Alison Veith

Fatherhood 4.0: iDad Applications Across Cultures

annette — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

From the outset, I was behind author Dalton Higgins’ endeavor in Fatherhood 4.0: iDad Applications Across Cultures. As an African-Canadian of Jamaican decent, Higgins writes to and for dads like him—multicultural, technologically and culturally current thirty-somethings figuring out how to parent in their contemporary Canadian society. And wouldn’t you know it, apparently he has quite the audience to speak to. Citing numerous Statistics Canada numbers, Higgins makes a case for Canada’s new generation of dads—racially and ethnically diverse, many being partners in mixed marriage couplings, and hardly any (just seventeen percent in 2006) mirroring the nuclear family image. He also notes an upswing in fathers taking advantage of the nationally available five weeks paternity leave, as well as an increase in stay-at-home dads. Alongside these paternal shifts, Higgins is hyper-aware of and interested in the role Internet, smartphones, and pop culture saturation has on influencing twenty-first century fatherhood.

But, this is not a self-help or how-to book. It is much more about voice and self-representation. Largely a patchwork of Higgins’ own writings on parenting within the black community, from hip-hop to absent fathers, as well as an incorporation of his interviews with Canadian public figures on their being fathers, Fatherhood 4.0 attempts a lot. Towards the book’s end, there are also quite a few essays on fatherhood trends within Canada’s indigenous population; a transgender man’s experience getting pregnant, and more musings on seeking (positive) representations of fathers of color in the media. However, despite a lot of the book’s promise, I found much to be desired.

As a writer, I felt that Higgins was too casual in language and analysis of his subject matter. Yes, I understand that he is a blogger, a pop culture/hip hop expert, and supportive of using contemporary slang and lingo to reach the younger generation of fathers he is targeting… but still. You can talk about Snoop Dogg and tweeting and fatherhood, and still do so at an authoritative and exploratory level. The splices of Higgins’ segments throughout repeated much of the same kitschy popular references, statistics, and general themes without ever developing any of them—at least to my satisfaction. And although Higgins interviews showcase stories from a diverse range of “media-savvy, multi-culti dads,” they all read rather stale. To be fair, I know very little about contemporary Canadian culture, and had to Google all of his interviewees, save for Broken Social Scene’s Charles Spearin. This, I am sure, considerably affected my lack of engagement with each man’s narrative. But, I also think that as an interviewer and framer, Higgins could have delved deeper. Although there were narrative similarities, I struggled to latch onto the unique aspects of each father’s circumstances in light of being a person of color, technologically inclined, or both.

My two favorite contributions were sandwiched at the book’s end—a segment written by Dr. Jessica Ball, entitled “Fathering in the Shadows: Indigenous Fathers and Canada’s Colonial Legacies” and excerpts from trans father Syrus Marcus Ware’s “Boldly Going Where Few Men Have Gone Before.” Although brief segments, I found myself most engaged here, as both not only presented fatherhood narratives foreign to me, but also followed through in their presentation as informative sources.

Overall, the book’s organization was off-putting, as I could never really understand Higgins’ intention. At one moment seemingly focused on various contemporary efforts to promote fatherhood within the black community, and another addressing technology and culture, this book lacks focus—and unfortunately, the multi-faceted narratives, and all that could be discussed, suffer from it.

Written by: Alison Veith, February 20th 2011

How Cancer Crossed the Color Line

annette — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 05:00:00 +0000

By Keith Wailoo

Oxford University Press

Cancer—a disease signifying White civilization? A disease of the domesticated female? An indifferent, “democratic disease”? Or, a targeted attack on specific racial and ethnic communities? These varying assertions and many more have populated America’s cancer discourse over the last century, fading in and out as the dominant way to comprehend the disease’s victimization.

Perhaps easier now than ever to agree that cancer (in all its types) indiscriminately permeates all racial, gender, ethnic, religious (etc.) groups, Keith Wailoo, a professor of history and director of the Center for Race and Ethnicity at Rutgers University, shows us how this was not always believed to be the case. How Cancer Crossed the Color Line traces the trajectory of cancer in America, from awareness, to prevention and treatment, drawing a critical link between medical advancements and socio-political shifts in gender and race understanding.

Beginning with early discussions from 1910-1930s, Wailoo notes the “birth of a dichotomy in American cancer awareness—[with] the emergence of a disparity between how experts, organizations, and communities worried about cancer awareness in white [women] as an individualized inner psychological issue, and how they worried over blacks as a demographic type, paying little attention to inner sensibilities.” This dichotomy is only the beginning, however. Drawing on a myriad of primary sources, from medical findings, popular culture, individual stories, and political advocacy, Wailoo makes a case for just how entrenched and beholden cancer rhetoric is (and has been) to dynamic shifts in our cultural understanding of race and gender.

