What Tami Said

When allies fail - Pt. 2

2009-11-25T13:37:00.001-05:00

[In the following post about allies, I am confining my discussion to anti-racism and feminism because those are the movements with which I am most familiar. I hope, though, that these ideas have broader application.]

Last week, in a post titled When Allies Fail - Part 1, we began a discussion about maintaining alliances in the face of failure.

What does it mean to be allied? The dictionary definition is to be joined in a group to advance common interests or causes. And what does this joining require? I think mutual respect, shared activism and adherence to mutual goals and objectives. Alliances are by nature two-sided affairs. Both sides bear the responsibility of maintaining the relationship. And this isn't easy. I have witnessed too many battles between members of marginalized groups and their professed allies to think otherwise. The disagreements are often raw, emotional and ultimately unsatisfying. Sometimes, I think we expect too much of our allies. Sometimes the privileged are too confident in their roles as allies and too slow to examine their own biases. As enlightened about race or gender a person may be, we are all products of a racist and sexist society. To expect any person, no matter how good-intentioned, to never reveal a racial or gender bias is to invite disappointment. If members of marginalized groups want to work with allies, we have to know that they will fail us sometimes. Our allies have to know that they will fail.

In that post, I tackled the responsibilities of anti-racist and feminist allies. What should an ally do when he or she has made an unwitting show of prejudice or privilege? Today, I want to talk about the responsibilities of marginalized people who want to work with allies. "Responsibilities of marginalized people"...already I am hesitant to speak about allied relationships this way.

First, marginalized people are the owners of the anti-racist and feminist/womanist movements. The outcomes of the movement are about our humanity, our treatment, our futures, our children. Our fight is based not on empathy, but lived reality. Yes, racism and sexism ultimately effect everyone, no matter their race or gender. But, for instance, women involved in the feminist movement feel the urgency for change much more strongly than our male allies. We are more invested, I think. I say this not as a slight against men. It is the rare human being who is not most invested in things that effect them directly.

Second, marginalized people, like POC, have historically been oppressed. As a result, we adapt to living in a society that does not treat us as equals and sees us as "other." We try to conform. We code switch. We hide our culture. We change our physicality to match that of the majority culture. We hold our tongues in the face of the everyday dull aches of racism. We do this every day, both consciously and unconsciously.

It does not seem right, then, that historically oppressed people, while working within our own safe spaces in movements for our own liberation, have some responsibility to the feelings of privileged people--the historic oppressors--even those who call themselves allies. Haven't we earned a permanent high ground through centuries of mistreatment? Surely we don't have to make gentle our words, hide our anger, wear the mask (TM Paul Laurence Dunbar) even while fighting for our own equality. Do feminists have a responsibility for maintaining relationships with men? Do anti-racist people of color have a responsibility for maintaining relationships for white people?

If we want them as allies...yes.

We have a responsibility to treat our allies with respect and humanity. It is the same responsibility that every person has to another. This notion of human regard is the very foundation of equality movements. We cannot demand justice while mirroring injustice. We definitely should not feel a need to "wear the mask" in our own safe spaces in order to make privileged people more comfortable. But we can act with compassion. When we do not, we fail at maintaining alliances. And allied relationships are too important to lose.

Allies are important to any equality movement. It does not help people of color if we are the only ones who understand racism and how it still exists in society. It does not help women if we are the only ones that believe we deserve equal treatment. This is especially true considering the ways that women and people of color have been kept from places of power. The battles are ours to fight, and we can win them, but we need allies.

So how should marginalized people navigate allied relationships?

Listen. It is no surprise that this was the first "rule" in last week's post, too. Listening is part of the foundation for all interpersonal relationships.

Don't generalize. Avoid using language that implies that all members of a group are the same and inherently bad. This kind of talk is dehumanizing no matter who it comes from. It is one thing, I think, to discuss the ways that our culture can breed aggressiveness and violence into men; it is another to speak in a way that brands all men violent predators. It is a) a gross exaggeration and b) certainly alienating to any man who calls himself a feminist and works to support women's causes.

Call people on their own shit, not everyone's shit. It does no good to give allies a pass on their prejudices. Consenting to being an ally and joining a marginalized group as a privileged person means committing to examining yourself and to having other people examine you, too. This is one way that good allies gain our trust. They unite with us, knowing that doing so means laying their imperfect selves bare. In the case of anti-racist white allies, it means knowing that, no matter how vigilant you are, one day, you are going to say or do something racially insensitive or ignorant, because you are human. And when you make that mistake, the POC you hope to support will be angry and hurt and they will call you on it. And it will be uncomfortable. And it will be easier to disappear from the blog or the local anti-racist group or the friendship. But if you walk away, you prove yourself uncommitted, so hopefully you stay and suck it up and learn and do better the next time. Doing that--staying when things get uncomfortable--takes strength of character and it is not easy. As a person of color working with white allies, I think I must acknowledge this and respect it. And while I have no fear of calling allies on their prejudices, I must take care not to hold them responsible for more than their own privilege and their own racial bias. Allies cannot be stand-ins for a larger racist society.

Don't be a bully. Marginalized people have a right to our anger and disgust at injustice. We do not have a right to browbeat our supposed allies. Alliances need to be based on mutual respect to work effectively. An environment where the "in group" is always angry and right and the "out group" is always prostrate, sorry, cowering and wallowing in guilt is unhealthy and unproductive in achieving the goals of equality work.

Be willing to teach sometimes. Understand. It is not the obligation of marginalized people to teach. We shouldn't have to teach. Education is wasted on those who don't wish to learn. But offering a hand to an ally who has proven themselves a friend and demonstrated a willingness to educate themselves is a smart thing to do. It strengthens relationships and ultimately helps us move closer to the goal of having more people "get it" when it comes to "isms," biases and privilege.

There is a climate I have noticed in some spaces--mostly online--where even the most rare and gently-phrased question from the most dedicated ally is met with charges of "Privilege!" "It's not my job to educate YOU!" "Derail!" "Educate yourself!" I understand the principle behind this reaction, yet sometimes the execution seems both uncharitable and ultimately not helpful. If I want the majority culture to "get it" when it comes to racism and privilege, it seems nonsensical to refuse to help even proven allies on their journey sometimes.

Forgive. When they hurt us, we generally give some slack to our friends, family and others with whom we have formed important bonds. This is particularly true if the hurt is unintentional. We get angry. We get sad. We get disappointed. But when someone has previously demonstrated their support and regard, and when they have sought our forgiveness, we generally find a way to get past it. So, too, I think it should be with allied relationships. The seeking forgiveness part is crucial here. Forgiveness comes after a person owns, apologizes and makes right their mistake. Once that happens, the slate should be cleared. Relationships break easily under the weight of past hurts never forgiven. One hurt by a friend does not an enemy make. One moment of privilege or bias from an anti-racist ally does not a racist make, either.

Know when to walk away. Everyone who claims ally status isn't ready to be an ally. It's as simple as that. Someone who is unwilling to examine their own privilege, who is unwilling to educate themselves, who constantly makes excuses for bias and plays "devil's advocate" too passionately, whose slip ups are too frequent and moments of advocacy too few, perhaps is not the best ally. One can only forgive so much. It is okay to cut your losses, save your sanity and move on when an alliance isn't working.

When allies fail - Part One

2009-11-18T09:18:00.001-05:00

Allies are important to any equality movement. It does not help people of color if we are the only ones who understand racism and how it still exists in society. It does not help women if we are the only ones that believe we deserve equal treatment. This is especially true considering the ways that women and people of color have been kept from places of power. The battles are ours to fight, and we can win them, but we need allies.

What does it mean to be allied? The dictionary definition is to be joined in a group to advance common interests or causes. And what does this joining require? I think mutual respect, shared activism and adherence to mutual goals and objectives. Alliances are by nature two-sided affairs. Both sides bear the responsibility of maintaining the relationship. And this isn't easy. I have witnessed too many battles between members of marginalized groups and their professed allies to think otherwise. The disagreements are often raw, emotional and ultimately unsatisfying. Sometimes, I think we expect too much of our allies. Sometimes the privileged are too confident in their roles as allies and too slow to examine their own biases. As enlightened about race or gender a person may be, we are all products of a racist and sexist society. To expect any person, no matter how good-intentioned, to never reveal a racial or gender bias is to invite disappointment. If members of marginalized groups want to work with allies, we have to know that they will fail us sometimes. Our allies have to know that they will fail.

And what do we do when this happens--when allies fail? How can we address mistakes, while preserving relationships and maintaining the power that comes through alliances with people outside of our group? How do I think an ally should respond when their bias or privilege is called out? How do I think marginalized groups should handle the mistakes allies make?

This is the first of two posts on maintaining alliances in the face of failure. Today, I will tackle the responsibilities of anti-racist and feminist allies. What should an ally do when he or she has made an unwitting show of prejudice or privilege?

Listen. Good relationship habits 101--listen to the person(s) that you have harmed. It may be helpful to repeat what you understand the grievance to be in order to demonstrate that you are making an effort to understand. Before you speak, think about what is being said. Try to put aside your ego (hard as that is) and examine the "offense." Can you see your privilege peeking through? Have you uncovered a hidden bias? Even if your actions were unintentional, can you see how they could be misconstrued?

Don't defend. Everyone wants to believe they have their prejudices in check. And when you are generally diligent about examining your biases and privilege, and you have good intentions, hearing that you have failed can feel like a slap. It is easy to become defensive, rattling explanations and defenses rather than truly listening to the person who is offended. And you may feel angry: "After all the ways I've proven myself, how could anyone think I am (racist, sexist, etc.)." Resist the urge to defend yourself at first. This doesn't mean you need be endlessly berated or that the person who you have offended is right. It simply means that you can't listen and hear where another person is coming from if you are talking.

Allow us our anger. It isn't easy being a member of a marginalized group. For instance, I have written before about the dull aches of racism. I have also written about how members of marginalized groups are expected to hold their tongues in the face of mistreatment--to be the "bigger persons." What may seem like a very small deal to you, to us may be yet another wearying and soul-destroying slight. Any human being has a right to be angry about injustice. Again, this does not mean that we have the right to dehumanize or insult you. It is not an ally's job to be endlessly flogged and called to account for the sins of all society. But marginalized people do have a right to be pissed off and to show it.

Apologize. If you understand and agree that you have committed an offense, apologize. No "I'm sorry, but..." No need to explain the whys and wherefores or attempt to minimize. Just say, "I'm sorry. I was wrong and I should have known better." Period. Own your mistake. Now, I am not suggesting that you apologize for something you didn't do or don't think you've done. If, after truly listening, you believe you have been misunderstood...well, that situation is more difficult. That I am a black woman does not automatically mean that I am always right in identifying a white person's race bias or a man's gender bias. There is a way to acknowledge what another person is feeling, even if you ultimately don't apologize. But know that if you're a guy on a womanist Web site, for example, and multiple women tell you that you are being a sexist asshole, you probably need to check yourself.

(If Possible) Correct. If what you have done can be undone, do it immediately.

Educate yourself. The best way to come to understand how, say, "racism" works, to identify your own biases and to learn the language of the movement, is to get smart about racial prejudice and privilege, as well as other cultures. Don't rely on people of color to do your work for you. As allies, we will naturally share some information with you, teach a little. But teaching is not our responsibility. Read the books by important thinkers on race. Note new study results. Pay attention to pop culture, media and art beyond the mainstream. Seek a diverse group of friends. Lurk on popular anti-racist blogs. Get involved offline. And again, listen...listen...listen. This is the best way to avoid missteps and to recover when you fail. Your education is your responsibility.

[Editor's note: There is nothing that annoys me more...and you can find this often on feminist blogs when the issue of race comes up...than when someone begins a comment by saying, "We'll, I'm just a clueless white woman, but..." To this, I say..."No." First, the constituencies of most of the popular feminist blogs prove themselves to be far from clueless on other topics. They talk of being PhDs and scientists and teachers and journalists. These are smart women. What this statement really means is, "I have the privilege of not having to educate myself on this issue, so I'm going to make a cutesy disclaimer before I speak in case I say something wildly offensive." That's a cop out. It's an attempt to get around owning your mistakes. And it demeans me and you. If you think you really are "clueless," do something about it.]

Reaffirm your commitment. Proof that you are a true ally to a cause--whatever the cause is--is that you slog through and keep going, even through rough patches and arguments. Your continued presence post-mistake, whether on a feminist blog or in a local grassroots anti-racist organization, is a demonstration of your commitment.

From the vault: Who is allowed to laugh at black culture?

2009-11-16T15:39:00.002-05:00

[This post was originally published on Jan. 8, 2008.]

Today's New York Times includes a review of comedian Chris Rock's New Year's Eve stand-up performance at Madison Square Garden. the review alleges that while Rock is still edgy and, most importantly, funny, the comedian has shifted his approach to racial comedy over the years. Kelefah Sanneh writes:

Where once he held forth conspiratorially, flattering fans by sharing taboo insights with them, now he is more likely to hold forth confrontationally, as a way (perhaps) to acknowledge the Michael Scotts in the crowd. Where once he was mainly descriptive, now he is prescriptive too. Monday's set included a long bit about when it is permissible for white people to use his favorite racial epithet (there is only one hypothetical occasion, and it involves extreme suffering); advice to women with careers not to complain to their nannies; and an explanation of why no one should have been surprised when Don Imus made his comments about the Rutgers women's basketball team.
Conscious of the weight on his shoulders, Mr. Rock now seems a little less roguish and a little more righteous. Almost out of the blue, he asked, "Do you know how much better Seabiscuit's life was than my grandfather's?" And a riff on Regis Philbin built to a climax that was shocking and amusing in equal measure. SOURCE

"Michael Scott" refers to the lead character on NBC's popular "The Office." Despite Scott's professed tolerance, he often horrifies his staff with social gaffes related to race, gender and sexual orientation. In a recent episode, Scott performed Chris Rock's infamous "two kinds of black people" routine and later wondered "How come Chris Rock can do a routine, and everybody finds it hilarious and groundbreaking, and then I go and do the exact same routine, same comedic timing, and people file a complaint to corporate?"

My question is not why non-black people need to tread carefully when finding humor in African American culture. I find it disingenuous when people claim to not understand why jokes at a group's expense (or certain words) are not appropriate when they come from outside of the group. My question is, is it okay for black folks to laugh at the racial stereotypes often found in comedy? What does it say about us? And what responsibility do black comedians have to censor what they say when their words have the power to influence mainstream perceptions of our race?

The topic of race seems to be a mainstay for modern black comics. Some, like Chris Rock, are usually able to tackle sensitive issues deftly. But a bunch are BET's Comic View-type hacks that traffic in "black people do this" and "white people do that" jokes. If you've ever heard these ubiquitous comedians, you know that in their routines the things black people do are always negative. We have bad credit. We have bad attitudes. We are always late. We are lazy. We do drugs. Black men are unfaithful. Black women are loud, aggressive and emasculating. Both black men and women are hypersexual and crass. [Editor's note: I tried to listen to Jamie Foxx's station on Sirius satellite radio and it basically involves these sort of "comedy" routines strung back-to-back, 24/7.]

These gross generalizations and stereotypes don't seem to bother black audiences or black comedians. Is it because we have internalized society's negative view of us? Though we'll go to battle if a Don Imus cracks wise about black folks, do we secretly believe all the bad things people say? I find it telling that allegedly Dave Chapelle was okay with his TV show's often prejudiced content until he noticed that a white guy was laughing a little too hard at the jokes.

I'll admit it...I laugh at Chris Rock and Dave Chapelle. Can't stomach the Comic View brigade, though. I would be surprised if there is a black person who hasn't ever nodded and smirked at one of those "black people do this" routines. But laughter seems a lot like acceptance and knowing that makes me awfully uncomfortable.

