Because we have the right to create and distribute work that critically considers the world around us and our place in it as young women and as women of color. Because we have the right to let others know what we think, connect with those who feel the same way, and educate those who disagree. Because we have the right to acknowledge that we have been oppressed as women and as women of color and to encourage other women to identify and fight against oppression in their lives. Because we have the right to help cultivate a strong female community at K College, in Kalamazoo, in this country, and in the world. Because we fucking hate patriarchal, hierarchical, bourgeoisie, white supremacist society that tells us we're weak. Because we have the right to not speak, and listen, and shout at the top of our lungs, and be acknowledged and respected. Because we have the right to wear our hair naturally, cut short, legs hairy, short dresses, or low cut shirts without being ogled. Because we have the right to flaunt our sexuality and visions without consequences, threats, or fear. Because we love our fat, bony, curved, muscular, soft, pale, dark, golden, beautiful selves. Because we remember that what we do to the earth and each other, we do to ourselves. Because our anger and sadness and empathy and love is valid, and we won't apologize for it, or let it be burned out or turned against us. Because we believe the change will not be televised, tweeted, posted, tagged, blogged about, painted, sung, scrawled, or published. Because we believe the change starts from within. Because we believe in the inherent dignity of each and every person. Because we believe in a better world with our whole spirits, minds, and bodies, and imagining and working toward one is what we do.
The following is from “The Crunk Feminist Collective” which we should all look at and read, perhaps as buzzbuzzbuzz tumblr doesn’t quite hit the social justice spot sometimes: http://crunkfeministcollective.wordpress.com/ (For the campus dominated by whiteness) For Whites Who Consider Being Allies but find it Much Too Tuff
The following post is a crunk public service announcement for our own most racial times. For the record, being a white ally means…
Not expecting your friends/colleagues of color to do the heavy lifting around your own privilege.
Not recentering the conversation back to yourself when difficult subjects come up.
Not asking people of color to be less angry so you can really listen. Child, please.
Not petulantly zeroing in on petty aspects of a person of color’s argument or analysis because it makes you feel uncomfortable or illuminates holes in your thinking. It’s really transparent.
Not bringing up the fact that your best friend/boo/adopted stepchild is black/brown/polka-dotted. Such “facts” are not get-out-of-jail free cards for saying stupid shit or generally being racist. You can have intimate relationships with people of color and still have fucked up race politics.
Not expecting/demanding cookies and milk because you are pursuing anti-racist activism. While we may be happy to work with you, you are doing what you’re supposed to do. Period. Point blank.
During conversations about race, the phrases “race card” and “oversensitive” don’t even enter into your mind, much less escape your lips. It’s never the right answer.
And, never forget, being a white ally means being less concerned with potentially being called racist and more concerned with actually perpetuating racism.
I’ll end this with the wise words of the late, great poet, Pat Parker. “For the white person who wants to know how to be my friend” the first thing you do is to forget that i’m Black. Second, you must never forget that i’m Black. You should be able to dig Aretha, but don’t play her every time i come over. An if you decide to play Beethoven-don’t tell me his life story. They make us take music appreciation, too. Eat soul food if you like it, but don’t expect me to locate your restaurants or cook it for you. And if some Black person insults you, mugs you, rapes your sister, rapes you, rips your house or is just being an assplease do not apologize to me for wanting to do them bodily harm. It makes me wonder if you’re foolish. And even if you really believe Blacks are better lovers than whites-don’t tell me. I start thinking of charging stud fees. In other words-if you really want to be my friend-don’t make a labor of it. I’m lazy. Remember.
This was a crunk public service announcement. Carry on.
MoveOn.org
“Why are you angry?” you say, “You guys are not differing on opinions, just that he’s addressing from The men’s perspective, and you from the women’s. Don’t get emotionally involved,” “This conversation is really unnecessary. Now most people talk too much, so you should be the ‘quiet’ One, other people will come around. Work on your own stuff, STOP – Whatever this is” “Don’t continue arguing for arguing’s sake. You know how it ends, people get Tired, someone eventually leaves the conversation, and quite honestly it looks BAD – Spare yourself some peace,” But my really Popular – young filmmaker— Everybody read your post—think you are cool— The future of our nation –love you – adore you— Stand by your side- 800,000 grant in your pocket and so is the world – Friend “friend” That’s the problem. “right?” Not—saying Raising our hands but not – saying Speak, but not – saying Make noise, still not – saying Would you – listen to what he said: “More importantly, Women should learn to avoid this situation And get hold of evidence When they are assaulted.”
