Anyone Can Comment

Hola Amigos,

We just got word from a few folks that have let us know that you’ve tried to comment, but you’ve been unable because you don’t have a gmail account.

I changed the settings so that anyone, regardless of email account, can comment.

So, comment away!

Give us love.

Only Monied Feminists Allowed to Ponder 9/11

I did a brief search of what came up if you Google “feminism and 9/11” or “a feminist perspective of 9/11.” There are two surprises that should not be surprising:

1) There isn’t much
2) What is available – you gotta pay for it

Now, I’m no fool. I know that writers and thinkers need to make money somehow. I know scores of feminist writers who are scrimping by and need means to live so they can continue to offer their fem perspectives of cultural issues and global conflicts. However, why am I surprised that all the articles you must pay for are all academic? All scholars? All the ones you gotta pay for are housed in the academy.

No $ = No Reading of Feminist Perspectives of 9/11
Maybe I can’t be stimulated cuz I ain’t got the bucks to pay for some words.
I get pissed like that.

I’m a thinker. I’m an initiator, but I’m also a young feminist reactor. I need to read to be further stimulated for deeper reflection. There ain’t much out there about feminism and 9/11. What do I do on this anniversary?

I don’t have much. My skin is stll crawling from 9:03am, 9/1//01. I don’t pretend that I have a conspiracy theory or that I even have a feminist approach to what transpired in my country that tragic day. Over six years, I have gathered questions, documentaries, clips of loud politicians, and have stayed away from anyone who supported the war that 9/11 spurred.

i have a small bag of rocks, my divots, my kickings of 9/11 and what my country has done to the world since that fateful day:

I hate what the government has done post 9/11 and has inflicted a war upon a country that has no ties to 9/11. [Stop your Saddam arguments right now, please.]

I do not believe in justifying violence in the Middle East – or anywhere in the world – to liberate women. Liberation via fallacy? No. We are not liberating anyone, we are killing, starving, squeezing the throats of women and children in the poorest areas of the world. Even before 9/11, our nation has imposed sanctions on nations that have thwarted the livelihood of hospitals and social service agencies that provide basic necessities to the people who most need it – usually women with children.

I can’t stand Ann Coulter for calling the widows of 9/11 “broads” who were milking the system after their husbands were killed in the line of duty as police officers, EMTs, firefighters, and emergency responders.

I have trouble reconciling the fact that so many citizens believe that our billion dollar military makes our communities safer.

I question how so few us define patriotism for ourselves and leave it to bumper stickers and ribbon magnets.

I wonder when we will suffer further attacks.

My eyebrows furrow when people say that 9/11 proved that our country is not safe. WOC and POC communities are born into a reality where safety is never assigned or assumed.

I wish we all better understood the relationship of utilizing fear of the Al-Qeada as a tactic to bring a country to war.

My memories my friends who could not be faithful to their partners who were serving in Afghanistan and Iraq still makes me nauseous because of all the intimate pain of both people.

Blame is easy these days. I don’t blame just one president or one party or one attack or one generation. Violence is rarely a spontaneous act, it is often pre-meditatied, lurking in the minds of the powerful, waiting for the right opportunity to attack.

My Pet Goat became just as symblic as the towers, PA site, and the Pentagon that day.

I still wonder how I was expected to function that day at work.

Osama Bin Laden. Who is this man?

How have so many people forgotten to be one, not as a country, but as a world?

Muslims, religion, radicalism, violence, misunderstanding, violence, misconception, fear, hate, war. Violence, violence.

If I could create a headline tomorrow that signifies what I have seen of my country and many of its citizens since 9/11, it would be: A US-Adopted Mentality: “Out of Sight, Out of Mind”

Remember this: Not Hillary, Michael Moore, Obama, Everybody’s Mayor, nor Edwards can fix this.

The most sacred of things are also the most easily tarnished – unity, remembrance, silence, and Truth.

“They” are “us.”

Stop making movies about 9/11 that do not entirely benefit those who suffer/ed the most.

Why don’t we have flag at half mast during wartimes?

Six years is a scattering of dirt on one of thousands of coffins.

