What's Hard to Look At - TIME
The TIME cover features a young woman who had her ears and nose cut off by the Taliban for escaping an abusive husband. She is the reason, TIME says, we are fighting in Afghanistan and the reason why we must continue to do so. Maybe, maybe not.
There is no doubt that Afghani women and girls are under enormous threat by a horrific, patriarchal and oppressive society. But I'm also pretty sure that global women's rights have never been a big driver in US foreign policy. (Or we'd have ratified CEDAW by now, at least.)
But we can't ignore women and girls like Aisha. We can't ignore that they are deliberately kept uneducated; they are deliberately physically and sexually assaulted; they are terrorized by a socio-political crisis, one that is fostered and perpetuated by men - U.S men, Afghan men. other men. Men.
What to do for these women?
A few weeks ago, watching a movie about the Iraq and Afghanistan war, my anger toward all war-mongering men on this planet reached such a point I think I became slightly insane.
Turning to my friend, I said, 'You know what we should do? We should just airlift all the women and children out of Afghanistan and leave that fucking country to implode. Build a virtual wall around it and let it die. Countries that treat their women like this don't get to have us. When you're a barbarian, raping, killing and torturing women like animals, you don't get to have mothers, sisters, or children! Afghanistan, Sudan, Darfur, Rwanda, wherever. You don't get to have women in your country when you kill them!'
When a country is on the edge of collapse, when infrastructure has been destroyed, when the effort to have an educated and modern society has failed, when it's clear that the crazies have taken control - don't we have an obligation to save those who are being oppressed by giving them an avenue for escape? Why trap these women there? Yes, yes, yes. It's their home. But their home is literally killing them.
I won't pretend that a gender-based diaspora is a viable foreign policy solution.
Nor is it very politically correct.
I'm also positive that there's a huge whiff of western imperialism inherent in the idea.
But as a woman - as a woman who sees her global sisters being massacred by MEN - I can't help but feel desperate anger. During slavery, we had the Underground Railroad. Abolitionists saved slaves by getting them away from the plantations. They didn't wait until the slave-owner miraculously changed their mind. Today, we are seeing a global crisis of violence against women - don't women require a similar and yet extraordinary rescue effort?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
a weirdly abrupt post on having a will of my own
A couple of weekends ago, M- and I had just escaped a horrendous hippie party and were in the mood for acoustic guitar-free pitchers of beer at one of my favorite dives in Old Town. I hadn't had a loong night like that in ages; it felt really good to become one of an anonymous crowd. But there was a brief exchange that stuck in my head.
We found ourselves sharing stories about When We Were Single and What We Were Looking For. The most recent example I'd had of being a wacky single was, of course, my liaison with LTF (aka, B-; aka, IncognitoLatino.) I didn't dwell on the details but said that while I was thrilled I was no longer connected to him, I could understand why some people make the wrong relationship choices they do.
Like a knight on a horse, M- comes to my own defense.
'Your mom died, babe. You weren't really in the right place.'
'I know. But that's not really the whole thing ...'
'You were all messed up.'
He was right. When I met LTF/B-/IncognitoLatino back in 2002, I was all messed up.
But my mother's death and my grief don't really account for the years 2006-2009.
I had will and I exercised it.
I chose that situation with him. It was my decision to be there and experience LTF/B-'s bizarro world with him. Sure. The foundation of my choice was boredom and a faint (very faint) curiosity, but it was still my choice. If I'm going to own ending our liaison, I must also own staying in it for 7 years. As much of a freak B- was, he didn't kidnap me, lure me or seduce me into making the weekly train ride to his shabby apartment in Uptown.
He wasn't a Svengali molding my vulnerable mind to his own nefarious or perverted ends. (In fact, if you cornered him in the dank corners of El Gato Negro, his version of the story paints me a manipulative bitch who ruined his life and crushed his soul. Potato, potahto.)
Most people don't recognize that women have will, I think. (Don't misunderstand me; I am not making the argument that all women choose their individual situations - especially the bad situations - and that they are the masters of their own exploitation. I was not exploited or abused; I merely endured an emotionally unsatisfying affair with someone I didn't really care for that much.) I'm saying that, like men, women have agency. We make decisions; we make choices. I was not an object acted against; I was a subject.
It seems I'm too over-determined about this, but I think it's an important point to make about women in general and me, in particular.
We found ourselves sharing stories about When We Were Single and What We Were Looking For. The most recent example I'd had of being a wacky single was, of course, my liaison with LTF (aka, B-; aka, IncognitoLatino.) I didn't dwell on the details but said that while I was thrilled I was no longer connected to him, I could understand why some people make the wrong relationship choices they do.
Like a knight on a horse, M- comes to my own defense.
'Your mom died, babe. You weren't really in the right place.'
'I know. But that's not really the whole thing ...'
'You were all messed up.'
He was right. When I met LTF/B-/IncognitoLatino back in 2002, I was all messed up.
But my mother's death and my grief don't really account for the years 2006-2009.
I had will and I exercised it.
I chose that situation with him. It was my decision to be there and experience LTF/B-'s bizarro world with him. Sure. The foundation of my choice was boredom and a faint (very faint) curiosity, but it was still my choice. If I'm going to own ending our liaison, I must also own staying in it for 7 years. As much of a freak B- was, he didn't kidnap me, lure me or seduce me into making the weekly train ride to his shabby apartment in Uptown.
He wasn't a Svengali molding my vulnerable mind to his own nefarious or perverted ends. (In fact, if you cornered him in the dank corners of El Gato Negro, his version of the story paints me a manipulative bitch who ruined his life and crushed his soul. Potato, potahto.)
Most people don't recognize that women have will, I think. (Don't misunderstand me; I am not making the argument that all women choose their individual situations - especially the bad situations - and that they are the masters of their own exploitation. I was not exploited or abused; I merely endured an emotionally unsatisfying affair with someone I didn't really care for that much.) I'm saying that, like men, women have agency. We make decisions; we make choices. I was not an object acted against; I was a subject.
It seems I'm too over-determined about this, but I think it's an important point to make about women in general and me, in particular.
