(Photo by ©Liza Cowan.)
Once again, it becomes necessary to do some ABC training on the actual definitions of oppression and "isms". I do this not to answer all the white Right currently throwing around charges of racism -- because we know they are, in fact, racists by belief and deed. Nor do I seek to educate those who would listen to such opinions, because if you look for insight about race from the likes of Glenn Beck and Ann Coulter, you are looking for confirmation of a bias you already hold. It is akin to asking Hugh Hefner for insight about respectful relationships with women.
I'm going back over this ground to correct profound misunderstanding within progressive communities about how to effectively work against oppression, especially in a collaborative, non-guilty manner.
I use the theoretical framework taught to me by anti-racism activist Ricky Sherover-Marcuse. One of her fundamental definitions is: "Oppression is the systematic and pervasive mistreatment of individuals on the basis of their membership in various groups, which are disadvantaged by the institutionalized imbalances in social power in a particular society."
Point one: Note the key words systematic and institutionalized. It is not an oppression if those factors are absent.
Point two: All "isms" are referring to oppression, not preferences or discrimination in the sense of differentiating between two things. "Ism" means a power imbalance, i.e., it has a systematic and institutionalized mistreatment aspect.
Thus, any of the well-understood oppressions or "isms" have one group advantaged with regard to power and all other groups in that category disadvantaged. Power does not flow in both directions when it comes to oppression. There is no such thing as a "revere"-ism. When people of color talk about white people, no matter what they say, they are not capable of being racist because there is no systematic and institutionalized mistreatment of white people in this society. There is no threat to back up their language or beliefs. The power goes in the opposite direction.
This is simply not that hard to understand. When we are growing up, we learn very early which groups are "real people", i.e., advantaged by the power structure and which groups are not. We KNOW who these groups are: Males, whites, middle to upper class, adults (but not elders), Christians, able-bodied, and heterosexual. Or convincingly appearing to belong to those groups, since our culture values appearance far above actual content of character.
As children, when we are being taught these systems of oppression, we are powerless to completely hold onto our own clarity and sense of justice. We resist to the point where our own survival is at stake before we capitulate and accept lies into our world view. This is true of every human being who has ever lived. As we take in the lies, many different kinds of confusion can and do occur. Once we become adults, we have an opportunity (and responsibility) to clear our confusion, as best we can. It will take the rest of our lives, the burden of growing up under oppression.
The lies we ingest are just as likely to be about the groups to which we belong as they are about the "other". When we absorb as truth forced misinformation about our own identity, this is called internalized oppression. But if we act on those beliefs, we are playing into the system, not "becoming the oppressor to our own people". The "oppressor" is the system. Yes, it is human beings who maintain the system, but it will also be human beings from every group who will ultimately dismantle it. We are all allies in this task.
Another common form of confusion is personalizing our mistreatment to the individual doling it out. For example, many boys grow up with abusive mother figures who use any tool available to act out their adultism. Such a boy, when grown, may insist that "women" are equally oppressive to men in the realm of sexism. But humiliating a boy because of his gender is, at baseline, adultism using gender as a tool. It is critically important that each of us sort out our growing-up experiences into actual systems of oppression rather than relying on anecdotal experience, however devastating that experience may be. Empowerment comes from taking on a system, not from simply naming past hurt and remaining mired in confusion. This is particularly necessary if, as adults, we acquire membership in groups which are privileged by the institutions of oppression.
This practice requires maturity, of course. It requires a mindset that can embrace something other than polarities and binaries (including so-called subverted or queered binaries, which are still binaries if you believe they have a basis in reality). It requires accountability and reciprocity, not rhetoric or intentions. It requires street smarts in equal measure to academic theory. It requires a comfort with or preference for pluralism and diversity. It is, thus, a practice found among liberals, if it is found at all.
