Not hiding, just busy

Lots of stuff to do lately that don't involve blogging.

I got called to fill in at one of the local used bookstores I used to work at more often. Had to go in first last Wednesday to get trained in on the cash register as well as how to close up, including counting the till, etc. The owner is referring to me as "Super Nanny" -- she only calls me when one of her regular workers needs time off. I used to accept $6 an hour, but now I'm taking my pay in books: which equals $11 an hour. With every book half price, that adds up wonderfully.

On Thursday night, my youngest daughter went to her college gradution ceremony. It was huge with hundreds of students. I spent much of the night outside trying to catch up on my reading, but miraculously I went back in just in time to see her pick up her diploma. She looked great and she certainly deserves her reward after all her work.

On Friday night, I attended a going away party for one of my Iraqi friends who is heading back home for a few months. It was a lot of fun and some great Middle Eastern food.

On Saturday, I met with my book group: 5 wonderful friends who've been meeting together for nearly 15 years. From 5 to 10 p.m. I worked my shift at the bookstore and managed to sell a number of good books.

On Sunday, I went in to work to continue creating maps and graphics for a book I'm creating that my Mom wrote. It's been keeping me busy since August. I'm nearly done, so every little bit is a step closer to the end.

Then in the afternoon we heard from my brother in law. He was in the hospital! Turns out he went with a bunch of friends to walk the beautiful paths along the Mississippi River and he went over a cliff. He had to be rescued by firemen repelling down the cliff face and then being lowered onto a rescue boat. He scraped everything and was unconscious for a short time. He broke no bones, thank the goddess. We spent the rest of Sunday getting him out of the hospital and recovering his car, his keys, his cell phone and making sure he wasn't showing signs of a concussion. He's doing amazingly well while aching over every bit of his body.

Meanwhile, I'm busy this week. On Wednesday, I'm driving an out-of-town writer around. I'm halfway through his book and I must say I'm hugely disappointed. The question is will I be honest with him when I meet him, or just be a mute little service worker meeting his needs in an unknonwn city. We'll see.

Amidst all this, I've also picked up Jessica Valenti's "Full Frontal Feminism". I'm about halfway through and will comment when I'm done. I am following the blog debates about the book and I'm fascinated that people who I respect have strikingly different responses.

So much for the catching up. Hopefully I'll be back to useful blogging sometime soon.

Antiwar for Mothers Day

Here's a sign I made for today's antiwar march in Minneapolis. We wanted to focus on both Iran and Iraq and this seemed to convey the issue rather nicely. Feel free to copy and use yourself!

Michael Albert

Here's a flyer I made for Michael Albert's talk in Minneapolis.

Mayday Parade 2007

One of the great cultural traditions in Minneapolis is the Mayday Parade sponsored by In the Heart of the Beast Puppet Theater every year since 1975. The event has two parts: a parade down Bloomington Ave. to Powderhorn Park where there is a celebration to say goodbye to winter and welcome spring. The parade also has two parts: the first part has a theme and the second part is the "free speech zone" where politicians and activists march. This year it was wonderful weather and great fun.

This year's theme was "Somos Aqua" (We are Water)



MayDay Poster Design by Sandy Spieler



From the ITHOTB website: Before memory, there was water. The water that covered the earth in primordial times is the very same water that feeds the planet and its inhabitants today. We begin the Parade with an homage to the wisdom of Water as the original source of creation.



Two ancient snapping turtles, witnesses of time, lead the way.* These ancestors carry the histories of humankind on their strong shells, and support the Earth entirely, according to many cultures' creation stories.



Powerful serpents represent the entwining ebb and flow of tidal currents. Within them thrive fish, snails and denizens of the deep. The spirit of water is embodied in jellyfish, living beings that are but a few cells thick, which pulse with the heartbeat of the sea.



Our Father of Waters, with his singing flotilla, is inspired by the rhythmic, musical quality of water. The boats play with the idea that we are all carried by or supported by water,while the image of Old Man River runs through many traditional songs.

Our Mother of Waters is inspired by various water goddess traditions, including Chalchiuhtlicue, the Aztec
goddess of running water and springs, and protectoress of all new-borns.











LIKE A GIANT UMBILICAL CORD, our public waterworks connects us to Water -- and to each other --through a vast network of pipes. In Minneapolis, our water pipes connect us directly to the Mississippi River.... Our clowns celebrate the many ways we use water everyday. But, like us, they also use water na•vely and mindlessly. Their silly antics affect even the parade's huge, imposing pipes.





ARE YOU THIRSTY? TIENES SED? THE FIRST HALF OF THIS PARADE SECTION depicts an ad campaign for a fictional water bottle company called H2NO -- complete with cheerleaders, marching band, and a plastic water bottle goddess -- to promote the "need" for water sold in plastic bottles.

Greensburg, Kansas

An amazing series of photos by Jaime Oppenheimer of the The Wichita Eagle showing the devastation of the entire town of Greensburg by a tornado last Friday.

Lovely short story

Four Short Crushes from the New Yorker Shouts and Murmurs column. Enjoy!

May 1 March in Minneapolis















Coverage in the Minneapolis StarTribune was pretty good for the Immigrants Rights March yesterday in Minneapolis.

Immigrants on the move for change


Photo by Jeff Wheeler , Star Tribune

Hoisting banners and flags, immigrants and their advocates march down Lake Street Tuesday afternoon.
Demonstrators marched for immigrant rights, but the kind of wide-scale work stoppages seen a year ago weren't in evidence.

By Jean Hopfensperger, Star Tribune
Last update: May 02, 2007 – 12:09 AM

Stretching for three city blocks, immigrants and their advocates took to the streets in south Minneapolis on Tuesday as part of a nationwide day of demonstrations to support immigration reform and worker rights.

Hoisting banners and flags, participants marched down Lake Street at 4 p.m., eliciting friendly honks along the way.

Many Latino businesses closed their doors at that hour so their workers could attend events in Minneapolis. And several hundred high school and college students left their classes to attend an afternoon rally at the State Capitol in St. Paul or other events.

But local businesses weren't reporting wide-scale worker stoppages or boycotts, as some did last year. In part because of a public backlash to those actions, the focus Tuesday was on worker rights and immigration reform.

"Last year it was different because it was the first year," said Victoria Gonzales, a co-owner of Manny's Tortas in Minneapolis, which closed its three shops a year ago. "But in reality, we don't want to boycott this country. It's our country, too. We just want to show our support for immigration reform that would help [illegal] immigrants fix their status."

Buoyed by bright blue skies and warm weather, demonstrators marched from Lake Street and Nicollet Avenue S. to Powderhorn Park. The group, about half Latino, included a large group of high school and college students, as well as many families and workers.

"I'm here because I want Congress to change immigration laws," said Francisco Romero, a construction worker who took the day off from work, with permission from his boss. "And we want them [immigration agents] to stop the raids."

Romero and others acknowledged that many people were staying away from the demonstration this year because of stepped-up enforcement by immigration agents, including recent raids in Minnesota.

Those raids were criticized at a rally after the march, as was the fact that Congress has not passed changes that would create a pathway to legal residency for illegal workers.

Cell phones put to use

Elsewhere in Minneapolis, about 100 people, most carrying wooden crosses representing people deported during immigration raids, gathered on the steps of the Basilica of St. Mary Tuesday afternoon. From there they embarked on a several-block procession to Westminster Presbyterian Church.

Outside Westminster, many participants took out cell phones and called the offices of Minnesota congressional members, asking them to approve immigration reforms.

While the demonstrations were similar in nature to last year's, the day's impact on business was considerably less. For example, Sean McHugh, a spokesman for Swift & Co., reported "no effect" on the workforce this year.

"In contrast to last year, when we didn't operate the Worthington plant on May 1, this year all plants are up and running," said McHugh.

Still, the May Day rally was on everyone's mind in the Latino business district on E. Lake. Street. Store owner Santos Jimenez said he'd sold 300 U.S. and Mexican flags this week, in part to use at the rally.

At the bustling Mercado Central, workers and customers were planning to leave at 4 p.m. so they could attend the demonstration. The complex of 40 businesses shut down, too.

