racism

Wingshooters

brittany — Sat, 12 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By the age of nine, Michelle LeBeau has already taken more than a few knocks. Her mom has disappeared—whereabouts unknown—and her dad has unceremoniously dumped her with his aging parents in tiny Deerhorn, Wisconsin and left town. Michelle is Deerhorn's first biracial resident—half Japanese, half white—and she is not allowed to forget it.

Her only friends are a loving spaniel and her grandparents, a charismatic retiree named Charlie, and his dutiful wife, Helen. At best, the kids in town are standoffish; at worst, they're violent and mean, treating Michelle like an inferior mongrel.

Perhaps that's why she turns to adults for friendship. From her first days in Deerhorn, Michelle has gravitated toward Charlie, a real man's man, more comfortable hunting, fishing, and shooting the breeze than attending to the emotional needs of a scared little girl. Yet somehow the two bond and while both benefit from the liaison, Charlie makes no bones about his belief that people should stick to their "own kind." At the same time, his unconditional affection for the child is clear to everyone.

Life in Deerhorn settles into a calm, though tense, stasis—at least until Betty and Joe Garrett move to town, she to work in a local clinic, he to fill in for a teacher on maternity leave. The problem? The Garretts are African American.

Although the action of Wingshooters takes place in 1974, Deerhorn seems untouched by either the civil rights or anti-war movements. Residents are perplexed—and angered—by the changes that have taken place in the body politic over the last decade. Among the unsettling events: Legalized abortion and LGBTQ Pride rallies in nearby Madison and Milwaukee. They're further befuddled by media commentators who posit people of color as the moral and intellectual equivalent of whites.

To say that Deerhorn isn't ready for the Garretts is a gross understatement and residents do everything in their power to make the newcomers feel unwelcome. Even the Catholic priest does his bit, preaching against integration and racial equality.

It's ugly stuff. And it escalates when Joe Garrett accidentally discovers bruises on one of his students. Indeed, when a prime mover-and-shaker in Deerhorn—Charlie's best friend Earl—comes under scrutiny for child abuse, many of the town's most prominent denizens scurry to defend him. What ensues can only be described as tragic, a near-epic battle between good and evil.

Along the way, Revoyr addresses multiple themes, from masculinity, to women's roles, to the meaning of loyalty. They're concepts Revoyr has mined before—in The Age of Dreaming and Southland—but never with such passion.

Wingshooters chronicles the events of one particularly tumultuous year, but more than anything else, this is a novel about love, a touching, emotionally-explosive assessment of the relationship between one child and one elder. A fresh take on the politics of family ties, it eschews easy answers as it reveals the complex web binding granddad and granddaughter.

Michelle's conclusion, articulated as an adult, is insightful: "He taught me how to punch, how to block incoming blows, how to throw rocks back with accuracy and strength. These lessons made my life easier, and the irony strikes me only now: it was my grandfather, the rural, prejudiced white man... who taught me how to survive as a child of color in America."

Wingshooters is a story with jagged edges that lets readers decide if some sins—like racism—are simply too heinous to ever be completely forgiven. It's a heartbreakingly beautiful book by an astute political novelist. Read it with tissues in hand.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, March 12th 2011

Acting White: The Curious History of a Racial Slur

alicia — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Ron Christie

St Martin's Press

Before I begin reviewing Ron Christie’s Acting White: The Curious History of a Racial Slur I want to acknowledge my identity politics as they are crucial in my take on this book. First off I will never know what it’s like to be accused of acting white because I am white. Moreover, I am an anti-racist feminist who believes that institutional racism and structural inequalities exist and are held in place by those in power.

Understanding one’s subjectivity is crucial when reading Acting White, given that Christie, a Republican from an affluent family, interweaves his personal reflections into the book alongside a historical analysis of the slur. Furthermore, Christie’s impetus for writing the book stems from his own experiences as an outcast within Black communities and his need to unpack his own perceived marginalization. He opens Acting White with one such example, an anecdote involving Representative Maxine Waters, a Democrat from California who reportedly chastised Christie, then serving as a junior legislative assistant to Craig T. James, a Republican from Florida, for selling out his race and being “nothing but an Uncle Tom!”

Christie traces the implications of the slur of acting white back to Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, arguing that a link exists between black men denigrated as Uncle Toms and the notion of acting white. He examines the ideological conflicts between Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois as well as Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, the confirmation hearings of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, and the election of Barack Obama through the lens of what it means when Black men are accused of acting white or betraying their race. It’s important to note that Christie fails to discuss how being seen as acting white affects women of color and LGBTQ people of color—for what it’s worth, two groups who are also generally absent from or marginalized within the Republican Party and platform.

Overall, Christie blames Black communities for their own socioeconomic marginalization, asserting that Blacks underperform academically because they are afraid to be viewed as acting white—never mind issues of a lack of resources for teachers and/or underfunding within the public school system. In Christie’s opinion, if this racial slur could be dismantled then young working-class Black men and women would feel free to excel in school and would be able to pull themselves up out of their impoverished communities. Acting White makes it sound that simple as Christie repeatedly touts the importance of education, dressing well, and speaking well.