Friday, July 23, 2010
i don't want to be your sacrificial lamb
This needs to be quoted in full: Shirley Sherrod’s victory: A teachable moment on talking race Race-Talk
But for now, I'll just leave you with this:
I watched David Gergen, whom I admire, talk yesterday about Ms. Sherrod’s “ascendant quality,” about her ability to rise above the legitimate racial pains of her past to help this white farmer. And then ironically my morning meditation was on Ephesians 4:8-9, a passage about Christ’s ascension and freeing of the captives. So it dawns on me: Americans want Black women to be Jesus. We are to be spit upon, mocked, discredited, and crucified, but at the end we are to forgive and remain gracious. As a strategy of personal living and transformation, that’s fine, but no one should have to be Jesus to do their job effectively.
...But I think those folks who think that eliminating racism starts with eliminating “race” are just plain wrong.
In fact, we’re trying that strategy now, and what it has led to is a vacuous rhetoric of colorblindness and racial transcendence, all the while hard-working Black women can lose their jobs on a whim, immigrants who’ve been working hard and shoring up the service economy in this country for decades are being deported, and young Black men and women continue to be murdered by the police. Deciding that “whiteness” and “blackness” shouldn’t matter when they clearly do matter is not the solution. [bold emphasis mine]
Read the whole thing.
But for now, I'll just leave you with this:
I watched David Gergen, whom I admire, talk yesterday about Ms. Sherrod’s “ascendant quality,” about her ability to rise above the legitimate racial pains of her past to help this white farmer. And then ironically my morning meditation was on Ephesians 4:8-9, a passage about Christ’s ascension and freeing of the captives. So it dawns on me: Americans want Black women to be Jesus. We are to be spit upon, mocked, discredited, and crucified, but at the end we are to forgive and remain gracious. As a strategy of personal living and transformation, that’s fine, but no one should have to be Jesus to do their job effectively.
...But I think those folks who think that eliminating racism starts with eliminating “race” are just plain wrong.
In fact, we’re trying that strategy now, and what it has led to is a vacuous rhetoric of colorblindness and racial transcendence, all the while hard-working Black women can lose their jobs on a whim, immigrants who’ve been working hard and shoring up the service economy in this country for decades are being deported, and young Black men and women continue to be murdered by the police. Deciding that “whiteness” and “blackness” shouldn’t matter when they clearly do matter is not the solution. [bold emphasis mine]
Read the whole thing.
summer hiatus
Clearly, my summer posting has been light.
Not that there hasn't been stuff to talk about (say, oh, the Shirley Sherrod 'accidental' firing) but I've been swamped. M-, work, life, finances, and then all of the summer lazing around - I've had other things on my plate.
But here's a list of things I wish I could write about if I had the time:
More about this 'rip off the mask' stage of the relationship
Being the object of a 'girl crush'
The quest for my professional sweet spot
More on my dissatisfaction with the human services business model (would I recommend anyone go into non profit work at this time, in Illinois? Hell, no.)
Why losing weight during the hottest summer on record is not happening
So until my life slows down or I can carve some time away from sitting in front of an oscillating fan, drinking sangria, Screed will be a little thin this summer. If you want to see what's going on with me and M-, follow me on Twitter @DeliaC. If you want your daily dose of political/cultural mini-screeds, Twitter me @DeliaChristina.
Hope your summers are awesome.
Not that there hasn't been stuff to talk about (say, oh, the Shirley Sherrod 'accidental' firing) but I've been swamped. M-, work, life, finances, and then all of the summer lazing around - I've had other things on my plate.
But here's a list of things I wish I could write about if I had the time:
More about this 'rip off the mask' stage of the relationship
Being the object of a 'girl crush'
The quest for my professional sweet spot
More on my dissatisfaction with the human services business model (would I recommend anyone go into non profit work at this time, in Illinois? Hell, no.)
Why losing weight during the hottest summer on record is not happening
So until my life slows down or I can carve some time away from sitting in front of an oscillating fan, drinking sangria, Screed will be a little thin this summer. If you want to see what's going on with me and M-, follow me on Twitter @DeliaC. If you want your daily dose of political/cultural mini-screeds, Twitter me @DeliaChristina.
Hope your summers are awesome.
Monday, July 05, 2010
10 reasons to love the 4th of July:
1. It means 2 short work weeks and everyone is firmly in 'vacation' mode.
2. It's an excuse to drink excessively, eat to oblivion and pass out on a blanket - just like when you were 9 years old.
3. Everyone has left town and you can finally get a seat on the bus.
4. You immediately remember which of your friends have rooftop decks.
5. Everyone loves illegal fireworks!
6. You can finally eat ALL the barbecue and sausages you want!
7. You can unveil your unseemly love for Souza and The Battle Hymn of the Republic (which you remember uncannily.)
8. Did I mention rooftop decks, already?
9. Airconditioning becomes a reason to love being an American.
10. It is the only holiday that really feels like summer.
2. It's an excuse to drink excessively, eat to oblivion and pass out on a blanket - just like when you were 9 years old.
3. Everyone has left town and you can finally get a seat on the bus.
4. You immediately remember which of your friends have rooftop decks.
5. Everyone loves illegal fireworks!
6. You can finally eat ALL the barbecue and sausages you want!
7. You can unveil your unseemly love for Souza and The Battle Hymn of the Republic (which you remember uncannily.)
8. Did I mention rooftop decks, already?
9. Airconditioning becomes a reason to love being an American.
10. It is the only holiday that really feels like summer.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tips on Informational Interviewing with Delia Christina
Lately, I’ve been fielding calls from recent college grads (or their family friends) for informational interviews and I don’t quite know how to feel about it. Ambivalent about my own professional standing and trajectory, I don’t quite know what insights I’m supposed to give these young people. Sure, I have a solid list of contacts (not as fabulous as some, but it’s still a good one); but informational interviewing should be about more than just a polite way to demand names. I see it as a mini-mentoring opportunity.
And since I’m big on mentoring folks who look like me, I was doubly ambivalent when the two people I spoke with this week didn’t look like me. Their accumulated gender, race and class privilege outweighed any contacts or leads I could give them in a lifetime.
The bitchy thought crossed my mind, “Shit, why should I waste my time and so-called insight on these two when I could be giving them to another woman of color?”