"We decided to treat it as a holiday," said Mercado Central manager Becky George. "The idea for today is to foster immigrant business. But if we close, customers go someplace else."

At the International Bazaar down the street, home to a cluster of businesses, a pink note was posted on the door saying, "We will be closed May 1 To Support a Just Legalization for Everyone."

The St. Paul School District reported that about 70 high school students skipped classes Tuesday in connection with the rallies. In Minneapolis, about 90 students left Southwest High School at noon, said officials in that district. They said they didn't have numbers for other schools in the district.

Staff writer Tom Ford contributed to this report.

Jean Hopfensperger • 612-673-4511 • hopfen@startribune.com

-------------------------------

WCCO TV, a CBS affiliate, had this to say:

Immigrant Marchers Trying To Get Back Momentum

(AP) Minneapolis Marchers took to Lake Street on Tuesday for the second national immigrant workers boycott, hoping to pump new life into proposals that would give many illegal immigrants the chance to become citizens.

It's been a year since perhaps 1 million Hispanic immigrants joined rallies across the country on a day intended to show their value to the nation's economy. But little progress on congressional reform, mixed with hundreds of arrests in Minnesota this year, have dampened some immigrants' enthusiasm for speaking up.

"It's been stuck. They can't seem to agree on something," union representative Jose Garcia said of plans that would allow some illegal immigrants to gain citizenship. "Maybe there could be a guest worker program first, and then citizenship later. It doesn't all have to happen at once."

Waving flags and homemade signs, a throng of mostly Hispanic immigrants clogged the street on the near south side of Minneapolis as they made their way toward Powderhorn Park. Organizers estimated that more than 1,000 people took part in the march, about half as many for a similar march and rally as last year. Police didn't provide a crowd estimate.

"We want some things changed so people will have the opportunity to be happy and live in peace," said Nora Barrera, who works as an immigrant liaison for the Minneapolis public school system.

Barrera and her husband, Juan, who are legal residents, said they were frustrated with the slow pace of reform and said many people were living unnecessarily stressful lives because of concerns about being arrested.

"It's like cat-and-mice, the way some people have to live," Nora Barrera said. "People are living with fear and stress."

Billed more as a protest than a worker boycott, the day took on a lower profile in Minnesota as organizers planned two events for late in the afternoon -- after the work day was over for many immigrant workers and business owners.

Besides the march along Lake Street, religious leaders re-created the Stations of the Cross in a walk from the Basilica of St. Mary to Loring Park. Also, about 70 people marched in the southern Minnesota city of Austin, where many immigrants work in meatpacking.

Meanwhile, few of the several hundred Hispanic-owned shops along Lake Street -- many of which closed their doors for last year's boycott -- appeared to have shuttered for the day. College students hoped to use the day for a renewed push for Dream Act legislation -- which would provide some illegal immigrants with in-state tuition -- though few organized student walkouts were reported.

As Latin music blared, Alberto Cortez marched down Lake Street ahead of signs that read "Legalization For All Now" and "Pilgrims Didn't Need Green Cards."

Cortez received permission from his boss to take the day off from his construction job in suburban Burnsville. He said he turned out for the march because he was angry about the arrests this year of hundreds of illegal immigrants in Willmar and Worthington, many of whom were deported.

"We want them to stop the raids. Too many children have been separated from their families," said Cortez, who has been living in the U.S. illegally for 16 years, including seven in Minnesota.

Coalition for Palestinian Rights

Yesterday I went to the first part of a Coalition for Palestinian Rights (CPR) conference at the U. I had the privilege of hearing Farrid Esack give the opening speech. Esack is a veteran of the anti-aparatheid struggle in South Africa and spoke about the similarities and differences between the South Africa under apartheid and Israel's occupation of the West Bank and Gaza. I'll write more later when I have my notes handy. You can hear a similar speech at Electronic Intifada here.


Later on in the day I went to a Madyday, the worker's day! celebration at Mayday Books where I heard wonderful rants from representatives of various groups in the Twin Cities. Much fine wine was absorbed and a good time was had by all.

This time in Spanish!



And in English, but bigger art:

Take Back the Blog



Crablaw is hosting a "Take Back the Blog" blogstorm on April 28, 2007.

The goal is both to provide a convenient compilation of (undoubtedly excellent) content for readers' benefit and to make a show of strength and of organization within the blogosphere from bloggers with different perspectives towards common concerns.

If the term "blogswarm" does not appeal to you, that's ok! You can call it a "virtual march" or, if you contribute, anything you like!

NEW: HOW TO SUBMIT POSTS to the Take Back the Blog! Blogswarm. I have set up a new email address at:

TBTB2007@crablaw.com

solely to receive links for TBTB. If you don't have a blog, but want to contribute, email me and we will work something out. The "cut-off" time will be 7 PM on Saturday, April 28. Submitting early is GREAT - whenever you find it convenient,

Join in!

Privilege

There's been some great posts about racism among white feminists lately. Click just about any of the blogs on my favorites list and you'll encounter one or more of them.

Privilege is like a powerful drug that some of us get to indulge in while the rest of the world looks at us in disbelief. I'm sure there are people who have written wonderfully about this and I should probably have a handy list of links to help us recognize the behaviors we engage in when we either deny or fail to recognize our own privilege. That's for another post.

This is personal, so no links, footnotes or asterisks will be harmed in the creation of this post.

I have a mixed up background. I grew up in the city and in the country. I grew up with a wealthy parent and a poor parent. I had a loving parent and a sociopathic parent. Privilege and the lack thereof surrounded me, but in mixed up ways.

For instance, I spent large parts of my life on my grandparent's dairy farm in Michigan. This was a huge house -- nine bedrooms -- surrounded by 160 acres of fertile land. We had plenty of food and clothing.

However, only one room was heated with an oil-powered stove. This is Michigan. It's a northern state. It gets fricking cold there. The strange thing is, nobody had central heat back then. I'd never been in a house that had central heat. We lived in apartments whenever my parents got work in other cities. So until I was 8 or 9, I believed central heat was possible only in apartment buildings and nowhere else.

The farm had a shallow well, we had little running water during the summer and none (the pipes froze) in the winter. That meant chamberpots. It meant an outhouse or the shovel and walk in the orchard. It meant collecting rainwater and melting snow for morning coffee.

There was a lot of work on the farm. More work, dirtier and harder work, than I've ever had to engage in as an adult. There was also a whole lot of love there from my Mom and my Grandmother, the neighbors and my other relatives.

I also spent large parts of my childhood visiting my father. He was a college administrator with beautiful showcase houses, trophy wives (at least five of them that we know of), a private airplane, etc. He was a scam artist and a charmer. He was that jerk at work who never does anything or, worse, seals your ideas and takes full credit for them.

He was also a sociopath who hated women. He hated me with a passion. As far as I can tell, my birth is the trigger that sent him over the edge. He saw the creation of a female child as a horrible and personal betrayal. For me, every visit to this life of privilege also included a vicious expression of this hatred.

My two older brothers, on the other hand, were spared this side of the man. Dad's crap was always hidden from them as well as from the authorities. I kept the secrets, too. I never told my brothers what happened until I was 20 years old. Guess what? They didn't believe it. Later they did -- when Dad escaped from prison and moved in with them, then stole and sold their belongings for the money he heeded.

At the same time, my mother was a college professor with intelligence and respect. But she was making less than the janitors at her college. That was the way things were for a woman in the 1960s and 70s. Our community was full of upper middle class academics, while my Mom was barely making ends meet, bringing up three children alone with no support coming from Dad. He simply refused to pay it.

So my eyes were open early to the unfairness of privilege and its misapplication. Somehow, I got it. I saw through a lot of the lies and bullshit. I saw that privilege was handed out in unfair ways. I saw that you couldn't trust the "good guys" to be good and you couldn't believe the downtrodden were there as a result of laziness or lack of effort.

I also learned very early to never trust the authorities. In every case that the cops were called or a social worker made an attempt to intervene, my father was believed and my mother and the other wives were considered hysterical whiners.