Roughly moving decade to decade, How Cancer Crossed the Color Line charts the impact that historical events like World War II and the Civil Rights Movement, as well as social shifts like acknowledging ethnic diversity and socioeconomic disparities, have had on cancer awareness. Scrutinizing race and gender’s varying impact on dictating medical research, analysis of findings, and diffusion into the public sphere, Wailoo posits that although cancer is an indiscriminate disease, it has never really existed in a vacuum, as it has always been studied and interpreted by people, unavoidably beholden to a certain set of values and beliefs.

Although not necessarily a light read, Wailoo does an excellent job of conveying a dense amount of information in a comprehensible way, for academics and non-academics alike. And for those of you who may be a bit more academic, the text is meticulously cited, providing a wealth of primary source material in the endnotes for continued investigation.

Bottom line, I love this book. I admit, I am a nerd who really appreciates all efforts that seek to debunk the notion that race, gender, sexuality, and such do not play fundamental roles in dictating how we have come to understand aspects of our modern lives that we too often believe to be “beyond” identity and group differences—like medicine, science, and even technology. Despite seeming to be infallible sources of truth, each of these areas are unavoidably saturated with and influenced by our sociocultural beliefs and discriminations.

Keith Wailoo’s How Cancer Crossed the Color Line is an enlightening read, suggesting that even if accounting for “other” paradigms may make for a far more murky understanding of the already enigmatic cancer (in this case), only in the murkiness can actual progress be made moving forward. Most certainly there is still a "war on cancer" to be fought, but as Wailoo impressively highlights, it is as critical, if not more so, to continually scrutinize not just how we are fighting but also for whom.

Written by: Alison Veith, February 4th 2011

Cuba On My Mind

emily — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Katie Wainwright

Livingston Press

Cuba, in my mind: cigars, Fidel Castro’s beard, Elian Gonzalez, and a very murky high school level comprehension of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Let’s get more specific and, arguably, more self-incriminating. What comes to mind when I think of pre-Castro Cuba? The Godfather: Part II. That lavish New Year’s Eve party where Michael discovers Fredo’s betrayal. Oh yes, and the actual history: Fulgencio Batista stepping down (read: fleeing), leaving Cuba to Castro.

Clearly, I am not the most informed. But seriously, as an American who was born and educated well into Castro’s rule, how much objectivity, let alone compassion, has informed my understanding of Cuba’s people and culture? With this question, and the sincere hope of expanding my mental impression, I cracked the spine of Katie Wainwright’s first novel, Cuba on My Mind.

The novel begins as Gramma Catalina is waking up, her hand being held by her grandson, Wayne Olaf. In the present, Catalina is dying; receiving hospice care in her daughter’s mansion, paid for by her indifferent son-in-law. Feeling her body shut down, and uncomfortable with the medicines and contraptions unnaturally keeping her alive, Catalina longs for her final freedom. Unsure of how much time she has left, her grandson Wayne Olaf is there, wishing to record as much of her life story as he can. And of course, Wayne has issues of his own to overcome—a twenty-one-year-old Tulane law student, buckling under his parents’ pressuring control over his professional and romantic future. Turning to one another, grandmother and grandson forge a bond that bridges their fragmented family, and allows them both to grow.

Carried largely by Catalina’s narrative of her own life, Cuba on My Mind transitions between her childhood in Banes, Cuba and the present in New Orleans. Growing up, she is the only daughter of Scotsman McAuley, who is the Administrator for the U.S. Sugar Company, and Cuban mother, called Santa Caridad (Charity) by the people. From this position of privilege, Catalina’s memories allow the reader insight into the tensions between the gringos and the Cuban people. Divided by the Banes River Bridge, under which the most destitute and dying live, Catalina’s worldview is consistently influenced by the stark difference between the pueblo civil and the American company’s private land.

Given these juxtaposing realities, and the many anecdotes from her past, I wish Wainwright would have more forcibly commented on the clear economic and social inequalities within her Banes community. Almost all Catalina recounts alludes to these discrepancies, but I believe more evocative language could have made these instances more powerful to the reader. Further, I would have loved more about the strong Cuban women in her life. Loyally cared for and protected by her fierce Nanny Carmen, “an ornery creature…peasant from the hills, a square woman strong as any man,” and her mother, Santa Caridad, who has the compassion and courage to aid the rebels, even with Batista’s knowledge. To me, these women, and the other housemaids who gossip about and care for their colonizing employers are the novel’s backbone.

Although Castro’s revolution is the novel’s historical anchor, as I read, I realized the story is much more poignantly about family—from nuclear to national. In the present, the familial moments resonated. Having lost all but one of my grandparents in recent years, I have seen their deterioration and understood the tough decisions that come with properly caring for a dying loved one. It is taxing on any family, and again, although I wish she would have delved more, I commend Wainwright for taking this on as well.

The novel’s shortcomings stem from Wainwright's attempting to do too much. As much as I can quibble about the plot being too neat at times, and characters that are a bit underdeveloped, it is clear Cuba on My Mind is a work of love and nostalgia for the author's birthplace. And for a self-proclaimed hobby writer, Wainwright didn't do all that bad.

Written by: Alison Veith, November 3rd 2010