New York City

Bloomberg’s New York: Class and Governance in the Luxury City

brittany — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Julian Brash’s Bloomberg’s New York is an anthropological study of Mayor Michael Bloomberg and his administration’s implementation of a particular type of neoliberal urban governance (the “Bloomberg Way”) since taking office in 2002, “branding and marketing the city as a luxury good,” an agenda aimed not only at “advancing the economic elite’s class interests” but in shaping the culture and geography of the city of New York by prioritizing this demographic. A thoughtful and rigorous analysis of class, urban development, and neoliberal governance in the context of New York City during the Bloomberg years, Bloomberg’s New York is a thought-provoking read primarily aimed at scholars of urban studies.

Brash’s work interestingly contextualizes the politics of governance in New York City in its “post-fiscal crisis era” but also shows how this paved the way for an individual like Michael Bloomberg (the “CEO as Mayor”) to take on the mayoralty of the Big Apple. The most interesting section of Brash’s work is the more theoretical chunk of this book, which employs an analysis of Bloomberg’s governance style—the Bloomberg Way—of running New York City “like a business,” viewing residents as “clients” and branding the city itself as a product to be marketed to a select demographic. The penultimate section of Brash’s study is a close look at the Bloomberg administration’s promotion of the Hudson Yards plan, contextualized by elite driven redevelopment drives in New York. Brash also illuminates with extensive ethnographic evidence the deeply contested public debates that surrounded the city’s bid to host the 2012 Olympics, highlighting differing perceptions of New Yorkers of what this meant for New York, and pointing the reader to the ruptures that this debate revealed in economic, political, cultural, and other differences between New Yorkers which have long characterized the fabric of this city.

Brash’s meticulous uncovering of the mechanics of class interests underpinning the shaping of the cultural, economic and political space of global cities is in the context of New York, but certainly poses important questions applicable to both urban scholarship of other cities and in furthering our understanding of class as a unit of analysis. For example, Brash calls for a more rigorous interrogation of the interests of the “transnational capitalist class” (or “TCC”)—shorthand for the owners of globalized means of production—and how these interests have a physical and cultural impact on the local spaces in which these classes are formed, live and work. His injunction not to “abstract” elite class interests from the physical spaces they inhabit comes as an important reminder in a time where their transnational mobility (enabled by the travel and technology that global capital allows) can easily allows us to forget the increasingly bigger and more powerful role that private enterprise and business interests have on the physical shaping and growth of cities today.

From a feminist perspective, it is important to note that Brash uses class as his primary unit of analysis but declares at the outset that his understanding of the term extends beyond its use as the individual’s relation to the means of production and that class is mediated by a range of other factors such as race, gender, and sexuality. While he acknowledges how class relationships may be displaced by other identities (such as gender), his own analysis is not necessarily engaged in these debates for the purposes of his book.

Written by: Kaavya Asoka, April 8th 2011

Rape New York

beth — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Jana Leo

Feminist Press

Rape New York: Jana Leo’s title seems to defiantly ask its readers to ‘rape’ New York. It also simultaneously turns ‘rape’ into an adjective with which to describe New York City. Fascinated with this title, I pondered the difference a comma could have made. Rape, New York would then turn ‘rape’ into a borough of the city. This wordplay is not insignificant in Leo’s ultimate argument.

Leo begins the book with a straightforward and chilling narration of the day she was "non-violently raped" by a stranger in her Harlem apartment. The rest of the book narrates not only the six years following the assault but also how she came to live in New York City in the first place, and specifically how she came to live in the apartment in which she was raped. Through referencing place in the book's title, Leo locates 'rape' directly and uncomfortably beside New York, thereby exemplifying her major argument: namely, that (literal and metaphorical) location matters. Gender, poverty, and race are factors that matter in determining who rapes whom and who gets raped. These factors also contribute to one’s relationship to space, and rape and space have a close relationship indeed.

Leo considers the many ways place, particularly the places we identify as 'home', is bound up in the act of rape. Leo describes in great detail her feelings and experience of displacements following her rape. As the rape occurred in her home, Leo has nowhere to go to feel safe afterward—the rape took the security of home away from her. She insightfully considers how most rapes occur in, or in close proximity to, women's homes, and beautifully weaves this together with a critique of home as a female/feminine space.

In her systemic analysis of the factors that caused her rape, Leo focuses on the lack of security in her apartment and how and why dangerous places are both created by and uphold capitalism. She accessibly writes about the deep connections between the low-income neighborhoods filled with people of color that disproportionately fill prisons and how these neighborhoods are the ones that become gentrified locations for urban development—spelling out the way capitalism benefits from poverty and creates high crime areas in the interest of devaluing property that can then be 'developed' by the rich. That her rape occurred in a badly kept apartment on a block in Harlem under the control of a grossly wealthy, philanthropist slum landlord is no accident, explains Leo.

Leo understands the difficult line she walks (and I would argue she walks it successfully) between widening the scope of ‘blame’ from the individual who perpetrated her rape to the wider system of capitalist, racist, and misogynist societal causes. She does not deny the rapist's personal agency nor erase the choice a perpetrator makes to commit rape. In one of her most challenging conclusions, Leo writes, “The fact that rapes relate to poverty, especially the perpetrator’s poverty, makes it, to a certain extent, a default effect of capitalist exploitation and not simply the result of mental illness.” Leo fights the urge to simply pathologize the perpetrator by suing her landlord for his negligent role in her rape by failing to providing a safe and secure building in which rape (and other crimes) would less easily occur.

