Another Blogger Against Racism

So I found out, thanks to this post on the Angry Black Woman blog, about the fourth annual International Blog Against Racism Week (or IBARW, because really any title that has more than two words needs to have an acronym!). And since I see myself as constantly working against racism, internalized, individual as well as external/institutional, I have to post something this week to commemorate this worthy effort.

Since I've been fortunate to work in nonprofits that consider themselves racial justice organizations--although I struggle to discretely define what that term means exactly--I will use my airtime to point you towards a few of my favorite racial justice groups:

The Applied Research Center, which was founded by racial justice extraordinaire Gary Delgado, and is now led by the equally amazing Rinku Sen. ARC is a think tank, communications hub, resource for educational materials on race, and also the publisher of Colorlines magazine, as well as the excellent blog, Racewire.

ARC was instrumental in launching the organization that I spent my formative political years with, Californians for Justice, another brilliant racial justice group that has been organizing in communities of color for the past fourteen years on issues such as affirmative action, bilingual education, lack of resources in California public schools, and youth empowerment.

On the literary side of things, the Carl Brandon Society promotes and supports speculative fiction/science fiction (SF) writers of color. Recently, they put out a thoughtful and practical (aka 'Hey White people, here is how you engage in reasonable discourse on race without totally offending and turning off People of Color') open letter, prompted by the recent online racial brouhaha between/surrounding K. Tempest Bradford and Harlan Ellison.

Also, my favorite writerly organization, the Voices of Our Nations Arts Foundation, or VONA as its better known, which offers an annual two-week workshop series for writers of color at the University of San Francisco campus. I was there this past year and got to study with one of my favorite writers of all time, Pulitzer-prize winning author, down-to-earth and super-hilarious Jersey homeboy Junot Diaz.

So now it's your turn to get with the program and do your part---write a blog post against racism, launch a new blog, whatever, just do it!

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.

Well Said, White Lady!

Since I mostly gave up arguing about race with White people who refuse to listen long, LONG ago, I will post excellent response written by a blogger who is a White woman about the Henry Louis Gates racial profiling incident in Cambridge. Perfectly summarizes what I would have said anyway--except that I would've wanted to add something about how awesome it was that President Obama called out the racism of this incident during a prime-time televised press conference! Combine this with Rachel Maddow's recent excellent smack-down of Pat Buchanan's inane racial politics and I'd say it's been a good week on the anti-racist media front.

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.

Would'ya READ something already?

I'm amused but starting to get a little irritated by all the anti-Reverend Lowery stuff out there right now, from white people mostly but also from some people of color that don't 'get' what the good Reverend was saying. As I don't have time to break this all down for folks with my perspective (which is just one perspective), and since there are plenty of other more articulate and learned people who have broken it down already, I offer the following links:

• A post from African-American blogger Tonya Jameson at the Charlotte Observer.com.

• A more in-depth collection of links to articles about Reverend Lowery's background, life and political/racial analysis, which informed his benediction speech, from a white blogger in Rhode Island.

• A really interesting break-down of different ways to interpret the 'Black will not be asked to get back', etc. part of the Reverend's benediction.

• And a brief post from blogger Doug LeMoine that has a subtly humorous closing line that I loved about white people.

So if you know people that are confused, offended, curious or angry about Reverend Lowery's speech, please direct them to the links above. It's a new day, folks, and race is not going to become a thing of the past--we're just now actually going to be able to deal with it in a more honesty way, I hope. But that means that some folks who have not had to think about race much in the past because of white privilege or class privilege or whatever, are going to have to get educated. They're going to have to read some stuff and struggle with some tough issues and some challenging emotions and learn how to grow through it all.

Ending, Beginning, Celebrating

What an amazing day! Yesterday (1/20/2009) felt more like New Year's Day to me than January 1st did--full of celebration, community, reflection, healing, music and good food. It was truly the end of an era--and lest we forget, in our giddy rush into the bright future that President Obama (God, it feels so good to say/type those words!) has asked us to build together, the suffering and misery that was created by the Bush administration, here are a couple things to remind us. I was with H. and our friend B. at the Oakland Coliseum to watch the historic inauguration of our 44th President, Barack Hussein Obama, with thousands of other Oaklanders. Black, White, Asian, Latino and other folks joined together in a mass gathering of joy, release, celebration and patriotism that I have never experienced before. Here are some pics of the event:

































I also thought it showed how much class Obama had when he tried to give Chief Justice John Roberts the chance to correct himself when he screwed up the Oath of Office. Class act, this guy, all the way. Even if you disagree with his politics or don't like his proposals, you have to admit he has class and tact.

It was really cool that Reverend Lowery opened his benediction with the lyrics from 'Lift Every Voice and Sing', the Black National Anthem, and H. and I LOVED the Reverend Lowery's benediction (and I have to say, Yes on 8, anti-gay marriage activist Reverend Rick Warren's invocation was also rousing, but less inspiring for me). I thought it was interesting that the very black/brown but still multi-racial crowd at the Coliseum laughed and 'got' the joke, and it seemed clear that many Black folks in the stands understood that the good Reverend was flippin' the script on the old US race/caste system by changing up the words to this old anti-Jim Crow song, 'Get Back (Black, Brown and White)', while later on YouTube I saw people (I'm assuming White, call Rev. Lowery a 'racist' for saying things like 'that the White man can embrace what's right man'. And that our President was sittin' up there laughing and chuckling at the Reverend's words. This was an indication of things to come, and white folks are going to need to start gettin' educated about race, both the entrenched legacy of racism and the current-day racism that all people of color face on some level, if they want to 'get' what's going on in this country.