But I tamped down my impatience and made the appointments with them – because that’s what you do when you’re a professional. You realize that the job search is a dance and these sorts of interviews are part of the choreography. Also, there was no way I was going to look bad in front of the people who referred them to me. So on Monday, I met with a very nice college grad who’s earnestly interested in women’s advocacy – or law school – and today I met with a guy who’s been interning at our org at a long-term research position.
The recent grad was a dream. She was prepared. She came with a list of orgs she was interested in; she had already met with a couple other advocates I knew and she had a couple of career trajectories in mind by the time she sat down with me. We spent 30 minutes talking about the non profit sector, women’s advocacy and why direct service in Illinois is not likely to be a good bet for the next 10 years. I gave her a few names of other women to reach out to and shook hands with her on the way out. What a nice girl, I thought.
Then I met with PolicyDude. Unprepared, vague about his plans, unable to say what he wanted or why, he made my head hurt.
“PolicyDude,” I said. “Here’s a tip. When someone asks you what you’re interested in, saying ‘social justice and progressive movements’ isn’t going to cut it. It’s too vague. That could mean anything and everything. You need to be specific enough so that I know how best to recommend you to someone.”
He scribbled in his pad.
“So…let me hear it. Give me your 5 minute pitch: why do you want to be in policy and where do you want to end up?”
“Um…is that really necessary?”
Tip Number 2: When you’re asking someone to help you find a job, don’t be bitchy.
“Ok…who has the job now that you envision having?” In the past, I had always found this exercise to be helpful in focusing me on my own professional ambitions; I thought this would work for him, too. But, no.
He looked at the ceiling. “Um, well….policy think tanks…social movements for women…maybe an international organization…”
Sigh. “What about title? Who has the title you want?”
“Um, well…maybe Director of …policy?” Never let it be said that men don’t dream big.
Tip Number 3: For the love of god, be prepared ... and brief.
We spent an hour trying to eke out what it was he really wanted. Did he want to stay in Chicago or go elsewhere? Did he want to try women’s advocacy or poverty work? Did he want to stay in non profit or had he thought about the private sector? (I gave him the name of a blue chip consulting firm in Chicago with a non profit practice and, swear to god – if he finds a job with them, I will lose my shit.) Which foundations or research orgs was he thinking about? Why was he interested in this work? What did he want to do? How could I refer him to anyone I knew (and foist this disaster on them) when he couldn’t answer any of these questions?
Before you chastise me for losing my patience, I have to say that this guy is a grownup and should know better – in his 30s with a solid academic background, married to a med school student, already thinking about raising kids. He had already done some little work in the field but basically expected me to open my contact list and read off a bunch of names and emails for him.
Tip Number 4: Don’t be so overtly greedy.
When I reviewed his resume, I discovered that this guy had never gone through a traditional job process. Through the kindness of teachers and friends, he’d jumped from this random post to that.
“So you’ve never formally interviewed for any job before? You’ve never had to compete for a job?”
“Not really. Isn’t it …um…all about who you know?” Somehow, he managed to maintain a puzzled look of cluelessness as he said this.
Tip Number 5: Don’t let your white male privilege hit your ass on your way out my office.
...
Note: Though I was mentally over this conversation halfway through, I stuck with it and gave him some tips on being a little more strategic about his interviewing: stop mumbling, rewrite your resume, have your pitch ready and ask your contact for more than who they know. I gave him some homework and we’ll talk again in two weeks. But jesus on the cross – really??
Note: What’s Tip Number 1? Don’t be lazy!
And since I’m big on mentoring folks who look like me, I was doubly ambivalent when the two people I spoke with this week didn’t look like me. Their accumulated gender, race and class privilege outweighed any contacts or leads I could give them in a lifetime.
The bitchy thought crossed my mind, “Shit, why should I waste my time and so-called insight on these two when I could be giving them to another woman of color?”
But I tamped down my impatience and made the appointments with them – because that’s what you do when you’re a professional. You realize that the job search is a dance and these sorts of interviews are part of the choreography. Also, there was no way I was going to look bad in front of the people who referred them to me. So on Monday, I met with a very nice college grad who’s earnestly interested in women’s advocacy – or law school – and today I met with a guy who’s been interning at our org at a long-term research position.
The recent grad was a dream. She was prepared. She came with a list of orgs she was interested in; she had already met with a couple other advocates I knew and she had a couple of career trajectories in mind by the time she sat down with me. We spent 30 minutes talking about the non profit sector, women’s advocacy and why direct service in Illinois is not likely to be a good bet for the next 10 years. I gave her a few names of other women to reach out to and shook hands with her on the way out. What a nice girl, I thought.
Then I met with PolicyDude. Unprepared, vague about his plans, unable to say what he wanted or why, he made my head hurt.
“PolicyDude,” I said. “Here’s a tip. When someone asks you what you’re interested in, saying ‘social justice and progressive movements’ isn’t going to cut it. It’s too vague. That could mean anything and everything. You need to be specific enough so that I know how best to recommend you to someone.”
He scribbled in his pad.
“So…let me hear it. Give me your 5 minute pitch: why do you want to be in policy and where do you want to end up?”
“Um…is that really necessary?”
Tip Number 2: When you’re asking someone to help you find a job, don’t be bitchy.
“Ok…who has the job now that you envision having?” In the past, I had always found this exercise to be helpful in focusing me on my own professional ambitions; I thought this would work for him, too. But, no.
He looked at the ceiling. “Um, well….policy think tanks…social movements for women…maybe an international organization…”
Sigh. “What about title? Who has the title you want?”
“Um, well…maybe Director of …policy?” Never let it be said that men don’t dream big.
Tip Number 3: For the love of god, be prepared ... and brief.
We spent an hour trying to eke out what it was he really wanted. Did he want to stay in Chicago or go elsewhere? Did he want to try women’s advocacy or poverty work? Did he want to stay in non profit or had he thought about the private sector? (I gave him the name of a blue chip consulting firm in Chicago with a non profit practice and, swear to god – if he finds a job with them, I will lose my shit.) Which foundations or research orgs was he thinking about? Why was he interested in this work? What did he want to do? How could I refer him to anyone I knew (and foist this disaster on them) when he couldn’t answer any of these questions?