It Came and Went

Summer seemed to come and go with such force and speed this year. I am ready. I am ready to let go of the heat, the shorts, the slick skin and over-mayonnaised macaroni salad. I took this picture a few months ago and I remember that June night, the air smelled so fresh. I wondered if the sun could soak up its envy of the ocean; a water pathway leading to a rising full moon.

Goodbye to Summer

It’s only official in our books: Summer is Over.

Wedding season is over, thus our travels calm down a bit. And as Nick said today, “Classes have started, today I had to wear a sweatshirt, and football is on. There. It’s Fall.”

Agreed.

I stayed put last weekend while Nick partied it up in Akron for Allio and Christina’s wedding. Pelvic thrust dance moves by Goatee was probably the highlight of Nick’s storytelling when he came home.

This past weekend, it was my turn to head home to Massillon to see a childhood friend marry in our hometown church. A gradeschool and highschool reunion unfolded. That was interesting. “Hi, I haven’t seen you since 1994, how’s your life been going since then?”

As nice as it was to get away, it does feel good to be back with schedules just beginning to solidify into routines. We’ve been quite the movie goers lately. On Copley Square last week, there were free outdoor film showings and we parked our blankets and watched Raising Arizona and Napolean Dynamite on two separate nights. We even managed to go see Halloween that just opened in the theaters, as well. Even though I was curled in a fetal position and covering my eyes for over half of it, we both gave it two very big thumbs up.

And so summer is drawing to a close and, honestly, that is just fine with us. This picture was taken in the daawwwggg days of summer. We were biking around Santa Monica beach in Los Angeles and we took a break. Santa Monica pier has a ferris wheel and all kinds of crazy stuff right on its pier. As Nick read his latest 78lb. novel and I picked up my camera, we lazed around for a few hours.

Adios a el verano.

Jena Now? Jena Now.

I mean,

seriously, I need to

to calm myself down,

after reading truths like that.

I am reminded that

half the disappointment I feel in life is because I believe and expect others will act truthfully.

Not so. Not even close.

Big Media may not understand, but you should if you are reading this:

journalism has changed so that the Survivors, the ones usually silenced, are now picking up the pen and writing it down.
Raising it high.

And putting it out into the world to see. As BA says.

But,

credit is never given where credit is due.

Brown Beauty

If you’ve never visited the Happy Slip, there’s no way you could understand Filipina humor. Christine, a filipina vlogger, creates the best videos about her family, fiction drama, and whatever she feels like doing.

She’s fab and I love her to death.

This particular video, Brown Beauty, should resonate particularly with Filipinas worldwide, “It will make you so Brown, all will turn around.”

Mabuhay ang HappySlip!

The Quasi-Sensationalizing of the Bra: Discussing the Great Divide in Feminist Discourse

One thing that I cannot stand is an overflow of seriousness. Somber nods and monolithic talking sticks. Good lawd, get me out.

I realize that one cannot be guffawing and slapping their thighs when considering profound ideas; vision times take to understand, learning requires focus and diligence. I get it. We do need the somber nods, we need podiums (I think) but I also need to shake it.

I need a wittlebit ‘odisananddat.

Third wave feminist literature has begun to recognize this in the form of anthologies, zines, online columns, and memoirs. There’s a great variety of resources out there. Feminism, using 3rd wave literature as an example, has begun to resemble who we are as humans: complex, fragmented, stubborn, insightful, and impatient. If we ourselves are that, then our feminism will reflect that. But, I’ve also noted something else that is occurring; something that I have entitled:

The Quasi-Sensationalizing of the Bra
Discussing the Great Divide in Feminist Discourse

Let’s talk about pop culture, bras, sex, media, health and the newest awareness bracelet hue – SCORE. You’ve got a big audience. We can bitch about whatever we want, talk lust, and spit on our lawns. Yeah. We step up to take a Survey Monkey questionnaire and then step back down. It’s femini-step aerobics. We’re not really accountable to do much and it’s uber fun to talk about hot women. This is feminism, but it’s FemLite.

But, take those topics and apply it specifically to womyn of color, transnational feminism, third world womyn, transgender and queer feminism, and you will hear the squeak of the FEMINIST SURRENDER flag pulley its way up the liberation pole. These issues are too often regarded as FemPlex (feministically-complex).