I wouldn't wish my childhood on anyone else, but I am grateful for what it taught me. Even though I hated my father and I'm glad he's dead and I am safe from his cruelty, I also love him and admire some of the marvelous grifts he managed to pull off.

My life now is wonderful and full of friends and good people who care and do good in the world. And maybe that's because I learned early when to recognize unfair privilege. Maybe having a mixed up childhood has benefits that other folks miss out on.

One of my brothers is still pretty messed up because of his relationship with Dad. I am glad that he was there at Dad's funeral, because he saw the corpse and confirmed the death. The chances were 50/50 it was just another elaborate scam of his to get out of something he didn't want to do. I'm pretty sure my brother still doesn't really believe what happened to me and thinks the man was just grossly misunderstood.

The last time I talked to Dad, before I cut off all relations with him and moved away to avoid contact, was when he was on trial for assaulting his fourth wife. I was 21 or so. He called and begged me to testify for him at his trial. I told him there wasn't anything I could say. He said, "Don't worry: I've got your testimony all typed up for you. I can send it to you and you can memorize it on the plane." Seriously, this is the kind of shit he'd pull and he usually got away with it.

He begged me to come. He told me he'd kill himself if I didn't come and it would be my fault. He could play me and I actually worried about that. I called the psychiatric hospital where he'd been committed and spoke to his doctor. The doctor could reveal nothing, of course, but he tipped me off in not so subtle ways that, first, my father was too damn selfish to kill himself, and that second, I needed to be worried about myself and not my father. He was one of many strangers who have helped me when I needed it.

In my life, then, privilege wasn't something inherent: it was pretty arbitrary and based on a whole lot of myths. It's not difficult to see when I benefit from unfair privileges. I recognize it and I'm loathe to benefit from it because it is so reminiscent of my Dad's scams. He benefitted unfairly because too many people were unwilling to believe a privileged, white, intelligent man could do the things he did. It was just way too easy for him and it's way to easy for us white women, too.

I want to continue to feel uncomfortable when I notice my privilege. I want to continue to remember what I knew so early in life from the contrast between my mother's life and my father's life. I learned a lot way too early and, at the very least, I want to honor that brave little girl I was by keeping the lessons she learned close to heart and in my mind as I make my way through life.

Mayday

Another flyer, this time for the local infoshop:

Mother's Day antiwar protest

I'm not feeling very creative today. Too lazy! First draft of a flyer for the Mother's Day protest:

Nikki Giovanni on the killings at Virginia Tech

We are Virginia Tech.

We are sad today and we will be sad for quite awhile. WE are not moving on, we are embracing our mourning.

We are Virginia Tech.

We are strong enough to know when to cry and sad enough to know we must laugh again.

We are Virginia Tech.

We do not understand this tragedy. We know we did not deserve it but neither does a child in Africa dying of AIDS, but neither do the invisible children walking the night to avoid being captured by a rogue army. Neither does the baby elephant watching his community be devastated for ivory; neither does the Appalachian infant in the killed in the middle of the night in his crib in the home his father built with his own hands being run over by a boulder because the land was destabilized. No one deserves a tragedy.

We are Virginia Tech.

The Hokier Nation embraces our own with open heart and hands to those who offer their hearts and minds. We are strong and brave and innocent and unafraid. We are better than we think, not quite what we want to be. We are alive to the imagination and the possibility we will continue to invent the future through our blood and tears, through all this sadness.

We are the Hokies.

We will prevail, we will prevail.

We are Virginia Tech.

Easy Anti-Racist Activism

Do you ever wonder what a white person can do to put an end to everyday racism? I've got what you need right here:

Wander over to the That Good Ol’ Everyday Racism post at Spotted Elephant's blog and feast your eyes on the tacky little product that manages to combine racism with sexism. You can write a letter or send an e-mail to the company to let them know what you think about their idea. If you check in the comments, you can see what others have written and appropriate some of their language in your own letter.

Go on, it'll be fun!

Visual DNA

Found via anti-princess

Read my VisualDNA™     Get your own VisualDNA™

Rutgers smashes Imus

Heather Zurich's remarks Following is a transcript of remarks made this morning by Heather Zurich, a member of the Rutgers women’s basketball team, at a news conference in Piscataway, N.J., as recorded by The New York Times:

I’m Heather Zurich, a sophomore and proud member of the Rutgers women’s basketball team. This week and last, we should have been celebrating our accomplishments this past season.

Many of the media here may not realize my team started out the season with a record of 2-4. We were at the lowest of lows. Coach Stringer called us her worst defensive team ever. But we — the 10 of us here — prevailed. We fought, we persevered and most of all we believed in ourselves. We won 22 of 25 games to finish the season before falling to Tennessee in the national championship game. We won the Big East championship along the way, the first ever, and advanced to the N.C.A.A. tournament. We shocked a lot of people and arrived in Cleveland at the Final Four.

But this team did not settle for just showing up. We reached what many would only dream of, the N.C.A.A. title game. But all of our accomplishments were lost, our moment was taken away, our moment to celebrate our success, our moment to realize how far we had come both on and off the court as young women. We were stripped of this moment by the degrading comments made by Mr. Imus last Wednesday.

What hurts the most about this situation is that Mr. Imus knows not one of us personally. He doesn’t know that Matee is the funniest person you will ever meet, Kia is the big sister you never had but always wanted, and Pipf would make an unbelievable lawyer one day. These are my teammates, my family. And we were insulted, and yes we were angry. Worst of all, my team and I did nothing to deserve neither Mr. Imus’ nor Mr. McGuirk’s deplorable comments. Our families are upset and with good reason. Instead of enjoying our first day off in a month to celebrate Easter with our families, this was the topic of conversation.

The 10 of us up here attend the eighth-oldest institution of higher education in the country, and not to mention one of the most difficult academically. We are 10, simply put, student athletes. But this morning, instead of attending study hall and class, I stand here to address you about something that never should have happened.

I’m extremely proud of my teammates. I’m proud when we walk through an airport on the way to or from a road trip, dressed alike in Rutgers gear with pressed pants and nice shoes. I believe we present ourselves well, both on and off the court, even though Mr. Imus seemed to think differently.

But then again, he knows not one of us.

Team captain Essence Carson "At first we thought to let it slide, but when we read the transcript, we decided it was unacceptable." Carson added, "He's a broadcaster that gets his show across to so many people. Can you imagine how many people thought, 'Maybe there is some truth to this'?"

Coach C Vivian Stringer "In my mind, this is a time for change because it’s not about just these young women. I ask you, no matter who you are, who could have heard these comments and not been personally offended? It’s not about the Rutgers women’s basketball team, it’s about women. Are women hos? Think about that. Would you want your daughter called a ho? It’s not about us as black people or as nappy-headed. It’s about us as people—black, white, purple or green. And as much as I speak about that, it’s not even black and white—the color is green. How could anyone not have been personally hurt when there is no equality for all or when equality is denied? These young ladies have done nothing wrong. Some of you might point to the fact that he (Don Imus) makes comments about other political figures or other professionals. But these ladies are not professionals or political figures. They are 18, 19, 20 year-old women who came here to get an education and reach their gifts for all to see. These are young women little girls look up to and we as adults, at what point do not call upon people to stop? There is a bigger issue here, more than the basketball team. It’s all women athletes, it’s all women. Have we lost a sense of our own moral fiber? Has society decayed to such a point where we forgive and forget because it was just a slip of the tongue? I’m going to suggest that people give thought before they speak."

Imus Protest! Unruly-Haired Hater at WIMN’s Voices: A Group Blog on Women, Media, AND…

Your Standard Sucks (The White Lens IV) at The Unapologetic Mexican

Imus Updates and Commentary at The Primary Contradiction

Asshat Imus at Zuky

Memo to White Folks and the Mass Media
at Zuky

Transcript of the press conference

An awesome roundup of links on the issue:
Resources for Oustin Imus – A Round-up at The Antiessentialist Conundrum

Hah!



Found at techeblog

IF A GREAT MUSICIAN PLAYS GREAT MUSIC BUT NO ONE HEARS . . . WAS HE REALLY ANY GOOD?

