privilege

Nine Gallons #2: True Stories by Susie Cagle

tina — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 20:00:00 +0000

In Nine Gallons #2: True Stories by Susie Cagle, writer and artist Susie Cagle recounts her experiences with Food Not Bombs. For those unfamiliar, Food Not Bombs is a "franchise activist non-organization dedicated to fighting hunger with vegetarian meals comprised mainly from wasted food.” Food Not Bombs chapters are all over the world, though predominantly in major cities.

Though this publication is small, Cagle covers a lot of ground. You learn that it’s not easy being involved with the non-organization. One will face working for free (not everyone can afford to volunteer), unreliable volunteers, and uncertainty over where food and resources will come from. The public responds to your work in varied ways, ranging anywhere from positive support to fevered rudeness. There are also issues of class and racial privilege that come into play. As the writer perfectly states, "a largely white monopoly on Food Not Bombs as a cultural institution is an impediment to people of color self-organizing.”

Though the artist didn't touch on weather being an issue, the climate in which you live greatly affects when and where you can serve food. One year, the Food Not Bombs chapter I was involved in served spaghetti at a park on the fourth of July. With little warning, there was a rainstorm that showered us and our hard work. We couldn't afford a tent or cover of any kind, so the food was flooded and had to be thrown away.

Susie's writing is skilled, her illustrations are well-formed and charming, and her characters are both believable and easy to relate to. The only qualm I had with the zine was her illustration style. The artist draws people from a two-thirds angle and they are usually facing the same way. I am unsure whether she is limiting her angles and facial drawings due to necessity or artistic choice. Either way, this repetition distracts us from good stories that deserve our focus.

Overall, Nine Gallons #2 serves as an easy to read, honest, and articulate recount of working with Food Not Bombs.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, April 11th 2011

Dreaming in French

barbara — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Megan McAndrew

Simon & Schuster

On the surface, Dreaming in French sounds like the type of book I would love. It’s about a strong-willed girl named Charlotte growing up in Paris during the 1970s until she and her mother are forced to move to New York. I love anything about Paris, especially during the 1970s with its yé-yé girl singers that ruled the charts, inventive fashion, and sexual freedom. I also love reading about New York during that time period, when a lot of powerful, creative music and art were coming to light.

Sadly, the book is not really about Paris or New York, but about a spoiled, pretentious girl and her equally spoiled, pretentious mother, Astrid. A teenage Charlotte can be forgiven for her self-absorption, but as we watch her grow up, she only becomes more selfish. Astrid is even more selfish than her daughter, breaking the family apart when she has an affair with a Polish dissident and, in a Kafkaesque twist, ends up in jail. Her daughters rally to Astrid’s side, but her faithful husband feels betrayed and will never forgive her. They divorce, and Astrid leaves for New York to start anew. Charlotte, who adores her mother, decides to go with her. Her sister Lea remains in Paris with their father Frank, while his Swedish secretary slowly carries out her plans to marry him.

Charlotte goes from a life of comfort to a life of… slightly less comfort. Her father provides her with some money, and she attends a private school after she and Astrid check out the local high school and find “a group of black girls…tough urban girls with knowing eyes.” This is but one of several racist statements McAndrew makes throughout the novel.

It is hard to sympathize with Charlotte’s troubles when it seems that she has everything going for her: she is thin, white, beautiful, extremely intelligent, and wealthy. She is aware of her privilege but never thinks about it extensively, providing the perfect example of how acknowledging privilege is not the same as understanding it. Rather than use her privilege to try and change the world or examine questions of inequality, Charlotte seems to take pride in how spoiled she is.

Charlotte reminded me a lot of Rory Gilmore from the TV show Gilmore Girls because she is also smart, pretty, and white, except that Rory is humble and likable, whereas Charlotte is not. No doubt due to her pedigree and upbringing, Charlotte gets into Yale, and busies herself studying post-structuralist feminism. At Yale she has a disturbing relationship with a man named Azher, who attempts to enter her almost brutally. Their forceful, violent sex and bordering-on-abusive relationship is treated with the same detached superficiality of everything else in the novel. McAndrew handles cancer, eating disorders, cross-cultural interactions, AIDS, and political uprisings with the aloof tone of one talking about the weather.

