Black Woman's Burden

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October 19, 2006

UNITY IN DISCRIMINATION

Since the newspapers I write to don't want to publish my brilliant views and opinions, I'll reprint them here-with my own permission thank you very much.

This article is in response to an article AM New York published about Ali G's character Borat-who-in my humble opinion, happens to be one of the best characters he's ever created.

I am writing this letter in response to Monday October 2nd's piece on Sasha Cohen's character Borat. While I agree with the ADL's sentiment, I wish there was a peice in the AM news fom African American or Civil Rights groups about Sasha Cohen's "Ali-G" character, who donned a doo-rag, spoke in "hip-hop vernacular" and asked ignorant questions of top US officials, professionals and dignitaries unaware of his true identity. Once, he interviewed my beloved Andy Rooney and his questions were so outrageous, his grammar and usage so poor that it led Mr. Rooney to storm out of the " interview." Rooney was insulted, and rightly so- it seemed that someone who did not have an appropriate understanding or usage of the English language should not be interviewing someone like Andy Rooney who takes journalism seriously.
As an African American I was offended a) because Andy Rooney left the interview unaware that it was a joke, and b) there are people in the world ignorant enough to believe that this is how Black people act and they are left with a negative and false impression of Black people. If ignorance affects one group, it affects us all- we are all responsible for expelling ignorance whenever or wherever we find it.

Posted by renee at 12:53 PM | Comments (1)

October 16, 2006

Monday Mourning/Ode to Olivia

I hate Mondays...Today is Friday-finally but i'm getting myself prepared for that day that i loathe.
Monday's remind me of all the things that went wrong with my life. I should be retired by now, or at least have a book deal or something which would mean that I lived up to my goal of not having to work a 9-5 for the rest of my life. Like Common said "i write for my life cuz I'm afraid of a day job." Anyway...it's too late for me. I already have one. Monday's are a sad reminder of this fact. Not that I'm not happy to have a job-especially in today's economy but man...I wish I had done things differently, and not taken my talent/passion for granted.

This is where my sister Olivia comes in. Loud, agressive, sometimes bossy, she's goes for what she wants without a second thought. She wants what she wants. She's been pursuing an acting career, for about 10 years now. When she started out, she wanted to model, but on her first "go-see", the agent told her, ever so sweetly that she should consider becoming a doctor. Ouch. 10 years later, she booked her first gig. It's funny because if anyone has insecurities it should be my sister-according to my mom, she had to work for whatever she wanted, where things just came easier to me. My sister just took a step out there, not knowing whether or not she was actually good at what she was doing. She just loved acting. The way that I love writing yet, trying to get published proved difficult so I gave up.

I call my sister from work quite often, bored out of my skull, and dissillusioned by the fact that I have to leave my warm bed, and give up lazy afternoons drinking bloody mary;s and enjoying life the way it's meant to be enjoyed, instead I have to be here-doing nothing. "I could be at home finishing my book, I say." She scoffs. I've been "finishing it" for 5 years.
"I think you need a workshop", my sister says. "You need contacts and feedback."
I don't have that kinda money." She sighed. "You either want to write or you don't.This is my passion. I can't go to my grave wondering what could have been without even trying."

Touche. She was referring to my dad, who just like me, was naturally gifted. He was a musician, he loved music. It was his passion, but he gave up when he was told there was no future in it. Someone may as well drove a stake through his heart. Although, his pride would never allow him to admit that he was discouraged. So, he came to Canada from the U.S. to pursue his "fallback," career, which was medicine. But in order to do that, he had to go to night school with a bunch of loud, obnoxious high school kids. He gave up because he was embarrassed to be the oldest one in his class and have to compete with ignorant kids that think they knew it all. So he gota fulltime job as an electronics salesman, and spent the rest of hisdays as a salesman. He was a damn good salesman,he made a decent living out of it, but he was unhappy. When he was diagnosed with stomach cancer five years ago, he told my sister that he was going to beat it-and then he was going to start over. He had so many things that he had to accomplish-the first thing he was going to do was go back to school and get the degree that he should have gotten so long ago. Nothing would stop him now-he realized how short life was and he was tired of being miserable and unhappy; not pursuing his dreams because of "they-say" vision.* It seemed his whole life he had been miserable and he knew his misery manifested itself into cancer. He just wanted a chane to be genuinely happy and make himself well..
Unfortunately, he passed away before he got the chance.
Olivia was there with him during those final days, and she says the one thing that she remembers is the regret he constantly expressed. For opportunities wasted, passions unfullfilled. She told me she refused to let my father die in vain, and that meant that she would have to continue to live her dreams until they were realized. No matter what.