Gene Weingarten at the Washington Post magazine pulled a stunt and nobody got the message.

On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?

Well, you guessed it, almost nobody stopped to listen. Which is a useful way to make the argument that most Americans have poor taste. But how about thinking about a society that has people in such a hurry that they can't even consider the beautiful things in live? Isn't this a story about pressure, not poor taste?

Apparently not. The story and video clips are available at the link above.

A follow-up article talks about the responses from readers.

Stuff

Recently I've been commenting on blogs about some of the main disagreements within the feminist community.

And I have to admit something. To a large extent, my experiences are far removed from the lives of the feminists I read.

For many women, the pressure to confirm to a female ideal is extreme. Decisions about what to wear and how to present oneself are difficult, frustrating and infuriating for many women.

For me, this isn't an issue. Part of that is privilege: I can get away without wearing makeup or fashionable clothing because our society can accept plainness in older white women.

Part of this is trade privilege: if you have a valuable skill that affects the bottom line, you're odd habits are acceptable. Think of all those cartoons showing scruffy tech support people who are treated like Goddesses.

For a lot of women, pornography is a big issue. For me, not so much. I have a wide variety of friends and acquaintances, almost none of whom are interested or participate in pornography. I find it difficult to identify with women who think all men enjoy pornography and all women suffer from its effects.

The vast majority of people I know have no interest in or are repelled by most pornography. It's difficult to explain this, but I'll try.

For me, pornography is performance. It is individuals using tools: their bodies and their technologies to perform an idea of sexuality. We both enter into the transaction realizing its unreality, but appreciating its ability to represent something compelling.

It's the difference between watching a shoot-out in a TV drama and watching news coverage of a battle in Iraq.One is fake, one is real.

For me and my friends, real trumps fake every time. Some anti-porn feminists don't seem to understand this. They tell me that fake (pornography) leads directly to reality (abuse).

I disagree.

But.... this discussion has brought up an important memory for me.

I've spoken before about living with my father, a sociopath who hated women. One of the effects of that upbringing has been insomnia. From a very young age (8 or 9), I discovered that a surefire treatment for insomina was to imagine myself being tortured.

Pretty weird, right? But, you do what you need to do.

Over the years I developed an elaborate fantasy that involved being strapped down on an assembly line and being transported through several levels of abuse. This was genuinely comforting for me. After a half hour of fantasized pain, I could put aside my worries and fall into a deep sleep.

I could look at that and be appalled or disgusted. Or I could look at that and see a child adapting tools to handle difficult circumstances.

I guess I'll stop here.

Billionaires Suck!

Via Woods Lot there is an article by James Petras called Global Ruling Class: Billionaires and How They "Made It". Some excerpts:

The total wealth of this global ruling class grew 35 per cent year to year topping $3.5 trillion, while income levels for the lower 55 per cent of the world's 6-billion-strong population declined or stagnated. Put another way, one hundred millionth of the world's population (1/100,000,000) owns more than over 3 billion people.

...

What is most amusing about the famous Forbes magazine's background biographical notes on the Russian oligarchs is the constant reference to their source of wealth as 'self-made' as if stealing state property created by and defended for over 70 years by the sweat and blood of the Russian people was the result of the entrepreneurial skills of thugs in their twenties. Of the top eight Russian billionaire oligarchs, all got their start from strong-arming their rivals, setting up 'paper banks' and taking over aluminum, oil, gas, nickel and steel production and the export of bauxite, iron and other minerals.

...

Given the enormous class and income disparities in Russia, Latin America and China (20 Chinese billionaires have a net worth of $29.4 billion in less than ten years), it is more accurate to describe these countries as 'surging billionaires' rather than 'emerging markets' because it is not the 'free market' but the political power of the billionaires that dictates policy.

Go. Read. Learn.

We've put off paying a couple of bills long enough to be getting those annoying automated phone calls. One of them works like this:

Phone: ring! ring! ring!

Me (picking up phone): Hello?

Automated male voice: Hello! We have a very important call for you!

Ravenhub had a great response: "What is that, an interpretation service for the phone? Am I supposed to think, 'Oh! That's what that ringing was all about. Thank you for explaining!'"

He makes me smile. :)

Inspired

Yolanda Carrington at great post about there being no immunity from racism. It inspired me to create this handy flyer:



Go on over and give the woman props for her great thoughts!

The hidden poor

On a thread a while back a woman spoke about never seeing poverty in the U.S. as bad as what she saw in Mexico. I and lots of other people spoke about how poverty is hidden in the U.S. by zoning laws, police and the prison system.

Here's a story from the LA Times about a particular hidden community:

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-trailerpark26mar26,0,3370103.story?track=mostviewed-storylevel

The Southland's hidden Third World slums

In the Coachella Valley, hundreds of trailer parks house desperately poor Latino workers amid burning trash, mud, contaminated water.

By David Kelly
Times Staff Writer

March 26, 2007

THERMAL, CALIF. — Like most of their neighbors in the sprawling, ramshackle Oasis Mobile Home Park, the Aguilars have no heat, no hot water. On cold nights, the family of eight stays warm by bundling up in layers of sweaters and sleeps packed together in two tiny rooms.

Bathing is a luxury that requires using valuable propane to boil gallons of water. So the farmworker clan spends a lot of time dirty.

Jose Aguilar, a wiry 9-year-old, has found a way around the bath problem. He just waits until dinner. "My mom makes frijoles," he said, "then I take a bath in that water."

Jose and his family live in a world few ever see, a vast poverty born in hundreds of trailer parks strung like a shabby necklace across the eastern Coachella Valley.

Out here — just a few miles from world-class golf resorts, private hunting clubs and polo fields — half-naked children toddle barefoot through mud and filth while packs of feral dogs prowl piles of garbage nearby.

Thick smoke from mountains of burning trash drifts through broken windows. People — sometimes 30 or more — are crammed into trailers with no heat, no air-conditioning, undrinkable water, flickering power and plumbing that breaks down for weeks or months at a time.

"I was speechless," said Haider Quintero, a Colombian training for the priesthood who recently visited the parks as part of his studies. "I never expected to see this in America."

Riverside County officials say there are between 100 and 200 illegal trailer parks in the valley, but the Coachella Valley Housing Coalition says the number could be as high as 500.

California Rural Legal Assistance says as few as 20 parks are legal, and they are often as dilapidated as the illegal ones. When county inspectors locate a park without permits, they prefer to let owners bring the place into compliance through loan and grant programs rather than evict the tenants.

Some of the largest and poorest parks are on the Torres Martinez Indian Reservation where they are not subject to local zoning laws and the county can't monitor safety, hygiene and building standards. The reservation is also home to the worst illegal dumps of any tribe in California, Arizona or Nevada, according to the Environmental Protection Agency. The federal agency has closed 10 of the 20 most toxic dumps and cited four of the largest trailer parks for health violations.

Despite the conditions, park owners say they are providing a vital service in an area where housing prices have soared.

"Before the parks, they were living in their cars, in the desert and bathing in the canals. Five guys would pay 50 bucks a month to share a camper shell," said Scott Lawson, a tribal member and co-owner of the Oasis park on the reservation. "Nobody cared when they lived like that, only when they moved into trailers. You can't expect the poorest to live like the wealthiest. They feel comfortable here; it's like being back in Mexico. They tell me that."

Lawson's 300-trailer park has been cited by the EPA for clean-water violations and was recently ordered to stop pumping raw sewage into the nearby Salton Sea.

"We had some citations about water but it's because we didn't know how to test it," he said. "I'm not ashamed of my place. There are a lot worse places than mine."

Exactly how many people live in the trailer parks is unknown, but social workers estimate tens of thousands. The biggest park, Desert Mobile Home Park, or "Duroville," has more than 4,000 residents and can be seen off California 195 near Thermal. Others are on private property and virtually invisible to passing motorists.

The tenants are almost entirely Latino farm or construction workers. Many are in the United States legally, but plenty are not. Their average income, according to county officials, is about $10,000 a year. Many parents rent out their children's rooms for extra money, leaving kids to sleep on floors or in sheds. Many families keep warm by burning grape stakes, which fill their trailers with toxic fumes.