Eventually Charlotte comes into her own working for Glamour magazine and the reader is supposed to be happy for her, but Charlotte is still more of a petulant child than amiable heroine. McAndrew’s tendency to rely on clichés only exacerbates the situation. By the end of the novel Charlotte has discovered that she holds the key to her own happiness, her father has remarried a sweet widow who is also the mother of Charlotte’s childhood best friend, and her sister Lea is literally living happily ever after in a castle with her husband who’s a legitimate Prince. It’s all the stuff of an airplane book, and not a particularly good one at that.

The world really does not need another book about a privileged young woman trying to find herself through shopping and sex with men she doesn’t love. To this type of ridiculous, pointless novel, I say j’en ai marre—I’ve had enough.

Written by: Arielle Burgdorf, March 11th 2011

Feminist Technology

caitlin — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by Kate Boyer, Linda Layne, Sharra Vostral

University of Illinois Press

On the cover of this book, a silhouette of what resembles a hand holding a speculum, above the words feminist technology, prompts questions. Whose hand holds the speculum? Is it just me, or is it kind of shaped like the letter “F”? The image hints at Feminist Technology’s project: to look at technologies in the context of the hands that design and use them, and to consider how they might or might not facilitate feminist social relations.

The scope of both feminism and technology is vast, and where they meet is no small place. So, the editors focus on just a few medical technologies, with articles on the menstrual suppressing birth control pill, the breast pump, the home pregnancy test, and the tampon. In her introduction, Linda Layne writes, “…clearly technological fixes are not enough. Feminists must also work toward undoing patriarchy in all its forms. This means not only introducing new technologies, but changing technosocial systems…”

Aengst and Layne’s article on menstrual-suppressing birth control pills explores effects of the pill on ways of thinking about gender by looking at how the construction of a monthly period as biologically “natural” gets disrupted by the birth control pill’s ability to suppress menstruation and to create new cycles. The article ends by imagining how different strains of feminism would interpret the pill. The two scant paragraphs under the header “African American feminism” are a rare glimpse, in this book, of a feminist of color perspective cognizant of the reproductive injustices historically directed toward women of color. Aengst and Layne implicitly marginalize this politic by naming it so fleetingly. The article ends by proclaiming that the pill Seasonale “might very well be a useful technology for middle and upper class women who seek convenience and can afford to choose among many contraceptive technologies.” One wonders: what about everyone else?

While the language of feminism used in the book is quite universalizing, the focus remains largely on technologies in the US and Canada marketed towards cisgender women, implicitly economically privileged. While Anita Hardon’s piece does mention the disturbing ways in which the Population Council used Norplant coercively in Brazil and Bangladesh, it does so in a way that lacks an analysis of the underlying racism that constructs the bodies of people of color as unworthy of care. In reading, I hoped for more outrage from the author at how technology has been used in decidedly unfeminist ways.

In looking at the book’s final articles on the training of feminist designers in universities, I wondered about how feminist design might be imagined even outside of the increasingly inaccessible world of higher education. Considering means of production, in what conditions would people create these new objects, and how would their labor be valued? What materials would be used?

While Feminist Technology provides a trove of historical anecdotes on the development of various technologies, it could do better at revisiting the question of what makes a technology feminist by critiquing the very model of feminism it uses—and the voices it might implicitly exclude. If this topic interests you, consider also the feminist technology blog Difference Engines, whose “concerns are not only with gender, but all manner of differencing, including race, ethnicity, and humanity.”

Written by: Vani Natarajan, September 26th 2010

Privilege: A Reader

admin — Sat, 08 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Michael Kimmel, Abby L. Ferber

Westview Press

A historian once said that the more one can know about something, the more you can control it. Michel Foucault was specifically talking about the control of psychiatric patients, prison inmates, and people's sex lives, but we can certainly extend his thoughts to a plethora of other examples. What Foucault did not say, however, was how exposing and learning about power and dominance can lead to their dismantling.

