere supposition Will you make it your mission To diminish The negro competition As if it’s some sport Or debilitating addiction?

Or will there be recognition?

That racism is still thriving as if it’s essential nutrition Tell me white people, What are you going to do To ensure my black children are given chances too?

@Lemerahta

@lilithai

Thank you Nadia, Zethu and Natalia Womxn in Releftion

WOMXN in Reflection was curated by Nadia Asri, Natalia Kallio and Zethu Maseko.

This zine is brought to you by the International Falcon Movement-Socialist Educational International with the support of the European Union