Leo’s powerful voice and clear minded critique make her a fine guide through the messy terrain of overlapping oppressions and sexual violence. While dealing with complicated intersections, and often adopting an academic tone, Rape New York is an accessible and extremely valuable addition to the conversation of violence against women.

Written by: Sam McBean, March 30th 2011

Zinester's Guide to New York City

gwen — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Edited by Ayun Halliday

Microcosm Publishing

I love Ayun Halliday's writing voice. It balances a small, healthy dose of making fun of oneself with a snarky and sassy perspective of the world. Her world is New York City, which she describes so well in her adventures with her husband and kids in her zine, The East Village Inky. So I knew I was in for a treat when I saw that Ms. Halliday herself cooked up this tasty guide to New York built exactly for my anarcho-feminist-who-still-watches-crappy/sexist-reality-show leanings. This is the guide to New York to use when you don't have much money, you're open to exploring, and you don't mind public transit. I was especially fond of the top 100 vegan items to consume throughout all of New York (oh, I heart you zinester Melissa Bastian...). There's information about festivals, all kinds of interesting venues for music, arts, and culture, and the atmosphere at each hot coffee shop and brunch place. Microbrews! Places that host guest bartenders! The best spots to copy your zines! It's even got cartoons and illustrations sprinkled throughout the guide, including art by one of my indie faves, Christy C. Road. It makes me want to live in New York (minus the high rents and New York attitudes).

If you need any more convincing to use this honest-to-goodness, made-on-paper guide instead of just doing a random Google search before you hit up Brooklyn or any other New York neighborhood, consider a few things. What Google map will be hand drawn and point out adorable facts like a water taxi that's free on weekends? What other city guide will give little anecdotes on street pole art and advice on how to make your own? And where else can you find gracious knowledge on everything from hostess gifts (edible items from throughout New York are safe bets) to scenic views to photobooth spots? I'm in love with this guide, and I guess I'm a little in love with New York, too.

Written by: Maleka Fruean, March 22nd 2011

Heart of the City: Nine Tales of Love and Serendipity on the Streets of New York

payal — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Ariel Sabar

Da Capo Press

I believe in magic. I really do.

I am fresh off the boat but I have already learned that there is some divine sleight of hand that makes any form of human connection possible in New York City’s bustling boroughs.

Ariel Sabar believes that sleights such as: a missed train connection; a turn one block too early; and a misplaced address brought his collection of strangers together at a prominent New York landmark and then kept them together, married, presumably, happily ever after.

The couples selected by Sabar in the nine stories that comprise Heart of the City are a hodgepodge: in "Central Park" he narrates the love story of a teen runaway and a gallant sailor, in "The Subway" it is a Filipino bank teller and an American classical music reviewer and in "Liberty Enlightening the World" a German factory worker collides happily with a bubbly Long Island divorcee and her family.

Sabar venerates romance and marriage. He is clearly enamored with his cast of lovers, and this is charming and a testament to the many hours he spent interviewing them—in one case more than sixty years after their love first blossomed in New York. But Sabar’s micro-detail of that first lingering gaze, the agonized "she loves me she loves me not" internal chorus, the pouting lips that invite an inaugural kiss, the first amorous letter signed "love and kisses" is closer to banal than magical.

The love stories are a bad fit for a collection of short stories and I might have found them more endearing had I stumbled across them piecemeal in the "Weddings & Celebrations" section of the New York Times. Having said this I must add that none of Sabar’s couples are black or Hispanic, and none are same-sex—these groups do get to tell their fairy tale stories too in the "Weddings & Celebrations" section of the New York Times.

Written by: Chiseche Salome Mibenge, March 19th 2011

The Young Lords: A Reader

andrea — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Darrel Enck-Wanzer

New York University Press

Before reading The Young Lords: A Reader, I had never heard of the Young Lords Party. The original Young Lords were a loosely organized group that emerged from a street gang fighting the gentrification of Puerto Rican neighborhoods in Chicago. The New York chapter quickly dissociated themselves from their Chicago cousins, renaming themselves the “Young Lords Party” rather than the “Young Lords Organization.” The Young Lords Party, or YLP, are perhaps most famous for their takeover of a Methodist Church in East Harlem (“The People’s Church”) or their Garbage Offensive in the summer of 1969. Sanitation was nowhere near routine in the Barrio (East Harlem), so YLP officers pushed the garbage into the streets, forcing the city to clean it up if they wanted traffic to continue as normal. These types of actions, along with free tuberculosis and lead poisoning screenings, adult education classes, worker organizing, and a celebration of the many cultures of Puerto Ricans in New York were the backbone of the YLP.

As editor Darrel Enck-Wanzer states at the beginning of The Young Lords: A Reader: “This book offers a comprehensive collection of primary texts so that... you, the reader, can decide for yourself what the Young Lords might mean to us today.” True to his word, Enck-Wanzer presents many Young Lords’ original texts organized for the first time in one compilation. Although he clearly sympathizes with the original mission of the Young Lords Party, he presents the texts warts and all, including typos and dated language that a modern reader may not quite grasp.