After more than two decades since his passing, the inheritors of Foucault's ideas make an appearance in a handsome new book that explores the invisible power of privilege; namely the privilege of being White, heterosexual, and middle class in America. Privilege: A Reader is a collection of essays compiled and edited by Michael Kimmel and Abby L. Ferber, both scholarly experts in masculinities and ethnic studies respectively. The book takes on a welcoming and accessible feel with essays that come a personal place, many written from a first-person perspective by heavyweights like Patricia Hill Collins, bell hooks, and Tim Wise.

Some, like Allan Bérubé's experience as a gay rights activist brings to light the complications of being White in anti-racist gay rights movement. Not being White, I found Bérubé's angst about pointing out the Whiteness of influential gay groups in the U.S. an eyeopener. For White people, it seems, it was convenient to remain racially invisible and to depend on the unspoken rules about keeping that Whiteness unchecked. Awkward silences, defensiveness, and hostility form the repertoire of White discomfort when the racial gaze is turned to Whiteness.

In Michael A. Messner's piece on "Becoming 100 Percent Straight," he raises questions that heterosexual people rarely ask: how do we know for sure we're straight? And what made us straight? Messner's question is interwoven in a study of his own sexuality that touches on his memories as a young man who was infatuated with a male classmate and friend. In repressing this infatuation, he belittles and rejects his friend—a process Messner calls the heterosexualisation of his masculinity.

With every chapter I am reminded of the discomfort the topic of privilege raises and how important that it should remain unsettling. I learn that Black men and working class White people, as privileged groups, are highly contested categories in the face of institutional racism and poverty. And dishearteningly, I discover that the gateway to social mobility undermined by the unearned privilege of being accepted to Ivy League colleges by virtue of having parents who are alumni.

Kimmel and Ferber's book takes us on a journey of self-reflection, of deconstructing the power of invisibility, and asks us some difficult questions about our many roles in maintaining oppression. But it does not try leave us beset with racial or class guilt. Rather, it invites us to pursue, both on a theoretical and practical level, ways of recognising the overlapping nature of social privileges and overcoming differences in the name of solidarity against oppressions.

Though Privilege: A Reader could be a more comprehensive, far-reaching catalogue of dominance, both insidious and overt, if it had taken on board the narrative of privilege from other non-White experiences and interrogated what being able-bodied and cisgendered mean. The absence of trans, disabled, Asian, and Native American voices speaks, ironically, of Kimmel's and Ferber's privilege of omitting these important experiences that are key to dismantling the edifice of privilege.

I praise Privilege: A Reader nonetheless, for its courage to speak from a place that prefers to remain silent, for raising attention to a things that want to stay hidden, and its overall critique of life's many taken for granted experiences and “common sense.” I'm sure Foucault would be proud of that.

Written by: Alicia Izharuddin, May 8th 2010

The Blind Side

admin — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 06:36:00 +0000

Directed by John Lee Hancock

Warner Bros. Pictures

I didn’t intended to write a review of The Blind Side, but when my aunt responded to my Facebook status deriding the film’s racist indoctrination by saying my critiques were a figment of my liberal imagination, it all came flowing out.

The Blind Side is a version of (Black) NFL player Michael Oher's true life story of being taken in by a (White) Christian family in Memphis, TN during his final years of high school after ending up homeless. (How he ends up that way is never explained in the film.) The family cares for him and helps him graduate from high school, go to college on an athletic scholarship, and eventually play professional football. Meant to be a feel-good film, Oher’s story actually isn't told from the vantage point of Oher himself, but from the perspective of his surrogate mother. And this is where the misstepping begins.

When a creative work is made, it is necessarily imprinted with the not only the aesthetic lens of its creators, but their social, political, and personal ones as well. In The Blind Side’s case, this is especially important. The movie is based on a book, The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game, written by Michael Lewis, who collaborated with director John Lee Hancock on the script. Both Lewis and Hancock are Southern, class privileged, and White, and this standpoint is heavily felt throughout the film. Though not always a recipe for cinematic disaster, the choice to center a White, upper class point of view dooms The Blind Side from the jump.