It’s usually met with

Taste Overload.

Can’t process that.

Way too serious and deep and sad and terrifying and global and systematic for me.

Give me a break.

We gotta find the ‘tween of the nailpolish approach and the weekend cabin retreat mode. Know what I’m sayin’? Too many young fems are learning that it’s ok to be sexually responsible, but those other womyn? Over ‘there’ in developing nations? Well, they are are just S.O.L. when it comes to contraception. And that’s too much, too serious to think about anyway.

Is it too serious?

These problems do, indeed, have serious ramifications, but for those that exist in femtopias, remember that our sovereignties are only as strong as the dialogues we create. The larger the divot, the more avoidable the issue becomes. Systematic oppression, the non-existant safe places for WOC, debates on sex worker rights, racism, welfare, government, and the like are labeled The Serious, “heady,” “complicated,” “depressing” and young fems learn to skitter away like marbles on a cracked linoleum floor. For that which we do not confront, we fail one young womyn in this world. Read: I’m not knocking scholars [entirely] or am hallucinating that a stag comic show will bring a revolution. Neither am I downplaying the work activists do with FemLite, but there is an undeniable trend of lobbing off The Serious and then stuffing them into the towers, which is, seriously, the LAST place where it should be. Leaving the heavy, critical work for scholars not only lazy, but it enables the curbing of actualization and accountability of everyday citizens.

This erred placement of discourse could be labeled as the worst mishandled file ever. The academy is great, but it’s not the tent of the circus. Scholars are often the flying trapeze performers – the lofty ones up in the air who generate lots of ooohhhss and aahhhs. Awesome, but this also generates a sense of separatism and further disconnect. Most people cannot and do not want to be the trapeze fliers. Formal degrees are just one avenue and it’s not always the best option or AN option for most womyn, especially WOC. The tent – what holds up through the storms and houses all the activity inside – of the feminist circus is the grassroots activists, the common womyn, the passionate curiosity that dwells in each of us who just love the circus and want to join.

The wonderful thing about FemPlex is that it doesn’t have to be limited to academic spheres, privileged people who get their own conferences, or barefoot liberals with a comma and letters after their name.

::claps::

Let’s play another game! (No,it’s not Let’s Justify the Racism, although that is one of my faves.) It’s the Feminist Idol contest.

Who’s your favorite femme?

Maria Eddy! Maria Eddy!

Maria Eddy?

YES! She’s the ohsofab theorist who is working on her next book using leaves and tree sap to collate the pages.

Really?

Yeah! And, she’s taking speaking this evening at the Cherry Blossom cafe.

Eddy, mhm. Is that her last name?

No, it’s Maria, Ed.D.

I once had a mentor who said the greatest theologians are the ones who analyze the presence of God in their own lives. The most transformative feminist philosophizing, art, and expression can and must be done from the simplicity of our lives. No tricks, twirling bats, or elephants needed. Ever think about supporting a woman photographer for a big event? Ever want to support local women artists? Have you tried to Google and find the author who wrote that non-best seller that moved your heart and send them a thank you? Radical listening, ever try it?Have you walked across the street to talk to a neighbor?

Today, it is entirely radical to build community. To be able to tear another person away from a screen, off their couch, for a walk, or spend time discussing ideas, background, and the evolution of friendship is not costly, only infrequent. Radical feminism is not solely about the agenda on the Hill, lobbying, research, and writing articles for progressive magazines. The root of our lives is in our families, in our communities, our front windows, where the germs of oppression, racism, sexism, and homophobia exist and breed. We need people that can translate the big wig theories and texts into a practical, joyful, human connection. We need seriousness, but we also need hope and we are in a drought of accountability.

To be a feminist, you must be brave. More brave than you would ever want to be or imagine.

What would happen if we could step beyond our crippling “seriousness?” What if we could, instead, understand the severity and the devastating oppressive nations we live in and then work to resolve with a dedication that stands on the crutches of passion, flexibility, creativity, mentoring, and heaven forbid – humor?

Point is, join the circus, not the towers.