Dismantling an interrelated system of institutionalized oppressions will require we never engage in trying to compare oppressions -- for instance, is it harder to be a black man or a white woman. (Sound familiar?) There is no way to quantify oppressions against each other, and anybody who engages in this activity is, to put it charitably, giving us a roadmap to how they have been hurt and confused.
Dismantling an interrelated system of institutionalized oppressions will require we not confuse "biological/cultural/ethnic/sexual/religious/age differences between human beings" as a reason or excuse for oppression.
Dismantling an interrelated system of institutionalized oppressions will require we identify all those arenas where we as individuals are non-target for oppression and then act as allies to those who are target in every way we can imagine, not from charity but because it is our liberation we seek.
Begin by interrupting any charge of racism or sexism being leveled against those targeted for these oppressions by those who are non-target. It is bogus and designed to perpetuate confusion. Once we actually HAVE a level playing field, we can at that point discuss whether power is flowing backwards. But that day is not going to arrive in the spring and summer of 2009.
[Cross-posted at Group News Blog.]
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
FOLLOW THE POWER, STUPID
HAPPY 60TH BIRTHDAY, LIZA!
(Liza Cowan self portrait, January 2007)
Today the amazing Liza Cowan turns 60! One of the finest women I've ever known, and an extraordinary friend, she has played a huge role in me being as independent and fulfilled as I am.
I mark her birth every year with a post, and I'll refer you back to last year's commemoration for links and biography plus.
Happy, happy Liza Bean. As with everything else you do, you make growing older something for me to anticipate. Love to you always.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
GINNY BATES: TELLS
Here's another installment of my Great American Lesbian Novel (in progress), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.
March 2020
Monday afternoon Myra answered the kitchen phone. Allie said “Hey, how's it – what the hell is going on over there, y'all having some construction done?”
“No, they're learning clogging in Dance Class today. Talk loud.”
“Last week I heard Ginny talking to Frances about building what she called a lettuce table, a structure for growing small plants at about waist level, you can put 'em anywhere outdoors. Me and 'Wina was talking about doing that for greens. What with her not drinking milk or liking most dairy products, she needs to get calcium and minerals even more from other foods. If we had small tender greens right outside on our little patio, we'd eat 'em three times a day. It'd be good for me, too. So can you ask Ginny to give me a call, when she's done stomping through the floor, and maybe share us the plans for what she was talking about?”
“You bet. In fact, we'll help build it, if you want.”
“You can hand us tools and make lemonade” said Allie. “I ain't giving up my power tools to you. Or Ginny, whether she got on Chris' leather belt or no.”
“I hear ya.” Myra walked to the storage room, stepped inside, and closed the door. Silence surrounded her. “Listen, you heard about Sima and Annie?”
“Yeah, I saw it coming. Can't believe you missed that one. You ain't weird about it, are you?”
“Not that I can tell. My first thought was just that I'd always imagined Annie having the hots for Chris.”
“She did. They slept together a few times this past year.” Into the long silence that followed, Allie said “That's news too, I gather. You gonna have crap about that, then?”
“Nope. I'm glad for them both, actually. Seems like the only person Annie's missed in her line-up, though, is Ginny.”
“And me, I never even danced with her” said Allie.
Myra had slid onto the long freezer case to sit. Now she stretched out prone and said “Speaking of sex...you got a few minutes to talk?”
She could sense Allie's abrupt alertness. “Yeah, a few. Edwina's having her hair done, I gotta boogie in half an hour to fetch her.”
“Okay. Well, I gather you know about me and Ginny being high and dry right now.”
“I heard. Please tell me she be wrong in thinking it have anything to do with Chris.”
“She's wrong. I mean, as far as I can figure out. I just – I don't know how I would've reacted if Chris had wanted to make love with me. It never came close to that.”
“And you knew that from the git-go?”
“Yeah. So the brakes were safely on there, as well.”
“Is that the point, safety?”
“I don't know, Al. I definitely feel desire for Ginny. Since she said no one-way stuff, I've been crazed at times.”