Almost entirely youth-led, the Young Lords Party organized their friends, grandmothers, and neighbors to fight for rights that no one else was fighting for. Young organizers would do well to study this text, specifically Latino youth who may not identify with commonly lauded civil rights leaders. In one section on education, students describe the first-ever meeting of the Puerto Rican student union at Columbia University: “Workshops were held dealing with... the role of women in the revolution; high school students, college students, Latin American and Latin unity; the military... political prisoners; Third World unity; education, and the media...” This article was published in 1970 but easily could have described a conference held this year. If we are still battling the same demons, we would do well to learn from the mistakes of those who came before us.

We should also give credit where credit is due. The YLP, more so than many similar groups, made an effort to recognize the intersectionality of different oppressions, an idea that is much more acceptable now than it was decades ago. They placed a special emphasis on the inclusion of women and the destruction of misogyny within their movement. This should be the norm by now, even though sadly it’s not. This anthology is a learning tool because most texts are presented honestly, with leaders candidly discussing their struggles, goals, progress, and failures. I cringe when older activists speak of the lack of passion nowadays, because I don’t think it’s any less prevalent today than it was in the sixties. The Young Lords: A Reader helps demonstrate part of that passion/frustration/ dedication, and helps guide young activists today with the same drive towards long-term change.

Written by: Colleen Hodgetts, March 4th 2011

My Normal

priyanka — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Irving Schwartz

When artists use the word 'normal' to title their work, they usually mean to imply that they’re going to show us something arguably abnormal. In the case of My Normal, the fringe behavior in question is BDSM: bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism. This kind of sexuality involves one or more people in positions of power, who inflict pain or humiliation on a subordinate or subordinates.

But really, how does that differ from most marriages these days? (Just kidding.)

Writers Renee Garzon and Adam Sales believe they’re doing something revelatory with this story about a lesbian dominatrix who dreams of simultaneously enjoying a monogamous relationship, a lucrative career in BDSM and artistic freedom as a filmmaker; but who can’t seem to juggle all her balls at once. “The various controversial scenes and subjects touched upon in this film were ones Renee and Adam knew well from (firsthand) experience,” the film’s Web site explains. “They were greatly inspired by the underground NYC (New York City) scenes that are often spoken about but rarely seen.”

Unfortunately for them, we have seen these things before in movies and television. Other than a rather shocking description of a client getting a dildo lodged in his anus and subsequently requiring hospitalization, which is spoken of but not seen, there’s very little 'controversial' or 'underground' material exposed. Movies like Looking for Mr. Goodbar and Secretary, as well as television shows like Sex and the City and The L Word have taken us here before.

And it is highly problematic for a movie, which by its very nature occupies a visual medium, to spend more time talking about allegedly abnormal behavior instead of showing it. (Not that I’m clamoring for a glimpse at a dildo-obstructed anus…) The film is dialogue-driven and uses very little cinematic language to tell its story, which is at best contrived and at worst insincere. Actor interactions begin with lines about back story rather than words of familiarity, the kinds of things people who see each other every day say to one another naturally. Amateurish direction and editing employ clumsy establishing shots and empty transitions. The actors look great—too glossy to be representing the vulgar side of NYC as chronic recreational drug-users—but are generally stiff and awkward in their delivery. Ty Jones, who plays a drug dealer/would-be screenwriter, gives the most natural performance of the film (he’s definitely one to watch out for in more mainstream—and by that I mean expensive—cinema).

Perhaps this subject matter is better served by pornography or documentary, each of which would be a little of both. My Normal feels a little too… well, normal. Check out this film if you’re looking for a gentle introduction to BDSM. If you’re in the know, skip it.

Written by: Rachel Moehl, January 28th 2011

The Singer’s Gun

payal — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Emily St. John Mandel

Unbridled Books

Emily St. John Mandel’s book The Singer’s Gun sounds like a paperback thriller, but in a pleasant surprise, delights the reader with a still and quiet prose and a keen eye for the details that uncover the interconnectedness of all our lives. Beautiful images of ancient trees and Mediterranean utopias find a home with New York’s summer heat and the sticky lives of its characters. Mandel serves up superlative moral crises in this well-crafted novel, crises which could stretch the bounds of anyone’s convictions.

The story of an honest con man and illegal girl in New York City, The Singer’s Gun reminds us all that no situation is ever black and white. While both Anton, the illegal passport dealer turned honest desk jockey, and Elena, the Canadian alien struggling with both metaphysical meaning and anemia, have done several questionable things, their stories are so rich and so painfully real that the reader’s loyalties are constantly shifting.

Mandel treats her characters with a kindness, yet an almost parental and bittersweet layering of guilt. While both Anton and Elena have significant others, they find an intimacy together that trumps their steady domestic lives. This intimacy itself is a strained one, for unbeknown to Anton, Elena has been sent with a recorder in her purse to question him after an evening rendez-vous, in order that the U.S. Diplomatic Security Service can get a hold on his past activities. As a recipient of one of his passport/Social Security card packages, Elena is in a compromising place. This is chronically her issue.