Before you chastise me for losing my patience, I have to say that this guy is a grownup and should know better – in his 30s with a solid academic background, married to a med school student, already thinking about raising kids. He had already done some little work in the field but basically expected me to open my contact list and read off a bunch of names and emails for him.
Tip Number 4: Don’t be so overtly greedy.
When I reviewed his resume, I discovered that this guy had never gone through a traditional job process. Through the kindness of teachers and friends, he’d jumped from this random post to that.
“So you’ve never formally interviewed for any job before? You’ve never had to compete for a job?”
“Not really. Isn’t it …um…all about who you know?” Somehow, he managed to maintain a puzzled look of cluelessness as he said this.
Tip Number 5: Don’t let your white male privilege hit your ass on your way out my office.
...
Note: Though I was mentally over this conversation halfway through, I stuck with it and gave him some tips on being a little more strategic about his interviewing: stop mumbling, rewrite your resume, have your pitch ready and ask your contact for more than who they know. I gave him some homework and we’ll talk again in two weeks. But jesus on the cross – really??
Note: What’s Tip Number 1? Don’t be lazy!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Dear Jesus,
Thank you for arranging things so that my field of work doesn't put me in direct contact with entitled, rich, white women anymore. They are crazy.
Yours,
Delia Christina
A friend at work is dealing with a very rich, very entitled white woman who answers every email but my friend's, makes threats about my friend's work and has tried at least once to make my friend look bad to her boss. (Thankfully, our boss is a very cool sort of woman and has been getting copied on every emailed interaction.) This entitled rich lady is a volunteer.
Where the hell do volunteers for an organization get off treating staff like their servants?
I think I've just found my new side hustle: rogue volunteer whisperer for stressed out non profit fundraising staff.
Thank you for arranging things so that my field of work doesn't put me in direct contact with entitled, rich, white women anymore. They are crazy.
Yours,
Delia Christina
A friend at work is dealing with a very rich, very entitled white woman who answers every email but my friend's, makes threats about my friend's work and has tried at least once to make my friend look bad to her boss. (Thankfully, our boss is a very cool sort of woman and has been getting copied on every emailed interaction.) This entitled rich lady is a volunteer.
Where the hell do volunteers for an organization get off treating staff like their servants?
I think I've just found my new side hustle: rogue volunteer whisperer for stressed out non profit fundraising staff.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
What's new, pussycat?
Not much. In a funny twist of workplace irony, I was named a high performing ROCK star (don't ask me why it was capitalized thusly) on my team, which entails one personal day off. When Boss Lady told me I asked her if they were supposed to pick the team member who was closest to a nervous breakdown. She laughed. But really. I wondered.
...
If you follow my twitter you might have seen the photo of me and M- at a wedding a couple of weeks ago. What a fabulous day that was! Romantic, pretty, random...everything a wedding should be. And we danced - to jazz! Sigh. (The fact that we fought for the lead for a few seconds is not important.) We should have more weekends like this but then we'd be broke.
All of that to say that M- and I are pretty good.
...
Our world is frakked. Every day I watch the BP disaster unfold and grow angrier and angrier. But who am I angry at the most?
At BP for being the epitome of a bad-acting corporation? (cutting corners on safety, not giving a shit about workers or safety, being more concerned about PR than actual problem solving or taking responsibility for their bad act....I could go on.)
At the general public for our blindness at our own complicity? (That oil was for us - literally. It was for the US market. If we're so upset about this and about all this offshore drilling, and we say we never want to see this happen again, we need to make some different choices. Choices that go waaaay beyond being 'green.' Choices that mean the infrastructure and flow of our society looks different. Are we even ready to contemplate what a society without fossil fuels looks like, acts like?)
At folks for having these wacko expectations of a President? (Really, you're mad that the President didn't come to your dock to speak to you personally about how this spill is affecting you? And he should do this for every single person in the Gulf region? To make YOU feel like YOU are being listened to? When did we become such babies?)
At the Obama administration for being well-meaning but sort of politically doofy? (What happened to all the savvy public strategy folks that got them through the elections? Where's that message discipline?)
The longer human beings are on this planet, the more we fuck it up.
When the flaming meteorite comes, I hope the end is quick.
...
If you follow my twitter you might have seen the photo of me and M- at a wedding a couple of weeks ago. What a fabulous day that was! Romantic, pretty, random...everything a wedding should be. And we danced - to jazz! Sigh. (The fact that we fought for the lead for a few seconds is not important.) We should have more weekends like this but then we'd be broke.
All of that to say that M- and I are pretty good.
...
Our world is frakked. Every day I watch the BP disaster unfold and grow angrier and angrier. But who am I angry at the most?
At BP for being the epitome of a bad-acting corporation? (cutting corners on safety, not giving a shit about workers or safety, being more concerned about PR than actual problem solving or taking responsibility for their bad act....I could go on.)
At the general public for our blindness at our own complicity? (That oil was for us - literally. It was for the US market. If we're so upset about this and about all this offshore drilling, and we say we never want to see this happen again, we need to make some different choices. Choices that go waaaay beyond being 'green.' Choices that mean the infrastructure and flow of our society looks different. Are we even ready to contemplate what a society without fossil fuels looks like, acts like?)
At folks for having these wacko expectations of a President? (Really, you're mad that the President didn't come to your dock to speak to you personally about how this spill is affecting you? And he should do this for every single person in the Gulf region? To make YOU feel like YOU are being listened to? When did we become such babies?)
At the Obama administration for being well-meaning but sort of politically doofy? (What happened to all the savvy public strategy folks that got them through the elections? Where's that message discipline?)
The longer human beings are on this planet, the more we fuck it up.
When the flaming meteorite comes, I hope the end is quick.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
reality bites, indeed
I am not a radical.
As a bourgie brown woman, I acknowledge what little privilege I have and wish everyone had the advantages I've had. However, just because I'm a bourgie black woman does NOT mean that I don't give a shit about making a difference in women's lives.
I'm in one of our chief executive's office this morning and throwing an idea out there that our legislative agenda next session needs be more cohesive. So we're talking about the benefits to it and somehow ending up on a potential issue area for us: domestic trafficking and prostituted women. And then began a depressing conversation about whether or not we're a feminist organization and what matters more: dollars or actually advocating to empower women? Clearly, dollars.