In one nameless park on the reservation off Avenue 70 in Thermal, trailers with broken windows and unhinged doors sit against piles of trash. Box springs, tires, car parts are stacked 10 feet high. Sewage runs behind the trailers, and wild dogs yap and howl.

"This place has some of the worst conditions I have seen," said Sister Gabriella Williams, who does community outreach in the parks and is raising money to build a learning center for residents. "And it's actually gotten worse since I last saw it."

She picked her way through a yard that doubled as a trash heap.

"The park owners have to look into their own conscience as to why they run these kinds of places with these kind of conditions," she said. "They wouldn't want this in their backyard. They wouldn't tolerate it. We all need to recognize the dignity in each other."

Former resident Conrrada Valenzuela said she went three months without electricity, living by candlelight.

Maria Renosa, 35, from Guatemala, lives in the park now. She makes $7.25 an hour picking broccoli and shares a battered, sparsely furnished trailer with six other adults and her children, Edith, 2, and Frank, 3.

Renosa's husband was recently deported for being undocumented. "It would cost him $5,000 to return," she said. "I am not going back. What am I going to do there? I'd love to live somewhere else, but here it only costs $360 a month."

The EPA has cited park owner Robin Lawson for clean-water violations; Lawson could not be reached for comment. He is Scott Lawson's brother. Another brother, Kim, operated a vast, illegal dump for more than a decade that was shut down last year by a federal judge.

The presence of the parks on the reservation has frustrated Torres Martinez Tribal Chairman Raymond Torres.

"The owners started off with good intentions, then I think it overwhelmed them," he said. "I have a real problem with it. Someone is going to get hurt. I'd like to see the parks gone and the owners start over again."

But in the complex world of tribal sovereignty, Torres cannot close the parks; only the Bureau of Indian Affairs can. The bureau said last week that parks on the reservation are illegal because they do not issue bureau-approved leases to tenants. They are now threatening legal action against Duroville and said other parks could be next.

Trailer parks began springing up on Indian land largely because of a county crackdown. In 1998, after several fatal accidents caused by faulty wiring, Riverside County began closing parks that did not have permits and threatening to sue others not up to code. Faced with outrage from farmworker advocates and the Roman Catholic Church, who feared thousands could be rendered homeless, officials backed off, but not before many panicked park dwellers had moved onto the reservation.

"We wish we could wave a magic wand and make them go away," said County Supervisor Roy Wilson. "But we can't."

Adding to the misery is Kim Lawson's dump. Since 1992, it has burned paint cans, car batteries, plastic pipe and treated wood and other waste, throwing so many toxins into the air and soil that EPA said the dump represented an "endangerment [that] can be considered imminent and increasing over time."

And the dump, its smoke blowing for miles up and down the valley, sits right beside Duroville. A 2003 EPA memo reported some areas of the dump contained levels of dioxin 20 times the national average. Dioxin, a carcinogen, is one of the deadliest manufactured substances.

According to agency documents, soil samples revealed dioxin, PCBs and asbestos in Duroville itself. Citing the risks of cancer and other illnesses, the EPA urged the dump's immediate closure. The park remained open because the danger to it was not deemed "imminent," said agency attorney Letitia Moore.

Four years after the EPA recommendation, a federal judge in Riverside closed the dump in August. On Thursday, the judge ordered Lawson to pay $46.9 million to help clean up the mess. Since the facility was padlocked, there have been 20 fires — most the result of spontaneous combustion, said Ray Paiz, battalion chief with the Riverside County Fire Department. One fire in November nearly forced the evacuation of Duroville and nearby schools.

Smoke in the parks is as common as wild dogs and swirling dust. Health workers report that children suffer high levels of pulmonary illnesses, coughs, infections and skin rashes.

"These are almost Third World conditions," said Rosa Lucas, a nurse who runs the Oasis Clinic, across the road from a trailer park. "It's unbearable out there when there is burning. You literally can't go outside."

Although poverty is endemic in the parks, nothing rivals Duroville for sheer blight.

The 40-acre park is a grim, colorless warren of dirt roads with more than 300 trailers tightly packed inside. It's often hard to tell an abandoned scrap heap from a home. There are start-up businesses — car dealerships, a small taco stand and a restaurant specializing in Michoacan food — squeezed in amid the clutter. Trash blows here and there. Toddlers, some naked from the waist down, wander around in fetid muck. A wall surrounds part of the place, a thin barrier separating it from the dump.

What began as occupants of a few trailers seeking refuge from the county has turned into a vast slum bearing streets named after members of park owner Harvey Duro's family. Duro declined to comment for this article.

Efforts by the Bureau of Indian Affairs to close Duroville fizzled in 2003 when the owner agreed to make basic electrical and sewage improvements. Still, officials said, he has failed to provide tenants bureau-approved leases defining minimum living standards.

"He will have to come up with an approved lease or we will shut him down," said James Fletcher, the bureau's superintendent for Southern California.

Fletcher said all the parks on Indian land could be closed if they don't provide leases. "If that happens, where do the people go?" he asked. "I don't know."

Duroville is a bastion of poverty divided between the poor and the desperately poor. Among the most destitute are the Purepecha, an indigenous people from the Mexican state of Michoacan who speak neither Spanish nor English but their own language, Purepechan. They are often mocked by other Latinos who consider them backward.

In their culture, girls often marry young and drop out of school to have children.

Anjelica Serrano, a Purepechan, watched her children play in the dirt. "I got married at 15," she said through an interpreter, "and have five children."

She is 24.

At night, the dark streets come alive with thumping rap and mariachi music pouring from cars. Ice cream vendors work the narrow streets. Because there are no sidewalks, pedestrians keep a wary eye on traffic. Men gather in front of trailers, some drinking themselves into oblivion. Others have hard stares and watchful eyes. Residents say drug dealing is rife.

Theresa Argueta, 42, would leave if she could afford to. She lives in a two-bedroom trailer with her husband and eight children. The four boys sleep in the living room, the four girls in a tiny bedroom. Inside, the trailer is festooned with rosaries and statues of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

"The smoke has affected my children's health," she said. "When the smoke comes, they get bloody noses and have difficulty breathing."

On the other side of the park, Cesar Rafael, 17, a Purepechan, lives in his parents' trailer. He and several other students at Desert Mirage High School in Thermal made a short video about their world, "The Contaminated Valley," which was shown at school.

"I wanted people to see another side of life," he said. "Everything is poisonous here, even the water is poisonous. And nobody really cares about it. We are invisible."

david.kelly@latimes.com

The video is available at the link above, but only for a couople of weeks, so click on it soon!

Last one to view it?

I've never tried embedding a video before. Wish me luck!

I want this little girl on my team. She tells us what she's gonna do to a monster!


What Are you Gonna Do To The Monster - Click Here for more great videos and pictures!

Missed it

60 Minutes had an interview by Katie Couric with John and Elizabeth Edwards last night. A good friend who is a cancer survivor sent me a copy of a letter she fired off immediately after the broadcast. If you saw the broadcast and agree, please write a letter as well. Talk about missed opportunities!

TO: The Producers of "60 Minutes"

What a disappointing interview!!

Instead of asking both Elizabeth and Senator Edwards (since they are a team) how Elizabeth's cancer has affected their thoughts on the health care system in this country and to explain his political program on that issue, Katie wasted the entire interview time concentrating on the things that both Edwards obviously want and have to accept and adjust to and then -- equally important -- they want to move forward with their lives. Katie wouldn't let that happen.

I saw their announcement on CNN Thursday and that was much more informative both as to Elizabeth's cancer and John's campaign plans.

One of the reasons I watched "60 Minutes" tonight was that because I knew Katie had dealt with the death of her husband from colon cancer and yet went on to raise her -- then -- young girls and also to continue with her career. For some reason I thought she would give a good interview based on her own experience. Obviously, I was wrong!!!!

