Rest in Peace: Corazon 'Cory' Cojuangco Aquino

Although she was probably never as progressive as her husband, the late Senator Benigno 'Ninoy' Aquino, and disappointed many people with the lack of major reforms during her Presidency, I will always remember Cory Aquino as the first woman President of the Philippines. She was in many ways the epitome of the Filipina ideal (never too forward, unendingly loyal to her dead husband, morally upright and religious, supremely family-oriented). While I don't fit that ideal myself, and don't like its patriarchal constraints, there was something elegant and beautiful about how Cory carried herself in the world, and how she commanded respect and deference from her people as well as world leaders. I would be lying if I didn't say that the fact that Cory became President of my parents' home country didn't inspire me on some level to want to be the first woman President of the United States someday (a hope I've pretty much abandoned, of course, but my mother hasn't forgotten about it!).

She was a truly feminine leader, and paved the way for the next female Philippines President, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (or GMA as she is more commonly called), who in many ways is sort of a shadow-Cory: more outwardly brutal in her suppression of 'subversive' elements and violently abusing her own people's human rights, more ruthless in her dealings with the many powerful men in her political sphere, and nowhere near as popular as Cory even during her lowest times.

I remember when I was in junior high and Ninoy Aquino was shot, and later when the People Power revolution on EDSA took the Philippines (and the world media stage) by storm. At the time, being as young and naive as I was, I was a little bit confused but also very proud of my countrymen (even though I had never been to the Philippines). The drama in the Philippines also played out in a different way in my family, as some of our (and wealthier) relatives were on the 'wrong' side of People Power and later needed to flee like the Marcoses did from the righteous wrath of the masses. I, even at my young age, knew that they were on the wrong side and was happy to see Cory and the yellow-clad people on EDSA drive the corrupt politicians and military henchmen out of the Philippines.

Of course, history would show that this glorious time of saying 'No' to corruption wouldn't last long, but Cory and many, many other of the brave leaders and ordinary people who stood up against a brutal dictatorship could celebrate their victory for a little while. And the Philippines got to bask in the glow of the People Power revolution on the international stage, proving that if we pulled together, we could overcome one of the most entrenched and violent US-supported dictatorships in the world.

Rest in Peace, Cory.

Another Goodbye: RIP E. Lynn Harris

I will admit that I've never cracked open an E. Lynn Harris book--mostly because I didn't feel like I was the 'intended' audience-- but even I knew that this man's contribution to the world(s) of African-American, LGBTQ and people of color fiction is outstanding. He was talking about the 'down low' way before Oprah did, and broke many barriers in literature and in book publishing that should put his name down in the history books.

Rest in peace, fellow writer, dreamer and artist, E. Lynn Harris. Here are a couple links with more information about this remarkable author.

Update: Thanks to my Goodreads friend Wilhelmina for pointing me to this tribute to Mr. Harris.

Saying Goodbye

Although the media circus surrounding Michael Jackson's death (the same that hounded him in life) will no doubt continue for weeks if not months after tomorrow's public memorial service at the Staples Center, I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge what Michael gave to me. He was probably the first young person of color I saw on TV dancing and singing like no one else could, at a time when I loved to dance (and sing a little) too. Michael gave his all in every performance, singing and dancing 'full out' and with such precision, grace, innovation and unique style that there is no way anyone could truly imitate him, although many have tried and will continue to try. MJ influenced my own dance style, partially because he was just the SHIT when I was a kid and a teenager, and we all wanted to move like him, and partially because I tend to move percussively, like MJ does. I've realized in the past week since he's passed that many of my own moves on the dancefloor come from him. (And yes, I can do a decent Moonwalk). Michael also had a huge role in popularizing popping and locking, the 'Robot' and breakdancing through his own dancing as well as the dancers he featured in his videos.

And this is all in addition to the great joy I've experienced over the years dancing to his songs, the music, his voice. It's almost unbelievable how much Michael has given the world, and me personally, as a performer. I've been obsessing a bit about him (my Facebook friends are no doubt rolling their eyes now) the last week or so, but I'm moving towards a place of resolution and peace now, and am now able to say 'Goodbye' to him, and to be at peace with the little girl in me that once dreamed of being a superstar like Michael one day.

So from one dancer to another, from someone who is forever grateful for the love of dance and music that I've been blessed with, Thank you, Michael. Thank you for everything.

Rest in Peace: MICHAEL JACKSON

This is a piece I wrote right after Michael Jackson died, and which I read at the VONA student reading last night. Thanks to my friend Tammy Johnson at the Applied Research Center, whose video response to Michael's death inspired me to refine my piece.

Rest in peace, Michael, we will always love you.

In case you don't know the song I've excerpted below, you can click here to hear it and watch the video.

Yes, I’m Wearing Black Today Because Michael Jackson Died

(sung)
“You are not alone
I am here with you
Though we're far apart
You're forever in my heart”

Thank you, Michael, for giving us your voice—clear, piercing angelic and soulful,
the kind of voice only an 11-year-old child could have, but that only you did. And thank you for your dance—the grace and innovation that everyone from James Brown to Fred Astaire had to give props to. Thank you for giving so freely and so early on of your divine gift, a gift that would prompt us to take more from you than you should ever have been asked to give.

I’m sorry, Michael, sorry that you were pushed so hard by a father who saw in you his chance for immortality, and by all the other adults around you who saw their fame and fortune in your golden voice, your silver moves. I’m sorry that none of them stopped to wonder if you were being used and exploited.

And, Michael, I’m sorry that our greed to witness this divine gift of yours over and over wasn’t enough to make you realize how precious and unique you were, just the way you were. I’m sorry that we took you for granted. We are greedy creatures, we human beings, and when we see beauty and talent as deep and singular as yours, we want to breathe it in, eat it, live it, and then when it’s not there even for a moment all we want is more. I’m sorry that our ceaseless wanting caused you pain.

And it hurt us too, to watch someone we loved so much hate himself, to watch you despise your own face, and take out on yourself and the children who trusted you whatever anger and grief our adoration couldn’t stop you from feeling, all because someone, somewhere made you feel like you weren’t good enough, pretty enough, and yes, White enough. We watched in dumbstruck terror your transformation from a beautiful young black man into a strange pale ghost that we could barely recognize.

Until, that is, you opened your mouth. Until you moved your body and showed that despite all the self-hating surgical procedures and medications you’d heaped upon your body, your soul was still intact, a soul with a god-given talent that infected the world with a divine fever, with a feeling so good and real that we could not even name it.

This morning, I finally cried for you—the Michael Jackson that was and the other Michael, the young, innocent black boy that lived beneath the mask.

Michael, if I could wave my magic wand and make this whole week vanish, and make Bubbles the Chimpanzee and NeverLand Ranch disappear, and take you back before the days of Bad and Thriller and even before Off the Wall, even back before the Jackson 5 and Motown, if I could go back and ask God to give you a loving, unselfish father and a mother who could nurture you the way you needed, if I could give you a regular life and be assured that you would grow up a normal, happy Black child—as happy as a black boy can be in a world as insane as ours—would I give up all the joy you’ve given me? Would I give up all the memories, the dance moves, the music, the piercing woo’s, the magic that you weaved when you stepped onto a stage or up to a mic? Would I give it all up if I knew that there would be just one more blackboy in the world who would grow up healthy, strong, happy and loved just for who he was?

(sung)
“You are not alone”

And the answer is yes, yes.

And Yes, I am wearing black today because Michael Jackson died.