Know what I hate about working for an org that's over 100 years old in this funding environment?
I hate knowing that every future decision we make about policy is probably going to come from a place of fear: fear that we'll alienate a donor; fear that we'll make a politician angry; fear that our general constituency will back off from us; fear that the shiny white ladies from the burbs won't want to be sullied by the hard scrabble lives of women living on the south or west side.
I hate coming to the realization that, because of our age and our size, rather than use this time of uncertainty to be brave, we only TALK about being brave but then cavil and end up being mealy-mouthed and cowardly. Because that's what it means to back off from policies that mean life or death to women. It means you're chicken shit and you're not really serious about what you mean.
I'm sure I'm not the only policy/advocacy person in a human services non profit to come to that realization.
If I'm going to be this disillusioned, I should have stayed in corporate.
At least I'd be compensated for my cynicism.
As a bourgie brown woman, I acknowledge what little privilege I have and wish everyone had the advantages I've had. However, just because I'm a bourgie black woman does NOT mean that I don't give a shit about making a difference in women's lives.
I'm in one of our chief executive's office this morning and throwing an idea out there that our legislative agenda next session needs be more cohesive. So we're talking about the benefits to it and somehow ending up on a potential issue area for us: domestic trafficking and prostituted women. And then began a depressing conversation about whether or not we're a feminist organization and what matters more: dollars or actually advocating to empower women? Clearly, dollars.
Know what I hate about working for an org that's over 100 years old in this funding environment?
I hate knowing that every future decision we make about policy is probably going to come from a place of fear: fear that we'll alienate a donor; fear that we'll make a politician angry; fear that our general constituency will back off from us; fear that the shiny white ladies from the burbs won't want to be sullied by the hard scrabble lives of women living on the south or west side.
I hate coming to the realization that, because of our age and our size, rather than use this time of uncertainty to be brave, we only TALK about being brave but then cavil and end up being mealy-mouthed and cowardly. Because that's what it means to back off from policies that mean life or death to women. It means you're chicken shit and you're not really serious about what you mean.
I'm sure I'm not the only policy/advocacy person in a human services non profit to come to that realization.
If I'm going to be this disillusioned, I should have stayed in corporate.
At least I'd be compensated for my cynicism.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
This is White Supremacy
So I'm getting ready to go to a wedding in Kenilworth (one of Chicago's closest 'sundown' towns, incidentally) when I read this article in my FB feed: Arizona public school is being forced to change little black and brown kids in a mural white because some assholes are offended by the mere visual reminder that not everyone is white.
So far reaction has been "Wow, those Arizonans are freaking crazy, with their racist thoughts and all." Well, yes and no.
Yes, they are freaking crazy but this isn't racism. This is white supremacy.
When a state, by large unspoken agreement of its people, decides to ellide the very presence of the racial Other then we're beyond 'race bigotry' + power = Racism. We're into the land of: You are not white so therefore you are not worthy of citizenship (SB1070), a place in our history (see ethnic studies bans and textbook revisionism) or even artistic or public representation. When the black and brown people are told their presence isn't wanted in public that's a strong statement of who IS welcomed: whites only.
To me, that means Jim Crow. And if we're all students of history, we all should recognize Jim Crow, or bullshit 'separate but equal' segregation, as a tool of white supremacy.
Disenfranchisement is more than just being treated differently - it means one has no public, legal or civil recourse to wrongs done to you. It means you have no right to participate in civic life - voting, for instance. When applied to ONLY people of color, it is a white supremacist method of social control.
So let's start calling the racists what they really are: Jim Crow apologists and white supremacists. Because now we know what we're dealing with.
So far reaction has been "Wow, those Arizonans are freaking crazy, with their racist thoughts and all." Well, yes and no.
Yes, they are freaking crazy but this isn't racism. This is white supremacy.
When a state, by large unspoken agreement of its people, decides to ellide the very presence of the racial Other then we're beyond 'race bigotry' + power = Racism. We're into the land of: You are not white so therefore you are not worthy of citizenship (SB1070), a place in our history (see ethnic studies bans and textbook revisionism) or even artistic or public representation. When the black and brown people are told their presence isn't wanted in public that's a strong statement of who IS welcomed: whites only.
To me, that means Jim Crow. And if we're all students of history, we all should recognize Jim Crow, or bullshit 'separate but equal' segregation, as a tool of white supremacy.
Disenfranchisement is more than just being treated differently - it means one has no public, legal or civil recourse to wrongs done to you. It means you have no right to participate in civic life - voting, for instance. When applied to ONLY people of color, it is a white supremacist method of social control.
So let's start calling the racists what they really are: Jim Crow apologists and white supremacists. Because now we know what we're dealing with.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Dad gets another lesson in feminism: on raising strong daughters
Talking with my dad allows me to say some things kids and parents normally don't have a chance to say to one another unless one of them is on a deathbed. So today, I told him how his and mom's messages about our bodies basically created some of the issues my sister and I have with intimacy. And his brain exploded.
"What did you expect, Dad?" I said. "We grew up in a religiously strict Baptist home, we were taught Satan was real, we were going to hell if we touched ourselves, our bodies were dirty, sex was bad and that boys were rapists. So, yeah - we're gonna have some issues with men when we grow up!"
"Ahhh, well. I don't know," he stammered. "I don't know if I agree with all of that. But we can talk about that later."
"Dad, L- and I still talk about how traumatized we were when you told us about sex. It was graphic!"
"I was just trying to protect you from the little knuckleheads down the street!"
"We were eight! Don't tell us about being snatched off the streets, thrown on a dirty mattress in a van and having some little boy put their fingers in our bodies! That was terrifying!"
"I was being a father! We lived in South Central - not some fairy land."
"Well, congratulations, Dad! You told us our bodies were fodder for rapists - who, apparently, lived down the street, went to school with us and walked the sidewalks! Nice going." I said. "We were EIGHT! Dude, didn't anyone back then read books about child development? Didn't you guys have Good Touch/Bad Touch?"
"What's that mess?"
And so on.