Every person of color in this film is a stereotype and, with the exception of Oher (played by Quinton Aaron), a villain: Oher's crack addicted mother; the 40-drinking, gun-toting thugs in the Hurt Village projects; the storeowner who makes fun of Oher's height and weight; the immasculated caregiver who folds to his selfish wife's demands to give Oher the boot. Oher himself is depicted as a mentally slow, physically intimidating, overly protective Black boy (a la King Kong) whose simpleminded thoughts on most things are either silenced or overtaken by whatever the White lead, Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock), thinks about things. This is so much the case that Oher begins parroting her toward the end.

The Tuohy family, who takes Oher in, is also shown as a stereotype: benevolent White saviors who shower Oher with money and materialism in order to 'fix' his problems (as they perceive them, of course). They use their wealth to buy their way out of everything; however, in reality one doesn't overcome sixteen years of abuse and trauma just because you give him his first proper bed and a shiny, new pickup truck. Any time a traumatic issue comes up, the film shows Leigh Ann's hurt (not Oher's) and quickly cuts to a new scene without lingering on questions about the causes or effects of Oher's suffering.

When the suggestion of Oher’s going to therapy does come up, the flippant response is “he just wants to forget it,” which should make any mental health professional choke on their popcorn. We are shaped by our pasts from the ground up (why do you think Oher was mostly mute and intellectually stunted in the first place?), and we don't just forget our personal histories and move on to the next scene—unless you're a filmmaker who doesn't place importance on such things or prefers to put the focus on how knowledge of Oher's past effects Bullock's character (the person the audience is encouraged to identify with) rather than Oher himself (who is simply a vehicle for the back-patting, ‘White people are good’ plot).

The times we see racism enacted, mentioned, or alluded to, it is swept aside with little explanation. For example, the myth of the black rapist (though not so straightforwardly named) is brushed aside with a simplistic “shame on you,” and the myth of the welfare queen isn't even acknowledged enough to be given the courtesy of dismissal. On the contrary, it's reinforced. Both just lie there, unaddressed, like so many other things in this film. (At one point, Oher’s surrogate father jokingly says, “he thinks he’s a redneck,” with no hint of irony given that the term is typically applied to racist Whites.) The overt racism that is addressed receives only pat responses, like name-calling and an underplaying (e.g., the deliverance dad and the discriminatory ref) of their sustained importance on the life of a young man of color.

The Tuohy family supposedly looks past race—except that they conspicuously have no friends of color in a city that is only a third White and apparently have little knowledge of the poverty that is destroying people's lives just a few miles away from their posh mansion and private Christian school. They live in a safe bubble of White, upper class ignorance that absolves them of any need to know about such an untidy reality—and they're still living there at the end of the film.

The fact that racism’s pervasiveness in American society shields it from being recognized by many people, like my aunt, who sat through a viewing of The Blind Side (or is that the titular reference?) is all the more disturbing in its ‘white is right’ programming. If I believed the film was supposed to be calling attention to the way racism functions in America (like Precious, for example), instead of further diminishing its presence and impact, I could get down with the idea that art is simply imitating life. But it doesn't unmask racism in America; instead, it works to further conceal it.

Good intentions are just one side of the story, folks. Although The Blind Side is rife with those, its failure to deliver a complex look at Oher’s side of the story, ultimately, reinforces the exact system it intends to disassemble.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, February 22nd 2010

What Makes Me White

admin — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 08:07:00 +0000

Directed by Aimee Sands

In America we have seen a lot of victories in the battle against racism. An African American leader in the White House is a prominent sign of this progress. However, we still have far to go.

The recent arrest of Harvard Professor Henry Gates has made many rush to judgment saying he is using the “race card” to dismiss any wrong action he may have taken during the incident. On the other hand, some are calling the actions of the police officer overtly racist. Accusing either side of using or dismissing race is an easy way out of a difficult discussion. Thus, this news story provides an example of how society still has more work to do regarding racism.

What Makes Me White, a short film by Aimee Sands, presents the audience with a lot of questions and anecdotes about race and our places within the complex issue. It attempts to reveal the subconscious biases that we—all of society, but especially white America—have been taught to conceal and repress for the greater good. But what good is denying bias when it turns up in our actions and thoughts anyway?