What hinders this goal, according to Christie, is a myriad of factors including Black leaders (he is particularly vocal about his dislike for Jesse Jackson) who point out institutional racism, which he argues sets up African Americans as victims with no agency or self empowerment. Christie also finds fault with legislation such as affirmative action arguing that these policies taint the achievements of African Americans whose hard work and dedication will be viewed with skepticism by racist whites.

Christie even goes as far as to castigate parents who give their children “black-sounding” names, as studies have shown that employers are less likely to hire applicants who do not have white mainstream names on their applications. Rather than calling for an overhaul of the racist system that ignores discrimination, Christie asks why such parents would set their children up for failure in the first place.

Ultimately, Christie preaches respectability in which Black youth (preferably those given white mainstream names) need to ditch hip-hop, dress nice, abandon slang, and hit the books without a fear of being called out for acting white. However, I cannot accept Christie’s arguments that sheer will and determination (alongside a certain dress code) separate the haves from the have-nots. As Melissa Harris Lacewell noted in her keynote address at the 2010 Facing Race Conference, referring to when Henry Louis Gates Jr. (whom Christie admires) was arrested for breaking and entering his own home, “your respectability will not save you when the issue is structural inequality.”

In the end, Acting White should be viewed more as a memoir and less as a treaty on the racial slur given that Christie’s subjectivity and politics color every word on the page—from which historical figures he discusses (why Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois but not Ida B. Wells?) to the rugged individualism he touts as the solution.

Written by: Kristen Lambert, January 10th 2011

The Necessity of Climate Change: Women of Color Speak from the Ivory Tower

mandy — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Interview with Morgane Richardson

Morgane Richardson graduated from Middlebury College in 2008 feeling that American colleges recruit women of color, but have no idea how to address the issues they face once they are enrolled. As a result, many of these women suffer depression, anxiety, and isolation in silence. Morgane decided to do something about this situation, and less than two years later, she has collected submissions from women all over the country who have had to navigate issues of race, class, and gender at elite, predominately white college campuses. With these stories, Morgane created Refuse the Silence.

Morgane is planning to publish a book and present a report to college administrators with a suggested plan of action to improve the college climate for women of color. In this interview, Morgane discusses the various misconceptions and stereotypes surrounding women of color in academic environments and the ways her website tries to support these women.

How do you determine which submissions should be part of Refuse the Silence?

All of the submissions we receive will be a part of Refuse the Silence; if not in the book, then definitely on our website or in our final report on the status of women of color in elite institutions. The decision about which entries will be reproduced in book format will be made by a handful of people, including the team that is selected to generate our final report, our editors, and the publisher.

What is the most surprising thing you have learned about the concerns of women of color at elite colleges?

To be honest, nothing. Thus far, none of the stories I have heard have been surprising. I know where these students are coming from because I either experienced it myself or know friends who did during their years living on these campuses. What I am really surprised by is the reality that little has changed. Students of color have racial epithets written on their walls every semester. College judicial boards and health centers are inadequately prepared to deal with women who are victims of sexual assault. The list goes on and on.

Are there ways you intend to address the issues of women of color who are neither members of elite academic communities nor part of the academic community?

I chose to focus on women of color in elite academic settings because that is what I know and what I can speak to. That being said, I have found that many of the stories and issues I hear from the women who are sending in submissions can be applied to women of color as a whole. White privilege, interracial dating, and the cost of an education are issues that affect all women of color. And the truth is, as a feminist, I work to give all women of color a voice.

Refuse the Silence is just one project that seeks to empower a specific group of the women of color population. Eventually, my hope is that this model can be used to help a wider demographic of women of color. I just need a lot more time and funding to make it happen.

Given the shortage of women of color as mentors, not only within the academic world but also the corporate world, what is your advice to women who are either in school or graduating looking to connect and learn from other women of color?

My main advice is to share your story! No one will understand what you are going through if you don’t make your voice heard. So many women of color feel as though they must keep their "issues" or experiences to themselves in an attempt to remain strong. Often times young women and men of color see their independent, strong, single mothers push forward without asking for help and grow up believing they must do the same. Refuse the Silence tells women they can also be strong by sharing their stories.

On a more tangible level, I recommend women of color find a mentor with whom they feel comfortable speaking. They can reach out to faculty and staff members, but also to alumni networks. As alums, we understand what they have experienced, and most of us are willing to listen and guide them in whatever direction they choose.

Do you think it is a misconception to believe that minorities in academic settings only want to seek out students within their ethnic or racial group?

Even at a young age there is a natural gravitation amongst people of color towards each other, especially in predominantly White settings. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that, especially when you are assimilating to a White culture, and when you have to be a part of that culture in order to succeed. The reality is, not everyone can survive in a predominantly White, elite, academic institution. On top of the stress of being a woman, searching for your identity, studying, and trying to make friends, people automatically separate you on the basis of your race. That added stress is overwhelming, and while some women of color can survive it, others need the support of a group of people who can understand it.

What are your thoughts on the argument that single-sex and all-Black colleges are no longer needed?