“Well, I hope I don't live to regret this, but mayhap I should ask you a few questions.”
Myra grinned nervously. “Go for it.”
“What is it, exactly, that gives you the heebie-jeebies? The idea of coming with somebody there? Ginny's hand inside you? Her head down between you legs?”
Myra felt her face going red. “You must be about to die over there.”
“Easier over the phone” said Allie.
“It's not the hand or mouth thing, it's not about a particular action or position, I can tell that right away.”
“So is it loss of control?”
“I've considered that.” Myra gave a long sigh. “I always hate to admit my control-freak-ness when it crops up.”
“You the magnanimous Leo, why don't we all just 'preciate you as a beloved and benign tyrant, that about it?”
“Ouch. Okay, yeah, most of the time. But I don't think that's what the key is here. It's more – I want to ask her why she wants me, wants to make me come. And I'm sure she will blow up like the Hindenburg if I do express that doubt.”
“You never had that kind of crap before?” asked Allie.
“At the beginning, a lot. It was all the debris from my past, that I could never even acknowledge with other lovers. Ginny was different. Over time, we dug it all out. Or so I thought.”
“I know what you mean. About the debris.” Allie's voice was very soft. “So you hit a submerged layer?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I stopped believing the work we did was real.”
“Why? Because of that fucker Pat?”
“Because Ginny lied to me. Having to do with sex.”
“Everybody on earth lies about sex, Myra. They ain't no way not to lie about it, we all fucked up around it and unable to walk a straight line. We do the best we can.”
“I know that, Allie. Or at least I did.”
“You one circulation deeper into the spiral, a membrane away from where you was before, heading into the cochlea. That may be all it is. Listen, buddy, I gotta run. We'll talk more, I promise.”
“Okay. This helped. Give my love to Edwina.”
When Myra hung up, she continued to lie on the freezer, staring up at the ceiling. The metal top of the appliance was surprisingly warm. I am so fucking tired of working this hard to figure out ABCs she thought. Stuff I bet Charlie, for instance, knows effortlessly.
The door to the storage room swung open and Sima stared in at her. “What are you doing, taking measurements for your cryogenic preservation?” Before Myra could reply, Sima turned and yelled down the hall “I found her.”
Myra sat up as grandchildren flooded into the room. “Can I lie down up there?” two of them immediately asked.
“Knock yourself out” she said, touching the tops of their heads as she wove though them, retreating to the kitchen. She put the phone in its cradle and passed on Allie's message to Ginny. Ginny looked at inquiringly, but instead of asking what else they talked about, she reminded Myra “Sima's taking them for Jane and Gillam's date night, but it's going to be here. Annie's coming over to help her after dinner. You want me to cook? You could retreat to your study.”
“I accept. I started some salt cod soaking, you could make that creamy baklava casserole for the meat course.”
Ginny gave her a chaste kiss. “Happy writing.”
The following Thursday, Gillam's school had a teacher in-service and he got out early enough to go pick up Mimi, David, and Leah from their preschool. When he arrived at the house, Myra was deep in writing and Ginny was painting. He called upstairs that he'd make the kids' snack before leaving.
Myra tore herself away a page later, walking downstairs and listening to her knees creak. The children yelled out greetings, eating rice and leftover teriyaki vegetables from small bowls with their messy fingers. Myra said “Shit, Gillam, did you use the brown rice from the fridge?”
“Yeah, I'm sorry, were you saving it?”
“No, it's just that I cooked it with chicken stock.” Myra pulled away Mimi's bowl and leaned down to her, saying apologetically “There's meat in the rice, sweetheart. Let me make you some couscous real quick.”
Mimi's face slid from disbelief into outrage before she burst into shrieking sobs. Gillam came to sit beside her, saying “I didn't know, I apologize.”
Myra put bowl of water into the microwave, listening to Mimi wail “Why did Gramma put meat in the rice, she knows I eat rice!”