Although Anton is the main character, I am more fascinated with Elena. Wispy thin and constantly anemic and hungry from lack of food, it would be easy to paint Elena as a neo-Victorian woman, whose relationship with Anton survives because of her dependence on him. However, I find more subtlety in Elena. Her quiet sensuality and moments of subversion keep her alive, and make her a more complete partner to Anton. She is twice compelled to model for a photographer for money. The second time, she finds that the photographer has taken a route into the territory of pornographic material. Caught, like many young women, in the position of having to participate in order to eat, Elena seems like another victim. However, she takes her experience, along with the mounting stress of her job and affectionless relationship and impulsively makes a brave decision to visit Anton on a small island off the coast of Italy, where (for reasons I won’t divulge) he is now living, risking deportation, debt, and uncertainty. The couple’s journeys across national lines, emotional lines, and ethical lines make one pause and reconsider preconceptions about morality and propriety.

This is Mandel’s second novel. Her first, Last Night in Montreal, received outstanding reviews, and after reading this accomplishment, there is no doubt I will read the first.

Written by: Cristin Colvin, November 18th 2010

Tea & Justice

brittany — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Ermena Vinluan

Women Make Movies

If your political leanings are more in line with musical acts like NWA or MDC, then Ermena Vinluan’s fifty-five-minute exploration of race and gender issues in the context of the New York Police Department may seem... tame?

Tea & Justice is a documentary about Asian women police officers in the NYPD that skirts the uneasy boundaries between a full-blown narrative of empowerment of Asian women breaking cultural and gender stereotypes to become police officers, their negotiation of the politics of being racial and gender minorities in what has historically been perceived as a racist and sexist institution, and the inherently violent nature of policing. Sometimes provocative, but generally unremarkable both politically and artistically, the film is perhaps worth watching (once) for its almost accidental exposition of the gender and cultural politics at play.

The centerpiece of the film is the personal stories of three women, who share their experiences of discrimination and defiance as part of the two percent of NYPD officers who are Asian women. Their stories are interwoven with the public’s perceptions of Asian culture, women, and police officers. Officer Ormsby, for example, tells of how being compelled to serve tea to her male colleagues at a Japanese firm prompted her to find a new career. This is against the backdrop of interviews with New Yorkers, some of whom (predictably) feel that men make better officers, while others subscribe to the great equalizing power of the gun.

In an interesting history of the NYPD, Vinluan highlights how various social movements opened up space for women in policing; for example, the NYPD got rid of regulation high-heels, lip-stick, and smaller guns for female officers in the 1970s. Somewhat disingenuously, the director also traces images of women warriors in Asian mythology to support her claim that ‘being an Asian woman cop is not so odd after all’. While Asian culture is full of examples of remarkable women, I found it difficult to believe that most people would identify policewomen with being leaders or warriors, a contradiction amplified by the inclusion of interviews discussing racially charged incidents of police brutality in the United States, such as the beating of Rodney King.

In her haste to bridge the gap between images of subservient Japanese tea-servers and Vietnamese warrior princesses, Vinluan seems to have confused empowerment and oppression. This speaks to the broader issue of the film’s selective critique of the police along gender and racial dimensions, and failure to adequately question its inherently violent role in maintaining law and order.

Interesting interviews include one with Margaret Moore (Executive Director of the National Center for Women and Policing) who claims promoting diversity in gender and race is the only way to ensure fair treatment inside departments and in policing. Moore and others also argue that since most excessive force claims are made against male officers, recruiting more women—who are ‘naturally less aggressive’—is the solution. But by essentializing qualities to women like their ‘mothering’ instincts and tendencies towards less aggression, interviewees like Lieutenant Eric Adams (100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care) regurgitate classic stereotypes of women that Vinluan’s film is supposedly aiming to debunk. By failing to attribute their ‘natural’ credentials for making better officers to the historical subordination of women in care-giving and domestic roles—aren’t we back at square one?

Vinluan’s schoolteacher voice-overs and flat animation accompanied by platitudes like ‘she’s just a regular working mom!’ work against the film’s rare moments of subtlety, leading me to conclude that those parts that can be deemed thought-provoking are, in fact, inadvertent. Am I asking too much from Tea & Justice? Maybe. But given the eight film festival laurels adorning the DVD cover, I expected more.

Written by: Kaavya Asoka, October 25th 2010

Max's Kansas City: Art, Glamour, Rock and Roll

brittany — Sat, 16 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Edited by Steven Kasher

Abrams Publisher

The iconic New York club Max’s Kansas City was the art world equivalent of the equally iconic CBGB; it was where all of the beautiful freaks and geeks; aspiring, wannabe, and legitimate artists congregated to see and be seen. Editor Steven Kash has done a magnificent job of compiling photographs that features all of the glitz and grime, genius and depravity that was the New York art scene of the 1970s.

Max’s Kansas City is a photography book, but there are a few well-written essays sprinkled in by Lou Reed, Lenny Kaye, Lorraine O’Grady, Danny Fields, and Steven Watson. Watson points out that though some of the female artists in the scene like Brigid Berlin and Sue Hoffman (aka Viva) weren’t taken seriously by their male contemporaries, they weren’t “just girlfriends” either. They had their own identities and were forming their own careers and according to Watson, were “on the cusp of feminism.”