On a personal level I am as weary of an institution that is predominately Black as I am an institution that is predominately White… or an institution that is all-male or all-female. Academia is meant to be a place where you learn about theory and read from textbooks. But it is also a place where you learn about our society and how people function within it. I don’t believe you can obtain an honest and clear understanding of your global community if you are only surrounded by people who share similar experiences or come from a similar background.

That being said, as long as we continue to live in a White, male dominated society, I do believe we need these kinds of institutions. For me, it wasn’t the right setting, but for others, it might be.

What do you say to women of color who are worried that sharing their stories may backfire and hamper their success?

Actually, that is something we are dealing with right now. I recently received an email from a young woman we interviewed last year who has asked us to take down her video entry. She asked us because she is tired of dealing with people in her community who approach her and feel sorry for her after having seen her entry online. This is the first time this has happened with Refuse the Silence, but there are many women of color who decide not to share their stories because they don’t want to deal with the difficult outcome. I think this especially happens in elite institutions where your personal history and resume mean everything.

I recognize that it's a personal decision to fight, and then to fight loudly. But how do we move forward if we are afraid to speak out? How can we expect anyone to listen to us if we don’t say anything?

Based on your research so far, are there resources you recommend to women of color in college that will help them through their college years?

Find your peers and local women of color organizations! If anyone knows about what you are going through, it’s the people around you. I am not that far removed from college, and I remember how difficult it can be to reach out to those communities. So, I also recommend that women of color go online and start using social media to find people who are interested in fighting for a similar cause. There are tons of activists blogging about race and gender. There are feminists on Twitter speaking about women’s rights. And there are professors and heads of large organizations looking to see what is happening in the world. If a story on Refuse the Silence moves you, reach out to me and I will put you in contact with that person.

Many women of color do not identify as feminists. What are your thoughts on this position?

I have always said that I am a Black woman or, more recently, a Black feminist. No matter what my political and social beliefs are, people will always see my race before they see my gender, and that automatically separates me. I am not fighting solely for my freedom to be a woman. I am fighting for my freedom to live equally in this world as a Black woman.

I come from the understanding that feminism is about women and, in theory, should be race-neutral. But it is not. The feminist movement—and I’m sure everyone has heard this a thousand times—is rooted in White, middle class privilege. We live in a racist society, so it should come as no surprise that women of color can feel alienated within feminist groups.

I use this quote often, but I think there is no successful feminist revolution without an end to racism, among other -isms. Not all women can benefit from feminism if those systems are still in place. While I make a conscious decision to incorporate race as part of my identity as a feminist, others choose not to or may not see a reason to. So, to directly and simply answer the question, I understand why some women of color choose to not identify as feminists.

Can you share a personal goal you have and a goal you have for the site in the next year?

I recently made a big move out to Los Angeles, and I am terrified that I will be losing the feminist community I found in New York City. So, my personal goal is to make sure I find, and also create, a strong feminist network here that will provide me the space to continue growing and learning. As for Refuse the Silence, our team is working hard to make the project financially sustainable.

The full interview can be read at The Daily Femme

Written by: Cherie @ The Daily Femme, November 11th 2010

Launch of StopWatch (10/18/2010)

mandy — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

King’s College

London, England

Recent studies show that in England and Wales Black people are stopped and searched seven times more than Caucasians; and Asians at twice the Caucasian rate. Jesse Jackson has formed a new coalition of NGO’s and academic societies to combat racial profiling and power abuse in UK policing. The organization, StopWatch, was launched at King’s College in London with an address from Reverend Jesse Jackson followed by a panel discussion.

Jackson didn’t mince words as he began his speech by saying that Britain and the U.S. are cut from the same cloth culturally, but also in their inequality of civil rights. He observed that Britain is seen as an "enlightened" society with high culture districts and universities, but that racial discrimination is alive and well there. He continued his speech saying English police are just as bad as, if not worse than, the U.S. when it comes to abusing their powers, and he warned England to clean up their act before London hosts the 2012 Olympics by saying “don’t let this ugly behaviour blemish your reputation with the whole world watching.”

Similarly, Barron Victor Adebowale expressed concern about the current rise in racial profiling in Britain. He said he has a “horrible fear of déjà vu” from when the south of England was hit with race riots in the 1980s. He warned, “If we don’t discuss this in a civilized, planned, and appropriate way then it will arise; it will bite society in the way it did in the '80s in the riots of Brixton and throughout this country.”

Karen Chouhan, Director of Equanomics, an organization fighting racial inequalities through economics, spoke out against the principle of policing by consent. She said, “I don’t recall consenting to my son being stopped eleven times in eleven months and then being denied a record of the event.” Chouhan went on to say, “What worries me most is when it is normalized that the civil rights of our young people are eroded.”

StopWatch brings together academics and activists in order to research racial discrimination by the police, inform the public about police abuse, and offer alternatives. Their solutions to stopping searches are to establish integrated police cars, by both race and sex, to place cameras in police vehicles; provide mass education to young people about their rights; train police to use different tactics; and encourage community intelligence on the matter.