After the inauguration, I had the kind of chill Oakland day (thanks to having the day off from work) that I love. Finally got to go to the new Cathedral of Christ the Light next to beautiful Lake Merritt. I have to say it was much more impressive than I thought it would be.







Then, finally, after meditation class at the East Bay Meditation Center and a nice dinner (great salad but the main course of braised chicken was pretty tasteless) at the Franklin Square Wine Bar, H. and I first headed to the Bench and Bar, a gay bar that used to be predominantly Black and seemed to be pretty mixed last night. We ended up talking to a really drunk gay white dude who couldn't believe that we were married.

Then finally, we went down to Jack London Square to witness a block party outside Everett and Jones barbeque joint, where a pretty mellow, mostly Black crowd bopped and swayed to live R&B to celebrate the inauguration of the first African-American President of the United States. We ran into old Lefties Miriam Ching-Louie and Belvin Louie, which is always a nice surprise. But mostly it just felt good to know that hope was not some distant horizon any longer, that a new day was dawning and that we had been a part of making history.

New Links and more on Oscar Grant protests

Added a few new links to the blogroll:

Seeking Avalon, where a recent, spirited debate on the representation of people of color characters by white writers of fantasy and sci-fi caught my eye.

K. Tempest Bradord's blog (can I have a middle name like 'Tempest', please?), whom I found via Claire Light's See Light blog--both these are women of color Speculative Fiction writers whom I hope to get to know better in the coming year.

And, no I haven't forgotten about the Oscar Grant tragedy and aftermath in Oakland. How could I with media and police helicopters swarming my office and home neighborhoods for nearly three days straight. But instead of writing more about it here, I'll point you to another new link in my blogroll: Richard Wright aka DJ Fflood's blog, as well as a couple interesting posts on Racialicious here and here.

Was it a 'Riot'?

Thank God the mainstream media finally published something sensible about the Oscar Grant protest turned 'riot' last week. Dori Maynard, incidentally, is the widow of former Oakland Tribune publisher/editor Bob Maynard, whom I believe was the paper's first African-American publisher back in the 1970s.

And this comes the morning that another protest is planned at City Hall tonite. Also, the officer who shot Oscar Grant (because we all saw the video, right?), has finally been
arrested on murder charges after quitting the BART police force and skipping town to Nevada.

I only hope that, in this case, justice may be done for Oscar Grant. And that the community may be able to count a small victory, and an important one, at the end of the day.

Longing for a Long Time Ago

H. and I unwittingly took a quick, sentimental stroll down nostalgia lane yesterday--first visiting the old-school Yellow Submarine Sandwich shop in the Sunset on Irving, then driving through the Excelsior and Portola Valley neighborhoods--a time warp if there ever was one, where the 'old San Francisco of the 1970s and '80s is still apparent in the old-school storefronts, decidedly UN-gentro potholed streets, and working class residents--then finally, watching 'Milk', the Gus Van Sant-directed film about the late, great San Francisco gay supervisor of the same name.

H. and I both grew up in the Bay Area--a somewhat rare status in our particular circle of friends, and seemingly an increasingly rare status for people living in the Bay Area overall. Call it gentrification, call it 'progress', call it the result of larger social and economic forces pushing people in and out of certain cities, the Bay Area and San Francisco especially is definitely not what it was when we were growing up here in the 1970s. Some elements of it have not changed, that's for sure--it's still a progressive bubble, sheltered in many ways from the cruel cold conservative world outside the way our many microclimates seem to exist in isolation from each other. But many things have changed, and seeing so many reminders of the San Francisco of our childhood yesterday made me long for a simpler, less hectic and, yes, more beautiful City by the Bay. When....

...the I-Hotel and Manilatown were still around, Manongs played pool on Kearny Street and Mabuhay Gardens hosted punk shows a few blocks away on Broadway.

...public schools were still decent, and kids of all colors and income backgrounds learned together in schools that looked like the neighborhoods they were in.

...sandwiches cost $1.50 and you could get a good meal for less than $3 (as evidenced by the old, hand-painted price sign at Yellow Submarine).

...the Fillmore hadn't been 'redeveloped' yet, and Black people could still call it their neighborhood, instead of being subjected to newbie rich white folks moving in and calling it the 'new Fillmore' or 'lower Pacific Heights'.

...places like Art's Soul Food, a Southern food joint run by Filipinos near the Castro, were still around and thriving.

...you could walk around town or take the bus as a little kid and not be afraid, or be tailed by a security guard who thinks you're going to steal something.

...blue collar, working class folks of color could actually afford to rent OR own in the City, and didn't have to leave the neighborhoods they or their kids had grown up in to make room for arrogant, know-nothing white kids from the suburbs who just want to party.

...Candlestick didn't have an odious corporate name (which I refuse to even acknowledge here, it'll always be Candlestick for true Bay Area folks).

Yes, I know I'm romanticizing the era, and I never experienced some of the things I listed above (I was way too young to go to the Mabuhay Gardens, for example), and maybe this nostalgia stems from the bittersweet feeling the winter holidays always gives me, but I can't help but long for a time when the City looked more like the people who actually made it great, instead of a playground for people who have a selective memory about its history, and a money-machine for those whose main goal is life is the accumulation of wealth. San Francisco, as the Harvey Milk film reminded me, was made great by the grittiness, soul, hard work and loving sacrifice of an at times painfully diverse resident population, the awesome mix of which contributed to the City's once-thriving and amazing arts and political scenes. Of course, the City is still a cool place in many ways, but a much more homogenized and segregated place and fearful place.

I wonder if we couldn't all do well to look back into the past of our respective cities and learn a few lessons from it. Or at the very least, fondly remember a time when some things were just a little sweeter.