Washington DC

The Other City

beth — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

Most cities are comprised of at least two distinct sub-cities, so to speak. It’s particularly appalling that Washington, D.C., the nation’s capital and symbolic of the triumph of democracy, has a higher HIV/AIDS rate than Port au Prince, Haiti or Dakar, Senegal. A one percent infection rate of a city’s population is considered an epidemic; D.C.'s can be estimated between three and five percent. While one part of the District’s population goes about the business of running the country, another goes about the business of trying to stay alive.

More than one million people in the United States are currently infected with HIV/AIDS; of those infected, one in five do not know they are infected. It is the leading cause of death for black women ages twenty-five to thirty-four. The epidemic rages on, though goes largely unnoticed outside of certain communities. The visible reminders, like public funerals and rallies that were popular in New York City in the 1980s, have largely faded from the public eye and popular discourse.

The epidemic has shifted, however. Once stereotypically attributed to men who sleep with men and drug users, the problem has largely settled over poor communities. In The Other City, the epidemic’s many D.C.-area victims and survivors are shown in a variety of situations and circumstances. Jose’s ex-boyfriend lied about being infected. Donald, who had been living in his parents’ basement, moved into the Joseph’s House hospice and thrived. Still, after more than thirty-five of his friends died, he moved out, saying, “It’s worse than war.”

J’Mia, who is twenty-eight with three kids, worries that because of the myriad legal documents needed to apply for subsidized housing—many of which she struggles to find, spending entire days making phone calls—she’ll end up on the street. If she ends up homeless, she insists that she won’t take her pills and will sleep with whoever will put a roof over her family’s heads. In the housing counseling office, she’s asked demeaning questions like “How many sex partners have you had?” Despite all of this, she speaks with authority about how women are caregivers and take care of others before themselves. Her pride and perseverance is encouraging, a hopeful ray in a dark situation.

While the stories The Other City highlights are critical, the film itself is incredibly frustrating. It shifts between narratives and profiles without helpful transitions, making it seem more like a series of vignettes about living with HIV/AIDS than an actual narrative about the epidemic in the District. Formerly incarcerated men in a support group are shown in a scene next to a hospice where AIDS patients come to die. While the theme technically holds together, the images and stories feel disjointed when presented in such a way. Shot on video, the visuals feel crude and unpolished.

As someone with a family member who has been living with HIV/AIDS since the 1980s, you would think I would be particularly drawn to this film. I was not. I appreciate what the filmmakers—many of them highly acclaimed and well respected in their field—attempted to do in telling the ignored stories of the often faceless victims of the AIDS epidemic, the problems facing needle exchange programs, and the history of mismanagement in combating the domestic epidemic. But whether the filmmakers’ efforts were hindered by class privilege or a lack of true connection to their subjects is unknown. I’m incredibly pleased that films like this one are made, but I wish they were as captivating as the subjects they feature.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, September 22nd 2010

The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire

admin — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 09:01:00 +0000

By C. M. Mayo

Unbridled Books

The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire is the type of book that serves as a virtual passport allowing the reader to travel from one reality into another. The story is set in Washington, D.C. and Mexico City at a time when America was in the throes of civil war and Mexico was struggling to find its own place in the world under the reign of Archduke Maximilian von Habsburg. It is at this critical place in time that we meet the main character, Alice (later known as Alicia). She is a wistful, optimistic, and adventurous young lady who unwittingly finds herself falling in love with the much older son of a dignitary, Angel, who is known as Angelo. From there, the story becomes more complicated, with twists and turns and philosophies and Mexicanismos and Americanisms.

Mayo’s ability to make language malleable and without borders gives the reader a sense of what it meant to be 'important' in those days when slavery, sexism, racism, and generalized oppression were sanctioned by both church and state. Furthermore, the novel helps us to recognize how much we, as a people, have yet to accomplish concerning these issues.

Mayo’s novel evokes feelings of sadness and concern for the present day reality that has unfolded between the nations of Mexico and America—a sadness, for the loss of generations of writers whose voices were silenced and a concern that the echo of their lives is yet to be discovered. Mayo stands tall, a leader in the world of literature. My hope is that, through her writing, she is providing the spark that will propel new voices to be recognized and applauded. The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire is a verdant, thoughtful, and intellectual while also being savage, carnal, and raw. The thoughtful reader who appreciates a well written tome will enjoy this book again and again.