Is it really okay for me, a black woman, to laugh along with stereotypes? And even if, as black people, popular comics have the right to send up African Americans and our habits, is it prudent for them to do so? Are they just polluting the social atmosphere, keeping black minds colonized and stoking prejudices in white minds?

Surprisingly, on this issue, I don't have an answer. Maybe you do. What do you think?

Stuff black folks don't do: Creating our own oppression

2009-11-12T08:21:00.007-05:00

I've been thinking about Max Reddick's post, "Oh, the places we could go...," which we crossposted last week on Love Isn't Enough:

A couple of months or so ago at the end of the summer, my wife and I planned a trip with a few other African American couples we know just to have one last bit of fun before summer ended. When we first conceived of the idea, we bandied about several suggestions, but all of them seemed so absolutely done.

Someone suggested a cookout at the beach, but I was beached out, and I don’t particularly find the beach all that fun. Of course, Disney and/or Universal Studios in Orlando were offered, but we go to Orlando several times a year already so that was out. And in that same vein, someone suggested Busch Gardens in Tampa, but that too was voted down.

Then my wife suggested that we go somewhere and do something none of us had ever done, something unlikely. And we finally decided on a destination and an activity. But on the eve of our trip, one by one the couples and families called us to say that they had to cancel, that they would not be going. And each couple and family proffered the same excuse: “We all talked and decided that that’s just something black folk don’t do.”

Evidently, all of the black folk got together, or at least enough to form a quorum, and decided that black folk didn’t do such things. Read more...

I thought about this--what black folk don't do--while driving to and from Washington, D.C. this week. I love a good road trip. Driving allows a glimpse of the country and the way people live in a way that flying over does not. There are so many hidden treasures to be found--kitschy shops, little towns nestled in the mountains, frozen in time. Of course, you also see the bad, not just charming Americana. But the bad--the urban blight and rural poverty--are as much a part of the American story as the good. Perhaps we would be better at governing our country if we took time to stretch our legs in another person's space from time to time--stand on a corner in a city deserted by industry or have lunch in one of those picturesque old-fashioned towns with flags lining mainstreet. It's all America.

When I was a kid, I had this dream of driving cross-country in a really cool convertible. I haven't achieved that dream exactly, but, in our 20s, my girlfriends and I took annual 10-day road trips during the summer. We piled in a rented minivan and did it on the cheap. We slept five or six to a room and ate at inexpensive local places. Our goal was exploration. We'd pick a direction--east, south or west--and plot points along the way where we might want to spend a day or two. If we saw a sign for a little-known historical sight or the world's biggest ball of twine along our route, and seeing it struck our fancy, we'd head off down the trail. On the way to New Orleans, we took a detour to see the campus of Ole Miss, because of its place in civil rights history. On the way to Vegas, we toured the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest. I count that time touring the country with my girls among the best times in my live. We had a ball, learned a lot and saw amazing things. There was one night, driving through Texas and New Mexico on a desolate, dark road with the moon shining full, tinting everything blue, that I will never forget.

There is another thing I will not soon forget: That nearly everyplace we went, the Grand Canyon; Salem, MA; Tombstone, AZ; the Garden District of New Orleans; we were the only black people there. Not surprising, I guess, because when I talked about my travel plans with black friends and coworkers I received the same message that Max did: "Black folk just don't do that."

I know that I occupy a privileged place in many ways. My family took trips when I was growing up. I am educated and have a career path that allows me to take a couple weeks off to travel. I have the resources to afford travel. I know not every other black person can claim these things. But, the thing is, the people I was talking to could. These were eduated black professionals with knowlege of all the places they could go and the resources to get there. Black people are less prohibited in our ability to move about this country today than we have ever been. So where did the idea come from that even if we have the ability we are not to allowed to explore the country our ancestors built with their sweat and blood?

Where do notions of what black folks do and do not do come from? Have we been so tempered by racism that even when we aren't faced with racial restrictions, we create our own?

Rightfully, a lot of ink and effort is expended on pointing out the lack of equity between black people and the majority culture in education, good housing, safety, opportunity and other resources. But I think we don't talk enough about what happens once those things are achieved, at least in part.

We cannot stand at the rim of the Grand Canyon--one of the seven wonders of the world--because "black folks don't do that." We cannot travel overseas. We can't be marine biologists. We can't listen to rock music.

It's like that grasshopper in the jar story (which could be total BS) that says if you catch a grasshopper and place it in a jar with a lid on it that eventually the grasshopper will eventually tire of smacking against the jar lid and will stop trying to get out. You can eventually remove the lid and rest comfortably knowing that the grasshopper will not escape.

Through most of our history in this country black people have lived within limits imposed by the majority culture. And, I should add, as we discuss often on this blog, we still do live with limits. It worries me to see those limits embraced as "black culture." Take away the limitations and there will still be things we will not allow ourselves to do, even when they are good for us. We will create our own oppression. Every time we say "black folk don't do (fill in the blank)," we become complicit in our own bondage, barriers to our own freedom.

So, why do we do it?

From the vault: This woman's work

2009-11-10T07:39:00.002-05:00

[Since I'm on the road, I thought I'd drag something a little different from "the vault." This post originally appeared in August 2008.

My name is Tami and I am a knitter. I have been for two years now, ever since a co-worker let me borrow a kids knitting how-to book over the weekend and I sat down with two giant needles and a ball of Wal-Mart yarn to make myself a scarf. Yeah, that's right. I like to indulge in traditional "womanly" arts. Does that put my feminist bonafides into question? Some say "yes," even as the craft has experienced a revival among hipsters and third-wavers.

In an article that appeared last year in The Guardian, Tanis Taylor writes:

Feminists are concerned that our new hobby may unpick decades of hard work fighting oppression. Germaine Greer has called it "heroic pointlessness", maintaining that for centuries "women have frittered their lives away stitching things for which there is no demand". Greer and co want us to bear in mind that for centuries, crafts, with their delicate balance of practicality and artistry, were the only acceptable creative outlet for generations of surrendered wives. In this scenario, the kids' home-stitched gingham clothing was threaded with all the oppressions and frustrations of a million muted mothers. Apparently, today's crafters are needle-pointing a similar image of conservative domesticity. Read more...

And on TheThunderbird.ca, in a piece from early 2008 that sounds remarkably privileged while calling out crafters for indulging in a white, middle class hobby, Amy Juschka opines:

I applaud the self-determination and autonomy that doing-it-yourself upholds, but there does seem to be a serious disconnect with the everyday lives of many women when it comes to third-wave feminism and crafting.
One of the third-wave's greatest accomplishments was its success in challenging second-wave feminism's overemphasis on the experiences of middle-class white women. In second-wave feminism, the ground for challenging women's oppression was to argue that the personal is the political; but that personal tended to be that of affluent white women.
Third-wave feminism challenged this middle-class white ground and proposed the necessity to think about the multiple locations of women, poor, indigenous, black, lesbian or immigrant. Keeping this in mind, one can then ask about feminist crafting and the assumptions therein. For example, knitting, in a sense, is a middle-class hobby. It, along with much crafting, is a luxury that many women cannot afford.
And while the DIY ethic provides women with a sense of self-reliance it's also a tad self-indulgent. Read more...

I should tell all the black, lesbian and working class women I know who knit or quilt or sew to knock that shit off ASAP. Apparently, she does not know about the wool workers of Nairobi. () Or maybe I should just point out to Ms. Juschka that middle class women, who could well afford store-bought goods, were first to abandon the "womanly arts." Poor women sewed and knitted and quilted (and some still do) out of necessity.

What's Wrong With "Womanly Arts" Anyway

Setting aside that knitting began as a mens-only activity, a lot of folks sneer at knitting as a hopelessly feminine and antiquated exercise--a pasttime for old women who live in musty houses with cats and lots of doilies. Lord knows the one thing worse than being born a girl in this society is to live long enough to become an "old girl." And it's not just the menfolk doing the sneering. As doors have opened for women over the decades, and we are making our marks in domains that used to be just for men, things that used to be traditionally ours are maligned: crafts like knitting and quilting, homemaking, stay-at-home mothering, etc. Not all of these things are for me--okay none of them are for me, but the knitting, and I think I might like to try quilting (Have you heard of the Gee's Bend quilters?)--but they are no less worthy of respect than anything else one might choose to do.

Debbie Stoller, Stitch n Bitch founder and editor of Bust magazine, said: "We have a culture that for the most part really only values the things that men do, the things that are done outside of the home. I want the work that women have always done to become equally valued by the culture at large."

There is nothing wrong with the "womanly arts." What is wrong is that society does not value the work women do. What is wrong is that things like knitting are bound up in antiquated notions of gender roles. (Men knit, too! Did you know that George Washington Carver was a knitter?)

If feminism is the belief in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes, then reclaiming a traditional woman's craft, denigrated for not being men's work, is feminist.

Why I Knit

All that said, the reason I first picked up the pointy sticks has nothing to do with feminism. I just thought it looked like fun. My co-worker had just returned from L.A. with some luxurious yarn and a funky scarf pattern and I was intrigued. Now, knitting is sort of an obsession for me, only surpassed by blogging.

Knitting is creative. Writing is the creative exercise that appeals to me most, but I also enjoy find just the right pattern, the right color yarn, the right decorative trim, the right notions to complete a knitted bag. (See one of my early efforts at right.) Sometimes it seems like everything I do is related to the written word: Writing press releases or speeches at work; writing blog posts in my spare time. It feels good to create in a different way.

BTW, if you still think knitting is old-fashioned, you should see some of the interesting things people are doing with knitting these days. I'm not talking holiday sweaters with jingle bells for the reindeer noses. Just visit The Anticraft if you don't believe me.

Knitting is meditative. Beginning meditators are often told to count their breaths as a way to focus the mind. 1...2...3...4...If you feel your mind straying, say, wondering what to have for dinner, you are simply to begin again at 1. Knitting is kind of like that. There is a rhythm to any pattern. Knit...knit...purl...knit...knit...purl. But you must focus. If you let your mind wander (as my mind is wont to do), you may find yourself purling where you should have knitted a stitch, decreasing a row where you were supposed to increase. When that happens, you are forced to rip out your work and begin again. Knitting is as much a cure for my monkey mind as seated meditation.

Knitting is sensuous. Spend some time in a yarn store--not the craft aisle at Wal-Mart--a yarn store. Ah, those rows upon rows of color...a hundred different shades of red...a hundred hues of green...soft, silky threads...scratchy, strong fibers...handcrafted bamboo needles...slick, smooth steel sticks. The act of knitting is sensuous. As I sit, propped in bed watching Keith Olbermann recount the Republican shenanigans of the day, I am soothed by the satin ribbon slipping over my fingers and around my cool, smooth Addi Turbos. (Left-I'm knitting a pair of satin boudoir slippers as a Christmas present for my mom. Shhh! Don't tell. The pattern is from Simple Knits with a Twist by Erika Knight)

Hell yeah, knitting is sensuous.

Knitting is challenging. Basic knitting is easy. But there are advanced patterns that are really hard. And, of course, I want to do the really hard thing. Getting some projects right means measuring, knitting swatches over and over (Hard for impatient me.), figuring on the calculator. But when it all turns out right, there is an amazing--and very particular--sense of accomplishment. It's the kind of "I made this with my own two hands" accomplishment that we don't feel a lot today. The food on our tables likely came from the supermarket...our clothes from the mall...our bedding from Pier One. I knitted a blanket for a baby niece. It did it in this really cool tangerine yarn I found, mixed with a slightly orangey cream color. (I hate traditional colors for baby blankets. Pink. Blue. Blecch!) Everyone wanted to know where my sister bought the blanket. But I made it. Hee. That makes me feel good.

Knitting is subversive. Truth be told. I kind of like it that people have all these silly misconceptions about my hobby. I get a little thrill when people double take at the chick with the afro puff knitting away before the movie starts. I like being a part of unexpected things. That's just me. I also like how modern knitters are using their craft to make statements and make a difference: Knitting in memory of Matthew Shephard, knitting shawls for cancer sufferers, knitting hats for preemies, knitting afghans for people in wartorn Afghanistan, knitting for survivors of Hurricane Katrina and other projects.

So, with fall looming, I'm picking up my knitting needles and planning new projects. Maybe I'll share some with you. And if you're searching around for a new hobby, I highly recommend this "woman's work."

Some useful links:

Learn to knit

Awesome patterns

George Washington Carver was a knitter

Crazy Aunt Purl: The diary of a thirty-something, newly-divorced, displaced Southern obsessive-compulsive knitter, who has four cats

Black Pearl Magazine

Ebony Elite: Women of Color Knitting Together

Dulaan Project

Afghans for Afghan

Slow posting

2009-11-10T07:34:00.002-05:00

I'm still around folks, but posting will be slow until Thursday. I'm visiting Washington D.C. for three days and my schedule is punishing. I'll be back in the saddle soon. Meanwhile, in my head, I'm pondering a post about the things racial fear keeps us from doing.

Relationships 2.0: Are you my real friends or are you just virtual?

2009-11-05T16:09:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago, Dr. Jim Taylor tackled the subject of Relationships 2.0 in The Huffington Post. He wrote:

Of all the areas of life that computer and communications technology seems to be impacting the most is its influence on relationships. Mobile phones, texting, facebook, and Twitter are just a few of the ways in which relationships are being redefined, established, and maintained by technology. We have entered a new era of Relationships 2.0. Read more...

That my two-year involvement with blogging and social networking has allowed me to pursue my love of writing and has opened the door to professional opportunities is almost incidental to what I really cherish about my online activities--the connection I've gained with like-minded people.

My family's move from Chicago to Central Indiana five years ago left me feeling isolated and lonely. My closest friends--the women whose friendship and support sustain me--are now scattered across the United States. The closest are at least three hours away. These are women who have known me from eight years to nearly all my life. They have been with me through various life stages,ups and downs, doubts and successes. In some cases, we share similar tastes in books or television or restaurants or adventure. In some cases, we share political views and social concerns. In some cases, we are very different but maintain bonds forged in the schoolyard decades ago. We speak in the short hand of long relationships. These women are not so much friends as sisters.

Somewhere in "The Girls from Ames," a book I just read about a group of 11 women and their decades-long friendship, there is reference to a study that found once women reach middle age, rather than adding new friends, they tend to deepen the relationships with women they already have. I think that is true--at least it is for me as I near 40. Surprisingly, I have found myself unable to make strong connections with women I've met in my new home. I am stymied both by a hectic schedule and a long commute, and a culture that often feels alien to me. Some of the very things that are fundamental to who I am seem out-of-place in a very red, very conservative town, in a very red, very conservative state. My neighbors are good people, but often our beliefs and goals and interests are quite different.

I am an African-American, late-marrying, liberal, secular womanist with no bio kids and a fondness for books, dry humor and alternative music in a town where most folks are white, early-marrying, conservative, church-going parents with a fondness for country music and "Two and a Half Men." Ain't nothin' wrong with Middle America. I was born and raised in the Midwest. And, here's the thing, I love my town and my neighborhood, where neighbors say "hi" and bring over cookies at Christmas. I love that I can drive less than a mile in one direction and be in the middle of a corn field or drive the other way and hit Nordstrom's. My stepson attends an excellent school and has flourished. My house is just the cozy sort I always dreamed of owning--all cedar and stone with a fenced-in yard for the dog and a big fireplace that is perfect this time of year. I am close to good food and art and culture in the mid-sized city 30 min. to my south and just three hours from Chicago and all that it offers. I like it here, but despite all the things that I like about my town, I fear I would have soured on it long ago were it not for the Internet, where I have found the personal connections that I do not have nearby.

When I began writing online about the things that are most important to me, I soon found a small group of cyber-friends who inspire me, who write things that seem like they tumbled from my own mind, who share some of my beliefs, opinions and obsessions and challenge others, who crack my shit up on the regular. I found my tribe--folks who speak my language--online. We e-mail, DM each other on Twitter, recommend each other for writing jobs, meet up to run 5Ks, give advice, send notes of encouragement to one another, share family pictures, sometimes even talk on the phone. I have not met most of my virtual friends in person, yet what I derive from these relationships is important to me. In fact, I credit my cyber-relationships with sparking some important personal growth over the last two years.