The film features interviews with people recalling their experiences with race, including when they first became conscious of its existence. White people in the film tell stories about recognizing their own prejudices and learning about the prejudices of those around them. Susan Brigham, co-founder of Wayland Diversity Network, recalled when she first began to see her housekeeper as more than just a housekeeper. Unfortunately, this recognition didn’t happen until the woman’s funeral. This experience encouraged her to begin looking at diversity and establishing connections with people of all backgrounds.

I commend the list of people that were interviewed for the film. One such person featured is Peggy McIntosh who wrote the oft-cited essay "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack." McIntosh imparts excellent insight into the concept of White privilege, which the film is steeped in. It recognizes that White people don’t have to think about the reality of being White. When we wake up, most mornings we face the world as a "normal" person, not specifically a White person.

Concepts and ideas about race given during the interviews are punctuated by narratives by the filmmaker about her own experience of being White and how she was trained not to speak about race. Through the artistic visuals and narration, the audience can feel her genuine thirst for understanding.

My main criticism of the film is that it doesn’t push far enough. It does start the conversation about race and allows White people to begin the process of acknowledging their relationship with race, but more needs to be explored. The film speaks mostly to upper middle class educated White populations, in particular those living in the northeast. A broader audience should be asked these same questions and brought into the conversation.

Perhaps, this film is the first of a series. Talking to average Americans of all ethnicities across the geographic boundaries of the US would bring another dimension to this relevant topic. We all want to believe this issue is behind us and that there isn’t discrimination in the actions of leaders and neighbors, but the truth is murkier, and prejudice does exist, even in the most empathic people. It’s hard to admit our bias, accept our experiences, and celebrate differences, but we must do all these things in order to get to the finish line in the quest for equality.

Written by: Andrea Hance, September 20th 2009

Power Lines: On the Subject of Feminist Alliances

admin — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 11:13:00 +0000

By Aimee Carrillo Rowe

Duke University Press

In the past year, I’ve noticed a trend towards bashing the contemporary Women’s Studies programs of U.S. universities. Mostly, I’ve heard critiques of this brand of academic feminism coming from (perhaps not surprisingly) communities of radical feminists, many of whom do not identify as scholars bound by an institution or a set of initials after their names. Myself both in the radical feminist category and also the past recipient of a gendered bachelor’s degree, I can sympathize with the range of emotions this topic can elicit. Academic feminism is known to be heteronormative, able-bodied, overwhelmingly white, and preoccupied with the concerns of middle class women. Yet academic feminists also hold considerable power—institutional power—and like it or not, that weight can benefit untold women around the world if we harness the opportunities this visibility can provide.

In Power Lines, Aimee Carrillo Rowe invites us to first examine those literal devices. Sometimes strung across major traffic intersections, sometimes buried for miles, power lines are agents of connectivity. In the same way, feminist alliances—specifically transracial ones—are our conduits of strength. The ways that feminists form alliances can reinforce and reproduce existing power structures, and drawing on nearly thirty conversations with self-styled academic feminists engaged in transracial coalition building, Carrillo Rowe examines how these alliances can be built, sustained, and the reasons why they fail.

Identity politics can be rocky terrain—commendably informative, guilt inducing, and sometimes damaging for all if not pursued with humility and compassion—but Carrillo Rowe argues that feminist alliances across individual boundaries can provide a sense of belonging, herself a living example of overlapping and conflicting identities: “a queer woman of Mexican, Anglo, and Franco descent, raised in a middle-class military family in Southern California.” Now an Associate Professor at The University of Iowa (disclosure: the very university where I received the aforementioned degree), Carrillo Rowe is in the unique position of navigating her existing identities while adding an additional label: academic. But from within the ivory tower, her voice articulates how we can move beyond the frustration of one-dimensional education and into a better space to most effectively benefit the most women through our varied positions, inside and outside of academia.