Written by: Susan G. Reyes Vasquez, June 6th 2009

Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian

admin — Fri, 22 May 2009 15:03:00 +0000

Directed by Shawn Levy

20th Century Fox

A summer blockbuster with a feminist edge? Yes, that is indeed what we find with the Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian. The film opens with Ben Stiller’s character, Larry Daly, finding himself longing to return to the New York Museum of Natural History in spite of his entrepreneurial successes. He returns just in time to save his museum pals from deep storage in Washington, DC. The story unfolds from there with Stiller searching to save his friends in a (Freudian) attempt to recover a part of himself.

Reprising the characters from the first film,Night at the Museum, Robin Williams as Teddy Roosevelt, Ricky Gervais as the quixotic museum manager, and Mizuo Peck as Sacajawea can all be counted on to provide solid belly laughs. Owen Wilson as Jedediah Smith alongside Steve Coogan as Octavius make an inimitable duo whose humor is witty and clever. This sequel also introduces the audience to new characters—notably Bill Hader’s General George Armstrong Custer (or Pawhuska for you Black Elk fans), who is brought to life in a way that is both historically accurate and hysterical.

Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian was developed in close conjunction with the Smithsonian Institution in order to be as true-to-history as possible. Amy Adams brings Amelia Earhart to life in the most genuine and charming way possible by highlighting her brilliant aeronautic pioneering and the way her passion for life inspired the best in those around her. In addition to screening the IMAX version of the film at both the National Air and Space Museum and the Natural History Museum, the Smithsonian will be hosting Night at the Museum sleep-overs for kids this summer. Little did James Smithson know when he left his bequest for the "increase and diffusion of knowledge" that his desire would grow to its current state of 139 million objects displayed at nineteen museums, nor was he aware that his gift would be featured in such a way on the big screen.

Whether you visit Washington, DC on the big screen, or make a summer holiday of it, you will not be disappointed. Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian is a smart, funny, and absolutely enjoyable film.

Written by: Susan G. Reyes Vasquez, May 22nd 2009

Washington, DC: A Feminist’s Friend or Foe?

admin — Sun, 14 Jan 2007 13:54:00 +0000

USA

The great thing about Washington is that it’s a city with a job for everyone. As a native, I certainly held my fair share over the years: writer, administrative assistant, graduate student, usher, professor and cashier, to name a few. But it wasn’t until I was established in my academic career that the city became more of an obstacle to my personal peace and ambitions, rather than an ally. As a long-time fan—and defender—of my hometown, I began to question its idiosyncrasies from the perspective of a woman trying to “make it” well past the point where she already thought she had.

It started with the birth of our first child. Although I went back to work when our daughter was three months old, I soon encountered the difficult demands of full time motherhood and full-time teaching. My work commute was twenty miles one way—on a good day, this could take a half hour. On bad—most often the case—over an hour.

Before Lucy, my commute seemed like a fair trade-off for someone who wanted the vibrancy of a city, yet whose career ambitions led them to the suburbs. But once I became a mother, two hours a day in the car meant I was without the company of my daughter ten hours a week—a hefty sacrifice.

Adding to my disenchantment was the fact that as a college professor living in DC, I earned just enough money each month to hand it all over to my child’s caretaker—who worked part-time. I also happened to work in a place where more than one female colleague could recount a period of time in the 1970’s when they were asked not to return to work once it was known they were pregnant. One woman told me she was allotted only two weeks’ maternity leave after having her second child. Two weeks! I could barely walk two weeks after giving birth to Lucy.

Inarguably, this was the year 2005, not 1972. Life at the college was noticeably improved for women. My boss, after all, was a woman, as were many of my colleagues and most of my students. But as I soon discovered, although we’d come a long way since my colleague was granted a miserly two weeks’ worth of maternity leave, imagine my surprise to learn that in this country, that particular benefit is still an option for employers rather than a requirement.

While my college did offer maternity leave, I was dumbfounded to learn that only two weeks of that time would be paid 100%. After that, my pay would diminish, first at 90%, then 80%, 60% and so on. And because I was due to give birth in the middle of the semester, I agreed when my Dean suggested I wait until the spring to return to work. What I didn’t realize was that doing so meant forfeiting my salary for any additional time off—another six weeks without pay following six weeks of reduced salary.