But Taylor cautions that I shouldn't mistake the virtual relationships I cherish for real relationships:

My concern focuses on the more personal and social aspects of Relationships 2.0. For example, I hear many people talking about all of the "friendships" around the world they have made on the Web, whether through social networking, gaming, or dating sites, or sites that reflect their beliefs (e.g., political or religious) or their interests (e.g., technology, sports). There's no doubt that the Web has enabled people everywhere to connect and communicate like never before, but I would argue that connection alone doth not a relationship make.

Just like the use of the old term, virtual reality, many people in Relationships 2.0 have what I believe are virtual relationships, yet consider them to be real relationships. Virtual relationships have all the appearances of real relationships, but they are missing essential elements that make real relationships, well, real, namely, three dimensionality, facial expressions, voice inflection, clear emotional messages, gestures, body language, physical contact, and pheromones.

Is Taylor correct? For all the in-depth conversations with like-minded folks in forums, for all the Twitter conversations that last too late into the night, for all the personal e-mail exchanges with virtual friends, are we losing the true meaning of "relationship?" Or, is new media redefining what relationships are? My online friendships may be quite different from my in-real-life ones, but I think they are equally as valid.

Virtual relationships are based on limited information and, as a result, are incomplete; you can know people, but only so far. When connecting with others through technology, you get bits and pieces of people - words on a screen, two-dimensional images, or a digitized voice - almost like having some, but not all, of the pieces of a puzzle. You get a picture of them, but you lack the pieces you need to get a complete picture of that person.

But virtual relationships can seem so real. I blog for a group of mobile-technology web sites and the email banter among the almost-exclusively-male staff is no different than if a bunch of guys were sitting around drinking beer and watching football. Despite very clear geographical and political differences, the camaraderie and support is amazing. Yet, would this group get along if they met in person? I don't think so. Perhaps that is both the beauty and the shame of online relationships.

Are not many offline relationships based on limited information? Take work friends, for example. The bonds we form with colleagues tend to be sort of limited in scope. We may, say, grab a drink at the pub after work, but not necessarily hang out beyond that interaction. Or, we may find that once one party moves on to another job, the bonds of friendship slowly fade. All-encompassing friendships are rare. Even my oldest female friends, who know me very well, don't know everything about me. I think in most relationships, we bond over commonalities and save the parts of ourselves that don't gel for other people.

I have a full real life. My best friends may not be nearby, but I do have companions to spend time with. I have hobbies and interests. My online relationships merely add to these things. I don't fancy that all of my cyber-friendships would translate to the real world. Some I am pretty sure would. Am I being naive?

What do you think--are online relationships real?

From the Vault: Racism as theater--how the media encourages superficial conversation about race

2009-11-04T09:10:00.004-05:00

[Here is a post from November 2007. As I read it this morning, it occurred to me that the problem I described two years ago has only gotten worse, though I do think there is a greater diversity of voices talking about race in the mainstream, which is good news.]

Why was Don Imus vilified and fired for calling a group of young, black athletes "nappy headed hoes," but able to return to the airwaves months later provoking barely a stir? Why is Michael Richards' racist tirade in a Los Angeles nightclub all but forgotten? Why have these incidents, and others like the Duke University case, failed to generate any long-lasting, helpful dialogue on race in America? The Washington Post attempts to answer these questions in a thoughtful, though conservative-leaning, article entitled "Reduced to the Small Screen: Incident, Reaction, Forget, Repeat--Formulaic Entertainment Replaces Serious Discussion on Race."

And with each episode in the long-running Saga of Race in America, a string of characters lines up to react to the latest eruption. The media records them as they take up positions in the Great Race Debate. The media stokes the discussion as self-proclaimed black leaders scream outrage while opponents -- often white, sometimes black -- scream counter-outrage. The "colorblind" wonder why we all just can't get along. And the rest of us watch from ringside, rooting for one camp or another, sometimes in silence.

Then inevitably, the media turns away. The outrage fades. The talking heads go silent. The curtain falls, and the debate recedes to wherever it goes until the next eruption.

Which raises the question: Has the debate over race become a melodrama? A bad television soap opera? A theatrical stage play with complex issues boiled down to a script? Entertaining words thrown around simply to satisfy the 24-hour news cycle, the blogosphere?

Are we doomed to debate racism over and over -- stuck in purgatory, a cycle of skirmishes, of shock and awe, with nothing gained, nothing learned?

Or is there a way to change the ritual, to go deeper into our national consciousness and get off this merry-go-round?

I have asked myself that question often and I believe the answer is complex. The Washington Post article does a good job of tackling many of the reasons the race debate has become so superficial. Two factors that I believe play a key role in defining talk of race are 1) the way most Americans consume media and 2) the limited number of voices invited to participate in the mainstream racial discussion. [Ed. note: In hindsight, a larger influence on the national race debate is the way media presents racial issues (any issue, really): superficial; weighted to emphasize/encourage controversy; focus on balance/impartiality and not truth/facts; bent toward conservatism/corporatism/status quo.]

I'm a media junkie. I consume a variety of media, both mainstream (local and national TV news; local and national newspapers; political, news and cultural magazines) and alternative (blogs; progressive radio, and even though it makes my blood pressure rise, right wing radio). It helps that, as a public relations professional, I am paid to pay attention to the media.

Most people I encounter on a daily basis don't have the time or inclination to do what I do. Most people I encounter get their information from limited sources, including a mainstream media owned by a narrow group of people--a mainstream media that is no longer The Fourth Estate, but a series of corporations operating with profit as their main mission. It is a media that courts controversy and, more than ever, believes "if it bleeds, it leads." It is a media that traffics in stereotypes and narrows race to black and white. It is a media that doesn't have time for nuanced and in-depth discussion about anything--not war, not healthcare, not poverty and not race. So, it is no wonder that the authors of the Washington Post article write:

There it was on television one afternoon, another episode in the Great Race Debate. A perky commentator moderated the banter between two intellectuals discussing the Jena 6 case and the debate over racial injustice.

Even with the sound off, it looked like entertainment, says Alan Bean, executive director of Friends of Justice, a Texas-based criminal justice reform organization that began probing the Jena 6 case long before it became big news. Bean was watching the show while sitting in an airport. That's when it occurred to him: The race debate had become theater.

"When I looked at the woman who was the correspondent refereeing the fight between two talking heads, I didn't get the impression she was concerned about enlightening the audience or coming to a meeting of the minds or shedding light on inequities in the criminal justice system," says Bean, who is white. "Her primary concern seemed to be putting on a show."

Mainstream media as a whole (there are certainly exceptions) no longer serves as public advocate. It is entertainment--candy everybody wants. On its own, it is not the ideal organ to discuss or solve our country's racial problems, yet it is the place most people get their information on the topic.

I often wonder if the mainstream media has some sign they flash a la the bat signal when faced with racial controversy. You say a comedian unleashed an epithet-laden tirade in a nightclub? Someone caught it on video phone? Send up the race signal! Pow! Bang! Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson and Boy Wonder Michael Eric Dyson are on the way to the studio. Whether you believe the activists I just named are well-meaning and effective advocates for the black community or "grievance merchants," you must agree that there are many, many more voices available to dissect America's views on race. There are myriad authors, scholars and bloggers (Some of the most insightful commentary I've read about race is in the blogosphere.) who should join the race discussion. However, the mainstream media regularly puts forth the same voices--the more polarizing, the better.

How do we fix this? The Washington Post article ends on a pessimistic note:

So the show goes on. The debate over racism becomes as predictable as
reruns on basic cable. The audience watches the Great Race Debate for a while,
then changes the channel -- until the next episode.

I'm honestly at a loss, unless we can transform more Americans from passive consumers of information to more proactive seekers of information on race and other important topics; unless black people can convince the mainstream that just as there are no appointed "white leaders," there are no appointed "black leaders;" unless we can encourage all sides of racial debate to listen more, talk less, and come to the table with empathy.

What do you say?

Civil rights, but just for me

2009-11-02T06:42:00.007-05:00

I was going to begin this post be talking about Mohandas Gandhi. I was going to chastise Bernice King, daughter of slain civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr., and new leader of the civil rights organization Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), for her hateful pronouncement, recounted in The Guardian: "I know down in my sanctified soul that [MLK] did not take a bullet for samesex unions."

I was going to point out that Gandhi, who is said to have inspired MLK, did not take a bullet for black Americans. His cause was the oppressed people of India. But the universal truth of his message--resistance to tyranny, nonviolence and the fundamental equality of all people--was as applicable on the North American continent as the Asian one. Bernice King's father realized that. How small and hateful and contrary to the legacy of Mahatma Gandhi it would have been if, during the height of the U.S. Civil Rights movement, a surviving family member had proclaimed that "down in their souls" they were certain that Gandhi didn't take a bullet for Negroes to ride on the front of the bus.

To my surprise, while doing a little research on the martyr known as "The Great One," I discovered that, though time has cemented Gandhi in the public consciousness as a loving but determined champion for world equality. He may well not have supported civil rights for all marginalized people.

From Wikipedia:

Some of Gandhi's early South African articles are controversial. On 7 March 1908, Gandhi wrote in the Indian Opinion of his time in a South African prison: "Kaffirs are as a rule uncivilized - the convicts even more so. They are troublesome, very dirty and live almost like animals."[14] Writing on the subject of immigration in 1903, Gandhi commented: "We believe as much in the purity of race as we think they do... We believe also that the white race in South Africa should be the predominating race."[15] During his time in South Africa, Gandhi protested repeatedly about the social classification of blacks with Indians, who he described as "undoubtedly infinitely superior to the Kaffirs".[16] It is worth noting that during Gandhi's time, the term Kaffir had a different connotation than its present-day usage. Remarks such as these have led some to accuse Gandhi of racism.[17]

and...

In 1906, after the British introduced a new poll-tax, Zulus in South Africa killed two British officers. In response, the British declared a war against the Zulus. Gandhi actively encouraged the British to recruit Indians. He argued that Indians should support the war efforts in order to legitimize their claims to full citizenship. The British, however, refused to commission Indians as army officers. Nonetheless, they accepted Gandhi's offer to let a detachment of Indians volunteer as a stretcher bearer corps to treat wounded British soldiers. This corps was commanded by Gandhi. On 21 July 1906, Gandhi wrote in Indian Opinion: "The corps had been formed at the instance of the Natal Government by way of experiment, in connection with the operations against the Natives consists of twenty three Indians".[22] Gandhi urged the Indian population in South Africa to join the war through his columns in Indian Opinion: “If the Government only realized what reserve force is being wasted, they would make use of it and give Indians the opportunity of a thorough training for actual warfare.”[23] In Gandhi's opinion, the Draft Ordinance of 1906 brought the status of Indians below the level of Natives. He therefore urged Indians to resist the Ordinance along the lines of satyagraha by taking the example of "Kaffirs". In his words, "Even the half-castes and kaffirs, who are less advanced than we, have resisted the government. The pass law applies to them as well, but they do not take out passes."[24]

I was wrong about Gandhi having a message of world equality. At least early in his life he believed that some people are more equal than others.

What is it about us that makes us fight for our own freedom and equality, but sit comfortably with the bondage and oppression of others? Even the man heralded as one of the world's greatest civil rights leaders believed "all men are created equal"...but for those over there.

My discovery convinced me of two things:

The greatest battle for marginalized peoples may not be the biases of the majority culture, but the way those biases are embraced by minority cultures. How much stronger would all of the equality movements be if we were working together to cement the idea that EVERYONE, regardless of gender, race, sexuality, ability, etc., deserved basic human rights and respect? Instead, we learn to hate ourselves, while fighting to demonstrate our superiority over other marginalized people. We fight each other over scraps. We fail to leverage our own dehumanization as a tool to empathize with the dehumanization of others. Instead, we seek to demonstrate, as Gandhi once advocated in South Africa, "See, majority, we're just like you. The pair of us are equally better than those people." I deserve rights; they do not.

The fight for equality and human rights might well be over if marginalized people worked together. But we do not.

I think, this is also true: it does not matter what Gandhi thought of black people or what Martin Luther King thought of gay people. For all the deification, they are both just men, fallible men--men of a different time and place (Mohandas Gandhi was born in the 19th century, for goodness sake.), men who were just as influenced by the biases of their day as any of us are, men like those who wrote "all men are created equal" and yet owned men, women and children as property. Do we even know whether MLK would have approved of a woman (his daughter or no) as head of the SCLC? His views and treatment of women were not exactly enlightened. That Gandhi did not believe in the inherent equality of all brown people; that King may not have approved of gay marriage--I couldn't care less.

TODAY matters. It matters that we come to understand that "divided we fall" in the battle for human rights. It matters that we learn that if you are not about justice for all, you are not about justice and that a civil rights organization that does not advocate for across the board human rights is not a civil rights organization. (This goes as much for homophobic black civil rights groups as it does for gay rights groups that marginalize people of color and transgender people.) And that a civil rights leader who takes time out from advocating for equality to call out who, in fact, should not be equal, is not much of a leader at all--pedigree be damned.

On Newsweek's "Human Condition" blog: Black bloggers talk back on hair issue

2009-10-30T09:25:00.004-04:00

Today on Newsweek's "Human Condition," bloggers (including moi) were invited to share their thoughts on Allison Samuels' recent criticism of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt's alleged neglect of their daughter, Zahara's, hair. My entry is an edited version of the post below. Also weighing in were Roslyn Hardy Holcomb and Nichelle Gainer. Visit the site and share your comments.

Dispatches from Nappyville: Hair hatred needn't be a black girl's right of passage

2009-10-28T19:22:00.003-04:00

I once wrote about my natural hair:

My hair is nappy. It is coarse and thick. It grows in pencil-sized spirals and tiny crinkles. My hair grows out, not down. It springs from my head like a corona. My hair is like wool. You can't run your fingers through it, nor a comb. It is impenetrable. My hair is rebellious. It resists being smoothed into a neat bun or pony tail. It puffs. Strands escape; they won't be tamed. My hair is nappy. And I love it. Read more...

I may love my hair. But common wisdom, even among people with hair just like mine, is that my hair isn't "good," at least as it naturally grows from my head. It needs to be tamed, preferably by straightening, but at the very least, especially in young children, hair like mine should be restrained somehow--in plaits or cornrows or something that hides its unruly nature. It should be shiny. You should be able to run a comb through it. All this, in defiance of the natural properties of most black hair.

I suspect Newsweek writer Allison Samuels follows this common wisdom.

Two weeks ago she sparked furor around the 'Net with an article taking Angelina Jolie to task for her daughter Zahara's allegedly uncared for tresses:

But even the mothers who spare the hot comb still have to put time and effort into keeping hair healthy: Any self-respecting black mother knows that she must comb, oil, and brush her daughter's hair every night. This prevents the hair from matting up, drying out, and breaking off. It also prevents any older relatives from asking them why you're neglecting your child and letting her run around looking like a wild woman. Having well-managed hair is not just about style, it's about pride, dignity, and self-respect. Keeping your daughter's hair neat is an unspoken rule of parental duties that everyone in the community recognizes and respects. Read more...

In the face of considerable backlash, Samuels didn't back down. In a Newsweek online exclusive this week, Samuels answers her critics:

Still, I'm undeterred by the venom shown to me on the Web. I continue to believe Angelina Jolie should take better care of Zahara's hair. Hey, if Maddox can get blond highlights and a Mohawk, Zahara can at least get a quick top knot and rubber band. Is that asking too much? Read more...

"A top knot and a rubber band..."