Throughout the conference, the speakers encouraged community organization not only amongst activists but also in choosing which officers should police which neighborhoods. Jackson argued for a form of Affirmative Action saying, “unless the police reflect the population they are policing they are an archetypal force.” Adebowale candidly responded that Affirmative Action in England in the next five years was as probable as his grandmother landing a UFO on the end of his nose. He credits this lack of policy making to the current conservative party’s control of the UK government. However, he ended on an optimistic note by concluding that the current administration’s focus on a self-sufficient society could lead to more freedom as the activist leaders involved in groups like StopWatch will also step up to lead in their own communities.

Written by: Sara Custer, November 1st 2010

Living on the Edge in Suburbia: From Welfare to Workfare

mandy — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Terese Lawinski

Vanderbilt University Press

Living on the Edge in Suburbia is Terese Lawinski’s comprehensive examination of welfare in the United States using ethnographic research on suburban families in Westchester County, New York. Lawinski leaves no stone in the welfare debate unturned, from the infamous myth of the “Welfare Queen” (introduced to America’s vocabulary by a Reagan campaign speech in 1976) to the fallacy of “illegal immigrants” coming to the U.S. in droves looking for easy money.

With the recession weighing on almost everyone’s mind, Lawinski’s book is timely and relevant. Many suburban Americans like the ones profiled here are losing the economic security they took for granted and are being forced to turn to government programs to get by. But misconceptions about how the system works and who benefits from it (and how much they benefit) shape the general public’s view of welfare as a cushy, well-funded government trust fund for lazy people.

The vitriol aimed at immigrants and people of color is growing as working class and middle class Americans draw an ever deeper line in the sand between “deserving” and “undeserving” aid recipients, as well as “acceptable aid,” like unemployment, versus “unacceptable” programs like Medicaid, TANF, and food stamps. Lawinski addresses this phenomenon adeptly and swiftly.

The word welfare is often associated with so-called urban problems (i.e., people of color, most often women). Instead of yet another examination of the stereotypical recipient of public assistance (young, poor, black, female), which often only serves to further reinforce welfare fallacies, Lawinski focuses on a variety of families, many of whom slipped into the vicious cycle of public assistance after relatively minor circumstances propelled them into major financial crises. Lawinski makes it a point to emphasize the fact that once a family (or individual) is stuck in the system, a myriad of confusing and conflicting rules make it nearly impossible to get back out without an additional support network.

Lawinski does a thorough job of putting the current welfare system in an historical context. She draws connections between society’s disdain for “welfare mothers” and the beginnings of the Aid to Families with Dependent Children program (AFDC), part of 1935’s New Deal. At the time, mothers had to show government workers that they "deserved" assistance, which was usually limited to white widows who met “suitable home” requirements. Racist overtones took over the welfare debate when programs were opened to women of color.

Lawinski points out that one of the biggest offenses of President Clinton’s Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act of 1996 (PRWORA) is that states began to claim the new law a success based on the number of people collecting benefits rather than the number of people living in poverty. As Lawinski explains, welfare rolls were cut by fifty percent, or even more, due to new regulations, but that didn’t mean people had found gainful employment (or any at all).

Where AFDC had once allowed people to survive (however meagerly), the 1996 welfare reform program, Temporary Assistance to Needy Families (TANF), left families without even that ability. After AFDC changed to TANF under PRWORA, lifetime limits (five years maximum by federal law, although individual states can further restrict time limits, and many do) meant that recipients were being cut off from public assistance without the means to support themselves. Additionally, TANF work requirements prevent the job training or education opportunities that are necessary for true self-sufficiency, and in a Catch-22, also reduce benefits. For those who can meet work requirements or attend education programs, the next hurdle is inadequate or nonexistent childcare subsidies.

In the epilogue, Lawinski offers solutions and guidelines with the Obama Administration in mind, but in the current political climate, it is doubtful that public aid will get the national attention and restructuring it needs.

Written by: Stephanie Sylverne, September 30th 2010

The Girl on the Train

admin — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by André Téchiné

Strand Releasing

Upon watching The Girl on the Train, it may not be immediately obvious that this is based on a real event: the 2004 scandal in which Marie-Leonie Leblanc fabricated an anti-Semitic attack by six Arab youth. In fact, the film’s lead character, Jeanne (Émilie Dequenne), seems like a typical teen in need of inspiration.

Minutes into the film, a man (Nicolas Duvauchelle) appears alongside her, rollerblading, and promises to be the thing that she has been missing. Cautiously, she allows him into her life, even after her mother (played with regal poise by Catherine Deneuve) notes an element of aggression.

As their affair unravels, it’s easy to empathize with the shocked Jeanne as she obeys the man's request that she leave. She runs home, and watches television with her mother. As her mother sits beside her, Jeanne appears to be watching a historical program about the Holocaust. At first glance, it appears that she is sympathizing with the victims of the atrocities.

Philippe Sarde’s fluid music arrangements provide sensations of desire and confusion, which are expressed by most of the characters in the film. In addition, the gentle tone is established by the supporting cast, which features Michel Blanc as Samuel Bleistein, Mathieu Demy as Alex, and the enigmatic Ronit Elkabetz as Judith. Director André Téchiné’s inclusion of the larger historical context of racism achieves the film’s outstanding quality: a compassionate depiction of Jeanne’s misguided tactic for being loved.