I'm not unhappy, but I'm not "fulfilled" happy because I'm not a writer. I wake up every monday morning, caught up in the hustle and bustle of the city and travel to this job and think about how I'd rather be sitting in front of my computer, preferably in Hawaii, dreaming up characters and plots.Sometimes I feel I'll never get there because it seems so far away, but then I remember my sister. The skinny little girl with the bright red pop bottle glasses who used to get made fun of continuously. Now she's well on her way to becoming a star. She's my hero, and she's taught me to be fearless.

Well, that was cathartic. When I started to write this piece, I had no idea that it would end up being about this. I guess it's not such a bad thing to be bored at work...especially if I'm getting paid to pursue my passion. I'm just afraid of settling, and/or giving up on myself and sometimes when I sit here at work "killing time" instead of writing professionally, it feels that way.

I guess there's only one way to get rid of that feeling...I've got to keep writing. As long as I have a keyboard in front of me, whether it's at home or at work during my spare time, I'll keep writing. Even if no one but me likes my shit, I'll keep writing.
As long as there's blood in my veins, and heart that still beats, I'll keep writing.
Even if there's nobody reading-I'll keep writing.

Thanks Olivia for being my number one hype woman! I don't tell you enough-but I love you! We're almost there...

*They Say Vision is a song by recording artist Res, from the album, "How I Do." It's the perfect inspirational anthem for those of us who are guided by our own visions, and not what "they" say.

Posted by renee at 9:39 AM | Comments (0)

October 5, 2006

Response to A Racial Rift that Isn't Black or White

October 5, 2006

Response to “A Racial Barrier that Isn’t Black or White”: published October 3, 2006 by the New York Times

Hispanics who migrate to the South should be humbled by the legacy of slavery, Jim Crow and
segregation and the Civil Rights Movement.
This racism is unacceptable and should not be tolerated. In most cases Hispanics have a
choice to migrate to the United States to seek a better life for their children. Unlike African
Americans, especially in the South, they have not been discriminated against or denied basic
civil rights in their own countries. African Americans are citizens of the United States who have
suffered discrimination, lack of access to jobs, housing, and employment based primarily on
the color of their skin. Despite the economic hardships they have faced, they too are working
to ensure better social, economic and political opportunities for their children. They seek a life
free of race-based discrimination and segregation. To have to revisit the types of tension
mentioned in this article from people who are in no better economic or political shape then they
is audacious to say the least.

The fact that they do not feel the need to learn English, respect the history, culture and
customs of the community to which they have arrived is unacceptable.
It is not a lack of work ethic among Blacks, which has been used as an excuse by racists and
employers seeking to profit from immigrant labor. It is the Hispanic belief in their “whiteness”
that gives them a superiority complex, enabling them to look down on African Americans. They
use American racism to their advantage in order to prosper.

African Americans are citizens and tax-payers of this country, deserving of wages
commensurate to the work they do. Why should they be disrespected by immigrants, have
their livelihoods threatened, and endure racist insults simply because an employer can turn a
handsome profit by hiring immigrants to work long hours for less pay, and who are not
cognizant of, nor do they care about labor laws? It sets the civil rights struggle and the labor
movement in this country back hundreds of years and it is morally wrong. How ironic that
Hispanics use the term “moyos” (little insects) to describe the men, women and children whose
blood, sweat and tears stain the soil that Hispanics leave their countries in droves seeking work
on.

It is reprehensible that immigrants treat American citizens that way.

Posted by renee at 12:59 PM | Comments (0)

October 2, 2006

YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE!