Scholars who revere Chela Sandoval and Gayatri Spivak will find another kindred researcher in their midst—assuming, of course, that they didn’t already know and lovingly consume Carrillo Rowe’s work. This examination of race, class, academic feminist theory, and transracial parternships will inform the future of disciplines ranging from rhetoric to social work. Using philosophy and feminist theory, this complex analysis will inspire the apathetic and cynical to reexamine the value of academic feminism.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, December 26th 2008

Feminist Media Reconsidered

admin — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 05:12:00 +0000

Interview with Jessica Hoffmann, Daria Yudacufski

Some of the most incisive feminist analysis today is being published in the groundbreaking make/shift magazine. Started by three activists – Jessica Hoffmann, Daria Yudacufski, and Stephanie Abraham, who first worked together as founders and editors of the feminist zine LOUDmouth – make/shift is run by an editorial/publishing collective committed to antiracist, transnational, and queer perspectives. Together, the collective publishes “journalism, critical analysis, and visual and text art that documents contemporary feminist culture and action.”

Elevate Difference recently caught up with Jessica Hoffmann and Daria Yudacufski to learn about the meaning behind the magazine’s name, social justice-oriented feminism, and Hoffman’s recent call to action, “An Open Letter to White Feminists,” that lit up the blogosphere.

What is the significance of the magazine's title, make/shift?

Daria Yudacufski & Jessica Hoffmann: It’s about making – making media, making change, making communities, making movements, making art, and making shifts – shifting power, shifting paradigms, shifting society. And it’s about doing it with what you’ve got, in a non-institutional, resourceful, do-it-yourself makeshift way.

**What are the origins of make/shift? When did the idea first arise and how did you manifest it into the magazine we see today? **

Daria: Stephanie Abraham and I founded a feminist zine called LOUDmouth through the Women’s Resource Center at California State University, Los Angeles, where I used to work. Jessica, although not affiliated with the university, contributed to the zine and was an editor as well. As the three of us worked together, we realized that it would be great to do an independent version of the magazine on a larger, national scale. So, based on our experience with LOUDmouth and Jessica’s experience writing and editing for other magazines and books, we realized that we had the energy and ability to make it happen. After about a year of meetings and conversations and brainstorming with each other and with friends, we were able to turn our idea into a reality.

Many discussions about feminism include reflection on one very basic question: “What is feminism?” How does make/shift define feminism?

Jessica: First, we really don’t see feminism as a singular thing with one definition. There have always been multiple feminisms, and _make/shift _is most interested in and excited about the feminisms that look at how systems of power work, how people and communities collectively resist, and creative alternatives to oppression.

What was your earliest understanding of feminism, and what sparked your own consciousness as feminist activists?

Jessica: My earliest understanding of feminism was that it was sexism against men. I thought it was a negative and hateful thing, which is obviously something I learned from anti-feminist mainstream culture. From a very young age, I had been interested in social justice and peace work, and it took a while for me to see that feminism was not hateful, but was actually a lens through which I could see that all of these issues I cared about – from war to the environment to poverty – were affected by the same oppressive types of power. Feminism was amazing in showing me how to look at those things in structural ways, as well as in personal ways.

Daria: My earliest understanding was really through a women’s rights perspective, and the very basic idea that women and men should be equal. Growing up in Monterey, California in, like, 1981, I was about ten years old and out for a walk with a friend. We came across a rally for the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA). I was really inspired by all of these people coming together for something which seemed so obvious and necessary. It was at that point that I put an “ERA Yes!” bumper sticker on my elementary school notebook. However, my thoughts around feminism have evolved immensely since then, and for me, feminism is much more about larger social justice issues than women’s issues specifically.

The range of pieces in make/shift is quite striking. The content moves from personal essays to critical analysis to visual and textual art, and even a crossword puzzle! What led you to assemble the magazine in such a way, and was it a response to content you saw lacking in other feminist publications?

Jessica & Daria: This was very intentional. Part of believing that feminisms are plural is understanding that feminisms happen in many different voices and forms. In our mission of documenting contemporary feminisms, it is essential to represent as wide a range of voices and forms as possible. We know that this flies in the face of conventional magazine-making wisdom, which suggests that you should have a strong, single cohesive voice throughout the magazine, but we believe it is going to take many approaches and many voices to make change, and we want make/shift to reflect that.