I’d argue that they were seen as “just girlfriends” and that this is a common occurrence in artistic movements. Take the beat generation for example. Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs—they’ve become icons and the women writers were their caretakers and meal makers, struggling to get published. Just think of brilliant writers like Diane di Prima and Hettie Jones, who are—to this day—treated as minor footnotes or oddities in a scene comprised of men. Sadly, not much has changed.

Gender disparities of the scene aside, the photos are all inclusive. I have a thing for 70’s fashion and music, so flipping through the pages of Max’s Kansas City was nearly overload. How many images of young and beautiful icons like Patti Smith, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, Debbie Harry, and Tom Waits can a girl take before she drops? Oddly enough, what’s almost more interesting than the superstars are the images of the unknowns, the beautiful losers who appear to have just wandered in from off the street at the most opportune moment—when the cameras are flashing near Andy Warhol or Nico.

Some of the photographs are almost too up close and personal, like the one of a fresh-faced Janis Joplin sitting at a superstar populated table. What are they talking about and what kind of salad is that in front of them? And look, there’s an incredibly young and handsome John Waters holding a cigarette, the image so crystal clear you can almost smell the smoke.

What I especially love about Max’s Kansas City is that so many people associate the 70’s with polyester and bullshit disco music, but these images are proof that those on the outskirts of the city and on the fringes of society were creating groundbreaking art and music in dingy clubs tucked away in shady neighborhoods. To me, that’s so much more interesting than doin’ a little dance and makin’ a little love at a bullshit disco club.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, October 16th 2010

The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance

mandy — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Elna Baker

Dutton

Beginning at a Halloween-themed singles dance for Mormon adults in the tristate area (the party referenced in the title of her novel) a Queen-Bee-costumed Elna Baker sets the scene for the spiritually-infused existential struggles that are soon to come. Although the attendees are adults, the event aches of prepubescent awkwardness and is plagued by the same maladies that afflict these preteen school functions: forced sobriety, abysmal music, sex-segregated clustering, embarrassing encounters with couples dancing, and sanctified social hierarchy. In a room full of college-aged virgins expectantly looking to find a future spouse before spinsterhood sets in at graduation, no one seems the least bit interested in the chubby girl dressed as a mistress of the hive, and for the fourth year in a row, Elna Baker leaves the dance alone.

Being a single Mormon gal in New York City isn’t without its unique challenges, and Baker addresses them with just the right blend of earnestness and self-deprecating humor. More Sex and the City than Big Love, Baker’s story is an uncommon version of a common enough conflict for the modern American woman: how to be yourself and nab the man of your dreams. For a liberal Mormon like Baker, religion gets added to the mix, and The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance takes us through her coming of age—and coming to terms—as she attempts to reconcile her desire to embody conflicting identities: that of a headstrong, adventurous, sexually curious young woman who wants to be desired by men (and envied by women) versus a submissive, straight-laced wife and mother.

Baker’s somewhat unrealistic relationship expectations stem from her own experience growing up in an idyllic Mormon family. They are complicated by the overlapping and contradictory messages about conventional gender roles and individual autonomy that she has gleaned from both her religion and American popular culture. The marriage Baker envisions for herself takes the shape of a traditional man-and-wife coupling where a charmingly pragmatic and devoted soulmate (Mormons only please!) passionately sweeps her off her feet in Hollywood rom-com fashion. But this is real life we’re talking about here, and even Carrie Bradshaw had to wait until SATC made its debut on the big screen to tie the knot with her perfect match.

Kissing boys is fun and all, but after twenty-seven years, Baker is ready to get to the good stuff—just not at the expense of her faith. Having been taught that sex before marriage is the second greatest sin (murder being the first), her Mormonism contributes to the manifestation of a kind of rabid marriage mania. Unfortunately for Baker, the only Mormon boys she finds in New York City are either tragically dull or playing house Dad at the “family home evening,” a weekly gathering-cum-celestial popularity contest for twenty-something Latter Day Saints who prefer wholesome entertainment—like group devotional readings—to the debauched activities on offer in the big city. When Baker finally does meet a guy with zeal, he’s a diehard atheist who doesn’t believe in the institution of marriage or the existence of a soul, much less the idea that Pocahontas was a Jew.

Baker’s lack of firm resolve about the truth of Joseph Smith’s teachings creates a flip flop effect of religious vigor and apathy, as well as an intellectual insatiability that causes her to return again and again to the unenviable position of trying to explain the unexplainable. She seeks solid ground where none can exist, and as a result, Baker can’t seem to find a sturdy core from which to build her belief.

Ambivalence is not a new condition for those who struggle with spiritual (un)certainty—or, for that matter, those who write memoirs about that struggle. After nearly three decades of indecision, Baker finally makes up her mind about her faith: she decides to hang on to God and continue to grapple with the uncertainty. For now.