There is a lot I could challenge in Samuels' articles: The ugliness of picking on a young girls' looks in a national magazine; the wrongess of applying black American cultural standards to blacks from other places (Latoya Peterson tackles this well on Jezebel); or the unfair burden put on white mothers of black and biracial girls when it comes to hair. My blogsister Renee asked me if people would be so critical of Zahara's hair if her mother was a black woman presumed to know a thing or two about textured hair. I think not.

I will confine this post to one point: Samuels seems to embrace the notion, a gift of society's Eurocentric beauty standards, that tamed hair = healthy hair, and unfettered black hair = hot mess. What's worse, she wants little Zahara to learn to embrace this thinking, too--a terrible lesson for a girl with tresses that naturally feature fuzzy parts and curls that spring akimbo.

In a society with Eurocentric beauty standards, it is natural that hair common to people of European ancestry would be the marker for beauty, professionalism and good grooming. And it is natural, though I think not good for us, that those of minority cultures have absorbed the standards of the dominant culture and adopted beauty rituals that support those standards.

This is why so many of us have memories of sitting at our mother's or grandmothers' knees, holding our ears and listening to sizzling grease, as our hair was tamed into a straight, shiny, combable mass and woven into multiple neat plaits. Most of us remember this bonding time fondly. But, in reality, straight, shiny, combable and neat are NOT markers of whether black hair is cared for or not. That so many of us, including Samuels, think these descriptors are related to hair health shows how much we have absorbed the idea that hair common to people of European ancestry is the norm by which all other hair must be judged. As I type this, my ginormous twist out is shiny, but not straight, combable or neat, And, I promise you, my hair is very well cared for.

Yes, I know that braiding has deep roots in African culture and is an ingrained part of black American culture. My beef isn't with plaiting; my beef is with the fear of the nap--the idea that unrestrained black hair, apart from other hair, is unacceptable. To many of us with natural hair, Zahara seems to be wearing a wash-and-go. But we are taught that black women can't simply wash their hair and go. Our hair has to be "fixed," made presentable. I think this hair hatred was born and nurtured right here in Western culture where the yardstick by which we judge our hair's beauty and health and rituals of care is invariably a white one.

Samuels says:

Unacceptable! For good measure let me explain once more what I consider unacceptable for a 4-year-old baby: uncombed, unconditioned, and unbrushed.

I would debate that daily combing and brushing are part of necessary care of black, natural hair. And I would point out that so few black American women wear their hair naturally that most of us know as much about its care as Angelina Jolie does. (Yeah, I said it.) There is no way of knowing whether Zahara's hair is conditioned by scanning papparazi shots. You can't assess its softness. You can't check for split ends. You can't see breakage. What Samuels is reacting to, I think, is the fact that Zahara's hair is "wild" and unrestrained. And black women and girls are taught that this isn't okay. It isn't pretty. It isn't proper. It isn't professional. It isn't ladylike.

I'm not a member of the Jolie-Pitt household, so I can't assume to know their thought process or intentions. But one thing I do know is that girlie girls usually like to have their hair combed.

Yep, "girlie girls" deserve tamed, combed, sweet hair, not kinky, curly 'fros.

Trust me, I really do applaud Jolie and Pitt for bringing needy children into their lives and their home. But it doesn't and can't end once you get them in the house. As I said before, self-esteem and confidence can be just as vital as food and shelter if the child is to become a contributing member of society. As wonderful and as lavish as Zahara's life may be right now, it won't mean much if she ends up having serious issues with her identity and place in the world. If she's already asking about her hair, it means she's already thinking about her looks and how she fits in. At some point, Angelina will have to try to answer those questions. It won't be easy. But the actress should know that the next time Zahara asks about hair, it won't be why her hair isn't similar to others in her house. It will be why her hair doesn't look like other brown girls' does.

In another post, we can talk about Samuels' patronizing use of "needy" to describe the Jolie-Pitt's brown children. But I'll say this--I agree with Samuels that most little, black girls would NOT be comfortable wearing their natural hair loose as Zahara does. That is, in great part, because of the unrelenting messages they get, within and without our black culture, that their hair is inherently wrong. Must Zahara adopt these feelings of self hatred to earn her black card? I like to think, as a black woman who has wrestled and come to terms with her own hair issues, my job is to help free the girls in my life from damaging self hatred not encourage it as a litmus test for fitting in.

Instead of teaching Zahara to conform, as Samuels would advocate, I suspect her mom and dad are teaching her to love herself, including her hair, the way it is--whether in multiple braids and beads or flying free. Later, Zahara can wear her hair however she pleases--a bald fade, an assymetrical bob, dreds, or long, flowing and bright red. If her parents are successful, she will make those decisions free of feelings of hatred for her natural hair and without the pressure of judgement from people like Samuels who seek to impose their own hair "issues" on another.

My hair is nappy. It is soft and cottony, a mass of varying textures. My hair is fun to play with. I like to pull at the spiral curls and feel them snap back into place. My hair defies the laws of gravity. It reaches energetically toward the sky. My hair is unique. In a fashion culture that genuflects to relaxed, flat-ironed tresses and stick-straight weaves, my fluffy, puffy, kinky mane stands out. It is revolutionary. My hair is natural. It is the way God made it. My hair is nappy. And it is beautiful.

You choose your choices, but not in a vacuum

2009-10-27T15:24:00.003-04:00

Two conversations broiling on the InterWebs caught my attention this week and got me thinking about "choice." On Sunday, television personality Star Jones tweeted her thoughts on the "good hair" issue. On Monday, Feministe published a post about a recent study that found 70 percent of Americans believe a woman should change her name at marriage and that 50 percent believe women should be legally MANDATED to do so. (I still can't look at that stat without blanching.)

On the subject of natural vs. straightened black hair, in response to a USA Today article on the controversies surrounding Chris Rock's new movie, Jones said:

I love me some Chris Rock...& I thank him for making AN ASPECT of Black culture relevant to the masses. But it is only AN aspect...not all.

I reject the premise that if I wear my hair short & natural I'm more black; any more than wearing a weave means I want to be white.

Long & Straight, Short & Red, Braided & Blond...it's all mine...at least it is after I pay for it. LOL Sorry...just not that deep to me.

One of my fondest memories as a child is sitting on a white stool in the kitchen getting my hair straighted by my Mommy with a "hot comb."

Jones seems to believe that a black woman's decision to straighten her hair is just that--her choice--and that much too much ado is being made about the meaning of it.

Over on Feministe, commenters were talking about a different sort of choice. In her post "The Name Game," blogger Jill said of the pressure to adopt one's husband's family name:

What throws me off even more is when I see feminist-minded or liberal women take their husband's name, and then defend it with "Well it's my choice" or "My last name was my father's anyway" or "I don't care about my name." I can understand the name-change part, even if I don't like it — it can almost be more of a hassle to keep your own name than to take your husband's once you're married, especially if you have kids. People may criticize you for keeping your own name. In a lot of communities, it is what everyone does. Your husband may even be upset if you don't want to take his name (although I'd say that's a pretty good indicator that he's kind of self-centered and you probably shouldn't marry him).
What confuses me (and gets under my skin) is the justification — or at least, the justification based on things other than the very real, tangible sexist reactions that married women face when they keep their own names. Things like, "Well, it was my father's name." Well, sure, but what does that mean? That no woman ever has her own name, unless she was born into a culture where naming is matrilineal? Or, "I like his name better." Ok, but do men regularly change their names just because their partner as a "better" name? I've come across maybe one man in my whole life who has done that — I somehow doubt that it just so happens that 99 percent of people with the "better" name are male. Or, "I want our whole family to have the same name." Again, understandable, but how come he didn't change his name? Or you can both change your names. Read more...

But readers who have made the choice to adopt their husbands' names, or who plan to do so, bristled. One offered:

I've got to say, after reading this post and some of the comments that follow it, I'm feeling flat-out judged that I changed my name when I got married. And I feel like in my comment I haaaaave to say why I decided to do it and have a darn good reason for it too, or else I should just turn in my feminist card posthaste.

Instead, I'm going to point out that the reasons couples entering marriage have for changing or not changing their names or any combination thereof are not always boiled down to "it's the partriarchal tradition, blah blah yada blah." When we make the same sweeping generalizations that the conservative, patriarchal, sexist, whatever-elses do, what's the point?
In the end, I'd like my decision (for a number of things, not just in changing my name) not to be simplified in such a manner, especially here where we usually consider things further and open up debates that I really, really enjoy and find enlightening/useful.

When the conversation turns to black women and their tresses (which it seems to more and more often these days), a chorus of straightening/weaving/wigging is "just a preference" is sure to erupt from my non-natural hair-wearing sisters. Similarly, the marriage/surname discussion seems to always spark tension in the femisphere. "Patriarchy has nothing to do with why I took my husband's name. His name is just better/easier to spell or I don't like my family. It's MY choice."

To both of these arguments I say, "You're absolutely right!" Freedom means being able to make your own choices about how you look and what you call yourself. Everyone should be empowered to make the personal choices that work best for them.

BUT...

It is disingenuous to say that our choices--mine, yours, every body's--aren't influenced by a host of things, including the biases of the society we live in. You are absolutely free to choose your choices, but you don't do so in a vacuum. The statistics on the straightening of highly-textured hair and those on women taking their husbands' names should illustrate how bias can creep into our "choices." I believe Star Jones when she says she views hair an an accessory and likes to change up her look from time to time. Cool. Her choice. But do I believe that more than 80 percent of black women spend exorbitant amounts of money and time changing or covering their natural hair texture just by happenstance? Do I believe that "nappy" and "you-so-black" are still fighting words on the playground just because? Do I believe that most black women are completely unfamiliar with their natural hair and its care for trivial reasons? Do I believe that many black women avoid intimacy and physical exercise to better preserve straightened hairstyles because it is fun? Do I believe it's by chance that I hear black women repeating negative myths about the manageability and acceptability of natural hair? No, I do not.

I believe that hundreds of years of demonization of blackness and common black physicality, such as broad features and kinky hair, and the preferencing of whiteness in our society has had some great influence on the black community's choices as whole, if not our individual choices. It may not be "that deep" for Star Jones, but I think it is that deep for the larger community.

Similarly, while women should feel free to take their partners' names at marriage or not, the fact that only five to 10 percent of American women choose to keep their family names in 2009 surely says something. It says something that all of the legitimate reasons women give for making the change are almost never made by men as reasons to change their names. How often do you hear a groom-to-be say, "My name sounds funny and my fiance's is much better, I'm taking her name?" Or, "I have a difficult relationship with my dad, so I am shedding my last name to make a break from the past." Men don't usually say these things upon getting married. Why? Because society's general assumption is that a woman's identity (and name) will be absorbed by her husband's at marriage. (In fact, in the study referenced above, respondents said as much.) The woman will become Mrs. HusbandFirstName HusbandLastName and her husband will be the "head" of the household. It is not a masculine thing to give your name away. And I have seen some references that imply women who do not adopt their husband's names are less feminine. We life in a sexist society with patriarchal traditions and that is what our society believes. Remember: HALF of respondents would have women legally MANDATED to take their husband's names.

Does all of this mean that women who take their husband's names are bad feminists or womanists? Of course not.

Are black women who perm their hair "less black?" Poppycock!

But no one is really arguing that they are. That charge is borne of defensiveness, I think. The truth is that race and gender bias are ever present in our society in many obvious and not-so-obvious ways. And as hard as some of us work, they invade our lives and, yes, our choices. We can't be so precious about our individual decisions that we minimize and shut down conversation about these things.

I'm not trying to be holier-than-thou as a natural-hair-wearing, hyphenated-name-sporting black woman. I make plenty of choices every day that are influenced by societal bias and convention. Everybody does. When folks talk about the black middle class and its abandonment of traditionally black neighborhoods, I think about my reasons for living in a majority white suburban community or the gentrifying mixed neighborhood we moved from. I have many reasons that are valid for me and my family for living where we do. Some of them, I know, are likely influenced by my own racial and class biases. Do I have to give back my black card? Does that make me a bad person? A bad anti-racist? No, it makes me human. I can own my choice, examine what it means, do what works for me and still be a part of what is a valid discussion about the fracturing of the black community. My personal decisions have context, meaning and impact on my larger community. It is foolish to pretend they don't.

Jill at Feministe says:

Names and naming matters. It is bigger than just an individual, personal choice. While I certainly respect the rights of people to make their own choices when it comes to their names, and while I can't fault women who decide that keeping their own name is not a battle they want to fight, let's not pretend like these choices exist in a vaccum, or like they don't have a wider impact when it comes to normalizing sexist cultural practices.

Yes. This. Once biases become absorbed into culture as "tradition" and "just choice," once they are normalized, they become harder to unpack. But we need to resist this. How will we defeat racism, sexism and other biases if we cannot speak frankly about them?

I am free to make choices. But with that freedom comes an obligation to examine what influences those decisions.

Serena Williams' ESPN cover: Adulation, objectification, both?

2009-10-27T07:16:00.004-04:00

Hat tip to Sociological Images

What do you think of the cover of ESPN's "Body Issue," featuring a naked Serena Williams. Lisa Wade at Sociological Images writes:

Why is it that a woman rarely makes it onto the cover of ESPN and, when she does, she’s freakin’ naked? And, of course (*sarcasm*), it’s for “The Body Issue” (because women’s bodies are where it’s at, right fellas?). I did a google image search for “espn cover” and the first page of results includes only two women. One is naked (Williams) and the other is pregnant.

On the other hand, here is Serena Williams, so often demonized for her large, muscular body and branded "ugly" and "unfeminine" (demonstrating inherent sexism and racism in our society), being celebrated on the cover of a national magazine in a shot that seems not to hide the parts of her physicality that make people so uncomfortable. In this "Body Issue" athletic bodies are represented by a black woman whose body is usually disrespected.

Me? I'm torn like the folks over at Sociological Images. But I suspect I should ignore my initial thrill at seeing a black woman's body celebrated, because what seems like celebration is often objectification. If Williams can't rate a cover for exceptional athleticism, should we cheer that she gets one for her exceptional body?

I'd like to see female athletes on the cover of ESPN with their clothes on, being lauded for their skill and strength and tenacity, not just for their bodies. Did Lisa's Google search miss something? Anyone know whether there have been any naked male athletes on the cover of this mag?

Until female athelete are lauded like male ones on ESPN's cover, and male athletes are ogled for their rockin' bods like the female ones, women are still marginalized at this publication, allowed to shine only when doing appropriate "lady things" like posing for naked cheesecake photos or being pregnant. In that context, the Serena Williams cover isn't progress.

What do you say? Can any regular readers of ESPN clear up my questions?

A happily married Ms.

2009-10-26T13:28:00.002-04:00

In its Sunday magazine yesterday, The New York Times published an interesting article on the genesis of the title "Ms." I had always thought the title to be a result of the second-wave feminist movement, but it seems people were advancing the idea of a title for women not contingent on marital status as long ago as 1901.

In the Nov. 10, 1901, edition of The Sunday Republican of Springfield, Mass., tucked away in an item at the bottom of Page 4, an unnamed writer put forth a modest proposal. "There is a void in the English language which, with some diffidence, we undertake to fill," the writer began. "Every one has been put in an embarrassing position by ignorance of the status of some woman. To call a maiden Mrs. is only a shade worse than to insult a matron with the inferior title Miss. Yet it is not always easy to know the facts."

How to avoid this potential social faux pas? The writer suggested "a more comprehensive term which does homage to the sex without expressing any views as to their domestic situation," namely, Ms. With this "simple" and "easy to write" title, a tactfully ambiguous compromise between Miss and Mrs., "the person concerned can translate it properly according to circumstances." The writer even gave a pronunciation tip: "For oral use it might be rendered as 'Mizz,' which would be a close parallel to the practice long universal in many bucolic regions, where a slurred Mis' does duty for Miss and Mrs. alike." Read more...

OK, that wasn't the most gender equality-centered argument, but it was 1901, so...