Written by: Maria Guzman, September 2nd 2010

Love, Race, and Liberation: ‘Til the White Day is Done

admin — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by JLove Calderón, Marcella Runell

Love-N-Liberation Press

The subtitle of of JLove Calderón and Marcella Runell’s curriculum, Love, Race, and Liberation, comes from the poem “Dream Variations” by Langston Hughes.

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.

Love, Race, and Liberation is a multimedia project that aims at heart-level transformation, even while it equips activists for ground-level work for racial justice. The work is sponsored by NYU’s Center for Multicultural Education and programs, Eradicating Racism (1 + 1 + 1=ONE), and World Up.

This text includes twenty lesson plans, which can be used together or individually, and eleven love letters from performers, writers, educators, and activists. The lessons, suitable for grade eight (approximately age thirteen) and above, are designed to take 90-120 minutes. Extension activities are included in many lessons, as well as supplemental resources. A couple of the lessons make use of the PBS film, Race: The Power of an Illusion (California Newsreel), and the film is recommended in the introductory notes. The topics covered include social identity, racial socialization, white privilege, immigration, cultural appropriation, and being an ally. There are lessons on newsworthy aspects of racial justice, notably housing, education, health care, and criminal justice.

Love, Race, and Liberation makes an excellent resource for a classroom teacher or community organizer. Whether a reader uses every lesson in the book, or chooses those topics most relevant for a given group of students, this guide will be very useful. From my reading of this book, I have already covered a couple of index cards with book titles, author names, and websites to explore.

The lessons on social identity had me remembering my undergraduate Sociology courses, when many of my classmates had not considered the multifaceted nature of our identities, or the ways in which our ideas of ourselves are socially constructed. As a white woman, I continually welcome lessons on being an effective ally in the struggle for racial justice, and Love, Race, and Liberation includes many practical reminders in this vein.

I found the love letters sprinkled throughout the curriculum very powerful. All of them reinforce the question that is the heart-matter of this volume: why are we in this struggle? To paraphrase Sofia Quintero: I am not in this to save anyone, but to liberate myself. Love, Race, and Liberation provides a welcome new set of tools for the job.

Written by: Lisa Rand, August 23rd 2010

Cotton’s Queer Relations: Same-Sex Intimacy and the Literature of the Southern Plantation, 1936-1968

admin — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Michael P. Bibler

University of Virginia Press

As Michael Bibler mentions in the introduction to Cotton’s Queer Relations, it seems impossible that there could be enough material out there to serve as the basis for such depth of criticism on an incredibly narrow topic. There are a few notable classics that have homoerotic undertones and even some more overt mentions of homosexual encounters that are discussed in works like The Confessions of Nat Turner, but these queer moments seem like blips in what appears to be an otherwise overtly heterosexual literary scape. Is Bibler reading too much into plantation literature? Are his examples only the result of the passionate desire to find queer meaning in texts where none exists? The answer to both questions seems to be no.

Bibler’s arguments are focused and supported with strong evidence from the texts and the work of other critics. But the argument by Bibler is more complex than a simple acknowledgment of the existence of queerness in plantation literature; he argues that the queer subtexts in plantation literature expose wider social injustices in plantation life, and that queer relations also move racial inequality and sexism to the forefront.

Bibler wants to make it clear that same-sex relations here do not necessarily mean homosexual relations. I will allow the reader of Cotton’s Queer Relations to delve more deeply into the complex reasoning behind his assertion; but in a nutshell, he essentially pleads that the closeness of same-sex relations in the textual examples he uses stand in such conflict of the heterosexualized and paternalistic structure of the plantation that they can be defined as queer even if they are not directly homosexual. It is an interesting take, and one that may initially sound like a bit of a stretch.

Terminology notwithstanding, Bibler offers fresh readings of literary classics like Absalom, Absalom! and gives contemporary insight to controversial texts like Styron’s Nat Turner. He digs deep into Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and is able to juxtapose Big Daddy’s simultaneous tolerance of homosexuality with his unabashed lack of respect toward the black servants he employs, effectively layering new meaning on a well-worn text. He picks apart the relationships of white women and their black servants in the works of Lillian Hellman, Katherine Anne Porter, and Margaret Walker, describing them as “romances”—and supports his logic—even though none of the women in the stories share an erotic lesbian moment, or even a kiss. While there are a few minor stretches here and there in Bibler’s text, he overall pleads his case. He certainly does not appear to be afraid of stirring controversy, and does a remarkable job of defending his arguments while he discusses each point.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, July 16th 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

From Paris With Love

admin — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 09:18:00 +0000

Directed by Pierre Morel

Lionsgate

Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent — Isaac Asimov

Luc Besson is credited with the “story” for this violent comic book of a thriller that is an insult to Paris. Years ago, Besson wrote Le Dernier Combat and The Fifth Element, flicks that are still worth seeing. He either wrote From Paris With Love in one second on the back of a postage stamp, is imaginatively bankrupt, or really needs the money. (All three perhaps?) Here’s the so-called story.