“She didn't make it for us, it was for this house only. Gramma always cooks vegetarian for you if you're going to be eating, too.”
“Meat rice is poopy! You all eat poopy food, I hate how Gramma cooks!”
“That's not fair, Mimi. She goes out of her way to give you nutritious and delicious meals. We all do, but Gramma especially.”
Myra thought She's not going to be fair at the moment, Gillam. She needs to vent. But Gillam was tired and had spent the day listening to others. She pulled out the now-boiling water and added instant couscous. She cut a slice of Gruyere and set it in a small bowl before fluffing the couscous and putting a generous serving on top of the cheese.
“I hate being the only vegetarian. I hate being different, everybody makes fun of me.”
“Nobody in this family makes fun of you for how you eat, Meemers. In fact, a lot of us are eating more vegetarian because of your example.”
“You all still eat meat, even Aunt Margie. And lots of people make fun of me.”
“Like who? Somebody at school?”
It all poured out, then, a horrid girl named Sedona who had nicknamed Mimi “Meatmi” and pretended to gag when Mimi pulled out her lunch bag every day. Myra put the couscous in front of Mimi, now in Gillam's lap sobbing without his interruption. Ginny had come downstairs and was sitting beside them. Leah immediately asked if she could have couscous, too.
“Nope. You can have more rice if you want” said Myra.
“Or applesauce” said Ginny. The other children decided they were done and began leaving their chairs.
“Bus your dishes” reminded Myra. “Then go wash your hands and faces very thoroughly. We're heading to the library used book sale this afternoon.”
Mimi allowed Gillam to wipe her face, and she began downing her couscous, lifting long strands of melted cheese to her mouth with her fingers. Ginny said “How can there be a child in this day and age who thinks it's okay to make fun of vegetarians?”
Gillam replied “She's got a crappy home life. Her mother has a retraining order out on her dad, and that includes Sedona. I think she's – been victimized.”
“What does that mean?” asked Mimi.
“It's adult knowledge, Meems. I think the truth is, she feels bad about herself and because she doesn't have anyone to help her feel better, she's focusing on you. She thinks making fun of you will get other people to like her.”
“That's stupid” declared Mimi.
“Yeah. She needs more help. She's very sad” said Gillam. Mimi looked like she wasn't buying a word of it.
Myra said to Gillam “We've got this covered now, you can go on home. We'll bring them back directly from the library sale.”
“Can we come back here and have dinner with you tonight?” asked Mimi swiftly. Gillam snorted as he stood, whispering “Monster” to Mimi as he kissed her goodbye. Ginny said to Myra “You want me along?”
“No, go paint. I'm ordering Thai for us tonight” said Myra. Which answered Mimi's question, she thought all versions of Thai food was too spicy.
That night Myra wrote until past midnight, eating dinner at her desk although Ginny took a break to dine with Sima. Myra finally reached the point of looking for grammar errors instead of substantive editing and made herself stop. She stretched, said goodnight to Keller, and walked around the corner to discover Ginny putting her brushes into their jar for the night.
“Are you going to shower?” Ginny asked.
“No. But I'll stay awake if you're quick” said Myra. She closed the blinds, stripped, and lay down. Ginny was drying off as she emerged from the steamy bathroom. She plastered herself along Myra and said “God, I miss you.”
“That's bittersweet news” said Myra in a gentle tone.
“Did you talk with Allie?”
“Yes. No new landscape yet. Except: I tried on the idea of making this permanent. Us being partners without having sex.”
Ginny leaned back to try to see Myra's face. “And?”
“Fucking hated it” said Myra.
“More bittersweet news” replied Ginny, lying her head on Myra's shoulder.
“I'm going to see Nancy in the morning, she had a cancellation” said Myra.
Ginny moved a little closer. A minute later, they were both asleep.