To Katie Couric: How irresponsible of you, Katie, for playing on the fears of many out there who may have seen your interview with the Edwards tonight. It would have been better if "60 Minutes" had asked Betty Ford to conduct the interview. She was an inspiration to women years ago and saved many lives because of her encouraging women to have regular mammograms. Elizabeth and John Edwards have taken that contribution one step further only you didn't understand.

Watch this

From Mad TV on Youtube.

Oh crap

I wish Queer Dewd, formerly known as Prince, I mean, Bitch|Lab, weren't up to her eyeballs in a new job and moving, because she would understand this completely.

One of the things about being a graphic artist is that you do a ton of crappy advertising meant to sell cheap plastic shit to people who don't need it because you need a job to pay the bills.

BUT, you can, if you choose, use your skills for politically important work. I've been doing that for years.

On occasion, however, my efforts can be sabotaged when a "client" -- i.e., an important, valuable cause, -- is represented by people who have ... um ... let's call it shit for brains. Sometimes those ShitForBrain people screw up royally. If they reach the professional level of ShitForBrain-hood, the next step is to try to blame their fuck-ups on the graphic artist. That would be me.

That happened to me last night. I'm still pissed about it.

I agreed to help out an organization by putting together a booklet of ads from people who support the cause. I was not selling the advertising. I was not contacting the groups. I was not designing the ads. I was simply putting together the book: laying out the ads and making them pretty and printable.

Last week I got about half the ads. Some were 8.5x11 inch fliers that I was supposed to condense into a 3x4 inch ad. Some of them were scraps of paper or printed ads torn out of a newspaper or magazine.

Well, call me chump ("Chump!"). I went ahead and accepted the crap, fixed it up, did some research, found some art I could use, etc. Fact is, I did hundreds of dollars worth of design work I had not agreed to do.

In addition, I gave the client a list of ads for which I had received no art or copy.

I hear nothing all last week. I hear nothing over the weekend. I hear nothing on Monday.

Monday evening I get a phone call from the director of the organization asking where the hell were all the ads and why was I making everything late.

Now the director is a woman who happens to be a friend. She is someone I respect and admire. And yet she somehow believes it when shitforbrains tells her I'm the one who dropped the ball.

As far as I can tell, shitforbrains decided that it was my responsibility to create from whole cloth any ads that were not delivered to me last week. Which I wouldn't have done even if it had been suggested. But it wasn't suggested. It was somehow assumed. Now why the fuck would anyone assume that?

Is it because I was a chump and went ahead and made ads from the damn scraps of paper that were sent to me last week? Did I convince them somehow that I could create art out of nothing?

But even so, if they seriously thought that was what I was doing, why did NOBODY call me? Why did NOBODY respond to my e-mail?

What really made me angry was the fact that this person who decided that I was supposed to create these ads and then decided that I was lazy in not producing said ads, did not call me or write me directly.

Instead, he chose to go behind my back to my friend, the director, and ask her to leave a rude fucking message on my phone machine.

Screw this. I'm outta there.

10:30 pm - editing to remove all those nasty typos that I create when I'm PWA (posting while angry)

SUCCESS!



Thousands of Minneapolis protesters march against Iraq war

Organizers estimated about 4,000 people participated in the antiwar march that began in the Uptown area, continued north on Hennepin Avenue and ended at Loring Park. Police did not respond to a request for a crowd estimate.

They marched, organizers said, to urge President Bush to bring U.S. troops home from Iraq

Metro protests against the war in Iraq

Tuesday marks the fourth anniversary of the start of the U.S.-led war in Iraq. People on both sides of the issue took to the streets of Minneapolis with a message to Congress.

From Washington to New York City to right here in the Twin Cities, across the country was protestors walked the streets Sunday.

Five questions meme

via Belledame

Here's the deal:

Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better. If I already know you well, expect the questions may be a little more intimate!

You WILL update your journal/bloggy thing/whatever with the answers to the questions.

You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.

When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So, here were my five:

1) What's your (a) secret vice?

I'm not very secretive about my vices. Buying books I don't get around to reading. Red wine, Romantic movies.

2) Aside from ravens, are there animals you feel closely connected to? (if so, what?)

Cats, dogs, Jersey cows (they have beautiful eyes!).

3) How do you feel about: "religion is the opiate of the masses"?

Yup. Spirituality, on the other hand, is more like chocolate or caffeine.

4) What's the best way to stay warm when it's 25 below?

You don't. But layers can help you survive.

5) What did you have for dinner tonight?

Vegetarian spaghetti and garlic bread.

OK, any takers?

Serendipity on the Internet

Brownfemipower is writing a series on Radical Women of Color Theorists that began with Lee Maracle. BFP is helping us learn there are more than just two (Audre Lorde, bell hooks) radical women of color theorists in the world.

Intrigued, I googled Maracle and found an article in Trivia magazine called "The Lost Days of Columbus". Great quote:

Columbus came from a “throwaway” world. A “get rid of them” culture. We don't.

I'm unfamiliar with Trivia: Voices of Feminism magazine. So I clicked on current issue and found a wonderful poem by my favorite writer, Marge Piercy, called "Blue Mojo". This is a poem Piercy wrote for her friend, Audre Lorde.

Here's a portion:

We were Amazon raiders dusty from battle,
feisty, thumping, hope riding
our shoulders like a screeching parrot.

After you lost your first breast
you joked that now you were a true
Amazon. You were always true.

Writing by or about Lee Maracle that I found on the internet:

I am Native. I am Woman. I am.
Article from the McGill Daily

Some Words on Study As a Process of Discovery
Coming to know is connected to and a result of the process of seeing, thinking and considering phenomena, subject or text and either challenging and either believing or transforming that phenomena, subject or text, based on your particular culture of origin.

The Lost Days of Columbus
"I return Christopher to those who would adore him. I give him back to those who cling stubbornly to throwaway ways."

Playing with the layout

Tonight I started playing around in the new blogger tools. Since I don't have the choice anymore to stay with the old blogger, I might as well play with the new one.

Something about myself: I am a "dragged-kicking-and-screaming" adapter. I bought a CD player last year because I figured they were finally catching on. This year we bought a TV with a built-in DVD player so we could try out that new technology. The thing tanked after a couple of months, but it was fun while it lasted.

Being forced to upgrade in Blogger was a trauma I managed to survive.

About 10 years ago I watched an amazing exodus of skilled workers: printers and pressmen, become extinct as technology raced past them. I figured typesetters were next, but a few of us survive.

I'm all about print and I get it. I know what works and what doesn't on the printed page. I can kern a document within an inch of its life. I can make type sing off the page. I can make it invisible so that thoughts flow directly from the page directly nto your consciousness with no distractions or side trips.

So it's bizarre to be communicating in pixels. HTML coding is not that different from traditional cold type. I know I could learn it if I put in the effort.

But, you know, I bought a CD player last year because I believed they were catching on. I bought a DVD player this year.

Sami makes it to Metafilter.



By good friend, Sami Rasouli is mentioned in a post on yesterday's metafilter. There are tons of links there, but I especially wanted to note this article that was in the Minneapolis paper this week:

Doug Grow:

Sami Rasouli, back from Iraq, says U.S. is impeding peace

By Doug Grow, Star Tribune
Last update: March 12, 2007 – 10:42 PM

Sometimes in this troubled world, even peacemakers smile.

Sami Rasouli, the former restaurateur who gave up a comfortable life in Minneapolis to return to his native Iraq three years ago, laughs when he thinks about the recent trip Gov. Tim Pawlenty made to Iraq and Afghanistan

"I would love to talk to him," Rasouli said. "I'll ask him, 'So tell me, what's going on in Iraq?' I will ask him, 'Did you meet any Iraqis?' And then I will invite him to stay with me the next time he comes. I'll tell him, 'I'm an embedded son of Minnesota. Come visit. You might see some different things than you've seen before.' "

Rasouli, 56, doesn't expect he'll hear from the governor anytime soon. Few U.S. officials have been knocking at his door in Najaf, the city where he has established his organization, Muslim Peacemaker Teams.

They haven't been attending the sessions he's holding at schools and in churches since returning to the United States on Feb. 27, either.