Anyway, things are not going well with my sister's marriage; she has admitted to Dad that she has hated how men look at her, which has prompted Dad to ask where her attitude comes from.
"Are you kidding me?"
"I'm serious, Delia Christina. I don't understand it."
I tried to explain what it's like growing up a girl where you're taught that Bad Things will happen to you because of what's between your legs, how this reduces a girl to an object and tells her that SHE is the cause for a man's violence and perversion; but he didn't get it, quite.
So I said, "You raised us to be afraid, not strong. See the difference?"
My sister and I heard the same messages growing up. But I know what made the difference for me. Feminism. If that kind of awakening hadn't happened to me, I would still be struggling with my body, my value, my worth. I know that I've had a reputation for being a ball-busting man-hater, but I'd rather be a so-called man-hater than a woman afraid of her own body and desire.
But this, I think, is the conundrum of raising daughters. If you know that this patriarchal world is full of violence against women and girls (which it is, in horrible, horrific ways) then how do you prepare your daughter to face it? And then, how do you raise them to face it without making them afraid of themselves, of their bodies - how do you raise a daughter to be without shame?
Mothers and fathers raising daughters, I'd love to hear from you on this one.
"What did you expect, Dad?" I said. "We grew up in a religiously strict Baptist home, we were taught Satan was real, we were going to hell if we touched ourselves, our bodies were dirty, sex was bad and that boys were rapists. So, yeah - we're gonna have some issues with men when we grow up!"
"Ahhh, well. I don't know," he stammered. "I don't know if I agree with all of that. But we can talk about that later."
"Dad, L- and I still talk about how traumatized we were when you told us about sex. It was graphic!"
"I was just trying to protect you from the little knuckleheads down the street!"
"We were eight! Don't tell us about being snatched off the streets, thrown on a dirty mattress in a van and having some little boy put their fingers in our bodies! That was terrifying!"
"I was being a father! We lived in South Central - not some fairy land."
"Well, congratulations, Dad! You told us our bodies were fodder for rapists - who, apparently, lived down the street, went to school with us and walked the sidewalks! Nice going." I said. "We were EIGHT! Dude, didn't anyone back then read books about child development? Didn't you guys have Good Touch/Bad Touch?"
"What's that mess?"
And so on.
Anyway, things are not going well with my sister's marriage; she has admitted to Dad that she has hated how men look at her, which has prompted Dad to ask where her attitude comes from.
"Are you kidding me?"
"I'm serious, Delia Christina. I don't understand it."
I tried to explain what it's like growing up a girl where you're taught that Bad Things will happen to you because of what's between your legs, how this reduces a girl to an object and tells her that SHE is the cause for a man's violence and perversion; but he didn't get it, quite.
So I said, "You raised us to be afraid, not strong. See the difference?"
My sister and I heard the same messages growing up. But I know what made the difference for me. Feminism. If that kind of awakening hadn't happened to me, I would still be struggling with my body, my value, my worth. I know that I've had a reputation for being a ball-busting man-hater, but I'd rather be a so-called man-hater than a woman afraid of her own body and desire.
But this, I think, is the conundrum of raising daughters. If you know that this patriarchal world is full of violence against women and girls (which it is, in horrible, horrific ways) then how do you prepare your daughter to face it? And then, how do you raise them to face it without making them afraid of themselves, of their bodies - how do you raise a daughter to be without shame?
Mothers and fathers raising daughters, I'd love to hear from you on this one.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
this is hard
For some reason, I haven't been able to sleep for the last few days. Last night, after a nice date night with M-, the inconsiderate DamnKids next door kept me awake from 2.30 am to 3.30. Even after I called the cops on them, I tossed and turned, trying every trick I knew to lull myself into sleep.
Some of it was work stuff, I know. Projects are starting to build up and while I may not be thinking about them consciously, it's running in the background. Like a .exe file on my hard drive somewhere sucking up disk space.
But what's the rest? Discontent with my blogging practice? (Blogging is starting to feel like spinning my wheels, not like real writing anymore.)
The eventual burnout from dealing with the state budget crap all year and having the end of session one week away? (I don't even care how it turns out, anymore. I just want it to be done. Janky budget or responsible budget, I don't care. Just end, already.)
Could it be M-?
As predicted, he read Screed while I was away (he had some free time on his hands) and ... I don't know how to read his reaction to it. (Also, notice that I'm not stopping writing about our relationship.)
Last night, in a light tone, he'd said, 'I'm sorry I didn't graduate college.'
But I don't know how to read that. Truthfully, I know I've settled that with myself. That was MY issue and I've looked at it and called myself out for being so entitled. And then friends thought that he'd had a strange reaction when he found out LTF/B- had gone to Stanford but I wasn't there so I'm forced to take their interpretation with a grain of salt.
(Besides, Stanford or no, LTF/B- was a frakking nutbag. Also - inconsiderate, selfish, freakish, drug-addled, neurotic, depressive andoccasionally impotent frustrating. By my assessment, M- wins on all points of comparison.)
I had been clipping dead daisy heads when this came up so I put down the scissors.
'M-, that used to be an issue when we first met, but it's not anymore. I love who you are.'
He shrugged. 'Well, I know that I still need to prove myself.'
'To whom?'
'To you. I want to be able -- I'm just tired of not being where I want to be.'
I said, 'You know why I love you? I know that you're the type of man who has integrity and you'll be the man who takes care of his business - and his family. You don't have to prove anything to me.'
'I just wish I had more money. I'm tired of working so hard and not having anything to show for it.'
And so we talked about that for a little while - about ambition, starting over at our age, about dreams that our parents had and that we doubt we'll have a chance to live. And about money. And living paycheck to paycheck. It was kind of a heavy conversation. No wonder we killed more than several bottles of Woodchuck.
In the past, a conversation like this would have made me skittish. My brain would have raced ahead, anticipating all sorts of trouble. But now I want to pay very close attention to how we both navigate peeling away our respective layers; what lies beneath won't always be attractive and we'll have to decide if we love the fantasy of love or if it's really about who this other person is in their bones.
