MICHAEL BROWN WAS UNARMED
MICHAEL BROWN WAS HIS MOTHER’S SON
MICHAEL BROWN WAS MURDERED
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Decolonization, Migration, Radical Potential of Stories, Global Solidarity, Mobility, Intentionality in the Daily
kshama sawant :“Let’s build the powerful force that we know is necessary — because we have a world to win!”
http://www.usprisonculture.com/blog/2014/08/31/fergusonsyllabus-talking-and-teaching-about-police-violence/
fun statistics for adults!
“when I was a kid, I had no help with college tuition, I was hardworking and paid it all myself”
-Annual tuition for Yale, 1970: $2,550
-Annual tuition for Yale, 2014: $45,800
-Minimum Wage, 1970: $1.45
-Minimum Wage, 2014: $7.25
-Daily hours at minimum wage needed to pay for tuition in 1970: 4.8
-Daily hours at minimum wage needed to pay for tuition in 2014: 17.3
“when I was a kid, I had no help with college tuition, I was hardworking and paid it all myself”
-Annual tuition for Yale, 1970: $2,550
-Annual tuition for Yale, 2014: $45,800
-Minimum Wage, 1970: $1.45
-Minimum Wage, 2014: $7.25
-Daily hours at minimum wage needed to pay for tuition in 1970: 4.8
-Daily hours at minimum wage needed to pay for tuition in 2014: 17.3
Racism and Gaytrification in Seattle's Capitol Hill
I chose to move to Seattle for several reasons--the hills and morning fog remind me of another Pacific port, Valparaiso, the refreshing climate, the progressive political culture that has brought about the laudable though imperfect minimum wage increase and all the things I could learn from a uniquely diverse city, racially, sexually and economically. I was and still am excited to see where these dicussions are going.
I guess my expectations needed to be tempered a bit, my hope of new, omnipresent persepctives was rather quickly shattered when I was part of an all too familiar script last saturday in Capitol Hill.
The Capitol Hill neighborhood in Seattle is (in)famous. Known alternatively as the gay neighborhood, as dangerous, as expensive, as alternative and as cliche, it is difficult to describe, yet familiar to most urban dwellers in the United States, and many around the world (Palermo and San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Cerro la Carcel, Valparaiso and Providencia, Santiago. Kreuzberg, Berlin, for examples) It is a rather old story that has transformed entire cities (San Francisco), involving a rather rapid switch wherein recently franchised homosexuals, with a healthy dose of race, class and gender privilege, gentrify a neighborhood. Given that homosexuality is indeed still a marginzalized class, it is ESPECIALLY unfortunate to see this process which pits them against other comrades in the struggle, unfold in front of my eyes.
It was the first night out drinking in the city for me and my partner; wow were we eager (and still are) to put on our dancin shoes and start skootin a boogie. We went to Raygun, a board game bar, in the heart of Capitol Hill. We met with a new friend and some of his friends, all white, cis homomen and more than middle-class (whatever that means anymore)
At first, everything seemed nice enough. we ordered a round of beers, played some almost-entertaining board games, and these loose ladies' first night on the town was going well! Until, and this is a big, Until, that recurred throughout the night. Until he said it:
"Look, that guy's cute, for an Asian."
"Cute, but probably has a small dick"
That was enough! More than enough! "And how could you know that?"
"Well, I mean statistically speaking"
"Well, statistically speaking you probably have a slightly less than medium-sized dick, then"
"No, aren't we like number 2 out of the 4 races"
It is disappointingly easy for these conversation to spiral into ridiculousity, so, my sweetheart and intelligent partner asked: "Do you still believe in race?"
"I believe there are genetic differences."
At this point, we were able to explain that some peoples of West Africa have more in common with Nordic peoples than they do with some of their geographic neighbors. He believed us, understoood his mistep, but I do not believe he incorporated this new knowledge as deeply as I would have liked. Unfortunately, we were even farther from questioning the masculinist ideas of bigger = better, sex = penetration, etc
In narrating this conversation, I want to show how in daily conversations we create and naturalize perceived distance, and shortly, I will show, through a conversation with the same couple, exactly how this creates material inequality as well. Sexual racism is racism and has no place in our queer community.
Our friend wanted us to accompany him to the couple's house because he had a small gift for us there (what a sweety!) Unfortunately, we had to suffer the microagressions that seep through the skin of this couple. The apartment, as they reminded us twice, was constructed two years ago and had a large living room, two bedrooms, two baths, a dining room, a kitchen and a balcony, sealed off by a newly purchased ("didn't I see that on TV?" "Yes!") hi-tech magnetic door. The all white phure-bhreed husky showed us her tricks and was promptly sent to lie down in her bed. The decorations without soul: only three things hung from the wall--minimalist renditions of the airports of Boston, Chicago and Seattle (so cultured!), the gluten-free pumpkin brownies and thematic coasters unconvincingly screamed "Welcome, Fall!"