U.S. officials just don't seem interested in hearing an ex-restaurant guy tell them there can be no peace in Iraq until U.S. troops are out of the country.

But Rasouli does sound pretty rational.

"Occupation and democracy do not fit together," he says to anyone who will listen.

This is Rasouli's third trip back to the Twin Cities since November 2004, when he decided to sell his popular Nicollet Avenue restaurant, Sinbad's, and return to the country of his birth.

Rasouli's goal -- here and there -- is to build bridges among people of all religious backgrounds with the message, "One God, one people."

It seems like a good message, but it has been a tough sell.

Over the three years he has been in Iraq, he has seen violence increase, friends assassinated and living conditions deteriorate. Distrust reigns.

Given these realities, was it a mistake to give up "Eat Street" for Iraq? After all, even this man on a peace quest still loves dining at Sinbad's.

"Oh no, no, it was not a mistake," he said.

Where's the hope?

"Human beings always have evolved to something better," he said. "It is the war that is delaying the process of evolution."

Repeatedly he says it's U.S. policy that's creating the continuing deterioration.

This is the second time I've met with Rasouli on one of his return trips. Both times I've tried to put myself in his shoes. Both times I've failed.

I can't imagine going back to something that seems so futile. But in both conversations he insisted that it's a greater shock to return to the Twin Cities than it is to return to Iraq.

"It truly is more heartbreaking to come here," he said. "Sometimes I actually break down when I see the food, or use the electricity. It just reminds me of what the people don't have."

So, late this spring, he'll go back. "Maybe on his next trip, the governor will look me up," the peacemaker said, smiling.

Doug Grow • dgrow@startribune.com

A Plea



This weekend marks the 4th anniversary of the U.S. military war against Iraq. A lot of us will be out in the streets saying this war must end.

YOU CAN BE A PART OF IT

Click for ANSWER Coalition information about the large marches in DC, San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle and Los Angeles.

Click to find an event in your area.

Thanks to My Private Casbah

Sacrifices

First, a little background:

BelleDame has a pretty good round-up of a recent dust-up in the blogosphere centered on the comments of two white women who had married black men and have referred to themselves as Race Traitors.

Their version should not be mixed up with Race Traitor, the anti-racist journal and book by Noel Ignatiev and John Garvey. These women are talking about the term as used by racists.

One of the women has repeatedly said that her marriage to a black man was a political decision. That confused me. How I vote is a political decision, how I act in my community is a political decision. How I act in regard to my loved ones and family is different. In a rather controversial post at ChasingMoksha's blog, Heart explains her viewpoint:

The lies and distortions are also cruel, like suggesting I married my husbands for political reasons only or whatever stupid bullshit. I married my husbands for love. I left the world of white privilege because of my politics. Part of leaving that world was not marrying white. Part of leaving that world was being rejected by my extended family. Part of leaving that world was becoming poor. Part of leaving that world was bearing and raising biracial children, nine of them, over 36 years now, with all that has meant over the years. I could have set my sights on moving upward, upward, upward through the echelons of privilege available to white middle class women, until I hit the layer-of-men ceiling. I could have stayed in the sorority my parents forced me to pledge to when I went away to school (because I went to school at 16, in the 60s, and they feared for me in the dorms). I left the sorority after my freshman year, couldn't stand the place. I could have gotten serious about, and married, one of the many white frat boys I had to drag along to sorority functions that freshman year (which was a year I had sworn off of men completely so I could attend to my studies and plus, I was sick of men. Some things never change. :P) If I'd done my folks' plan, that is, stay in the sorority, making those all-important connections, marry a frat boy and enlarge that circle of connections, become a professional, married to a professional, then I'd have been solidly ensconced in white privilege, American style. I didn't want that. I said fuck that. I was a pacifist. I was an anti-racist, involved in the Civil Rights movement. This was the 60s and all of us who were activists hated the "Establishment". I wanted to participate in the political revolution that was going on on my campus and in my city, and that's what I did, and I never turned back, even during my fundie years, during which I was still a pacifist, still anti-war, still not patriotic, still interracially married, involved in all sorts of various alternative movements. So anyway, what I did was, I chose my male partners from amongst the political radicals with whom I was engaged in political work, and when, as it so happened, I fell in love with my first ex, I said, hell yeah. I did not skip a beat for fear of losing all my race or class privilege or for what might happen to me, or whatever. Of course, as it turned out, the worst things that happened to me happened to me at the hands of my ex! Which is another story for another time. And which doesn't change how much I loved him, or my second ex. Why are people such idiots, those talking about this? I have to believe they are deliberately being idiots out of cruelty. That men have abused us (generic "us" meaning women) and even tried to kill us doesn't change the love we have had for them or the way our lives intertwine from that point forward. That's the horror and betrayal of abuse, that the men we have loved and trusted more than any other men have battered us, tried to kill us. Even when we leave them behind, usually, we still love them. Maybe we always love them. That's the way that goes down. Anyway, so yes, I consciously, deliberately, married my exes, once I'd fallen madly in love with them, and then had to consider my future. I didn't do what lots of women, and men, would do, say, "No, I can't marry this person, my parents will freak out and disinherit me and disown me." "No, I can't marry this person, it just isn't done." "No, I can't marry this person, it will be too hard on the children." "No, I won't marry this person, he is too poor, he's had too hard of a life, we are too different, our cultures, backgrounds are too different, we will have too many problems." "No, I won't marry this person, his family won't like it." "No, I won't marry this person, he'll get kicked out of the Panthers and he won't be able to go to BSU meetings." "No, I won't marry this person because racists will treat us like shit." I said, "Yes, I'll marry this man whom I love because I love him, and I don't give a shit what anybody says or thinks about that, because the reasons people give for their opposition are RACIST, and my marrying him might make things easier for the next couple like us." Which is POLITICAL. I have to wonder if people understand what "political" even means, you know? That a decision is "political" doesn't change the fact that it is still made because of LOVE. Which kind of gets at something I've wanted to write about for a long time, actually, the heady excitement of revolution-making, the way that falling in love with your "comrades" happens easily, because making revolution in a way that is real is, in fact, to make real, vital, exciting connections, is centered in hopes for a future that is good and hopeful and loving, and that energy spills over into every interaction you have with your co-revolutionaries. So yes, it's political, and yes, it's love, and where one stops and the other begins is not so clearcut for those of us who have experienced this.

When I first read this explanation, I made the following comment at Veronica's thread titled White Lady Pity Party:

Over on CM’s blog (link above), Heart has further explained her “political reasons” for marrying black men.

It’s breathtaking. I honestly don’t believe I’ve met anyone more clueless about her privilege.

It’s breathtaking. I’m speechless.

I literally couldn't comment then because what Heart talked about: her experiences and her decisions, refer to the kind of life that could only have been lived by a tiny, tiny portion of extremely privileged white people in 1960s America. It immediately brought to mind the film Born Rich, a documentary film by Jamie Johnson. If you haven't seen it, you really should. Here's a brief intro:

First-time filmmaker Jamie Johnson, a 23-year-old heir to the Johnson & Johnson pharmaceutical fortune, captures the rituals, worries and social customs of the young Trumps, Vanderbilts, Newhouses and Bloombergs in the documentary special, BORN RICH, a 2003 Sundance Film Festival selection. Offering candid insights into the privileges and burdens of inheriting more money than most people will earn in a lifetime.

I'm not claiming that Heart was obnoxiously wealthy, as the people in this film are. I am claiming that she existed in an extremely narrow world in which acts like not pledging a sorority or marrying outside your own race are seen as courageous acts of rebellion. Heart wrote: "I left the world of white privilege because of my politics." She lost her chance at a corporate career, she lost her space in a sorority, she lost her chance at a professional husband.

What the rest of us realize, is that 97 percent of the U.S. population never had a chance at that. And those of us in that 97 percent who were white and never had to make those tough decisions about which wonderful future to give up, were still making out like bandits compared to people of color. We got the nice houses, the nice services, the presumption of innocence, the helping hand of neighbors and strangers.

We could barely get arrested: I know that for a fact. My father was a major conman, a grifter, a charmer. He broke the law and lay waste to family and friends for decades and nobody said boo. None of which would have happened if his skin had been a different color.