Despite the article in The Sunday Republican, "Ms." was rarely used as a title for decades:

It was certainly unknown, in 1961, to Sheila Michaels, a 22-year-old civil rights worker in New York City, who one day spotted it on a piece of mail that her roommate received. In fact, she initially took it as a typo, albeit a felicitous one. Fiercely independent, Michaels abhorred having her identity defined by marriage. Struck by Ms., she became a one-woman lobbying force for the title as a feminist alternative to Miss and Mrs.

This NYT article got me thinking about my personal preference for the term "Ms." Well, I prefer it as much as I prefer any title. The whole notion of Mr./Ms./Mrs./Miss seems antiquated. I can't think of the last time I referred to someone as Mr. or Mrs. unless they were friends of my parents or my friends' parents. I can't think of the last time anyone called me Mrs. unless the person was under 18 or a someone in the service industry. That kind of formality just isn't done anymore...at least where I'm from. We call our bosses, our colleagues, our neighbors, even new acquaintances by their first names. There's really no reason to get too bothered about whether folks call me Mrs. MarriedName or Ms. MaidenName-MarriedName, which I prefer. And I don't get too bothered. But I do prefer "Ms."

I don't understand, in this day and age, why women need be defined by whether they are married or not. Some of us will never marrry. Many of us don't want to ever marry. Too many of us still can't get married because of our sexuality. And, for damn sure, in 2009, most women who are unmarried would scarcely call themselves "maidens." The idea of tagging a modern woman with the "Miss" tag until (presumably) she becomes a fully-actualized adult only upon marriage is both icky and idiotic.

Also, I love my husband to death. I am fully committed to being his partner for life. That said, I don't identify with Mrs. MarriedName. I am my husband's wife and a part of his family, but that is not all I am. The person that I was pre-marriage still exists. I am still a part of my extended maternal and paternal families, and these are still the families I identify most with. Their stories are my stories. This is, in part, why I chose to (inconveniently, it seems) hyphenate my last name. It is also why I find the "Mrs." label that somehow privileges my marital status strange and uncomfortable.

I welcome anyone to call me by my first name, or "Tami," my "for short" name. If last names are involved, Tami MaidenName-MarriedName works fine in our informal world. But if you must use a title, consider me a happily married "Ms."

From the vault: Icing on the cake--the truth about marriage

2009-10-22T07:02:00.002-04:00

[Editor's note: In a comment to my post on Steve Harvey's book, someone asked what I though about marriage, so I decided to revive this post from last year. See also "Love and Marriage...again" and "From a Married Lady to Young, Single Sisters."]

Professor Tracey has me thinking...as usual. Over on Aunt Jemima's Revenge, she has launched a spirited discussion about black women and marriage. Rather than go the usual "why can't black women get married" route, hand-wringing over dire statistics like these:

The marriage rate for African Americans has been dropping since the 1960s, and today, we have the lowest marriage rate of any racial group in the United States. In 2001, according to the U.S. Census, 43.3 percent of black men and 41.9 percent of black women in America had never been married, in contrast to 27.4 percent and 20.7 percent respectively for whites. African American women are the least likely in our society to marry. In the period between 1970 and 2001, the overall marriage rate in the United States declined by 17 percent; but for blacks, it fell by 34 percent. Read more...

...Tracey asked something different--something no one else seems to be asking, since it is easier to cast black women as powerless victims or simply undesirable (too educated, too aggressive, too black, too too). She wants to know, "Do black women really want to get married?"

Yet every time I look around black women are single. And I mean single, not alone. There is a difference. Plenty of black women have healthy and hearty dating lives. I just wonder why black women getting to the altar still seems to be an issue. Particularly for educated, financially sound, well-traveled, high-powered, and ambitious black women. Read more...

Sisters are weighing in with their thoughts for and against getting hitched in the 21st century. (Head over to AJR and leave a comment.) Here's my take:

Marrying a man and sharing my life with him was always one of my life goals. It wasn't a primary goal or a goal I necessarily thought I could achieve (dire statistics and all), but it was something I hoped for. My desire wasn't about the spectacle of a wedding, or the idea of being "chosen," or being taken care of. I hate the whole "my day" foolishness; I like to do the choosing, thank you; and I was raised to take care of myself. What I wanted out of marriage was a partner for my life journey--someone to be my friend, lover, supporter, cheerleader, rock, protector and challenger. (Before anyone balks about gender bias...I know words like "protector" are loaded...EVERYONE--man or woman--needs someone to serve in these roles at some time. I like to think that I am all of these things for my husband,as he is for me.)

As a single woman, I think that I was pretty level-headed about marriage. Like anything else in life, circumstances may well have put matrimony out of reach. No truer words about marriage and family have been spoken than by Baz Luhrman in "Everybody is free (to wear sunscreen)":

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't,
Maybe you'll have children,maybe you won't,
Maybe you'll divorce at 40,
Maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…
What ever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either
– your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's.

I'd be lying if I said I was immune to pressure to get hitched. My parents and grandparents all have/had till-death-do-they-part marriages. It would be hard not to be a part of that tradition. And though most of my black girlfriends were single in their 20s as I was, most of the white women at the Chicago PR agency where I worked began to get engaged as they approached 30. All those flashed diamond rings, European honeymoons and new Northside condos can wear on a sister. I won't lie, feminist me was envious of my colleages' "chosenness" and the increased financial stability that being one of two earners in a household brings. Sometimes adult life feels hard when everything rests on your shoulders and yours alone.

But that insecurity was a sometimes thing. I didn't want to marry young. In my 20s, I built my career, traveled, took classes, dated, made friends and discovered myself. I enjoyed every minute of my single life and wouldn't trade it for the world. I miss it sometimes. I was determined not to wait on a Prince Charming that I knew might never come. Turns out, though, he did show up. I met my husband the summer of my 30th year and married him exactly a year later.

Seven years on [Editor's note: Now nine] , I believe that getting married is one of the best things I have ever done. I love my husband deeply. He is all those things I wanted in a partner and more. (He shares my love of dry, British comedy; politics; and he has great legs. Bonus!) As wonderful as my husband is, understand that he didn't make my life, he just makes it better. I had a good life before I married. I would have had a good life if I had never married. If my life is a cake mixed from all of my experiences, hard work, dreams and skills, my dear husband is the icing. And a very sweet icing at that.

That's what marriage is to me: icing on the cake. I love it. I recommend it. It is not; however, a substitute for personal growth and development. Put another way: the right life partner can greatly enhance your journey, but he or she can't walk it for you. YOU are the only person who can make you happy, successful, financially stable, etc.

And because there is nothing folks love more than advice from pompous, know-everything married people, here's some other random wisdom about being hitched:

There are no rules in marriage.

I often hear people say, "Girl, you know I can never get married, because I hate [insert hated thing that no one said you have to do here]." If you don't like sharing a bed, cooking or children; have separate rooms, order in and use contraceptives. Forget tradition and what your friends, in-laws, parents think your marriage should be like. A committed couple needs to negotiate a relationship that works for their unique needs. I get confused when I hear people voice opposition to marriage, based on a traditional structure that no one need adhere to. Your marriage is what you make of it. Thus, I should have called this essay "My truth about marriage," because it is only my truth.

But there are truisms about building rewarding relationships.

A few women on AJR mentioned not wanting to trust another person with financial information or personal information, or voiced fear of being controlled. It seems to me that, marriage aside, any successful long-term relationship hinges on honesty, trust, respect and compromise. You have to be clear about who you are and what you want. You also have to get a little "naked" in the figurative sense; you can't reap the benefits of being truly loved if you won't cede control enough to drop your guard and be vulnerable. [Editor's note: And this goes for men as well as women.] It also helps to know the difference between respect and control. When my husband tells me he's grabbing a beer with a friend on Saturday night, it's not because I'm in charge of his actions; it is out of courtesy and respect for the person that shares his life and home. If I'm planning to spend all Saturday hanging our with girlfriends, I let my husband know--not for permission, but because we are a team and it is courteous to let him know where I am and what my plans are.

Racism can force black men and women into constant defense mode. It can make us wary and suspicious--even of each other. Wary and suspicious are not exactly recipes for good relationships. I've always wondered if the shell we develop to guard against racism is at the crux of the sorry relationship between brothers and sisters.

There is something about saying "forever."

You may be rightly thinking that all of the things I love about marriage can be achieved without the marriage license. Indeed, gay people have long had deep, committed relationships not recognized by America as marriages. There was a time when black folks weren't allowed to marry, but we know our ancestors formed bonds and families just the same.

For me, though, there is something about pledging commitment to someone in front of family and friends. There is something about being certain enough about your loyalty to another person to enmesh your life with theirs legally, as well as spiritually.

Right or wrong, our culture places special honor on the marriage commitment. A spouse is revered as something more than a live-in lover. Don't believe me? Take it from a gay person who is fighting for the right to marry. Check out Tom Ackerman's essay "A Marriage Manifesto...Of Sorts."

I no longer recognize marriage. It's a new thing I'm trying.
Turns out it's fun.
Yesterday I called a woman's spouse her boyfriend.
She says, correcting me, "He's my husband,"
"Oh," I say, "I no longer recognize marriage."
The impact is obvious. I tried it on a man who has been in a relationship for years,
"How's your longtime companion, Jill?"
"She's my wife!"
"Yeah, well, my beliefs don't recognize marriage."
Fun. And instant, eyebrow-raising recognition. Suddenly the majority gets to feel what the minority feels. In a moment they feel what it's like to have their relationship downgraded, and to have a much taken-for-granted right called into question because of another's beliefs.
Just replace the words husband, wife, spouse, or fiancé with boyfriend, girlfriend, special friend, or longtime companion. There is a reason we needed stronger words for more serious relationships. We know it; now they can see it.
A marriage is a lot of things. Culturally, it's a declaration to the community that two people are now a unit, and that unity should be respected. Legally, it's a set of rights and responsibilities. And spiritually, it's whatever your beliefs think it is. Read more...

The personal benefits of marriage can be found in many a committed relationship, the legal and social benefits...not so much. [Editor's note: When I first published this, reader Satsuma wisely pointed out that society shouldn't offer special goodies--legal or otherwise--to people merely for having the luck to find a partner. She's right.]

No one needs to be married.

All that said. No one needs to be married. It is a personal choice. God knows I know some people that ought not be married. And I know some people who don't want to be married. That's cool. Even for those of us who do want to "jump the broom," stuff happens: "the right one" just never comes along...or we choose wrong...or we choose right at the wrong time...or we choose right and circumstances change...marriages fail. Life is mercurial; no one should invest all their happiness in part of it.

There are numerous paths to a rewarding and happy existence and not all of them include marriage.

That's the truth.

Act like a black man; think like a white man

2009-10-20T16:47:00.002-04:00

From the introduction to a hot New York Times bestseller about relations between black men and white men in the workplace:

...I discovered this when my current career transitioned to radio with The Brad Jurgensen Show. Back when my show was based in Los Angeles, I created a segment called "Ask Brad," during which black guys would call in ask me, a white guy, about anything they wanted to know about race relations. At the very least, I thought "Ask Brad" would lead to some good comedy, and at first, that's pretty much what it was all about for me--getting to the jokes. but it didn't take me long to realize that what my listeners, mostly black men, were going through wasn't really a laughing matter. They had dozens of categories of needs and concerns in their lives that they were trying to get a handle on...and heading up the list of topics was--you guessed it--white men, or rather how relationships with white men affect their work, security, ability to provide for their families and career advancement.

...

Black men have made clear that they want respect to be reciprocated in the same way they give it...they want the hard work and effort they put on full blast to be met with the same intensity. They expect the premium they put into work commitment to be equally adhered to, valued and respected. The problem for all too many black men who call in to my radio show, though, is that they just can't get that reciprocation from white men in the workplace, and black men end up feeling disappointed, disenfranchised and disillusioned by failed attempts at parity.

...

I get incredibly perplexed--perplexed because even though my callers have all presumably had some experience with white men (whether they are friends, bosses, co-workers and next-door neighbors), these black men still genuinely want to know how to get the equality they want, need and deserve. I've concluded that the truths they seek are never as obvious to them as they are to us white men. Try as they might, black men don't get us.

...

With this in mind, I stopped joking around and got very real with my audience. Through my answers, I started imparting wisdom about white men--wisdom gathered from working more than half a century on one concept: how to be a white man. I also spent countless hours talking to my friends, all of whom are white men. They are athletes, movie and television stars, insurance brokers and bankers, guys who drive trucks, guys who coach basketball teams, ministers and deacons, Boy Scout leaders, store managers, ex-cons, inmates, and yes, even hustlers. And one simple thing is true about each of us: we are very simple people and all basically think in a similar way.

When I filter my answers through that lens of how white men view men of color, the black men in my audience start to understand why the complexities and nuances they drag into each of their relationships with white men really serve them no justice. I teach them very quickly that expecting a white man to respond to them the way a black man would is never going to work. They then realize that a clear-eyed, knowing approach to dealing with white men on their terms, on their turf, in their way, can, in turn, get black men exactly what they want.

If you are gobsmacked by the arrogance and offensiveness of this bit of dross, you should be. It implies that all men are not created equal. Indeed, the author seems of the mind that in work relationships between black men and white men, the needs of white men are supreme. While black men may deserve respect as human beings, they should not expect to be treated this way. It is their job to bend to the requirements of white men if they hope for any sort of equality. And, of course, having to conform to someone else's standards, having interaction occur only on someone else's "terms," rather than having the power to meet with them halfway is not equality at all, is it?

Implicit in this introduction is the idea that black men, traditionally marginalized in the workplace, are to blame for that plight. If only they understood clearly how white men think, what white men want...if only black men could "get" misunderstood white men, then they could adapt. And it is important that black men do adapt, because white men, in their privilege, cannot be expected to. Black men aren't the only ones who should blanch at this thinking--what an unfavorable picture of white men this paints (rigid, incapable of compromise and change, unable to cede privilege).

Lastly, what tremendous gall it must require for someone who has traditionally held power and dominance as "the oppressor" to deign to impart "wisdom" to someone who has traditionally been among "the oppressed," assuming that the situation filtered through their eyes must be the only and supreme truth, that their view of things could not possibly be tainted by, say, race or class or any other bias.

I sense that anyone reading the excerpt above can identify the implicit racial prejudice contained within. But could you spot sexism? I ask because the writing above did not come from a new bestseller on black men and the workplace, written by a white man. The segments above where taken nearly verbatim from the introduction to Steve Harvey's Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man, allegedly a guide to help black women gain commitment and intimacy from black men. I merely exchanged references to men with white men, and references to women with black men.

Like the fictional author above who assessed black men's challenges with racism in the workplace and decided the problem was clearly black men and their failure to be who the dominant culture wants them to be, Harvey has assessed the sorry state of black female-male relationships and decided that the problem is black women who need to learn to be who black men want them to be. The very notion reeks of male supremacy as the fictional introduction reeked of racial supremacy

And this is what so bothers me about the too-many books and articles and essays and sermons written by black men with the objective of "schooling" black women about what we should be doing to address our relationship problems and solve the disparity between black and white marriage rates. One has to lack serious self awareness to evaluate a relationship dilemma in which you are involved and decide that the fault lies completely on the other side. One has to be seriously privileged to write a book instructing the members of a group to which you do not belong on how best to conduct themselves.

It is curious that some of the same folks who got indignant about wealthy Bill Cosby talking down to poor blacks, don't mind at all when another black comedian talks down to black women. The recent prevalence of "sister get your act together" books and the way they have been embraced by black men and women speaks to the level of sexism and male supremacy that continues to plague the black community. I daresay few black men would cotton to a black woman writing a relationship book instructing them on how they need to change their behavior, their looks and their very being to better accommodate women, who are duty bound to just be themselves, because "A woman's going to be a woman!" Why, then, are black, male writers selling this bunk and, most importantly, why are so many black women buying it?