And then, they started to talk their trash, again.
Here is where we found out one of them works for Amazon(a force that has changed the landscape of this city and particularly that neighborhood--this story adding to the evidence) , and the other in some sort of office, where he hires and fires assistants as if their livelihood did not depend on having a job. Here's the nail-in-the-coffin conversation:
"Tomorrow my news assistant Tomas (in french accent) starts. I love me a little Frenchie"he says, teasing fidelity.
"Too bad you fired the filipino last week--I know you wouldn't have touched him, and he was so much cheaper. Only 11 dollars the hour" responded his boyfriend, not realzing he was part of a satire.
"But I just couldn't reisst! when Tomas came in, I had to let the other one go. This frenchie will cost me even more than a local, but it'll be worth it to see him bringing me my coffee."
This is a new face of Capitol Hill, the one being imported and created partially by Amazon. The one being sustained through daily microagressions. Although homosexuals belong to a marginalized class, racism is strong amongst them, and perhaps, even more convincing for that very reason. I am deeply disappointed by the conclusion, the same one I arrive to again and again: that even gays, iwth ambiguous class identities, who live in supposedly alternative neighborhoods, continuously reconstruct racism, sexism and classism. (both as an identity issue and the as class relations) The hopeful conclusion that logically follows is: positive changes have to be won by and for all of us, because if not, we end up rearranging poverty and differences in symbolic power, not eliminating it.
I guess my expectations needed to be tempered a bit, my hope of new, omnipresent persepctives was rather quickly shattered when I was part of an all too familiar script last saturday in Capitol Hill.
The Capitol Hill neighborhood in Seattle is (in)famous. Known alternatively as the gay neighborhood, as dangerous, as expensive, as alternative and as cliche, it is difficult to describe, yet familiar to most urban dwellers in the United States, and many around the world (Palermo and San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Cerro la Carcel, Valparaiso and Providencia, Santiago. Kreuzberg, Berlin, for examples) It is a rather old story that has transformed entire cities (San Francisco), involving a rather rapid switch wherein recently franchised homosexuals, with a healthy dose of race, class and gender privilege, gentrify a neighborhood. Given that homosexuality is indeed still a marginzalized class, it is ESPECIALLY unfortunate to see this process which pits them against other comrades in the struggle, unfold in front of my eyes.
It was the first night out drinking in the city for me and my partner; wow were we eager (and still are) to put on our dancin shoes and start skootin a boogie. We went to Raygun, a board game bar, in the heart of Capitol Hill. We met with a new friend and some of his friends, all white, cis homomen and more than middle-class (whatever that means anymore)
At first, everything seemed nice enough. we ordered a round of beers, played some almost-entertaining board games, and these loose ladies' first night on the town was going well! Until, and this is a big, Until, that recurred throughout the night. Until he said it:
"Look, that guy's cute, for an Asian."
"Cute, but probably has a small dick"
That was enough! More than enough! "And how could you know that?"
"Well, I mean statistically speaking"
"Well, statistically speaking you probably have a slightly less than medium-sized dick, then"
"No, aren't we like number 2 out of the 4 races"
It is disappointingly easy for these conversation to spiral into ridiculousity, so, my sweetheart and intelligent partner asked: "Do you still believe in race?"
"I believe there are genetic differences."
At this point, we were able to explain that some peoples of West Africa have more in common with Nordic peoples than they do with some of their geographic neighbors. He believed us, understoood his mistep, but I do not believe he incorporated this new knowledge as deeply as I would have liked. Unfortunately, we were even farther from questioning the masculinist ideas of bigger = better, sex = penetration, etc
In narrating this conversation, I want to show how in daily conversations we create and naturalize perceived distance, and shortly, I will show, through a conversation with the same couple, exactly how this creates material inequality as well. Sexual racism is racism and has no place in our queer community.
Our friend wanted us to accompany him to the couple's house because he had a small gift for us there (what a sweety!) Unfortunately, we had to suffer the microagressions that seep through the skin of this couple. The apartment, as they reminded us twice, was constructed two years ago and had a large living room, two bedrooms, two baths, a dining room, a kitchen and a balcony, sealed off by a newly purchased ("didn't I see that on TV?" "Yes!") hi-tech magnetic door. The all white phure-bhreed husky showed us her tricks and was promptly sent to lie down in her bed. The decorations without soul: only three things hung from the wall--minimalist renditions of the airports of Boston, Chicago and Seattle (so cultured!), the gluten-free pumpkin brownies and thematic coasters unconvincingly screamed "Welcome, Fall!"
And then, they started to talk their trash, again.