Friday afternoon, Myra announced to the grandchildren it was monthly making-pumpernickel day. The four older children adored pumpernickel, both the finished product and the making of it, with molasses, espresso powder, and prune paste in the dough. Myra had not been able to come up with a gluten-free version, so Lucia was handed off to be Ginny's special challah helper on these days, whispering the bracha alone with her and wrapping the kezayit for disposal. Lucia's braids of her gluten-free challah were distinctive, with four strands instead of three.
During the kneading process, children standing on chairs before two different counters, Ginny said to Myra “How did your session with Nancy go?”
Myra said “You eat much more of that, Charlie, you're going to have terrible diarrhea” before turning to grin at Ginny and said “Good. Very good.”
A moment later she added “A glimmering on the horizon. No shift yet.”
“Glimmering is something” said Ginny.
“I want to go see Nancy sometime” announced Leah.
“Oh, yeah? You have an emotional issue to work on?” teased Myra. She saw Leah glanced in Mimi's direction before she said “Yes.” Myra went briefly still.
“Okay, let's ask your mommy and daddy” said Myra. “Then Nancy. I'm not sure if she works with small children.”
That night, Annie came to shabbos dinner and poker. She had a tell when she drew a good hand: She'd shift from one side of her ass to the other in her chair. Carly had figured it out right away and was methodically stripping her of quarters and dollars. Myra felt conflicted about whether to Annie aside to warn her or join in the plunder herself.
After the children were taken to bed, Gillam said “You know we had that guy come last week to consult with us about Lucia's Asberger's, see what he had to recommend.”
“I was wondering about that” said Edwina.
“We had to talk it over first” said Jane. “I call your sorry ass, you've got nothing higher than a queen” she said to Eric.
“He thinks the reason she's having such interrupted sleep is because her bedroom is not set up right” said Gillam “Fold.”
“Check” said Carly. Annie and Allie folded before Gillam continued. “The wall murals are too stimulating, she doesn't have enough defined space of her own, and the crib has got to go, for sure.”
Ginny and Myra both looked upset the mention of the murals. Ginny bravely said “So do you want to cover over the walls with drapes, like we did for you?”
Gillam sighed as Jane said “Kings in nines. What Lucia really needs is her own room. But I don't see any way to make that happen now, Mimi would never shut up about it if she wasn't the first to get the guest room.”
“You need to ante” Margie told Allie as she dealt. Gillam said “Check. So we're left with moving Mimi fairly soon, to at least get Lucia into a room with only one other sibling. And no, Mom, there are alternatives to covering the wall. Giving her divided space could leave the walls intact, they have meaning for her as well as the others. He recommended an enclosed bed, open on only three sides, plus some sort of hammock chair for her to swing in. He's recommending enclosure for her space in the family room as well, where she plays with her pattern pieces.”
“Raise two-twenty five” said Annie, shifting in her chair. Carly immediately folded. Myra looked at the two cards showing: No possibility of a flush, no sign of a straight. She must have a high pair, then. Myra had two aces. She raised another dollar ten.
“The question becomes, who rooms with whom” said Jane. “We could do the boy-girl split, except the truth is, Lucia gets along best with Charlie. But that would mean putting Leah in with David. They're okay together, despite Leah being a little wary of David because he's Mimi's best bud.”
“However, at some point in a few years, with hormones approaching, boy-girl sequestration is almost certainly going to be necessary” said Gillam. “Raise 65 cents.” Myra looked at him sharply.
“And the thing is, Charlie gets along with everybody, but if he had first choice, he'd want to be with David. He adores his big brother” said Jane. “I don't think he should be penalized for being the non-squeaky-wheel.” It was clear she and Gillam had been over the territory several times.
“How do you think David would feel about Charlie replacing Mimi in his room?” asked Ginny.
“He's going to be crushed about losing Mimi no matter what. Charlie or Leah, it won't matter much to him. He's a little too touchy-feely to share a room with Lucia, she likes more space than he offers” said Gillam.