Et tu, Amy Poehler? What's so funny about desiring a big, black woman?

2009-10-16T14:58:00.002-04:00

Fat, black woman. Big, black chick. Those descriptors are lazy comedy shorthand in a racist, sexist and sizist society. Want to bring on the cheap laughs? Then trot out an over-sized, brown-skinned lady. Even better, despite her fatness and blackness, give her a more than healthy opnion of herself. See, that makes it doubly funny, see, cause even though everyone knows neither black women or fat women are hot, this character doesn't seem to know this and actually behaves as if she is attractive and worthy of amorous attention.

See how it works? I've come to expect black women, especially plus-sized ones, to be the butt of the joke in low-brow comedy films--the sort of flicks commonly associated with Eddie Murphy, Rob Scheider or Tyler Perry. But usually your benign, weekday sitcoms eschew hateful comedy. I've been watching NBC's Amy Poehler vehicle "Parks & Recreation" off and on this season. I want to like it. I'm a fan of "The Office" and generally find Poehler charming. Each time I tune in to the show I hope it will be better. But last night, "Parks & Recreation" lost me for good. Because I can't relax and laugh in the face of the dehumanization of women.

In last night's episode of "Parks & Recreation," Leslie Nope (Poehler) and her colleagues at the Pawnee, IN, Parks and Recreation Dept.were visited by officials from their sister city in Venezuela. Introducing herself to the lead official (played by "Saturday Night Live's" Fred Armisen), Nope expresses that her job is to see her visitor's "every need." Of course, the officials take this to mean she will procure women for their sexual pleasure. (Yeah, that one's never been done before.) One replies, "Do we just select the woman we desire? I will take the large, black one." To which Nope's sidekick mumbles, "Interesting choice." Armisen's character intones, "Do you have some kind of book with photos of the women that are available to us? If not, I too will take the sexy, black one." The "large, black one" herself says, in a talk-to-the-camera shot: "I am not surprised at all. I've been to South America. I did very well there." This joke plays through the show and in the end we see the black woman has returned to Venezuela with the officials and is sipping a drink beside a pool in a floral muu-muu thing.

See, the gag was funny because someone--those wacky foreigners--found a large, black woman attractive when there were clearly skinny, white ladies around to choose from. Woooo! Wipes tears from eyes. That's a knee-slapper! How absurd! I mean to think that anyone would find a fat woman...a fat, BLACK woman sexually attractive. That is the message behind the joke. What else could the message be? If the official had chosen Amy Poehler's character as the object of lust, would that have solicited an "Interesting choice" comment?

I shouldn't be surprised by this, but I am. Amy Poehler, along with Tina Fey, has enjoyed third-wave feminist celebrity icon status since the 2008 elections. And, at least on the surface, Poehler is about some sort of "girl power." She launched the "Smart Girls at the Party" Web series to "help girls find confidence in their own aspirations and talents." Perhaps this kind of empowerment is only for some girls--ones of the right color and size--because I can't imagine how seeing themselves portrayed as undesireable might empower young, black girls or girls who are overweight. Always being the butt of the joke rarely inspires confidence.

Catch me around the Web

2009-10-16T13:29:00.004-04:00

Earlier this week, I spoke with Tony Cox of the "UpFront with Tony Cox" radio program about the "new feminism." I was joined by Ann Friedman of Feministing and Erica Kennedy, author of the new book Feminista. Listen to our converation here. If you're short on time, go directly to segment B at about 9 min and 20 sec in.

Also, I have an article on the Guardian's "Comment is Free" about the incident in Louisiana where a mixed-race couple was turned away by a bigoted justice of the peace:

What bothers me about the not-uncommon-enough "God! Will someone think of the children?" argument against interracial partnering is the tremendous failure in logic it entails. There are plenty forms of bigotry still around in these modern times – racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, xenophobia … I could go on. The only way to shield children from intolerance is not to have them at all. Or, of course, the people like Bardwell who make this argument could, just stop being so bigoted and, thus, make the world a better place for all of us.

But it's not just that this thinking is illogical, it is also cynical and defeatist. Cynical in its belief that society is inherently hateful and will never change, but also in its failure to recognise that even marginalised people can triumph – that every day brown people and biracial people succeed despite the bias against them that still exists. And since when is the appropriate response to a wrong acquiescence? Since when do we concede defeat to bigotry? If Bardwell had his way, if we all gave in to "the way things are" and denied ourselves equality and the freedom to live and love as we choose, I daresay we might never have reached a day when one of those poor mixed kids that Bardwell expresses faux concern for could live in the White House as president of the United States. Read more...

Dispatches from Nappyville: What is "good hair," anyway?

2009-10-13T16:38:00.003-04:00

With the premiere of Chris Rock's documentary "Good Hair" everyone is talking about black women's tresses--about our quest for "good hair." What exactly is "good hair," anyway? I suspect that, until now, many white Americans have not heard hair described in quite these terms. But blacks folks know all too well.

We live in a society where beauty is governed by Eurocentric standards that say the most attractive tresses for women are straight, long, shiny, fine and preferably light in color. To be sure, many, many women of all races fall short of this standard, but none so much as women of African descent, whose crowning glory tends to be, in many ways, the opposite of what is considered beautiful. It would be easier if, despite living in a majority culture different form our own, the black community as a whole was able to embrace the qualities most often associated with our hair, which tends to be highly-textured. But let's face it: We do not, thanks in part to the legacy of slavery and continued racism.

Don't believe me? When was the last time, outside of the natural hair community, that you heard someone use "nappy" as a compliment?

Sharon's new baby is gorgeous! She has a head full of nappy hair!

When was the last time you saw a sister with a TWA in an R&B video?

Man, shawty looks good! She's got a bangin' body and a really short afro!

I think some of the protestations that black people don't covet the appearance of whiteness are dishonest. Black women may not straighten their hair because they wish to look white, per se, but many of us seek to achieve a look that is based on a beauty standard set by white people and more readily achieved by white people. Black women have also been taught that tightly-curled hair is less manageable than straight hair (though this is only true if you are trying to "manage" black hair into something it is not.).I should say here that this isn't about individual choices. Some sisters straighten on occasion simply cause they like to switch up their looks. No problem there. The problem is with thinking you have to straighten, at great cost and sometimes to the detriment of intimacy and health, to be acceptable or to have hair that is manageable. I'm talking about the general view of natural, black hair within our community -- and that view is largely negative.

No one should think this hatred of our physicality is merely a quirk of black character. I worry from the little I have seen of Rock's flick that this is exactly where that story is going. The idea that black hair is unsightly and unmanageable has been reinforced by the majority culture since slavery. Comparing black women and relaxing with white women and the quest for blondeness, as Rock has done, is facile and inaccurate. Black women covet straight hair not just for vanity's sake, but for social and professional acceptance. Brunette hair is not thought unsightly and inappropriate for public view; natural, black hair is. For example, there are many companies that forbid natural black hairstyles, deeming them "extreme." In fact, controversy erupted a few years ago when some historically black colleges decided to ban natural hairstyles in their business schools, caving to the idea that the hair of people of African descent is unacceptable in the workplace. The Baltimore police department banned black, natural hairstyles in 2006, calling them "fads." And most of us on the 'Net recall the Glamour magazine/natural hair controversy. Is it any wonder that black women straighten, weave up and wig? Our very livelihoods often rely on our assimilating our looks.

When most black folks use "good" to describe someone's hair, they invariably mean the person in questions hair is close to the Eurocentric ideal: It is straight or has uniform curls, not kinks. It is long. It is easy to comb. The hair and beauty Web site, Spiced Honey, asked readers what "good hair" meant to them.

Long, thick, with a natural sheen... Sometimes curls up with the first sign of moisture, but always falls straight with a little work

Not nappy, and keeps it presentable

Hair that is shiny and wavy, and can pass through my fingers like silk

It is worth noting that these respondents praise traits commonly associated with white hair not black hair. And this thinking is all too common in our community. Now, I am bound to get comments from women who say that white beauty standards have no impact on why they straighten their hair. I believe you. Again, this is not about personal choices. I am talking about the black community as a whole. When someone checks for a woman with "good hair," you know exactly what they mean, and it ain't short and kinky or locked or twisted. The very idea of "good hair" is a manifestation of self hatred. That's why Rock's film makes me uncomfortable. Rock is a comedian and, thus, his first job is to be funny. Self-hatred isn't funny.

So, as a sister who has been keeping it nappy for three years now, what is my view of "good hair?" (The term, not the movie, since it doesn't seem to be playing in Central Indiana.) Good hair is healthy hair. Period. It took me a while to come to terms with my thick, spirally hair that is shiny and multi-textured and big and dense and hates to be "tamed." But I have come to love it. It doesn't fit under hats very well. Unless it is wet and soaked in conditioner, it really can't be combed. But it is my good hair. I also like Solange's short cut and Rihanna's asymmetrical do and my friend's honey brown locs and my other friend's waist-length locs and my mom's shoulder-length permed tresses and, though I've only seen it in photos, my blogsister AJ Plaid's baldy. I've come to a place where I recognize that there is no one-size-fits-all "good hair." It's about confidently trying looks without being ashamed of what Mother Nature gave you.

What is good hair to you?

Image courtesy of masoesa on Flickr.

Mad Men: The good, the bad and the prejudiced

2009-10-12T15:07:00.002-04:00

It is good that in 2009, most Americans recognize sexism, racism and homophobia as bad things. It is not good that we only associate these things with bad people, or that we have a hard time identifying prejudice that is not blatant and in your face. We want bias to be black and white when, especially today, it is usually gray--yet no less damaging to marginalized peoples.

Regular readers of this blog know that I am a huge fan of the AMC series, "Mad Men" (Sundays, 10 pm ET) I enjoy the show, which details the lives of Madison Avenue ad men in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and perhaps more interestingly, characters on the flip side of the straight, white male power dynamic. Nearly every episode of the series, written mostly by women, includes subtle explorations of power, privilege and marginalization as it existed in pre-Civil Rights America. I look forward to Monday-morning analysis of the show, online and at the water cooler. "Mad Men's" expertly-crafted, subtle writing offers much to dig into and turn over and interpret. That said, what I am finding increasingly more interesting is analyzing the analyses of "Mad Men"--the way the mainstream's still-limited understanding of sexism, racism, homophobia and associated privilege and power colors the way people consume the show.

As "Mad Men" hurtles through the 1960s (the most recent episode took place in September of 1963), women, African Americans and gay people, and the ways that they are constricted and dehumanized, are becoming more visible to viewers. Last night's episode, "Wee Small Hours," showed closeted and married, creative director Salvatore Romano being propositioned by a drunken, loutish client. Sal rejected the man's aggressive advances, which resulted in the client demanding that Sal be fired. And he was fired (at least it seems so) in an absolutely heartbreaking scene with his boss, the show's titular "hero" Don Draper, who became aware of Sal's homosexuality in the show's season opener and whose silence about the information convinced Sal and many viewers that he would be an ally. "I just don't understand you people," Don growls, hinting that Sal should have done what the client wanted. When asked if he would say the same if a female account person were propositioned by a male client, Don says yes, "depending on what I knew about the woman." Message: people who step outside of patriarchal and heteronormative roles no longer have agency over their sexuality. A woman who has sex outside of marriage and a man who has sex with other men have lost their right to ever say no. Sal says sadly, "I didn't do anything wrong. He's a bully."

More subtle, but equally impactful, are the rumblings about the Civil Rights movement and how the Northerners on the show react to news of Medgar Evers' assassination, Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech and the Birmingham church bombing that killed four little girls. While Betty Draper and her Junior League friends in Ossining, NY, are suitably appalled at the violence occurring in the South, they are clueless to how racial prejudice exists in their own minds and spaces. The hypocrisy should be evident. Note how the women stand around bemoaning the plight of the "Negroes down South" while a silent Carla, the Draper's black housekeeper who Betty refers to as "my girl," silently serves them unnoticed. Note how on edge Carla often seems in the house of her white employer. Note how Betty's friend tells her she should have made Carla stay (and abandon her own family) to help Betty around-the-clock after she gave birth to baby Gene. Note how young Bobby has already learned to speak to black women disrespectfully; last night snapping: "I said I didn't want any salad." An outburst that led Betty to remind him, "Carla works for me, not you." Note how Betty faux sympathizes when Carla mentions the now-infamous murder of the four girls in Birmingham, adding "Maybe civil rights shouldn't happen yet."

For someone like me, "Mad Men" is becoming ever more brilliant and ever more uncomfortable in its reality. So, I find it interesting, as I scan "Mad Men" forums and recaps every Monday, that so many people fail to identity the subtle sexism, racism and homophobia on the show, and find the overt prejudice a disconnect with their favorite characters.

I have written before about how viewers often twist and turn to avoid ascribing racist actions to popular characters. Remember Joan's interaction with Paul's black girlfriend last season? I wrote then:

Paul Kinsley throws a party at his Montclair apartment and invites his Sterling Cooper office mates. Paul fancies himself a little boho, a little more broadminded and cultured than his peers. During the party, Paul wears a neck scarf and carries a pipe. 'Nuff said. Poseur Paul introduces Joan Hollowell, head of the steno pool, to his (surprise) black girlfriend, Sheila, the manager of a local supermarket. When the ladies are left to talk, Joan first patronizes Sheila, intoning that maybe one day she'll be able to "pull up in a station wagon" and shop at the supermarket, as well as work there. When Sheila points out that she has already shopped there, as she grew up in the suburb, Joan turns more nasty: (paraphrasing) It's great that you and Paul are together. When we were together I wouldn't have thought he would be so broad-minded. It's left to the viewers' imaginations what else Joan may have said, but later in the office Paul confronts her and she accuses him of dating Sheila merely to seem "interesting.".

Now, it is clear to me that Paul certainly is a showy, pompous ass and just the type to think hanging with Negroes is proof of sophistication. It is also clear that Joan is a Queen Bee sort who doesn't take kindly to female competition or being left behind by a former paramour. But it is also more than clear, given Joan's insistence on putting Sheila in "her place," that Joan is particularly offended by a former beau moving on to a black woman. She digs with the "maybe one day you'll be able to shop there" and "he wasn't that broad minded" thing and takes care to insult Sheila out of Paul's hearing.

The meaning of the interaction between Joan and Sheila seems obvious to me, especially given the early 60s time frame. The Civil Rights Act had not been signed. There had been no Freedom Summer. Blacks in about 11 states could not vote. Is it such a surprise that the average American held racially biased beliefs? To me, it is no more surprising than the sexism that runs rampant in the show. But many of the comments on "Mad Men" forums are ambivalent about the racism in the show's recent episode.

...

Joan is not a racist, see, just a little bitchy. Part of the problem is that the character, with her pneumatic body and take-no-prisoners attitude is sort of a riot grrl favorite of the show's fans. No one wants to brand someone they like a racist. It's more comfortable to find other explanations for bad behavior toward people of color.

Don's meeting with Sal has similarly provoked disbelieving responses from viewers, who cannot understand how the same Don Draper that kept a gay man's secret a few months ago could now use that secret against him, speak to him in a denigrating manner and suggest that he should prostitute himself for the good of the firm's bottom line.

From Television Without Pity, the mother of all TV/entertainment forums:

I was personally surprised and deeply disappointed in Don's reaction to Sal. The way he said, "you people," just shocked the hell out of me. It seemed extremely out-of-character for him. Don has a lot of flaws, but he's always been pretty accepting of other people, regardless of their lifestyles or situations. My heart broke for Sal, especially because I think he really thought Don would be an ally in this situation. I don't blame Don for upholding the firing (though I agree with others that it's really Harry that deserved the firing), because it was too late. They can't afford to lose that client. But I still thought (and I think Sal thought) that Don would be more sympathetic to the situation.

I'm sorry, but this show seems to me to be warming up to jump the shark. I really feel the writing has slipped.