What About Tomorrow?
This morning I am a Clean slate
I was covered In brightly colored Failures A million words Spelling sin
But this morning Everything is gone Failures Sins Words unsaid
Today I am a clean slate
Sophia Ernstrom
Fat seems to bring out the worst in people. If you've ever read the comments on an article about obesity, or, more often than not, health care in general, or even been near Reddit, you know people do not feel shy about broadcasting their views on every aspect fat people's lives. “Do they really think they look good in that?” (Yes!) “Why don't they just eat less and move more?” (The first I've heard of this!) “Why do we do they think it's okay to take up so much space?” (Sometimes I need to fly on planes, sorry!) And it goes on and on... What comments usually boil down to is “Why do fat people have to exist?” It's especially bad for fat women. Fat women often get the brunt of our society's sexism. Fat intersects with every other aspect of feminism just as much as any other oppression, and yet it is rarely discussed as a feminist issue. Fat is a scary topic. Feminists don't like talking about fat because fat is often portrayed as a health issue, not as a feminist one. Let's not kid ourselves, if fat were a health issue 30% of women wouldn't rather be thin than healthy. Nevertheless, because the dialogue on fat is so often put in the pathological terms of health, with no indication of the lived experiences of actual fat people, it is often not seen as intersecting with any other schools of thought besides medicine, least of all feminism. Feminists pretty much accept that body image is an important component in women's lives, and that many women's dissatisfaction with their bodies is largely due to the patriarchy's objectification of women. Fat women have to deal with different kinds of objectification than non-fat women do. Reports on the “obesity epidemic” often show clips of headless fat people, and speak in terms of statistics rather than stories. If a fat woman sees a representation of herself in media it is almost always either in terms of a statistic or a punchline. Fat women have even less positive role models than non-fat women. Yet, feminists are often mum on the issue of body image for fat women. As Nomy Lamm said in It’s a Big Fat Revolution, the current feminist dialogue about body image goes something like “Women look in the mirror and think, 'I'm fat,” but really they're not.” This kind of rhetoric leaves no room for women who are actually fat. It leaves the lingering idea that being fat is bad. It means that instead of fighting for women to love their bodies because bodies are amazing we're just trying to convince women to love their bodies because they're fuckable. It means that instead of getting rid of the impossible ideal women are held up to we are just trying to make the ideal a little more encompassing, but still highly exclusionary.
Paradoxically, although thin is feminine, fat itself is also largely a female thing. We have it in greater quantities than men, and our culture's preferred female body part, the breast, is made up of it. As with all feminine traits, unless it's in just the right distribution it is easily seen as a bad thing. This is done with all female-identified body parts. If your breasts are too droopy get them lifted, if your vulva is too long, get it tucked. The female parts are supposed to be there, but only in very specific amounts. When it comes down to it, the denigration of fat women in our society is directly linked to the policing of women's bodies. A fat women who accepts her body and refuses to diet is just as threatening as any other women refusing to go about the routine plucking, shaving, curling, and coloring expected of all women . The fat, female body is seen as an indication of femininity gone awry. This is perhaps why there has been a large push lately for government reform focused on fat people. Encouragement of “Biggest Loser” style competitions, “fattaxes”, and taking away health care coverage are a few of the reforms that have been proposed both in our Congress and in various workplaces throughout the country. Private sectors have been increasing the shame factor as well. Many airlines now have a policy that if a person can not lower the armrest between them and the next seat, that person must buy two seats. This policy is especially unfair to fat women who are far more likely to carry their weight in their hips than men. These pushes toward increased policing of fat, specifically fat women's, bodies are a threat to female autonomy. Despite active efforts in the feminist community to be more encompassing of intersectionality fat women are often skipped over. Even though fat intersects with so many aspects of feminism, such as gender ranking, objectification, and especially patriarchal control over women, it is still often framed as only a medical issue. Feminism is ignoring an aspect of life that deeply affects a huge portion of women's lives.