Jessica: And there are very few venues that publish literary fiction that is formally inventive and politicized. I definitely wanted to make space for that in make/shift.

Why a print magazine at this particular time? As you know, there is discussion about the “relevancy” of print versus online media, and these are risky times for D.I.Y. projects, as many magazines have shut down due to financial issues. What is your opinion about the place of print media – especially social justice publications like make/shift – in our culture today?

Daria: Well, I think we both love print and the tangible quality of magazines. It feels so much more personal and intimate and just has such a great impact on me as a reader.

Jessica: We definitely thought about the questions of print vs. online in terms of environmental impact and financial costs and decided to go ahead with a small-scale print publication for a few reasons. As Daria said, we love magazines. I read a lot online, but there are some things that I really want to read in print, like fiction, long-form essays. There are still accessibility issues around the Internet, and while there’s a lot of amazing social justice media happening online, there are relatively few print outlets doing that work, so we thought we’d jump in.

What do your four columnists (Randa Jarrar, Erin Aubry Kaplan, Nomy Lamm, and Mattilda aka Matt Bernstein Sycamore) collectively bring to the magazine?

Daria & Jessica: We sat down and brainstormed who our dream columnists would be, and they were our first choices, and we were excited that they all agreed to participate. They bring an amazing array of ideas and perspectives in their beautiful and thoughtful writing. And we love working with them!

As you note, make/shift is created by “an editorial collective committed to antiracist, transnational, and queer perspectives.” Will you explain how your commitment to these perspectives informs your editorial decision-making process?

Jessica & Daria: Those are the perspectives that we have, and so, every single decision we make is informed by those perspectives. It’s quite simple really. Basically, we’re conscious of all of these issues in every aspect of making the magazine, from how we relate to each other to determining the magazine content to editing in a collaborative way.

**There has been much discussion among feminists about who the feminist movement truly serves. This includes a lot of division and soul-searching lately, as recent discussions about white feminist privilege and women of color marginalization have pushed many prominent white, feminist bloggers, authors, and publishers to speak more publicly about white privilege in the movement.

Jessica, you also wrote an inspiring and widely discussed piece in the third issue of make/shift (“On Prisons, Borders, Safety, and Privilege: An Open Letter to White Feminists”) that deftly examines these issues and more. Will you speak about the origins of that piece, the response you’ve gotten since then, and where you hope the discussion ultimately brings the movement?**

Daria: These discussions have led to a lot of internal conversations and dialogues about feminism and white privilege. There has been a lot of really scary and hurtful stuff put out there by mainstream white feminists, and we have talked a lot as a collective about whether feminism is even the appropriate framework for our magazine. A big part of why we exist as a magazine is because mainstream feminism has totally excluded or marginalized more radical voices, women of color, trans voices, etc., and at the same time, social justice-oriented media often excludes gendered perspectives. I feel like, if we were to stop using feminism as a framework, then we’d let those dominant voices win.

Jessica: These discussions around white privilege in feminism are not new, of course. There have always been skin- and/or class-privileged feminists who have failed to understand or reckon with their privilege and who have tried to lead a movement that centers their needs – a movement that should never have had a center or leaders to begin with. I mean, to get back to the plural-feminisms thing, I don’t even think it’s useful to imagine feminism as a single movement. And while there have always been liberal/mainstream feminists with privilege who have tried to push a movement that would address their needs while leaving larger power structures fundamentally unchallenged, there have also always been feminists with more radical takes. I came to feminism via bell hooks and Angela Davis. The first feminist texts I read were by radical women of color who insisted on an intersectional analysis and offered scathing critiques of white-led liberal feminisms. Those are the feminisms that are inspiring and seem useful to me.