James Reece (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), personal assistant to the American ambassador in Paris, dabbles in tame black ops, such as clandestinely swapping license plates. One day, Charlie Wax (John Travolta, gun in one hand, ham in the other) arrives from the States for some extra-special ops, and Reece gets to be his partner. You can tell Wax is a badass because he’s built like a wrestler, has a bald head and black goatee, and cusses out French Customs. Sure enough, Wax is not in Gay Paree two minutes before he annihilates a Chinese restaurant, walks off with a vase full of cocaine, punches out six gnarly Asians at once, and announces plot points (how postmodern!). He proceeds to liquidate Paki terrorists. Yes, “Paki,” because that's how Wax talks, spouting racist jive that we’re apparently supposed to think is jocular because, you know, it’s Travolta, and he can so do glib-cutesypoo-charming-funny while mowing down foreign baddies. That’s acting for you. Hah-hah.

Reese, downright priggish on mayhem and slaughter, reproves Wax’s methods. Not to worry. He is bound to come-on-over to righteous American slo-mo killing. What happens, see, is that Reece gets blood on his face from an offed terrorist and then observes himself in a mirror. (Get it?! He sees himself baptized in blood!) Consequently, he begins to male bond with Wax. In the end, Reece proves he is a pistol-packing man—just like Wax has taught him to be—so much an hombre, in fact, that he can shoot his girlfriend and strut off to play chess with Wax. Yup, that's Reece’s character arc: He changes from being reticent about killing to wholeheartedly embracing it.

Admittedly, the fight and slow motion sequences are crisply edited, but the narrative is just one set piece after another of shoot kill, shoot kill, kill kill kill. That’s why the film exists. The many males and couple of females gunned down are nearly all swarthy or almond-eyed types. Beaucoup spurting blood squibs interspersed with jokes accompany les massacres. Thus the rancidity of the violent, big-American-star, buddy film is on display once again.

You will notice I’m not disposed to speak well of From Paris With Love. Alas, honesty compels me to note that near the end of the second act there is a car chase. From The Keystone Cops to Bullitt and beyond, car chases are a worthy subset of film genres. In this “how-did-they-do-that?” chase, Travolta/Wax, clutching a bazooka, hangs out the side window of a monster silver Audi doing about 150mph (flagrantly effective product placement). Wax needs a clear bead on a car in front so he can blow it to smithereens. The road is a European super highway, so the other cars all around are zipping right along, too. The pursuit swerves between comical and death defying. Whichever, it’s a knuckle-biting gas and up there with the best car chases ever on film.

But is a great car chase a good enough reason to watch a stupid, ugly film that makes yet another spectacle of killing people? Perhaps Luc Besson and everyone associated with this dross may still be perceptive enough to discern a rhetorical question when they encounter one.

Written by: Neil Flowers, February 17th 2010

Anachronism and Its Others: Sexuality, Race, Temporality

admin — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Valerie Rohy

SUNY Press

Valerie Rohy’s exploration of the efforts to define both queer and Black identities and their subsequent intersections is as interesting as it is illuminating, as presented in Anachronism and Its Others, whether it is a discussion of the temporal implications of Frederick Douglass’ thought presented in his autobiography or demystifying the nebulous concepts of "queer time." Anachronism and Its Others also investigates how the modern field of sexology has recently made a connection between homosexuality and blackness, often for the negative purpose of justifying homophobic and/or racist socioeconomic worldviews.

One of Rohy’s strongest observations in Anachronism and Its Others is the split between "queer" and "straight time" as she notes within the initial chapters of the book. The idea of straight time as a historical metanarrative told through the evolution of American culture as defined by the goals of majoritarian interests is revelatory. As Rohy states, straight time is "promoted as the best form of progress and the only 'real temporality.'" The author illustrates an important connection to scientific racism as it forms the grounding of those seeking to connect homosexuality and Blackness with threats to the White family, to its perceived superior vitality, fecundity, and ability to function as the carriage of the national society. Rohy’s weaving of modern constructions of ethnic and sexual identity, the connection of contemporary sexology with scientific racism and the attempt to negate any alternatives to a Caucasian heteronormative national paradigm are brilliant.

Such connections and observations lead one to an important question: How does one combat attempts to frame progress and time itself as concepts in opposition to the existential utility of sexual and ethnic minorities within a particular society? As threats to the forward movement of that society? Rohy’s argument against the idea of "straight time" and other justifications of a narrowly defined national culture and destiny are made through the intellectual dismantling of its philosophical buttresses: contemporary sexology and its cousin scientific racism appear to be one large step toward answering such a daunting challenge.

Written by: Brandon Copeland, February 12th 2010

Kinky Gazpacho: Love, Life, and Spain

admin — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 17:00:00 +0000

By Lori L. Tharps

Atria Books

Lori Tharps’ Kinky Gazpacho does what memoirs do best: it brings us the author’s journey through her inner psychological life. The book spans Tharps’ kindergarten “Culture Day” in Milwaukee, Wisconsin through her present life as a freelance writer in Philadelphia. Even as a child Tharps feels “something in Spain is certain to change [her] life,” so when given the opportunity to live in the country through her college’s study abroad program, she takes it.