I can see that, in Heart's world, she had to pass up a lot of goodies. Having to live a life lilke mine must have seemed hugely difficult. So, perhaps she can convince herself that the privilege is gone. Perhaps the subtleties of racism are too hard for her to see.

Especially if she chooses not to look at them. And you, know, that's one of the bestest things about being white. You can choose to ignore it altogether if you want. Heart become quite the expert in not noticing.

Newspaper ad

We're putting an ad into the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder so I threw this together. Getting the word out!

Oops!

Swiss Accidentally Invade Liechtenstein

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Published: March 2, 2007
Filed at 11:13 p.m. ET

ZURICH, Switzerland (AP) -- What began as a routine training exercise almost ended in an embarrassing diplomatic incident after a company of Swiss soldiers got lost at night and marched into neighboring Liechtenstein.

According to Swiss daily Blick, the 170 infantry soldiers wandered just over a mile across an unmarked border into the tiny principality early Thursday before realizing their mistake and turning back.

A spokesman for the Swiss army confirmed the story but said that there were unlikely to be any serious repercussions for the mistaken invasion.

''We've spoken to the authorities in Liechtenstein and it's not a problem,'' Daniel Reist told The Associated Press.

Officials in Liechtenstein also played down the incident.

Interior ministry spokesman Markus Amman said nobody in Liechtenstein had even noticed the soldiers, who were carrying assault rifles but no ammunition. ''It's not like they stormed over here with attack helicopters or something,'' he said.

Liechtenstein, which has about 34,000 inhabitants and is slightly smaller than Washington DC, doesn't have an army.

Adding the endorsers

So you've got your nice layout and your pretty flyer. A month later, somebody decides to add a ton of copy. Hello mice type! Squeak squeak squeak!

En espanol

Just got the Spanish translation for our March 18 flyer:



If you're in the Twin Cities, try to make it to the Immigrants Rights march today at 2 pm! You can see the flyer here.

The Art of Misdirection

Magicians use intricate hand movements to misdirect our attention from the hand that carries the "disappearing" coin or card. We white feminists have a similar trick to make sure that political discussion focuses on us. Here's a classic example:

In a post at TPM, Jessica Valenti mentions the behavior of a sorority at DePauw University that decided to kick out fat women and women of color from their group because they were "socially awkward" and were deemed unable to recruit new members.

This is a story of women from traditionally underprivileged groups making it past the many barriers to social progress and entering into a particular elite society: sororities on college campuses.Yet all that money and educational privilege does not protect them from the raw discrimination that the rest of us get to experience more frequently.

What can we learn from this and where should we turn to learn more?

Well, you could look to women of color who have been talking about this for years. You could look at women who deal with body issues. You could cite activist groups of young women who are making a difference.

Or you could just chuck all that and use this incident to focus on the pain of your white, middle class twit-like self. Which is exactly what Jessica chooses to do. And she specifically implicates her "feminist and blogging peers" in her effort to turn this important discussion into a rant about the needs of white privileged women.

What are the horrors faced by these women? I'll tell you, but first I believe I should post one of those disclaimers you see before TV shows:

the following may be inappropriate for some viewers. Boys and girls, prepare yourself for the horror and pain that is the life of Jessica and her peers:

Are you ready? Deep breath, now. Here goes:

"Being told you're too young to speak on a panel (this happened to someone I know at the 2005 NOW conference); being lectured about how your opinions are naïve or misinformed ("you weren't there!); being relegated to the "young feminist" table or forum at major conferences, having your accomplishments looked on warily because you didn't "pay your dues," getting emails about how all of your hard-working feminist blogging is for naught because your logo is sexist (cough, cough)."

The horror. The horror.

There you have it: the pain of racism is comparable to having to sit at the "kids table" at your family's holiday dinner.

As an older feminist, I should probably take umbrage that Valenti is using the worst sort of psychobabble to explain our failure to admire her and her peers. Katha Pollitt actually takes the bait in her response.

And that makes the circle complete. Misdirection accomplished. When racism and body issues are involved, all it takes is two white women focusing on their own issues to divert the discussion onto the problems faced by white women.

I'm hoping for something better this time. I'm hoping that readers of Valenti's post will also see the awesome reponses being posted by kick-ass women who call bullshit on this nonsense.

Go, read, and learn (be sure to read the comments as well):

Women of Color

Brownfemipower

Black Amazon

Renegade Evolution

Women writing on the body

Trinity

The Gimp Parade

New Addiction

This Geogrpahy Quiz is the kind of test my mother, the professor of geography, despised. So of course I had to send her the link. It has wasted a major part of my time recently.

Posting Problem

The new blogger now makes it impossible for me to post from home. Bummer. There's been a lot of interesting stuff to link plus I turned 51 yesterday. So wish me a happy birthday and I'll get back in the swing of things once I figure out what Blogger has done to my home computer.

Nine Inches!

That's how much snow we got last weekend. Pretty stuff! Lots to shovel. Took us a couple of hours to dig the car out. The blows made it through only one time. Today they've cleared the streets and will plow again. Which will be digger another path from the driveway. It's finally Minnesota again!

Cool video

Found via metafilter, a performance by an a capella R&B group called Naturally 7 on the Metro in Paris.

o.m.g.

Some things are just too vacuous to believe.

I'm sure the reporter pulled out the worst possible quotes to slant his story in the New York Observer. Even so, these are really bad!

Bungalowing Iraq
By George Gurley

It was after midnight last Saturday, and Bungalow 8 was filling up. I wanted to ask the famously exclusive nightclub’s regular patrons their thoughts about Iraq.

John Flanagan, a 40-year-old nightlife impresario, was sitting with a large group drinking $350 bottles of vodka.

“I’m upset for the American lives that are lost, and the Iraqi lives,” he said. “It makes me feel confused about the direction we’ve taken and whether it was for the right cause.”

He referred to the war as an “unpleasantry of life.”

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Read more at the link. If you dare.

The Real Minnesota

Catching up post:

Windchill is at 25 below today. I'm hiding out at home. I took the day off to attend an out-of-town funeral but I've decided to not chance the trip under these conditions. My car is just not the reliable. The funeral is of a high school buddy who died at 52 years old of an unexpected heart attack last weekend. I'm getting to the age where this sort of thing becomes more common. I'm not gonna like that.

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Last Tuesday I helped set up an event for Cindy Sheehan. It was held at a progressive Catholic church and all 1200 seats were sold out ahead of time. I did not plan to stay since I had worked 12 hours and was tired. But we listened to the first 20 minutes or so. Sheehan is an interesting woman. Considering all the crap that's been thrown at her, I feel as if she's handled herself well and avoided many of the pitfalls that people make who become the focus of mainstream media.

She tried to attend one of the local vigils, but at 5 degrees, she lasted only a few minutes. She said, "I think you people are nuts for living in Minnesota in the winter. But then I chose to camp out in a ditch in Texas in August, so I'm not one to talk."

That was the kind of talk she gave: offering her thoughts and ideas in a somewhat self-depracating manner. She was funny but also passionate.

I tend to worry when the media tries to define a mass movement by focussing on one or two people because no one person can encompass the variety of people involved. Sheehan has done a better job than some, and for that I give her props.

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The discussion over at Little Light's has continued and I just realized it yesterday. I spent a while catching up and I am definitely learning a lot. I'm impressed by commenters like Holly and Piny who are willing to offer their wisdom to people who are ignorant about the lives of transgendered people.

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I read the following yesterday and it's been stuck in my mind ever since. I'm not going to cite the source because I'm not welcome there and because it doesn't really matter. Here it is:

"...feminism is about each woman, speaking her own truth. It’s about each of us, giving voice to our own reality, our own lived experiences in the world as women."

No, this is definitely not what I'd call feminism.

Feminism is when women support OTHER women. If I'm focussed on myself, I cannot help other women. In addition, I cannot see how things that occur in the world affect women who are NOT ME.

Count me out of this so-called feminism that means I spend more time on me and less time on the world that is out there fucking with me and other women.