I can already tell this 2nd year is going to be different than the first. The newness is still there, but now the edges of real life are starting to seep through. I'm beginning to see that being with someone really is a choice. It shouldn't be passive or accidental. It shouldn't just happen, like turning a corner in an unfamiliar place, finding you like the neighborhood and just deciding to hang out there a while. It's an act of will.
Did I just stumble into a profundity?
Some of it was work stuff, I know. Projects are starting to build up and while I may not be thinking about them consciously, it's running in the background. Like a .exe file on my hard drive somewhere sucking up disk space.
But what's the rest? Discontent with my blogging practice? (Blogging is starting to feel like spinning my wheels, not like real writing anymore.)
The eventual burnout from dealing with the state budget crap all year and having the end of session one week away? (I don't even care how it turns out, anymore. I just want it to be done. Janky budget or responsible budget, I don't care. Just end, already.)
Could it be M-?
As predicted, he read Screed while I was away (he had some free time on his hands) and ... I don't know how to read his reaction to it. (Also, notice that I'm not stopping writing about our relationship.)
Last night, in a light tone, he'd said, 'I'm sorry I didn't graduate college.'
But I don't know how to read that. Truthfully, I know I've settled that with myself. That was MY issue and I've looked at it and called myself out for being so entitled. And then friends thought that he'd had a strange reaction when he found out LTF/B- had gone to Stanford but I wasn't there so I'm forced to take their interpretation with a grain of salt.
(Besides, Stanford or no, LTF/B- was a frakking nutbag. Also - inconsiderate, selfish, freakish, drug-addled, neurotic, depressive and
I had been clipping dead daisy heads when this came up so I put down the scissors.
'M-, that used to be an issue when we first met, but it's not anymore. I love who you are.'
He shrugged. 'Well, I know that I still need to prove myself.'
'To whom?'
'To you. I want to be able -- I'm just tired of not being where I want to be.'
I said, 'You know why I love you? I know that you're the type of man who has integrity and you'll be the man who takes care of his business - and his family. You don't have to prove anything to me.'
'I just wish I had more money. I'm tired of working so hard and not having anything to show for it.'
And so we talked about that for a little while - about ambition, starting over at our age, about dreams that our parents had and that we doubt we'll have a chance to live. And about money. And living paycheck to paycheck. It was kind of a heavy conversation. No wonder we killed more than several bottles of Woodchuck.
In the past, a conversation like this would have made me skittish. My brain would have raced ahead, anticipating all sorts of trouble. But now I want to pay very close attention to how we both navigate peeling away our respective layers; what lies beneath won't always be attractive and we'll have to decide if we love the fantasy of love or if it's really about who this other person is in their bones.
I can already tell this 2nd year is going to be different than the first. The newness is still there, but now the edges of real life are starting to seep through. I'm beginning to see that being with someone really is a choice. It shouldn't be passive or accidental. It shouldn't just happen, like turning a corner in an unfamiliar place, finding you like the neighborhood and just deciding to hang out there a while. It's an act of will.
Did I just stumble into a profundity?
Monday, May 17, 2010
silence.
the news reported a tussle with the grandmother, during which the firearm discharged. everyone in the family says there was no tussle, that the grandmother was throwing herself over the baby when aiyana was shot in the head.
what do you call the blinded, terrified groping of a grandmother who knows her grandchildren are in the room, blasted from safety and sleep into chaos and danger, whose granddaughter is on fire? how do you comfort a man like aiyana’s father, which was forced to lie face down in his daughter’s blood by the same police officers who killed her?
the police shot and killed aiyana. they shot her in the forehead. her family saw her brain on the couch. by accident, perhaps. which doesn’t even matter to a 7-year-old. you don’t get let off any hooks for your intentions in this case, officer." (source)
I want all of us to think about how often these 'accidents' happen.
I want all of us to think about where these 'accidents' happen.
Because they aren't happening in New Trier.
They aren't happening in Westwood.
Then I want you to think about those to whom these 'accidents' occur.
And that's all I want you to do. Think.
No talk. No discussion.
Because I am too goddamn angry to say another word about this.
Friday, May 14, 2010
father's day is gonna be goooood
So my father calls me at work (as is his wont.)
He tells me his plumber has written an interesting book...about penis size.
'Wait. Are you kidding? THAT'S his book?' I say.
Yes, my dad says. That's the book.
But when the plumber left an advance copy for my dad, he inscribed it with:
"To the prettiest man I know - Plumber (smiley face)"
'I'm confused,' my dad says. 'What does this mean?'
I'm laughing so hard I can barely say 'Man crush!'
'But he has a woman!'
I laughed harder. I can't stop laughing.
He tells me his plumber has written an interesting book...about penis size.
'Wait. Are you kidding? THAT'S his book?' I say.
Yes, my dad says. That's the book.
But when the plumber left an advance copy for my dad, he inscribed it with:
"To the prettiest man I know - Plumber (smiley face)"
'I'm confused,' my dad says. 'What does this mean?'
I'm laughing so hard I can barely say 'Man crush!'
'But he has a woman!'
I laughed harder. I can't stop laughing.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Coloring the Abortion Debate
Coming soon, my thoughts on being pro repro justice, being vetted for a board seat for a local abortion fund, how perceived allies react to women of color advocating for reproductive justice and how this intersects with my identity as a woman of color (of faith, even.)
But for now, just read this: The Indypendent » Coloring the Abortion Debate
But for now, just read this: The Indypendent » Coloring the Abortion Debate
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Thursday, May 06, 2010
policy camp, day 2: when you know you're not a leader, but a close 2nd
It's not that much of a loss, really. I've always known that being a number 1 makes the goosebumps rise, and not in that good way. This is not to say that I am crushed or abashed. It's a confirmation. And it's not to say that I am the one who follows. The pleasant surprise in this whole day was that it confirmed that I am...uncomfortably neutral about control.
The day started with our policy elevator speeches; I was paired with the NJ Supreme Court law clerk who frankly said, "I don't think these work. But go ahead." And I laughed. Then she laughed. I got what she was saying. When she said it in the larger group though, you could feel the room pull away from her. But she stood up there and just shrugged. 'I've worked on staffs, she said. And these are nice, but they don't remember these. You have to build the relationship and negotiate.'