Could we manage?

Fortunately, we could. A lot of women, I imagine, could not. Unlike them, the worst consequence of my personal choice—if I chose to go back to work after six weeks—would be a few disgruntled students and their substitute. My job wasn’t on the line or even in jeopardy. Quite the contrary, my colleagues and supervisors were incredibly supportive of my decision to work and have a family.

Everyone, it seemed, except the state of Virginia. Working at a state college, our policies were determined by the Richmond legislature. This got me thinking: Were there places to live that provided more support for women? It seemed like such a simple thing. But still, I wasn’t sure. What did such a place look like? Where might it be? Would I recognize it if I saw it?

There was an article I clipped out of the Washington Post some years ago, written by a woman who had recently returned to the US after living in France for many years. The premise of her article was that of the two countries, the US came across as a better place of opportunity for women but it was actually Europe who put their money where their mouth is. There, working women are given a full year’s maternity leave, with the promise of their job upon their return; work/life balance is better mediated by a 35 hour work week; and healthcare is available for all. Sadly, these are all privileges we women here in the states do not enjoy.

For many years, I dreamed of moving to Europe. Sadly, this has yet to happen. But after Lucy’s birth, I found myself once again sorting through what kind of life I wanted to have. My return to work proved to be incredibly exhausting, and our 600 square-foot apartment was shrinking with each passing hour. And yet, even with a healthy combined income, we still couldn’t afford a house in the city. In our neighborhood alone, the average price of a house topped just under a million dollars.

A million dollars! Who were these neighbors of mine?

One afternoon, Chris and I looked at a two bedroom apartment opening up just a few blocks away. One step inside and I loved it. It was beautiful, just like ours, with all the same character and period charm, but infinitely bigger. And the rent wasn’t much more than we paid for our place! So how can I explain what came over me as I stood in that gleaming living room? In that moment our future was made clear to me in writing on the wall so bright and shiny I couldn’t miss it: For the next ten years, you will work your ass off and have absolutely _nothing to show for it!

Statistically speaking, Washington, DC is the place to be if you’re a woman. Just this past year it ranked the highest US city for female labor force participation, with an earnings ratio of 85.5%. More good news: 52.5% of these women are employed in managerial or professional positions. If that’s the case, then why did I find it so much the opposite?

For me, it all goes back to France versus the United States. Although DC employs a lot of top o’ the ceiling women, it’s also a city that hosts the nation’s seat of government. In other words, there are a lot of jobs in that town. And the government is one of the few places of employment where minority status matters—it’s a much needed leg-in and often times, a leg-up. In addition, Washington is saturated with institutions of higher learning and non-profits—two fields known to employ more than their share of women.

But ask any of these professional women to rate their quality of life, and I’m sure you’d find an interesting mix of answers. For what’s missing in all these wonderful career opportunities is what’s missing in too many places in this country—the ability to pursue a satisfying career and maintain a decent standard of living. Lack of affordable housing, healthcare and childcare greatly affects a person’s quality of life, no matter her job title.

This injustice was something I became good at rationalizing—haven’t we all? Sure, it was royally unfair that I had to shell out so much of my earnings just to ensure my daughter was well taken care of while I pursued my professional goals, but—hey. Isn’t that how it is? I considered myself one of the lucky ones—at least I could afford the babysitter. Sort of. But certainly, more so than the woman earning minimum wage. How in the world would she do it?

The truth was, I was doing it. We may have had to cut back, but no one in our house was going hungry. And it is for this reason that, while I found my hometown to be, well, not exactly hostile to feminists—welcome, Nancy Pelosi!—I did find the liberation somewhat botched. One where the basic tenets of feminism—the right to pursue all possibilities of the life I’ve imagined for myself—wasn’t so much a reality as a work-in-progress. And maybe that is simply the fault of our nation, exemplified here by its capitol. A problem not of choice or opportunity, but of support for those choices and opportunity. And I do mean financial.

Maybe there is no city in the US that’s a perfect haven for a feminist, but I do believe there are some that come closer than others. As for me, Chris and Lucy, I’m happy to report we decided a radical change was in order: like so many of our ancestors facing questionable times, we decided to pack up and move west, hitching our dreams to a smaller, more affordable city: Portland, Oregon.

Written by: Janet Freeman, January 14th 2007