Before Tabaski, Emerson Invert
The sheep in the streets chomping staring clumping together with their kin bleating when baby is lifted up separated from mother baby running back to mother baby bucking sucking teat milk a hungering thirst mother mother i am back i am okay they don't know what comes.
The beetles don't know but they know fear shrinking from the light of my cell phone their matte black bodies quivering contain brains no larger than the salt of a tear but they know fear. Why don't the sheep know fear? Why do sheep trust the hands that feed them, trust that they'll live to see baby grow into
mother, i am not okay. Mother, i think of you every day. Et ta mère? asks my little host brother Elle est blanc is what i say but what i mean is not est but Êtait not is but was mother okay? mother i am not okay.
Will i be a mother someday? Will this fruitless love be redirected someday? In Richard Toll teacup kitten curls against my stomach suckling fruitless desperation and my heart bursts for her because i know, i know.
In the village i held a baby goat born earlier that day shriveled umbilical cord still affixed to tender hours-old gut and baby goat bleats high pitch bursting vibrato baby bleats i am hours old where is my
mother i am not okay. Why does this cord still stuck to my gut suddenly lead to nowhere and will it always be this way?
"There go some eyes you once knew/riding the legs of another animal." Mother, i wonder if in the blue eyes of kitten snug between my breasts missing its own mother if mother, in the blue eyes of sheep or geese i wonder if i will ever see you, oh, see you again.
Grandma
Grandma’s hands are chapped. Her skin cracks open like a dry field, Tender pink shrieks from her deep cut, But grandma stops it, Grandma hides it, Grandma smiles her shy smileHer eyes hidden under creased wrinkles, Her nose red and round like a small doorknob Her front tooth sticks slightly outward and bites her lip. Grandma smiles her shy smile and tells me, “I’m allergic to hand creams.”
Grandma’s hands are chapped, Her lips are chapped, Her feet are chapped, Everything about her cries out in pain. Grandma’s nails are hard and black Every day of laboring in the field adds a layer, Every day of scorching sun paints a darker hue, Every day spent washing, chopping, cooking, sweeping, dusting, fixing, washing more, chopping more, cooking more, sweeping more, dusting more and fixing more, Her nails harden and darken until they are Impenetrable to trimming.
Grandma’s hands are chapped. In her chapped hands held firmly a ten-yuan note And walked onto a bus after me. The card reader pronounced my identity in a monotone, But grandma had no card to swipe, I had no change to give. She stood there in front of the driver, The ten-yuan note in her grip, Smiling her shy smile. To this day I still picture, My hand reaching out to grab hers, Leading her to my side, Holding her hand firmly in mine, Pronouncing one word after another “This is my grandma and her hands are chapped. She harvested the rice you cook, and planted the greens you eat. She raised the chicken on your table, And picked the eggs in your fridge. She has ten yuan, No more, no less, no change. Will you give her a free ride just this time?�
But I only stood there, And watched Grandma smile her shy smile.
Anonymous asks: “Am I correct in my assumption that you’re an East Asian woman?” The pizza boxes in my kitchen say no. They laugh and spit garlic and cheese. Good ‘ol American food, they puff their crusts up in pride and forget how they be Italian. The soy sauce spilled on my stove says, “Hell yeah.” Says, “if you’re not Asian, how come “comfort food” means rice and fried tofu?” I try ‘n say, “but what about all those people eating Panda Express everyday?” but the soy sauce don’t listen. The survey I do to get a free dollar of print credits asks: ⬰ African American ⬰ Asian/Pacific Islander ⬰ Caucasian ⬰ Hispanic ⬰ Native American ⬰ Other My neighborhood says no way. Says, “Naw, you got a Minnesotan accent, and race don’t really matter anymore, right? And anyway, only white people live on this street, who’re you kidding.” The woman I meet in the gym says, “I love the Chinese! I teach English in the Chinese church. You should come sometime and meet your people.” My grandpa says, “why aren’t you a doctor like your dad, think about our family’s reputation, you disrespectful child.” He says all of this in Chinese. That language I’m always ashamed I can’t speak.
We’re calling for submissions for the January Issues of RPD! Have something you want folks to hear? Send it our way: rpd.grrrls.riot@gmail.com Thanks and have a lovely winter break!