Here is where we found out one of them works for Amazon(a force that has changed the landscape of this city and particularly that neighborhood--this story adding to the evidence) , and the other in some sort of office, where he hires and fires assistants as if their livelihood did not depend on having a job. Here's the nail-in-the-coffin conversation:
"Tomorrow my news assistant Tomas (in french accent) starts. I love me a little Frenchie"he says, teasing fidelity.
"Too bad you fired the filipino last week--I know you wouldn't have touched him, and he was so much cheaper. Only 11 dollars the hour" responded his boyfriend, not realzing he was part of a satire.
"But I just couldn't reisst! when Tomas came in, I had to let the other one go. This frenchie will cost me even more than a local, but it'll be worth it to see him bringing me my coffee."
This is a new face of Capitol Hill, the one being imported and created partially by Amazon. The one being sustained through daily microagressions. Although homosexuals belong to a marginalized class, racism is strong amongst them, and perhaps, even more convincing for that very reason. I am deeply disappointed by the conclusion, the same one I arrive to again and again: that even gays, iwth ambiguous class identities, who live in supposedly alternative neighborhoods, continuously reconstruct racism, sexism and classism. (both as an identity issue and the as class relations) The hopeful conclusion that logically follows is: positive changes have to be won by and for all of us, because if not, we end up rearranging poverty and differences in symbolic power, not eliminating it.
About the Banner
The archives had recently moved to a colder building, where the temperature could be attributed to the atrocities that occured on the famous Ex-ESMA (Naval School or Escuela de Mecánica de la Armada) premises only a few decades ago. The new location, in far-off Nuñez neighborhood, was chosen to house several organizations dedicated to recovering the memory of Argentina's last military dictator Videla and to organizing to struggle for increased democracy and accountability today.
I spent many days reading testimonies from the Juicios por la Verdad, trying to understand the extent and character of the relationship between the car industry, its spatial exigencies and the free-market dictatorship. In the room next to the archives the exhibited posters from the different organizations that have worked against the dictator and for "human rights," an admittedly problematic discourse, for its focus on individual rights and erasure of community trauma, trust and other collective and systematic concerns.
The images are meant to leave impressions: blood drops next to chairs in empty rooms, maps of Buenos Aires showing where the torturers from the regime currently live. I am inspired by these images, by their usefulness in performing escraches, and by their courage to resist.
The half of the image above that says "Juicio y castigo" (Trial and Punishment) is from the group H.I.J.O.S., whose goal is to recover identities of children who were stolen from murdered mothers during the dictatorship. I created the other half in its image, which shows a bankers suit in reference to the more recent crimes of the banking elite in the United States. In juxtaposing the two images and historical processes with the phrase "La Lucha es Una Sola" (The Struggle is One), I am connecting the U.S. and Europe-nacked massacres of the anti-left dictator, with the economic inequality and restructuring taking place after the current manufactured crisis. Although the experiences differ widely, they belong to the same system of violently-enforced economic exploitation.
La Lucha es Una Sola. La Revolucion sera femenista o no sera.
I spent many days reading testimonies from the Juicios por la Verdad, trying to understand the extent and character of the relationship between the car industry, its spatial exigencies and the free-market dictatorship. In the room next to the archives the exhibited posters from the different organizations that have worked against the dictator and for "human rights," an admittedly problematic discourse, for its focus on individual rights and erasure of community trauma, trust and other collective and systematic concerns.
The images are meant to leave impressions: blood drops next to chairs in empty rooms, maps of Buenos Aires showing where the torturers from the regime currently live. I am inspired by these images, by their usefulness in performing escraches, and by their courage to resist.
The half of the image above that says "Juicio y castigo" (Trial and Punishment) is from the group H.I.J.O.S., whose goal is to recover identities of children who were stolen from murdered mothers during the dictatorship. I created the other half in its image, which shows a bankers suit in reference to the more recent crimes of the banking elite in the United States. In juxtaposing the two images and historical processes with the phrase "La Lucha es Una Sola" (The Struggle is One), I am connecting the U.S. and Europe-nacked massacres of the anti-left dictator, with the economic inequality and restructuring taking place after the current manufactured crisis. Although the experiences differ widely, they belong to the same system of violently-enforced economic exploitation.
La Lucha es Una Sola. La Revolucion sera femenista o no sera.