Don's treatment of Sal is not just cowardly and cruel, it's also inconsistent with his behavior from ep 1 and through the season. I can sort of respect the writer's not caring if we like the characters, but Don's jerkitude lately just seems to be a default setting. All the characters getting the airtime are growing more and more loathsome, while anyone either appealing or just funny is either made less so, forced out, or just ignored.

As someone who's heard the disparaging "you people" more times than I care to count, I didn't see/hear it as Don being disgusted with gay people, but rather as him being fed up with all the people he's had to butt heads with in this ep and the season overall: Connie, Bert, Roger, Peggy and Betty just to name a few. I think Sal just got caught in the crossfire.

That was an entirely distressing episode. Sal is fired because of a repulsive thug from Lucky Strike. That man was just vile and poor Sal standing in the park, pretending to be at work did make me tear up. I understand that Don had little choice, Lucky Strike is a huge account, but I hated that he blamed Sal. Actually, I kind of wanted to dump a bucket of ice water over Don's head to help him clear it. Don didn't always fold to clients like that, but I guess this is evidence of Don-the-contract-player. Ugh.

I caught the rerun just in time for the "you people" scene. I guess it didn't leap out at me as homophobic on first watch because Don just seemed disgusted with everyone -- Sal, Harry, Lee Garner Jr (Lucky Strike guy) -- basically his attitude is that they're all just a bunch of unprofessional bumblers. But sure, I can see the homophobia. Still, considering the way Don handled Sal and the Bellhop, and considering it's 1963, he's still miles ahead of the average guy on this count.

Don didn't behave very well this week, but his firing of Sal didn't seem sociopathic to me. It seemed necessary. Unless Sterling Cooper is supposed to close its doors.

Several viewers see Don as acting out-of-character in his treatment of Sal, even though we have seen Don's amorality at work in the past. Some are eager to explain away Don's use of icky language that is generally accepted as a flag for prejudice and putting a lesser person "in their place"--"you people" and also "Who do you think you're talking to?". More than a few people also surprised me by stating that Sterling Cooper had no choice but to fire Sal to retain a major client. That's a chilling attitude and a window to why so many groups have failed to achieve equality in the workplace.

I am flummoxed that so many people cannot believe that Sal's homosexuality would lead to his firing--on the weekend of the National Equality March and in a time when the military still has a "don't ask don't tell" policy, which is, in essence, the bargain Sal had struck with Don. Gays, lesbians and transgendered people are still vulnerable in the workplace in 2009. And firings aren't always administered by mustache-twirling villains.

So, when this commenter writes...

I didn't see any hypocrisy in Carla opening the door-- it's her job. Ossining was all-white but that doesn't mean it was segregated per se. Interesting observation but MW has made that point much better in workplace situations where the segregation was real and overt (the television account). Maybe because I lived four years in the south, I thought the way the women were trying to understand it was more a comment about north vs. south and their experiences of the issue. It just isn't an issue for Betty, which is not something anybody could say in Birmingham.

...he or she is missing the mark, possibly unable to see racism in characters more relatable than Bull Connor. Betty's neighbors were not trying to "understand" racism; they were reveling in Northern superiority over supposed Southern depravity. Meanwhile, many of the same racist beliefs and restrictions associated with the South existed in the North, even if they weren't codified into "Jim Crow" laws. Let's not forget that the Drapers recently attended a party where the host performed in blackface for a chuckling crowd. As a black woman living in New York, Carla still has few options to her besides domestic; she is still not treated as Betty's equal; she is still expected to be "mammy" to the Draper children; she is still invisible and powerless; she is still spoken to in a demeaning way, even by the white children she "mothers," though one commenter hedges:

I wasn't so bothered by the "Carla works for me" line. I thought first she was commenting on the tone, and then reminding Bobby that it wasn't up to him to say what he had for dinner-Betty made the decisions about whether he got salad or not.

If bigotry was always about lynchings and assassinations and sitting at the back of the bus...if it was always administered by flagrant hatemongers, then fighting it would be much easier. Part of what allows modern prejudice to fester is its "grayness" and the ease with which the mainstream can relate to people who are biased--after all we are all biased. And you cannot live in a racist, sexist, heteronormative society without absorbing those biases, even when you are vigilant.

When modern-day viewers cannot even spot bias in a TV show set in 1960s when "isms" were much more obvious, what hope do we have for recognizing and ending these problems today?

Fat and happy: Why "The Biggest Loser" loses

2009-10-11T14:30:00.003-04:00

I have struggled with weight all my life--mostly because in my younger years I was unable to accept that my larger frame was natural and healthy for me. Unhappy with a 12, I dieted and deprived and fretted over calories, and wound up a 14. Unhappy with that size, I measured and counted and starved my way into a 16. Wash, rinse and repeat...from high school until my 30s. It has taken an excellent nutritionist; the quelling of my fashion magazine habit; deeper understanding of the food and diet industries; consumption of tons of body-positive writing; and 20 years of growing up and gaining body confidence and self -assurance to get to a place where I have a reasonable relationship with food and my body.

I have come to understand that proper nutrition, a whole foods diet and exercise are important. I try to incorporate all three into my life, but when I fail, I know that it is not a moral issue. I am not "good" for eating a carrot, nor am I "bad" for eating carrot cake. I know that weight, on its own, is not a reliable determinant of health. Nor is weight a determinant for beauty and desirability. Society, though, often conflates the body type du jour with what health "looks" like. I have learned to notice the ways that sexism and racism play out in the notions of what women should look like and how much space they are allowed. Perhaps most importantly, I have learned that my jeans size is of minor significance in comparison to the rest of my life. More important than wedging my hips into a size 8 is that I have love, laughter, adventure, learning, excitement, career challenges, friends, etc. A tiny booty does not a successful life make--no matter what all those ads and overwrought articles in lady mags say. I believe all these things, and so, also believe that weight and weight loss take up far too much of the American psyche and conversation. (To no good end, as our eating and exercise habits have only become worse as our obsession with weight grows.)

I pondered these things as I sat down last week to watch yet another season of "The Biggest Loser." Knowing what I know, and believing what I believe, why am I watching this show with its sad fatty stories, shrieking trainers and lose-weight-at-all-costs ethos? Why can't I shake the automatic elation I feel at weight loss--mine or someone else's? The promise of body transformation is like a siren song that is hard, I think, for any modern woman to completely ignore, no matter how feminist, fat positive and educated about the food industrial complex she is.

There is no avoiding certain modern body-image truisms:

- Smaller is always better
- Losing weight is always good
- Fatness is symbol of life failure; weight loss equals life success

It is this last point that is really bothering me this week. This notion that, no matter what other joys your life may hold, you cannot be happy and successful if the numbers of the scale aren't "right." Closely tied to this widely-held belief is the idea that fat bodies are almost always caused by some sort unhappiness-inducing trauma. This year's season of "The Biggest Loser" (TBL) seems to embrace both of these views, I think, to the detriment of its contestants.

Season 8 of TBL is all about the dramatic, sad story. One contestant lost her husband, young daughter and new baby in a tragic car accident; another spent her life in the foster care system. All around, there is much teariness and talk of broken lives. It's not that the contestant's stories are not moving, it's just that the assembled group seems designed to reinforce the idea that overweight is always catastrophic. No one can be 50 pounds above the "norm" because of genetics or slowed metabolism or medication or illness or a fondness for baked goods. Something really, really bad must have happened to you if let yourself get big enough to wear a size 18 or a 40-inch waist pant.

But there was a moment in last week's episode of TBL that really triggered my ire and highlighted why I think the show ultimately fails its contestants and the millions who watch hoping to find peace with their bodies. Jillian Michaels, the show's hard-bodied, trainer-come-drill sergeant, berated contestant, Julio, for suggesting that he is happy aside from his weight. The conversation basically went:

"You CANNOT be happy at 400+ pounds!"

"But I am happy..."

"You ARE NOT happy!"

"But I have a wonderful family..."

"You CANNOT be happy!"

Jillian eventually wore Julio down until he admitted the only thing he was successful at was food.
So, we are to believe that nothing in Julio's life: not his wife, not his children, not his friends, not his career, NOTHING might possibly make him happy as long as he is a fat, fatty McFatterson. How ridiculous and dehumanizing.

What I find perplexing about the weight we give, well, weight, is this. Yes, eating well-balanced and nutritious meals and getting regular exercise are good things to do. Being active and a good eater are two positive human traits. So is being neat. So is being curious. So is being generous. So is being well organized. So is being smart with money. Are eating well and working out the most important things anyone can do--so important that to not do them perfectly results in complete and utter failure and sadness? Actually, I think the trait TBL advocates is actually thinness not healthy eating and exercise, thus the low-calorie, restrictive diet and grueling workout sessions that regularly make contestant's vomit or wind up at the hospital. Is thinness the most important thing in life?

Picture a woman. She's about 35. She has a long-term romantic partner whom she loves and who treats her wonderfully. She is a the top of her career and thanks to her success has earned several of life's "goodies," including an awesome apartment, a wardrobe to die for and the ability to travel around the world (her favorite). She also takes time to give back to the community; she's a "big sister" to a young girl and takes her on adventures once a week. Our woman has a strong support network of family and friends and an active social life. Not especially religious, she does take time for reflection and meditation.

Sound like a pretty good life?

Oh, I forgot something: This woman is overweight, say 250 lbs (about the size of several of TBL's female contestants). Despite her sedentary office job, she does make an effort to stay active, taking weekly dance classes and biking in the park. But like most of us, she finds exercise hard to fit in when life gets hectic or the weather is bad. Frankly, she is more inclined to read a book or go see a movie than exercise. She likes good, rich food and realizes that she probably eats out too much--it's so much easier than cooking. Her problem isn't so much what she eats, but how much. She often eats beyond the point where she is satisfied. Nevertheless, she is relatively healthy. Regular exams show good blood pressure, but bad cholesterol levels that are just a bit too high.

Let's assume that, if she were to cook more, be stricter about getting in physical activity and learn to read hunger cues, our fictional woman's body would naturally settle at a lower weight. (It might not. She comes from a family of tall and large people.) So what? I mean...really...so what? Does her failure to do these things trump everything else wonderful in her life? Should her sole focus in life--a life that certainly looks pretty damned good--be to become acceptably thinner? Should she be unhappy and put her life on hold until she gets her food consumption and level of physical activity under control? And if she doesn't choose to focus on improving these things, is this lapse any worse than the fact that she, maybe, procrastinates alot or is sometimes late or is forgetful?

What I'm asking is: Why is the weight issue--the food issue--so much bigger than anything else?

There is another TBL contestant--a pretty, young woman named Rebecca, who frequently cries about being the girl with "such a pretty face." (People can be such assholes.) In last week's episode of TBL, at a dinner with trainers Jillian and Bob Harper, Rebecca broke down and sobbed how much she wants a family and children and a life. She cried that she wanted to be thought of as the total package and not just a face. I wanted to reach through the TV set and tell her that her life had nothing to do with her weight; that she was beautiful; that plenty of fat folks have families and husbands and boyfriends and friends; that waiting to live until you fit into a size 8 is stupid and ultimately a bad idea. That's what I wanted to say. Bob and Jillian, though, just nodded, all sympathetic and po-faced: Yes, pathetic fatty, you are right to have poor self esteem. But don't worry, we will pound your body into submission and you will be thin and thus worthy of all the things you want.

Seems to me that self-worth and happiness are what every human being deserves, regardless of size. It would seem that if you want to teach people to take better care of their bodies through good nutrition and exercise, the first step is teaching them to love their bodies and themselves. The first step would seem to be teaching them to love life NOW, not 50 pounds from now.

Thinness does not cause happiness, and someone should tell the folks at "The Biggest Loser" this. People can and should be fat and happy.

Image: The Fat Woman, Aubrey Beardsley, 1894, Tate Gallery.

To be invisible or exoticized: The NYT's article on Michelle Obama's family history

2009-10-08T15:34:00.001-04:00

The Obama family's ascendancy to the White House and the national spotlight causes quite a conundrum for black folks who pay attention to how black lives are discussed by media and the mainstream. On one hand, suddenly people notice that black people exist, particularly the black middle class, black bodies, black hair, black families, black professional women, black marriages... After years of being ignored, it feels kinda good to be visible. On the other hand, suddenly people notice that black people exist, particularly the black middle class, black bodies, black hair, black families, black professional women, black marriages...And all of these seemingly mundane things are now treated as fascinating discoveries. They are weighed and breathlessly reported by media, and analyzed and remarked upon by consumers of media. After hundreds of years as part of American culture, blackness is still seen as "other"--sometimes exotic, sometimes dangerous, sometimes strange.

Lots of black women have round butts!

Black people have funny hair!

Black churches sure are different!

and now...from The New York Times...

Black descendants of enslaved Africans have triumph, tragedy and non-black ancestors in their histories!

In an NYT article published yesterday, Rachel L. Swarns and Jodi Kantor share Michelle Obama's family history as uncovered by the newspaper and genealogist Megan Smolenyak. The article zeros in on the story of one of Michelle Obama's female ancestors named Melvinia:

Of the dozens of relatives she identified, Ms. Smolenyak said, it was the slave girl who seemed to call out most clearly.

"Out of all Michelle's roots, it's Melvinia who is screaming to be found," she said.

When her owner, David Patterson, died in 1852, Melvinia soon found herself on a 200-acre farm with new masters, Mr. Patterson's daughter and son-in law, Christianne and Henry Shields. It was a strange and unfamiliar world.

In South Carolina, she had lived on an estate with 21 slaves. In Georgia, she was one of only three slaves on property that is now part of a neat subdivision in Rex, near Atlanta.

Whether Melvinia labored in the house or in the fields, there was no shortage of work: wheat, corn, sweet potatoes and cotton to plant and harvest, and 3 horses, 5 cows, 17 pigs and 20 sheep to care for, according to an 1860 agricultural survey.

It is difficult to say who might have impregnated Melvinia, who gave birth to Dolphus around 1859, when she was perhaps as young as 15. At the time, Henry Shields was in his late 40s and had four sons ages 19 to 24, but other men may have spent time on the farm.

"No one should be surprised anymore to hear about the number of rapes and the amount of sexual exploitation that took place under slavery; it was an everyday experience, " said Jason A. Gillmer, a law professor at Texas Wesleyan University, who has researched liaisons between slave owners and slaves. "But we do find that some of these relationships can be very complex." Read more...

Later, we learn of Melvinia's son Dolphus Shields:

Sometime before 1888, Dolphus and Alice Shields continued the migration, heading to Birmingham, a boomtown with a rumbling railroad, an iron and steel industry and factories that attracted former slaves and their children from across the South.

Dolphus Shields was in his 30s and very light skinned — some say he looked like a white man — a church-going carpenter who could read, write and advance in an industrializing town. By 1900, he owned his own home, census records show. By 1911, he had opened his own carpentry and tool sharpening business.

As an amateur genealogist, I love reading stories like this--these quintessentially American stories that are left out of American history (unless it is February). I enjoy hearing about how black people triumphed post-slavery. Make no mistake, as a whole, we did triumph. Dophus Shields was one of many African Americans who rose from bondage and illiteracy to land-owning and self-sufficiency. The story of Melvinia and her family feels familiar. It is familiar. I have uncovered many similar tales in my own family research. (Some posts here and here and here and here.) I have heard countless similar stories shared by other family historians.

Which brings me to my ambivalence. The story of Michelle Obama's ancestor is, in essence, the story of most ancestors of enslaved Africans. Yes, some details and locations change. But most black genealogists can find ancestors labeled "mulatto" on old census records (as Dolphus Shields was), mostly because sexual oppression and rape of black women was a fact of the American slave system. (And, however "complex" one wants to call these relationships between enslaved and slave master, it's hard to call these partnerings consensual when one party OWNS the other.) And there were other interracial pairings beyond those that happened in bondage. Other facets of this story are familiar as well--migration, advancement out of poverty to working class and beyond, entrepreneurship, achieving literacy, overcoming racist society. These are hallmarks of the black American history--American history.