Excerpted from Religion Dispatches

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, October 12th 2010

Critical Intersections: Reproductive and Economic Justice Conference (9/22/2010)

mandy — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Barnard College

New York, New York

On an unseasonably hot and humid day in September, I took the train from Brooklyn to 116th Street to attend the Critical Intersections: Reproductive and Economic Justice conference, which was held at Barnard College's new Diana Center. Having suffered a massive allergy attack due to the weird weather, I shuffled quickly across the Barnard campus and entered just as the conference's feature film and lunch break were finishing up. The film, Justice at the Intersections: Action for Reproductive and Economic Justice in NYC, captured many women activists discussing their projects, goals, and dreams; one phrase that stuck with me was "women as stakeholders and change-makers in the community."

Critical Intersections was cosponsored by Barnard Center for Research on Women and the New York Women's Foundation, its core focus on the inextricable link between reproductive justice and women's economic security. With a sampling of seventeen New York City organizations, the conference provided a wide array of interpretations of “reproductive and economic justice,” with that definition as a point of intersection for multiple struggles: economic, gender-based, racial, and community-specific.

It was tough to pick an afternoon panel to attend (three ran concurrently), as all of the subject matter and groups presenting were dynamic and vital. I chose “Community Leadership in Organizing” to hear about Sistas on the Rise, a South Bronx-based young mothers’ community and activist center, and a project I am partial to. The panel featured representatives from three groups, each centered on a fairly specific issue: Sistas on the Rise generally works for the empowerment of young, low-income mothers and women of color; Sylvia Rivera Law Project provides legal aid surrounding the notion of gender self-determination as a fundamental right; and DAMAYAN Migrant Workers Association fights for Filipino domestic workers’ rights.

While each group had their own specific goals, modes of action, and individual structures, strong threads recurred. Namely, the self-determination of a marginalized group proved to be important for every organization. Both Sistas on the Rise and Sylvia Rivera Law Project explained their collective models, highlighting that, for Sistas on the Rise, “all decisions…ultimately serve the interest of the young women involved.” For Sylvia Rivera Law Project, “people who are most effected determine their own policy” and all collective members serve on the board because “it keeps us accountable.” DAMAYAN is a nonprofit organization, rather than a collective, with both a Board of Directors and a General Assembly, but like the two other groups, DAMAYAN is completely self-determined. It was founded and mostly run by Filipina women who have experienced the abuses so common to the domestic work industry.

We sat in an intimate (and very fancy) classroom and discussed the ins and outs of organizing within communities for structural change, and what our struggles mean within a context of globalization, imperialism, and oppression. Inspired by the actions of these local women, I left feeling excited and more connected to a lively, diverse feminist community.

Soon, we were back in the auditorium for a closing panel on “Creating Systemic Change at the Intersection of Reproductive and Economic Justice.” A less intimate setting, it was still inspiring to see a room full of feminists and activists brimming with excitement at the sight of each other. Moderated by Laura Flanders, founder and host of GritTV, this panel featured remarks from Sylvia Henriquez, President and CEO of National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health; Lynn Paltrow, Executive Director of National Advocates for Pregnant Women; and Miriam Yueng, Executive Director of National Asian Pacific American Women’s Forum.

Often when the focus switches from grassroots organizations to national ones, focus on the community can get lost—but not here. Sylvia Henriquez immediately mentioned the importance of autonomy and self-determination, noting that this “is far more than access to reproductive choice” for immigrant women, and that their role in communities and “family needs need to be met.” Lynn Paltrow reminded us that “the pro-choice movement must include mothers [because] most women who get abortions are mothers or will become mothers.” Miriam Yueng continued to emphasize the importance of the local and the national together: “Things look bleak now, but it is in rooms like this—on the local level—that things happen.”

One audience member shared her experience working for a feminist clinic in Tallahassee twenty years ago, where some of her cohorts worked on From Abortion to Reproductive Freedom. She exclaimed how happy it made her to attend a conference years later that is actually about comprehensive reproductive justice. By choosing to focus on the intersections, pairing groups on panels with similar processes of self-determination or collective modeling, emphasizing movement building from the ground up, and most importantly, placing women and trans folks at the center of organizing movements, Critical Intersections proved to be a strong showcase of the multiplicities and iterations of feminisms in 2010.

Written by: Kate Wadkins, October 8th 2010

New York Craft Beer Week: Freaktoberfest (9/24/2010)

mandy — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The Rock Shop

Brooklyn, New York

I do not know many women who like beer, I am certainty not one of them. Knowing this about myself, I took the task of reviewing Freaktoberfest as a challenge. In the anthropological spirit that imbues every writer, to a certain extent, I decided I would engage in some participant observation. As a sort of Sherpa, I brought Sam, an acquaintance from the circle of drinking friends everyone develops with age.

Sam is a beer drinker, although admittedly a lightweight, and by the end of the evening I was predominantly preoccupied with ensuring that she not fall down the stairs of The Rock Shop, the bar hosting the event. Despite this small snafu, Sam proved herself invaluable over the course of the evening. The first table we approached was manned by a volunteer in a bright yellow shirt named Matt who, upon hearing that I was a reviewer, chided me for not presenting my pen and notebook upon approach. Apparently, I was not on par with my peers.