Valparaiso Militarizado y Nuestra Respuesta
En post-dictadura Chile, las ciudades permanecen militarizadas. Los quiebres sociales provocadas por la dictadura siguen afectando todo aspecto de vida en Chile, 24 años después de la llegada de ¨democracia¨ El miedo de los neo nazis, el microfascismo dentro de muchos en Chile y la falta de actividad política, social y/o cultural son todos rastros lamentables que nos quedan. Entonces, no sorprende pensar que la ciudad y nuestra manera de pasar por ella también queda altamente militarizada. Valparaiso, ciudad de los popularicos, los artísticos, de los milicos y del mismo golpe, está aún más manchada con la sangre de los masacres de Pinochet y del ultracapitalismo de los cómplices empresarios. La ciudad es una zona de batalla, pero en esta lucha, nosotrxs también tenemos una voz cada vez más alta. Una voz que día tras día expone las mentiras, las contradicciones y la violencia de lo que nos dejó Pinochet. Esta colección de fotos y videos deja en evidencia que acá estamos, unidxs y luchando juntxs contra el heterocapitalismo, el mitarismo y todo tipo de injusticia.
haz click en la fecha para ver el ensayo entero.O van al album para ver las notas que acompañan las fotos
Created with flickr slideshow.
haz click en la fecha para ver el ensayo entero.O van al album para ver las notas que acompañan las fotos
Created with flickr slideshow.
El decepcionado
Estaba ahí. En la ciudad más bonita. En el país más feo. La ciudad de las gatas en el país de los perros. El pueblo más pobre de la tierra más adinerada. La bossa nova sonaba en mis auriculares cuando me senté en la micro 612 al lado de un viejo sereno. Sus pelos largos y grises fluían con los movimientos de la micro. Pasando por la Avenida Argentina, el sol pasaba a nuestro lado del vehículo y chocó con mis ojos. Los otros pasajeros se apuraron para cerrar las cortinas. Menos mi compañero de asiento.
¨Perdón ¿puedo cerrar las cortinas?¨ Le pedí al sacar mis auriculares.
¨¡Qúe pena! Yo estaba disfrutando de este paisaje maravilloso¨ Respondió con agudeza
Antiguamente hubo un río donde ahora está esta avenida, la más ancha de la ciudad, en la que estábamos en la 612 cuando el sol se puso dorado y a la vez escondido por las telas, por las manos de nuestros navegantes compañeros. Los vendedores empacaban los colores de las frutas verdura e hierbas en las canastas bastante grande para seis familias de gatitos.
¨Gracias por su actitud insolente¨
¨El otro día había una puesta de sol hermosa. el horizonte entero calentado con rojo y naranja. Y todos los weones mirando hacia el otros lado, ¿sabes por que?, por la inauguración de un mall cualquier.La gente ya no aprecia nada de naturaleza por tanta tecnología por tan moderno¨ Me dijo moviendo la cabeza en decepción sin dejar de ver hacia afuera. Doblando desde Avenida Argentina a España, la escena cambió rápidamente de cemento sobre río al mar, abierto hasta el fin.
Encontrando mucho razón en las palabras le agregué que ¨ni nos apreciammos a nosotros como parte de la naturaleza. Nos tratamos de máquinas trabajadoras, encapsulables, encimables y deshechables.¨
Poco después me bajé con renovadas ganas de caminar unas cuadras más. Con un ritmo nuevo en el amor para las personas y el cielo, bailaba a la bossa nova con más placer que antes.
Doblando a mi calle de destino, vi al viejo a unos pasos no más. ¡Que casualidad! pensé que lo podía saludar. Pero me di cuenta que con mis auriculares puestos me daba flojera. Entonces lo pasé y entró al edificio para hacer mis ejercicios.
¨Perdón ¿puedo cerrar las cortinas?¨ Le pedí al sacar mis auriculares.
¨¡Qúe pena! Yo estaba disfrutando de este paisaje maravilloso¨ Respondió con agudeza
Antiguamente hubo un río donde ahora está esta avenida, la más ancha de la ciudad, en la que estábamos en la 612 cuando el sol se puso dorado y a la vez escondido por las telas, por las manos de nuestros navegantes compañeros. Los vendedores empacaban los colores de las frutas verdura e hierbas en las canastas bastante grande para seis familias de gatitos.
¨Gracias por su actitud insolente¨
¨El otro día había una puesta de sol hermosa. el horizonte entero calentado con rojo y naranja. Y todos los weones mirando hacia el otros lado, ¿sabes por que?, por la inauguración de un mall cualquier.La gente ya no aprecia nada de naturaleza por tanta tecnología por tan moderno¨ Me dijo moviendo la cabeza en decepción sin dejar de ver hacia afuera. Doblando desde Avenida Argentina a España, la escena cambió rápidamente de cemento sobre río al mar, abierto hasta el fin.
Encontrando mucho razón en las palabras le agregué que ¨ni nos apreciammos a nosotros como parte de la naturaleza. Nos tratamos de máquinas trabajadoras, encapsulables, encimables y deshechables.¨
Poco después me bajé con renovadas ganas de caminar unas cuadras más. Con un ritmo nuevo en el amor para las personas y el cielo, bailaba a la bossa nova con más placer que antes.
Doblando a mi calle de destino, vi al viejo a unos pasos no más. ¡Que casualidad! pensé que lo podía saludar. Pero me di cuenta que con mis auriculares puestos me daba flojera. Entonces lo pasé y entró al edificio para hacer mis ejercicios.
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