I heard somewhere that Bill Cosby wants every Black person to donate 8 dollars to contribute to a slavery museum. I think it's an amazing idea and it's not asking too much. After all, how many of us spend more than that per diem on useless crap which does not benefit us. But of course most of the Black people I speak to are skeptical about the idea. They want to see "proof" that that's where the money is going. No one asks to see where the money is going on the 200 dollar pair of sneakers or 80 dollar pair of jeans they buy. Oh yeah, I guess they already have the proof-they can see their favorite rapper or athlete flossing bling bling on t.v. every day of the week.

I'm just fed up of the excuses that Black people come up with when we talk about racism and oppression. Then I see what I see and it infuriates me. This is where the following diatribe comes from. This particular episode occured on the #2 train while I was traveling home from The Bronx to Brooklyn on Friday night. Reader Discretion is Advised...

I'll never forget the look on his face as he plopped down in the seat in front of me
the weight of the world on his shoulders
the look of defeat in
his bloodshot eyes
he pops the top off a colt 45, can't wait to take a sip
raises it as if to toast me with eyes half closed and a flicker of a smile

YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE

he pours the malt liquor all over the floor and in anger I rise
and move to the front of the train.

Around me they sit, unaffected, untouched.
The smell of stale liquor and fried chicken wings overwhelms me, the sound of empty soda cans rolling around is like Chinese water torture to me.

Their big hips and fat asses sway in clothes ten sizes too small. The way they move, as though they had all the time in the world, I'm reminded of herding cattle.
I'm stuck in the filth and stain. And I have to sit in it. I don't deserve this.
I can't stand it. I can't fucking stand it.
The drunk man spews a raging diatribe about the white man being the cause of his downfall. People nod their heads in agreement as they spit sunflower seeds on the ground below. (I'm sure the White man forces you to spit sunflower seeds in your living room too)
He finally gets off-they laugh, shrug it off and
Accept it for what it is.
I don't. It's not funny.
No one should have to live like this.

YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE

I glance at the pretty little girl screaming into her cell phone. She can't be older than 16 and She's pushing a baby carriage that's way too big for her. With one hand she rocks her screaming baby, with the other she holds her cell phone. (I wonder how she affords it-I have no kids and I can barely afford groceries) She's telling her home girl she's on her way over. "It's Friday night goddamit," and she's getting her drink on. Fuck the baby's no good father. He ain't never home anyway. "He's doing his thing, I'm gon do mine. Crack open that hennessy girl. It's on tonight!" She hushes her screaming baby girl, aggressively persuading her to sleep. Mommy just needs some time to play. She and baby get off at the next stop in the cold black dark. It doesn't make me sad. It makes me angry, for baby. Her life flashes before my eyes and she ends up on the street because mommy needs something to eat.

YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE

Young Black minds spewing words of hate, ignorance and disrespect. You hate yourselves. You hate each other. It's evident in the clothes you wear, the styles you wear. You embrace stereotypes and hug them close to your body like loved ones.

YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE

Don't want to read, don't want to write-You prefer to fight
For what you don't deserve as though you are entitled to any crumbs which fall from my table.
The crumbs which fall from the tables of
Working people
Honest people
Respectable people
Honorable people
Who do not hold their hands out or lay blame.
No one is oppressing you.
YOU ARE OPPRESSING YOURSELVES!!!
YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE...

YOU ARE AN EMBARRASSMENT...dickies saggin, doo-rag wearin', pants hanging off the I cringe and pray that you do not sit beside me when you get on my train. I'm nothing like you-yet, surprisingly, most people don't get that.
Your aspirations are prison. You have low expectations of yourselves and will therfore amount to that which you expect. I have no use for you. My people have no use for you.

YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE

You were not born into a culture of worthlessness. You are born to survive and take your place among dignified, respected leaders of an honorable people who risked their lives for every single thing you take for granted.
Take a look at the world around you. The cultures that prosper do not allow others to disrespect their valuable accomplishments...
but to you it's a joke.
And the whole world laughs while they rip you off, "MY NIGGA"

I will not apologize to those who take offense
You see, I know my people and my people know me.

Posted by renee at 9:24 AM | Comments (0)