The first beer, like so many other beers that evening, was light gold and tasted how what I imagine piss might taste, but with the second selection, the Golden Sour Ale by the Ithaca Brewing Company, I began getting into the spirit of things. The Golden Sour Ale was presented in what looked like a champagne magnum, complete with the word Brut predominantly displayed. It tasted like an adult version of a Sour Patch Kid, almost unpleasantly tart. At this point, I discovered a trick; so long as I continued to drink beers that did not taste like beer I would be fine.

The theory held out for the most part. Sam procured for herself, after a couple more attempts at beers of various shades, a Southern Tier Best of All Worlds, which is a pumpkin ale. After a couple of sips she proclaimed excitedly, “It doesn't taste like disappointment, like most pumpkin beers do. It tastes like desert… just one that makes you drunk.” While this was the first beer she approved of, I should have known at that point that it was time to take away Sam's tiny cup for a while.

I followed dessert with some coffee, sampling Victory Village from Victory Brewing Company. I was informed that I like my beers stouter than Sam does; however, later on in the evening, Melissa, a sales rep for one of the breweries informed me that for the most part there was no difference in that regard.

Moving upstairs, we encountered the bulk of the attendees, probably three-quarters of whom were men. Of the women, it seemed a large portion were working the event and the few who were not were attached to a man. Being neither working nor attached to a man (and, furthermore, attached to a woman), I was the target of a few lesbian comments. Why is it that no matter the age of the man, if he consumes enough beer he regresses to a fraternity-like state?

Sam, now in a thoroughly altered condition, began interviewing anyone who moved and came upon Mary Izett, a Certified Beer Judge and writer. Striking on the fact that Sam and I were attending on behalf of a feminist publication, she told us of incidents of sexism she'd experienced—men speaking to her boyfriend when answering a question she had asked and attending brewing classes where she was a pariah. Overall, the beer industry was described like any other industry where women are not the norm would be: in an adjustment phase.

Sam also pulled over David Myers, of Redstone Meadery, who was one of the event's organizers. David was very particular about a bifurcation between the beer industry and the craft beer industry. The beer industry is very traditionally male and made up of the Amheusers and the Coors, he says. It does not have much room for women. In contrast, he emphasized that the craft beer industry values skill and enthusiasm above all else, allowing all types of people to break in: “Beer was mean; craft beer is about knowledge and passion.”

Passion, however, does not always deliver. The Redstone Traditional Honey Mead blended with Coney Island Albino Python was, by all accounts, horrific. Bless the gods that they only make two barrels of it annually. The Coney Island Sword Swallower, however, was reportedly “very nice,” and the bottle was just suggestive enough with an image of a large breasted blonde swallowing a sword on it, which contributed to the steady stream of jokes regarding flavor that I had been producing throughout the evening. Beer is still not a woman friendly world, but sometimes you are best served by closing your eyes and swallowing, knowing that the happy intoxication comes next.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, October 6th 2010

Literary Readings: Margaret Atwood (9/20/2010)

mandy — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 16:00:00 +0000

92nd Street Y

New York, New York

Have you ever overheard such a riveting, witty conversation that you simply had to eavesdrop? Listening to Margaret Atwood and Valerie Martin quibble over every possible tangent to Atwood’s latest paperback The Year of the Flood felt much like playing the part of an enchanted voyeur. The incredible chemistry of these two old friends was stunning unto itself; the subject matter was a combination of defining dystopia and rabbit starvation, elucidating the mythology of bees, and examining city lights and migratory bird patterns. Even still, they were hilarious.

As Martin introduced her friend of thirty years, she joked that the impossibility of Atwood having been so prolific with her writing and appearances could only mean that she must have a secret “Saskatchewan double” typing away for her in the tundra. Later on during the Q&A, as one writer tried to outdo the other, there were many gems.

The story of The Year of the Flood is meant to examine the path of those with lesser means in a dystopian world of privilege set in the future. Centered on a utopia thrust into a dying world, three narrators tell the story of the God’s Gardeners, a fictional cult that operates in slums and praises Mother Earth on rooftop gardens. This is a future where Al Gore is canonized and characters wait out the annihilation of the planet in spas while persisting on avocado masks. A waterless flood, in the form of a man-made virus, has essentially eliminated humanity.

Atwood reading from the podium felt much more like a traditional reading, with a bits of scene setting and three excerpted selections (one for each narrator in the novel). That is, until Margaret Atwood sang a hymn called "We Praise The Tiny Perfect Moles" for Mole day, a children’s festival of the God’s Gardeners. As Atwood has become a sort of a modern day patron saint of the dystopia genre, perhaps all this is her way of giving back.

I went into this event an enormous fan of Atwood, and left even more in love. If you have yet to read Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, stop reading this drivel I have penned and go find that book. It will change your life.

Written by: Nicole Levitz, September 21st 2010

Jack Goes Boating

mandy — Sat, 18 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Directed by Phillip Seymour Hoffman

Overture Films, Anchor Bay Entertainment

I had no idea that Phillip Seymour Hoffman had such a devoted fan base. Yeah, he won Oscars for his work in Capote and Doubt and he did liven up overrated stinkers like The Talented Mr. Ripley and Magnolia. Still, I was shocked by how many people streamed into the theatre to see his directorial debut, Jack Goes Boating. Nearly all the chairs in the 600-seat space were filled.

