(Sophie Calle The Address Book, 2009)
(Sophie Calle The Address Book, 2009)
Kelly Taylor: I am not a bimbo.
Brenda Walsh: Whatever you say, Kel. I was always taught that if it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck…
Kelly Taylor: Go to Hell!
Just tried explaining/requesting taco shells from my local grocer. I wouldn’t call it a success but I think it went better than the time I tried to explain unpopped popcorn that is not in a microwave bag.
As someone who hates change, I respect his lack of interest in newfangled foods from other cultures. He did recently start carrying fresh bread, which I think he considers inefficient and baffling. “The guy comes in the morning and brings the bread,” he told me, shaking his head. “After people buy it, there is no more. Then the man comes again the next day with more bread.””
Transcript via Racialicious:
Loretta Ross: Y’all know where the term “women of color” came from? Who can say that? See, we’re bad at transmitting history.
In 1977, a group of Black women from Washington, DC, went to the National Women’s Conference, that [former President] Jimmy Carter gave $5million to have as part of the World Decade for Women. There was a conference in Houston, TX.
This group of Black women carried into that conference something called “The Black Women’s Agenda” because the organizers of the conference—Bella Abzug, Ellie Smeal, and what have you—had put together a three-page “Minority Women’s Plank” in a 200-page document that these Black women thought was somewhat inadequate.
(Giggles in background)
So they actually formed a group called Black Women’s Agenda to come [sic] to Houston with a Black women’s plan of action that they wanted the delegates to vote to substitute for the “Minority Women’s Plank that was in the proposed plan of action.
Well, a funny thing happened in Houston: when they took the Black Women’s Agenda to Houston, then all the rest of the “minority” women of color wanted to be included in the “Black Women’s Agenda.” Okay?
Well, [the Black women] agreed…but you could no longer call it the “Black Women’s Agenda.” And it was in those negotiations in Houston [that] the term “women of color” was created. Okay?
And they didn’t see it as a biological designation—you’re born Asian, you’re born Black, you’re born African American, whatever—but it is a solidarity definition, a commitment to work in collaboration with other oppressed women of color who have been “minoritized.”
Now, what’s happened in the 30 years since then is that people see it as biology now.
(Murmurs of understanding, agreement)
You know? Like, “Okay…” And peopleare saying they don’t want to be defined as a woman of color: “I am Black, “I am Asian American”…and that’s fine. But why are you reducing a political designation to a biological destiny?
(Murmurs of agreement)
That’s what white supremacy wants you to do. And I think it’s a setback when we disintegrate as people of color around primitive ethnic claiming. Yes, we are Asian American, Native American, whatever, but the point is, when you choose to work with other people who are minoritized by oppression, you’ve lifted yourself out of that basic identity into another political being and another political space. And, unfortunately, so many times, people of color hear the term “people of color” from other white people that [PoCs} think white people created it instead of understanding that we self-named ourselves. This is term that has a lot of power for us.
But we’ve done a poor-ass job of communicating that history so that people understand that power.
A real gift from . I’m not sure if I agree with her prescription for using it (and it’s really not my place to speak on that at all) but more and more I think about how part of the work we have to do is to uncover the strategically hidden past.
Read Loretta Ross’s amazing life story here.
(And linking to Sister Song, a fantastic reproductive justice collective.)
I can reach the sky now.
Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. Depression is humiliating. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life. It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. Depression is humiliating. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.” —lipsbetweenthehips
I’d say this goes for any chronic or life-changing illness, although the lack of compassion and understanding that surrounds depression is particularly ugly. I’m so unbelievably grateful for the friends who’ve stuck around over the past few years while I struggled through all of my health problems—the illness, the enforced bed rest, the long and boring ups and downs and shifting diagnoses, the side effects of all the medications, the financial devastation—and the depression that came with them. I’m done being sad about the ones who were freaked out that I gained weight, pissy that I haven’t had the energy to organize social outings or even show up at them very often, and in particular the ones who decided I was suddenly a convenient source for drugs. I’m so much better, but I know I will never be the same.
Do The Hustle… 1970s dance instruction.
Halloween decs are up at GPT!!