It was a pragmatic view of the political process and the room full of advocates didn't really shine to that. For most of us, we like to think that if only folks knew the extent of the issue, that's all it takes. But it doesn't. It takes politics. And I admired her guts for saying that, for injecting an element of real politik into the morning. It was a lesson for me:
Don't get so caught up in your issue that you forget you operate in a very real world where having the facts and telling the story isn't enough.
Being the smartest girl in the room is not enough.
Being the smartest girl who knows the right people sometimes is.
I hope I stay in touch with her after this; in a few years, this woman will either be a very good, and very connected, lobbyist or a very good, and very connected, state senator, congressman or judge for New Jersey.
How was my elevator speech? Ah, it was serviceable; it won't set the world on fire but no one called it crazy.
And that's another thing; it is so incredibly nurturing here! I imagined a policy shark tank, a boot camp of sorts. But while the group discussions get heated, and positions are strenuously defended, there is always consensus to make us whole again.
Consensus. A word that used to make me itch in impatience. But now I see the use for it. In our session about Effective Teams, we had to agree on what helps or blocks teams; we couldn't take a simple vote and any disagreements had to be resolved through consensus. I found that I'm mostly ok with switching my vote. Oh, I'm wed to my position but often I will see the value of another person's view and give way. But only if their view is valuable and they made a good case for it - or if there was a greater good that could benefit and didn't depend on my position.
What was also surprising was figuring out what each of us valued in our teams. Half of us wanted everyone to contribute; the other half, only if the contribution was value-added. Most felt that conflict was a block to progress, but ok if framed as debate; most required structure and felt that personal feeling talk could be a slippery slope for losing focus. Above all, we felt it was important, no matter individual positions, for the team to enjoy working with one another.
Of course, when we compared our findings with actual research about effective teams, we discovered that some of what we preferred wasn't supported. Fascinating. Who knew conflict was a boon? Who knew that assuming equal competency levels was a block? (Lesson: always identify your weakest link and allocate resources appropriately!) It definitely made me stop and evaluate my current team and how I work in it.
Which brings me to the FIRO-B test. We all submitted an assessment before we arrived and received the results. Wow. It measured on Inclusivity, Control and Openness, on a 54-point range. (You can look up the FIRO-B to see how it works.) Spookily accurate.
I had an overall score of 14 - out of 54!! My Inclusion score was low: I prefer being alone vs. interacting with others. My Control score was also low; I like little structure, don't care about controlling others and don't give a shit about you trying to control me, because you won't. (I paraphrase.) And my Openness score was medium; I prefer some but not a lot of warmth and closeness in 1-1 relationships. Again, spookily accurate.
In other words, I'll be part of your team but I'm the loner who'll go along as long as I agree with the direction; but as soon as my and the group's interests diverge, I will bounce. Interesting, isn't it? (Perhaps I should warn M-.)
I don't think I was the only one struck with their results. Perhaps it was seeing ourselves rendered in print that made us all head for the bar immediately after the session.
The day started with our policy elevator speeches; I was paired with the NJ Supreme Court law clerk who frankly said, "I don't think these work. But go ahead." And I laughed. Then she laughed. I got what she was saying. When she said it in the larger group though, you could feel the room pull away from her. But she stood up there and just shrugged. 'I've worked on staffs, she said. And these are nice, but they don't remember these. You have to build the relationship and negotiate.'
It was a pragmatic view of the political process and the room full of advocates didn't really shine to that. For most of us, we like to think that if only folks knew the extent of the issue, that's all it takes. But it doesn't. It takes politics. And I admired her guts for saying that, for injecting an element of real politik into the morning. It was a lesson for me:
Don't get so caught up in your issue that you forget you operate in a very real world where having the facts and telling the story isn't enough.
Being the smartest girl in the room is not enough.
Being the smartest girl who knows the right people sometimes is.
I hope I stay in touch with her after this; in a few years, this woman will either be a very good, and very connected, lobbyist or a very good, and very connected, state senator, congressman or judge for New Jersey.
How was my elevator speech? Ah, it was serviceable; it won't set the world on fire but no one called it crazy.
And that's another thing; it is so incredibly nurturing here! I imagined a policy shark tank, a boot camp of sorts. But while the group discussions get heated, and positions are strenuously defended, there is always consensus to make us whole again.
Consensus. A word that used to make me itch in impatience. But now I see the use for it. In our session about Effective Teams, we had to agree on what helps or blocks teams; we couldn't take a simple vote and any disagreements had to be resolved through consensus. I found that I'm mostly ok with switching my vote. Oh, I'm wed to my position but often I will see the value of another person's view and give way. But only if their view is valuable and they made a good case for it - or if there was a greater good that could benefit and didn't depend on my position.
What was also surprising was figuring out what each of us valued in our teams. Half of us wanted everyone to contribute; the other half, only if the contribution was value-added. Most felt that conflict was a block to progress, but ok if framed as debate; most required structure and felt that personal feeling talk could be a slippery slope for losing focus. Above all, we felt it was important, no matter individual positions, for the team to enjoy working with one another.
Of course, when we compared our findings with actual research about effective teams, we discovered that some of what we preferred wasn't supported. Fascinating. Who knew conflict was a boon? Who knew that assuming equal competency levels was a block? (Lesson: always identify your weakest link and allocate resources appropriately!) It definitely made me stop and evaluate my current team and how I work in it.
Which brings me to the FIRO-B test. We all submitted an assessment before we arrived and received the results. Wow. It measured on Inclusivity, Control and Openness, on a 54-point range. (You can look up the FIRO-B to see how it works.) Spookily accurate.
I had an overall score of 14 - out of 54!! My Inclusion score was low: I prefer being alone vs. interacting with others. My Control score was also low; I like little structure, don't care about controlling others and don't give a shit about you trying to control me, because you won't. (I paraphrase.) And my Openness score was medium; I prefer some but not a lot of warmth and closeness in 1-1 relationships. Again, spookily accurate.
In other words, I'll be part of your team but I'm the loner who'll go along as long as I agree with the direction; but as soon as my and the group's interests diverge, I will bounce. Interesting, isn't it? (Perhaps I should warn M-.)
I don't think I was the only one struck with their results. Perhaps it was seeing ourselves rendered in print that made us all head for the bar immediately after the session.
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