The book’s subtitle—Love, Life, and Spain—should have also included Blackness, as this is the experiential theme that strings the events discussed in the book together. When she arrives in Spain, Tharps is amazed at the lack of what she terms “political correctness.” She encounters stereotypical images of Africans used to sell products that are supposedly African in origin, like chocolate, or those that are simply dark in color, like soda. In one anecdote, Tharps recounts a group of school children that followed her singing a jingle for a cola she later learned to be visually represented with an African caricature.

Eventually, Tharps loses all political correctness of her own and begins a mission to discover the roots of xenophobia in Spain. She asks Spaniards she meets about the nation’s historical involvement in West African slavery. Despite the overwhelming insistence that Spain took no part in the slave trade, or that only rogue Spaniards were involved, Tharps uncovers a 200 year history of slavery in the country. Her eventual discoveries bring her a sense of peace with her identity as a Black woman in Spain.

While falling out of love with Spain, Tharps falls in love with a Spaniard with whom she begins a romance at the end of her time in the country. The couple must face the challenges of an interracial relationship—such as his grandmother’s refusal to acknowledge her when she visit’s his family’s home and her partner’s shameful admission to having enjoyed dressing up in blackface for festivals as a child—in addition to their physical separation when Tharps returns to the United States at the end of the study abroad program. This reality of this unlikely long-distance relationship is portrayed realistically: the couple breaks up, reunites, tries dating other people, and explores other escape routes created in relationships that privilege rational thought above emotional connection. The couple’s earnest commitment to negotiating their cultural differences through maintaining an ability to laugh at themselves and forgive each other’s flaws allows their relationship to triumph in the end, as the pair eventually gets married.

Tharps is at her best when writing about her emotional experiences. For example, she adroitly expresses her shock at her White high school classmates’ use of racial slurs when describing Black Americans, particularly as it’s done in such a casual, non-threatening manner: _"So," Mrs. Fletcher was saying, "instead of your uniforms you are all supposed to come to school dressed in the clothing of your ancestors. So if your family is German you can wear lederhosen or one of those cute dresses with the white pinafore." This being Milwaukee, the majority of my white classmates claimed German heritage and got it right away…I felt my cheeks burn. If they hadn't been brown, everyone would have noticed that they were red. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone, in case they noticed my discomfort or figured out my shame. My ancestors were slaves! I was the descendant of a group of people kept as chattel, who lived in shacks, worked themselves to death, and, if luck was on their side, fled up north with Harriet Tubman and disappeared. What was I supposed to do? Come to school dressed in rags with a handkerchief tied around my head? And food? Slaves didn't get to eat good food. Maybe my mom could bring in some table scraps for everyone to sample. I could feel my heart beating loudly in my chest and my skin went cold. How was I going to deal with this? And me being the only Black child in my class, my shame was my own. _Her prose falters only when she moves briefly into the realm of critical theory then returns to personal narrative without adequate explanation of how the theory she presents was borne out in her situation.

Kinky Gazpacho was a difficult book for me. I recognized early on that my standpoint was quite distant from Tharps’. I appreciated that she told her story in an intensely personal voice, but my inability to identify with many of her experiences made it challenging to connect with her story.

Cross-posted with Gender Across Borders

Written by: Thomas Murphy, September 26th 2009

The Children in Room E4: American Education on Trial

admin — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 17:17:00 +0000

By Susan Eaton

Algonquin Books

No regular news consumer could avoid being informed of the failings of the educational system in the U.S. Every medium, new and old, is filled with the details of this country’s abysmal international rankings, the breakdown of school discipline, the costs of teaching to the test, the soaring dropout rate and the dearth of funding that leads school systems to abandon arts programs and other educational necessities. What is often left unexamined is one of the primary causes of many of these problems: de facto segregation by race and class. The Children in Room E4 intersperses intimate tales of one teacher’s valiant attempts to educate her students in the dysfunctional Hartford, Connecticut school system with the details of that community’s decline and the Sheff case waged against the system’s damaging segregation of its students.

Eaton’s examinations of the development of de facto segregation due to de-urbanization, economic decline, white flight to the suburbs and racism in the real estate market are carefully researched and well written. However, I would have preferred to see at least some mention of the impact of the government’s so-called war on drugs, which has been disproportionately waged in communities like Hartford. The absence of discussion on how racist and classist drug policies have destabilized poor and minority communities is, perhaps, the only major flaw in the book.

Whether in the courtroom or the classroom or the neighborhood, the book’s “characters” are presented as living, complex human beings, not caricatures in a morality play. The only two-sided characters seem to be those who appear in the opposition: the politicians, lawyers and “experts” who defend the segregated system and stall progress through inaction and incompetence. However, the opposition is given fair though not necessarily positive treatment.