So, why does Swarns' and Kantor's article seem to treat the story of Michelle Obama's family--one that seems so common as to be unremarkable--like a fascinating oddity? Why is Melvinia's tale so juicy and titillating? Why do readers find this story so uniquely amazing and inspiring? Comments to the article include gushing about inspiration and comparisons to Irish and Italian forebears, and the usual complaints of "why can't we get over race" since this story proves that it doesn't truly exist. While several NYT readers did point out how typical the Shields story is, many had reactions like this one:

The Obama story just grows and grows and becomes more complex and more interesting for our Country. All I can say is WOW.

Oh, those wacky Obamas with their weirdly "complex" lineages! Wow? Really? I cannot think of reading a similar account of the family tree of a white First Lady where Americans were encouraged to marvel at her "complex" Scots-Irish or French or German or English heritage or an ancestor's journey from immigrant to business man. A story like that is, to the mainstream, "normal," an illustration of the American Dream. The stories of African Americans, even those whose families have been here for hundreds of years, provoke amazement.

So, I am torn--just like I have been over the months as the media and mainstream have pulled apart and parsed Michelle Obama's (and by extension other black folks') body parts, from tresses to gluteus maximus. It's nice to be noticed, for once, I guess. But it pains to be treated like some rare, exotic, oddly-plumed, big-butted, mixed-pedigreed, once-caged bird.

Is that the only choice black people have--to be invisible or exoticized?

African or American: What does your ancestry mean to you?

2009-10-07T16:38:00.002-04:00

Earlier this year, as part of my ongoing research into my family's history, my father and I took DNA tests to try to pinpoint our African ancestry. My test, which analyzes the DNA passed from mother to daughter over centuries, revealed matches with Balanta and Fula people in Guinea-Bissau, the Mende in Sierra Leone, and the Mandinka in Senegal. All matches to my patrilineal line were Balanta from Guinea-Bissau. Since this discovery, I have worked to learn more about these countries and cultures. I cherish this knowledge, like the other genealogical facts I have gathered that render my ancestors more real and less abstract. Knowing this has helped me rediscover customs, histories and stories lost to the cultural genocide of slavery. It has bonded me more closely to my sisters and brothers on the other side of the world. It has made me smarter about the continent the world too often treats as a country. It has allowed me to demonstrate to the young people in my life, with hard facts, that we are from somewhere and that our history is about much more than servitude. This new knowledge has indeed informed my present identity. But still, I call myself a black American woman not an African one. This is not because it is better to be American than, say, Senegalese. It is not. I call myself a black American because I am removed from the countries of Africa by hundreds of years. Because my family story, while rooted in Africa, has been tempered by our uniquely American experience and by the blending of cultures in America. Because, though the majority culture wants us to think otherwise, the African-American story is a rich one, full of triumphs and contributions that we can be proud of; we needn't reach across the ocean to salve our self-esteem. It is because my ancestors built this country and paid with their blood, their culture, their children, sometimes their very lives, earning me the right to be an American as real as any angry sign-waver at a 9/12 rally.

But plenty of folks will argue that my point of view is wrong.

A couple years ago, a minor skirmish broke out among some people that I followed on YouTube. One group, though American-born black people all, heavily identified with "Africanness." The other did not. There were many impassioned videos posted. There were the obligatory accusations of sell-out and "don't want to be black." There were tearful protestations that our ancestors would be offended by contemporary black Americans' failure to embrace the Motherland. There were videos from brothers and sisters in African countries forcefully asserting that black Americans are anything but African. There was a whole, heaping helping of self hating (I mean, just...wow!). It was one of those online "discussions" that turns quickly into a cluster fuck where everyone takes sides, digs in, turns up the anger and finger pointing, and ultimately resolves very little. But it did make me think about where I stand on this debate. And when a similar-sounding discussion occurred on Twitter this weekend, I could articulate my thoughts.

I have always been a little uncomfortable with pan-Africanism and the way some black Americans embrace Africa. Too often, interest in the African continent seems too rooted in American ignorance--references to "African culture" as if African people are one big monolith without separate customs, governments, histories, problems and cultures; mix some mud cloth and Kente with cowrie shells, red, black and green print, and Swahili and voila. Other times it seems rooted in desperation. We reach back hundreds of years to an African identity, however vague, because as black Americans whose African ancestors were brought to America in chains, we feel our story begins and ends with slavery, Jim Crow, racism and marginalization. With this ideology comes vague stories of nameless African kings and queens and an implication that we used to be somebody, long ago in a land far away.

Both ways of thinking have seemed offensive to me. The first seems offensive to African peoples who live and work and survive and raise families in their home countries, who speak the languages that were handed down from their foremothers and fathers, who embrace the religions and beliefs of their ancestors, and who have been personally invested in the successes and the challenges of post-colonial Africa. The second seems offensive to my black ancestors who knew no other home but this one and who constributed mightily to the country's beginnings, whose customs were a blend of influences--African, European and Native American; and indeed, whose very identity was often a mixture of these influences due to the legacy of slavery, immigration and race mixing throughout American history.

Africa holds within it many rich cultures, many of which laid the foundation for what we know today as black American culture. But black American culture is its own unique thing that is also rich and worthy. I needn't hijack the identity of brothers and sisters in a country (and continent) in which I have never set foot--even though I may seek to learn more about our mutual heritage.

I think it is very important to know who black people were before American slavery. It is important to know how our African heritage informs our present lives. It is important that we stand in solidarity with African people who continue to struggle with the after effects of colonialism as black folks in America struggle with the after effects of slavery and hundreds of years of racism. It is important to understand and appreciate African cultures as something more than the "dark continent" fantasies of the mainstream.

It is equally important that black Americans embrace the unique culture that is ours. Our unique struggles. Our unique triumphs. Our unique DNA. We can be allies without giving up our own identity. I can be unashamedly of African descent, while embracing my identity as black and American.

How do you identify your African ancestry?

In the company of women -- redux

2009-10-05T19:52:00.011-04:00

Here we are, elated--a little cold and damp--and triumphant. This picture was taken shortly after the last members of the What Tami Said crew crossed the finish line at Saturday's Run for Congo Women in Chicago. We were captured enjoying post-race Congolese food and music, and basking in accomplishment and sisterhood.

Saturday, for me, was about the power of women. My personal power as a woman, yes. Roughly 12 weeks ago, I challenged my mind and my middle-aged body to do something new. And I did it. I also pledged to dedicate my effort to my sisters in the Congo. This weekend, when I returned to Run for Congo Women home base in Lincoln Park after a 3.2 mile trek (My first 5K!), and today when I gathered donations to mail to Women for Women International, I made good on that pledge. But what perhaps began as an effort to make myself feel good, through exercise and charity, became something more.

It became about the resilience of women--their enduring hope and strength--as proven by the letter from a woman in the Congo, read by run organizer Tracy Ronzio at the start of Saturday's event.

It became about real women (and men) and their real stories, thanks to the Chicago Congolese that I met at the event.

It became about how much the company of women inspires and nurtures me. I am grateful for the company of Meghan, Tracy, Tanisha and Paula.

Paula, has been a friend for nearly a decade. We have tackled many firsts together--from belly dancing to running. I am honored that she was willing to stretch beyond her comfort zone (see story below) to try this first with me. Whenever we spend time together, which is too rarely given that we now live hours away from each other, I am reminded of how much I miss having her in my daily life.

I was astonished when I first received Meghan's e-mail that she would join me in the Run for Congo Women Chicago. I know that I invited folks to join me. But I didn't really think anyone would. Why would they? I'm just some woman who shares her numerous opinions on a blog. You all don't know me. But Meghan began training at home, hundreds of miles from me, and sharing her progress through e-mail. Then Tanisha signed on. Then Tracy. These women gave up their Saturdays, hauled husbands and boyfriends and adorable babies from Wisconsin and downstate Illinois and across the city. I don't know whether it was the strength of the cause or what, but these women showed up for themselves, for me and for their sisters on the other side of the world.

The What Tami Said team rocked, by the way. Tanisha, who hadn't even been training, was the first of us to finish the run. She ran the whole thing easily. Meghan, too, ran the whole way, accompanied by her husband and baby Ezekiel, rolling in the race support vehicle (er, stroller). Tracy, who in the last year has worked up to running six miles nearly every day, slowed her pace to accompany Paula and I, both new runners. Her engaging laugh kept us moving and helped us run all but .5 miles of the route. Only walking a half mile out of 3.2 was a coup considering that I had only ever run about 1.7 miles since I started training and Paula is only on week six of C25K.

But enough from me...I asked the ladies to share their thoughts on the experience. I'll add Tanisha's as soon as I have it in hand.

From Meghan:

“I feel fat.” These were the words of a woman from Congo being sponsored by Women for Women International. She continued, “I feel fat with happiness. You run for us. I feel love.” These words propelled me and about 200 other runners on our 5K along Chicago’s Lake Shore path. The irony is, I am fat. Moving 40 plus pounds of extra “me” around the training loop takes a serious effort. I trained for 10 weeks, going from 3 minute running intervals to 40 minutes without stopping. It was difficult. Yet, my effort has been fueled by knowing that my work pales in comparison to the effort Congolese heroines muster daily to survive and heal the ravages of war. And, so I ran for my sisters in Congo. In my 38 minute, 30 second 5K run I felt the world was a smaller and gentler place – and new friends Tanisha, Tami, Tracy and Paula put their arms around me at the start and finish in the best kind of sister’s embrace. My husband pushed our little son in his stroller along the route too, companions on the journey to better health and social justice. So, I ran my first 5K in more than 8 years to live my commitment to be a good global neighbor, a compassionate woman, and a model to my youngest son, who is a child of Africa and a black American. Today, I shouted across the continents to our sisters in Congo, “I feel fat with happiness too. I feel love. I ran for you! I did it!”

From Paula:

"Never say never!" I usually try to avoid cliches and catch phrases. They always seem to be overused and lacking creativity. But, as I reflect on my participation in Saturday's "Run for Congo Women", the aforementioned cliche really does apply. I love to try new things, especially when it comes to exercise and fitness. I've taken yoga, aerobics classes, worked with a trainer, learned to belly dance and step (a great Chicago dance-style). All of which I did to enhance a boring workout regimen and most of all to try something different. Yet, when my friend Tami mentioned that she was going to run in her first 5k, I thought to myself..."Not me". In fact, when she asked me to join in, I said, "I'll walk...but I'm not a runner." After our conversation, I thought about it. Why am I not a runner? After a few thoughtful moments, I couldn't come up with one answer (ok...excuse). So, I decided to give it a try. I downloaded a couch to 5k podcast, and began training for my first 5k. There were some difficult days though. But, I still trudged along. I began to focus on my goals: running in my first 5k; relieving stress; becoming more fit and most importantly, challenging and pushing myself. In a matter of 6 weeks, I'd built up the endurance to run not walk in the 5k.

The cause: Congo women. I couldn't have been more inspired to run on behalf of these women. Though we are worlds apart, we share a kindred spirit. My prayer for all of them is that the Congo will be transformed by the tenacity and courage of those women. And, that future generations will be able to build on their hope and strength.

Running a 5k: I'd like to thank my friend Tami and her blog sisters for an enjoyable experience. I plan on continuing to run every other day (weather-permitting). I needed a reminder that nothing can be gained if I don't try. That's what I've always lived and believed. The "Run for Congo Women" reminded me of that fact. Will I run in another 5k? I'd love to! Will I ever participate in a marathon? Well, never say never!!!

From Tracy:

Saturday, October 3rd, I arose from my soft, warm, comfy bed at 4 am. I took a hot shower, and got dressed. Then I went into my kitchen, made some coffee and had a nice breakfast of cereal and a banana. I packed a light lunch, my camera, money, a credit card, and of course my makeup and headed out of my home. As I entered my van, I decided that I would probably need more caffeine for my trip, so I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for a latte extra expresso and, what the heck, a donut.

At 5 am, after rising safely, clothing and feeding myself, I was on my way to Chicago to run a 5k for Women of the Congo. I was running this race for women who did not have a safe and warm place to sleep, a stable roof over their heads, went without food, lived in terror and didn't know from one day to the next whether or not that this would be their last day alive.

I met Tami and her friends Paula, Meghan and Tanisha - four beautiful and lively souls! The day started out downcast but the mood was uplifting - Meghan (oh I haven't run for 8 years) and Tanisha left us in their dust, while Tami, Paula and I paced ourselves. For their first 5K, they both did splendid. When we crossed the finish line, good food, great music and (gasp) shopping awaited us. And so did the sun..... Except for the race tshirt (I am using mine as a flag..) [Editor's note: Yeah, that allegedly XL t-shirt was awfully tiny.] everything turned out perfect. Thank you Tami, for alerting me and others about this great cause and thank you for letting me join you in helping women in need around the world.

Keep up with Tracy at Sweet Potato Pie blog. Follow Meghan at Under the Acacia Tree.

I'm ready to run

2009-10-02T08:59:00.006-04:00

UPDATE: Donate button fixed.

So, tomorrow is the big day--the day I've been training for these past 12 weeks. Tomorrow, several readers of this blog and I will participate in the Run for Congo Women 5K in Chicago. I want to thank all of you for coming along with me on my journey to improve my own fitness and help my sisters in the Congo.

I'm fitter than I have been in years

These several weeks of running faithfully three times a week have transformed my body, but most importantly, my mind. I am now doing something consistently that I didn't think I could do. I'm a runner!

After completing C25K, I switched to the One-Hour Runner program. My first short-term goal is to run an entire 5K by the coming spring. No, I won't be running the whole way on Saturday. In 30 minutes, I can cover almost two miles. My game plan for the weekend is to run the first mile, walk the second and run the final 1.2 miles to cross the finish line. I'll be pushing myself. Please send all the good juju you can muster to help me along my way.

Did you see Run for Congo Women and Women for Women International on Oprah?

On Oct. 1, "The Oprah Winfrey Show" explored efforts to empower women around the globe. The show featured Run for Congo Women founder Lisa Shannon, who explained how she was moved by a 2005 report by Lisa Ling to launch her effort to support women in the wartorn country. The show included some of the footage below:

More than 5,000,000 people have died in DR Congo since 1998 as a result of what has been called "Africa's First World War."

45.5% of those deaths have occurred in children under 5.

Women regularly endure savage gang rapes, torture and mutilation, forced cannibalism, being forced to watch family members brutally murdered, and are held as sex slaves by militias.

Women who survive have no means of supporting their surviving children, which accounts for the staggering death rate among small children.

An expert recently reported that conditions for women in DR Congo are the worst she has ever seen anywhere. (Reuters. July 30, 2007.) Yet there are very real, simple things we can do to save lives and help women to regain a foothold for life for themselves and their surviving children. Women for Women International, an award winning non-profit, operates a year long sponsorship program that provides these women with direct cash aid; healing group work with other women who share similar experiences; training in how to operate a small business; literacy training; rights awareness training, and seed money to start a business when they complete the program.

Thanks, in part, to your generosity and support I have raised more than $500 for women in the Congo.

Thank you!

I also pledged to support a woman through Women for Women International. My new sponsored sister is named Mary and she lives in the Sudan. I look forward to getting to know her.

I encourage you to consider sponsoring a woman, too. Or, there is still time to support my run tomorrow. Simply click the link below before Monday morning. I'll be mailing in my monies then.

Are you running with me tomorrow?

I know several readers have decided to join me in tomorrow's run: Meghan, Tracy, Tanisha and Paula. There may be more. If you are running or walking tomorrow, please email me at whattamisaid@gmail.com. I want to make sure we connect so I can thank you in person and, hopefully, snap a photo for the blog.

I will try to Twitter my experience--at least the before and after parts. If you're not already, follow me at www.twitter.com/whattamisaid.

See you at the starting line!