In terms of the open letter I wrote, in some ways it seemed like what I had to say there was really obvious and almost didn’t need saying (and much of it had already been said by amazing radical feminists of color, like brownfemipower and folks from Incite!). But it seemed like there were these privileged feminists who kept saying they had an “intersectional” analysis, or were antiracist or whatever, yet they kept repeating these old habits of movement-making that centered privileged “women’s” needs. I had this feeling that maybe it was worth pointing out some specific ways I was seeing racism and white privilege playing out within liberal/white feminism, while also acknowledging my own experiences of privilege and how that had kept me, at different times in my life, from seeing the way power was really working – to note how problematic it is for people who are not seeing in those ways to be at the center of, or leading, feminist action. Also, I wanted to call out liberalism and strongly say that liberal feminism is a really different thing from radical, social justice-oriented feminism.

I’m not yet totally sure what to make of the responses to it. In some ways I’ve been surprised at how hard people who say they believe in social change want to hold on to privilege, and how unaware they seem to be of what they’re doing. It almost makes me feel naïve for thinking that anyone who believes in liberal/assimilationist approaches might possibly get something out of the article.

At the same time, it’s been heartening to get positive feedback from folks who did feel like they got something out of it, so… I dunno. I take this shit seriously, you know? I really want to believe that there are lots of people who really want to see societies work differently, power shared differently, and who are willing to get honest and uncomfortable and emotional and serious (and playful and loving, too!) in collaborating together to make that happen. I want to hope that. And I think the politics of privilege that call themselves feminism are just a really sad, sorry monster-wave trying to wash away that hope. I guess I was trying to write against that, to hope aloud for something better.

What feminist activists do make/shift admire? To borrow from your mission, who do you feel is best “resisting and creating alternatives to systematic oppression” right now?

Jessica & Daria: The contributors and the people and projects that we feature in the magazine, like brownfemipower, Ubuntu, Incite!, Mia Mingus, Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore, WelfareQUEENS, Young Women’s Empowerment Project – really everyone who has contributed to or been featured in the magazine, but there are so many more. You’ll just have to keep reading the magazine to find out who they are!

What’s next for make/shift?

Daria & Jessica: It’s hard to believe, but we’re almost done with issue four! It’ll be out in September and will include a spread on cooperative economics; a selection of letters between radical women of color, guest edited by Alexis Pauline Gumbs; a beautiful personal essay called “River” by a writer named Davka that you just have to read; a really wonderful photo essay by an artist named O.K. Riley about young women and sexuality; and so much more!

Photo Credit (Daria - left and Jessica - right): Giuliana Maresca

Written by: Ellen Papazian, July 29th 2008

Please Excuse My Daughter

admin — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 01:49:00 +0000

By Julie Klam

Riverhead Books

This is one of the worst books I have read so far in my life. Its author, Julie Klam, is a definitive “poor little rich girl.” After a strange childhood spent shopping and sunbathing in New York with her wealthy relatives, our protagonist was left with few life skills and low test scores. Her mother often pulled her out of school just to shop at upscale department stores; hence, the origin of the book’s title, Please Excuse My Daughter. Klam’s life of princess privilege is so baffling, she decided to write a memoir about it (for some reason).

This is a sloppily-written collection of bourgeois remarks, self-pity, and bad judgment. Prepare to cringe at offensive comments (mostly sexist and fat-phobic), bad decisions (she loaned thousands of dollars to a deadbeat boyfriend), and exhausting celebrity name-dropping (David Letterman, Barbara Streisand, Rod Stewart). I kept wishing that she’d stop mentioning cashmere sweaters and “buttery highlights” all the time.

I tried to be fair while reading this book. I wanted to regard Klam with feminist alliance. I read diligently to see what wisdom she had to offer us. I used to love the TV show Pop-Up Video, which she worked for. I was morbidly fascinated by the details of her rich family’s extravagance. What could I learn from someone whose upbringing was the total financial opposite of mine? Not much, apparently.

Though Klam does an excellent job of persuading readers to raise their daughters to be capable and responsible, instead of pretty princesses, this book provides little else (besides lukewarm, “chick-lit” humor and tales from an alien world of great wealth and social status). Keep in mind that I felt tenderly sad for Klam when life slammed her with obstacles that would have stirred even the most weather-worn person. I can only imagine how difficult it was to deal with the cold reality of life after being incredibly spoiled. I’d hug her, if only she didn’t annoy me so much!

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, April 18th 2008