Adapted from Bob Glaudini’s play of the same name, Jack Goes Boating revolves around the doings (or, more accurately, not-doings and undoings) of a group of forty-somethings in New York City. The movie opens with limo drivers Clyde (John Ortiz) and Jack (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) discussing Jack’s upcoming blind date with Connie (Amy Ryan), the co-worker of Clyde’s wife, Lucy (Daphne Rubin-Vega).

Connie and Jack are sad sacks, having only their jobs and their relationships with their co-workers cum friends to give their lives any type of purpose. Although Connie and Jack are anxious about romance, the two feel an attraction to each other and embark on a snail’s pace courtship. Jack decides to learn how to swim so he can take Connie on a boat ride the coming summer. (The film begins at the cusp of winter.)

Clyde and Lucy’s long-term marriage is slowly disintegrating under the pressures of sexual betrayal, resentment, and boredom. Lucy is quietly ambitious, railing against her husband’s inertia. Clyde attempts to please her by half-heartedly attending business school. Clyde and Lucy distract themselves from their own unhappiness by coaching Jack and Connie's newly forming relationship.

The four inhabit an urban landscape that is strangely devoid of noise, excitement, or other people. This could have been intentional, a subtle way of depicting the isolation of its characters, but it is an iffy creative choice, forcing the audience to focus exclusively on characters who aren’t fully developed.

The film has other flaws as well. While many of the sly jokes in Jack Goes Boating hit the mark, its glacial pace undercuts the film's overall effectiveness. It takes too long to reap the meager payoff and, like many movies that are based on plays, has entirely too much dialogue.

Jack Goes Boating grated on me for political reasons, too. A woman who is willing to ask for more, Lucy is depicted in a quasi-villainous manner, as she’s the one who breaks the tenuous bond of the foursome. The scene where Connie requests to be “overpowered” by Jack before they have sex wouldn’t have bothered me so much if I hadn’t seen the bloody aftermath of her victimization by a subway pervert earlier in the film… or watched her boss touch her in a highly questionable manner. (Is Glaudini suggesting that some women invite victimization?) And the fact that Lucy and Clyde re-enact the workplace sexual harassment in an impromptu sex game left a bad taste in my mouth.

I did enjoy Jack’s visualization and cooking sequences, though. Exquisitely scored, they have a haunting beauty to them. I also appreciated the defiantly downbeat depiction of a fortyish single woman. Connie is anything but Carrie Bradshaw, and Jack Goes Boating avoids being even remotely similar to a rom-com cliché.

All told, Jack Goes Boating is a grown-folks movie. It doesn’t have a feel good vibe, despite its relatively happy ending, and anyone in search of light fare should skip this thinking person’s romantic comedy.

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, September 18th 2010

Entre Nos

admin — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Gloria La Morte, Paola Mendoza

IndiePix Studios

Mariana and her children, Gabriel and Andrea, are stranded in New York City. Two weeks after her husband Antonio asked them to leave their native Colombia and join him in Queens after a lengthy separation, he left $50 in an envelope, headed for Miami, and stopped answering his phone. A family friend tells Mariana that he isn’t coming home.

Undocumented and completely broke, Mariana tries to sell homemade empanadas on the streets while also accepting random jobs as they come. On one occasion, she’s forced to leave the kids home alone while she goes out for a few hours to take day work as a dishwasher. Kids being kids, they lay around teaching each other curse words in English until a friend comes by with a better offer, and they all sneak out to take an illicit dip in an elderly neighbor’s pool. Racing home after they’re discovered and chased away by an angry old man, they’re only seconds ahead of their mother on the subway platform, who witnesses them out alone in public. Clearly terrified for her children’s safety and of the U.S. authorities, she barges into their tiny apartment moments after her children, shouting at Gabi that in this country, they take children away from their parents.

Though their circumstances are often dire, the bond depicted between Mariana, Andrea, and Gabriel is remarkable. Overcoming a seemingly endless stream of difficulties along the way, Gabi pitches in to help the family survive, collecting cans when Mariana is too sick or exhausted to do it herself. And while the ways in which Mariana sacrifices for her children are clear, there are also lovely examples like when she pays for the kids to see a movie together. The $21 entrance fee for three is a bit steep, but she can shell out enough for the two of them and makes them swear to meet her out front the moment the film is over. They shriek in agreement as they race into the air-conditioned building as she calls after them, "Te quiero!"

Co-director Paola Mendoza is largely responsible for honoring the depictions of the struggling immigrant mother and her young children; the story is based on her own family’s struggle, a tribute to her mother. Entre Nos is very visually pleasing, expertly edited and strikingly beautiful despite the pain it depicts. Scenes of quintessential American poverty loom throughout, like neighbor women sharing at-home abortion tips on the sly or when the small family stands timidly outside the emergency room after Gabi hurt his leg until Mariana offers to “wash it at home” before they retreat back into the night. Whether they’re afraid of being deported or because they simply can’t afford the medical bills, the scene is an important reminder of how poverty and immigration are often deeply intertwined.

The film weaves themes of homelessness and the camaraderie of the streets with universal depictions of the strength and resilience of single mothers and their innocent, precocious children. It also reminds you that even if life as an undocumented immigrant seems unbearable, even if you want to go home, you may not be able to afford to turn around.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, June 20th 2010