The chapters concerning the denizens of Room E4 and the Hartford school system in general are particularly well-done. The overwhelming burden born by teachers like “Ms. Luddy,” who must cope with the disproportionate weight of students’ personal problems as well as educational politics, constantly changing curricula and poor funding, is revealed in excruciating and infuriating detail. Its impact on the developing minds of Hartford’s children is evident and seemingly inevitable. The circumstances can produce no other result, it seems, than the wholesale theft of opportunity from Hartford’s poor African American and Hispanic students. In our desire to maintain sanity in an unjust world, it’s easy to avoid wrestling with material like The Children in Room E4 and the problems they reveal. Don’t.

Written by: Melinda Barton, August 8th 2009

Spell Albuquerque: Memoir of a “Difficult” Student

admin — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 23:27:00 +0000

By Tennessee Reed

AK Press

I found Tennessee Reed’s memoir of her educational and professional life to be inspiring and informative. In her memoir, Reed shows the difficulties that learning and physically disabled students encounter in the public and private educational system, and provides suggestions about what can be done to combat racism, institutional authority, and insensitivity.

Between the age of eighteen months and two years of age, Reed, the daughter of writer/choreographer Carla Blank and novelist Ishmael Reed, was diagnosed with a speech and language-based communication disorder, aphasia. Similar to a condition that stroke and head trauma victims experience, this condition prevented Reed from developing normal speech patterns. In addition to aphasia, Reed had difficulty with reading comprehension, three dimensional perception, and tasks that require small muscle control and hand eye coordination; she was also diagnosed with a math disability and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) in 1998.

Despite having several learning and physical disabilities, Reed was able to navigate through the school system from pre-school through graduate school. In Spell Albuquerque: Memoir of a “Difficult” Student, she writes about her experiences as a student, a published writer, and a candidate for the Oakland, California School Board.

Reed encountered difficulty throughout her educational experience, due to insensitive administrators and inexperienced instructors. She gives several examples of being humiliated and ridiculed by school principals, classroom teachers, and other students when she did not perform according to their expectations. As a child, Reed was powerless against the inconsistent behavior and teaching methods of her instructors. But as a teenager and as an adult, she began to question and challenge her teachers and professors. When she encountered racism in addition to discrimination based on her disabilities, she fought back against assumptions that others made about her.

Despite her difficulties with the traditional educational system, Reed became a success. A talented writer, she earned a Master of Fine Arts degree from Mills College; worked as a tutor in the AmeriCorps program between undergraduate and graduate school; and has published five books.

In 2008, she decided to run for a campaign for a seat on the Oakland School Board. The focus of Reed’s campaign was to inform voters of the issues that affected minority, poor, and learning-disabled students. Specifically, she focused on standardized tests, textbooks and curriculum, overcrowded classrooms, school closures, the need for physical education and the arts, creativity, charter schools, and teacher credentials. Although Reed did not win the seat, she received ten percent of the vote and was able to put issues affecting minority, poor, and disabled students on the table.

Reed demonstrates in her memoir that at times minority, poor, disabled, and gay/lesbian/bisexual/transsexual students may have to work harder to succeed in society and she provides a great example of what can be accomplished when we focus on students’ strengths.

Written by: Rekesha Spellman, July 7th 2009

Speak!

admin — Sat, 16 May 2009 10:15:00 +0000

By Radical Women of Color Media Collective

Liquid Words Studios

“Necesito gritar!” bellows Adele Nieves in response to the question she poses with her spoken word piece entitled “Why Do You Speak?”, which is the first track on the album. Through the unrestrained strength and rage smoldering behind every word, Adele provides a call to action against the overwhelming powers of erasure, invisibility, and silence that is exhaustively pushed upon women of color for centuries. Speak!, an explosive powerhouse of an album created by the Speak! Radical Women of Color Media Collective, uses spoken word, song, and poetry to detail the ins and outs of oppression and intersecting injustices, personal and collective struggle, and the redeeming powers of love, conviction, and pride.

Each piece pulses with vitality and pure unbridled emotion, whether somber or tempestuous in tone and content. The album in its entirety promotes the importance and the force of women’s voices, elaborate and concealed histories, and personal and collaborative forms of resistance. The individual artists weave together testimonies on their personal experiences with discrimination and hate, the dissolution of their intricate identities in favor of assimilation, and their reclamations of self and radicalization in a way that further illuminates the falsehood of the 'American Dream', as well as the continued necessity for political mobilization.

Pieces like “Slip” reveal the relationship between language and violence, showing the ways words embody hate and act as catalysts to brutality. Furthermore, many of the works analyze the ways the lives of women of color are invalidated statistically, in academic and political arenas, and in the day-to-day interactions with other people. Not only are there clear and poignant narratives on cultural genocide and racist and sexist hypocrisy, there is also a spirited display of hope, inspiration, and community in the face of the often crippling effects of adversity.

Ultimately, the passionate messages of beauty, love, and a constant determination to survive and prosper resound throughout the album. Coming out, the listener is motivated to assume their right to organize and to treat their illustrious identities as personal and political sustenance.

SPEAK is having a listening party in Brooklyn tonight. Wanna go?

Written by: Renee Leonowicz, May 16th 2009