“Whichever way we go, we'll do it at the start of summer so they have a few months to get adjusted. In September, we're going to enroll Lucia in that special preschool the support group recommends” said Jane.
“It's tres expensive” said Gillam. “But we can swing it, thanks to Chris. I have a heart flush, by the way.”
“Goddammit” said Myra and Annie together.
“Does that mean you'll be going back to work?” Sima asked Jane.
“At least half-time” said Jane, a mix of anticipation and regret on her face. Myra got up to fetch another Sobe from the fridge. She heard Ginny saying “I think Leah would also flourish being with only one other sib. And Lucia's focus would be fun for her. She loves Charlie but he's a scatterbrain. That's my two cents.”
Annie came into the kitchen looking for a second brownie. Myra whispered to her “You fidget in your chair when you draw good cards.” Annie looked wide-eyes and whispered back “Okay. Thanks.”
“In fact” continued Myra, “Carly has no tells, but Allie will put down her cards and crack her knuckles, Eric stops grinning, and Ginny pulls at her ears when she gets exciting hole cards.”
Annie grinned. “And what about you, my oracle?”
Sima was watching them whisper. Myra replied “I'm like Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way.”
© 2009 Maggie Jochild.
LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUND-UP, 26 MAY 2009
Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.
Monday, May 25, 2009
RIDING ALONG IN A HANDBASKET
Peace is a way of life, a series of cultural choices which build on each other long before conflict appears on the horizon. It's a life that America does very badly, if at all. We have been colonizers, genocidal artists, and bullies since the onset.
Even so, the Bush Years took this appetite for aggression to its ultimate extreme. We are now seeing, reaping, the results of eight years of no foreign policy aside from threats and belligerence.
You label an isolated, paranoid nation as part of the "Axis of Evil", you have to expect they'll live up to your smear. Male adolescent immaturity makes the roads a dangerous place to be, and is partly compensated for by higher insurance rates. Where was our version of State Farm when it came to dealings with other countries? Yep, I'm scared by North Korea exploding a bomb on Memorial Day weekend (no accident in that symbolism). But I'm just as scared about Pakistan having the capability we handed them. And more scared about the fact that Obama explicitly said he would not remove nuclear options from his playbook. We are the chief danger to the world, especially when we deny that fact.
Any approach at all is better than Rumsfeld/Cheney/Wolfowitz/Rice, et al. However, that's a ludicrous standard to beat. Obama and Clinton are both hawks. As my mother used to say, when it comes to militaristic roles in foreign policy, you could throw 'em both in a gunnysack and there's no tellin' which of 'em would crawl out first.
This is where we're going to need serious leadership of the liberal variety, not middle-of-the-road pragmatism. We have to push as hard as we can here, if we're to have any chance of bringing in future approaches which will not shy away from saying no to the Right in all its permutations.
Fear and distance are not environments where our brain's abilities shine. Start there, with your own visceral response. Clean house and get ready to help us think our way out of this mess. It's time for Something Completely Different.
-----------------------------
I woke up this morning remembering this poem I wrote. It's been published somewhere, can't find the journal title right now.
PERIMETER
The last two times we’ve slid to war
I was awake and saw it start
I watched alone, with just a cat
And wept in what I think was rage
I would have called on god except
God’s name was already in use
And I was pretty sure the chore
Was ours. Rage was no help at all
I did pray in those blasted dawns
For innocents beneath the drop
But also for the souls of those
Who made the choice to cause a death
My chance to sit at home and watch
Is luck, more than a righteous heart
We buy all honor with a myth
And if I lie down free of ghosts
As I close my eyes and stretch
My long-bone muscles into peace
I name my luck and pray for you
It isn’t much, but it spins forth
A filament from then to here
A rosined thread that god can pluck
A way out of the labyrinth
A bind I need as much as you
©Maggie Jochild, written 11:05 p.m., 8 October 2004
[Cross-posted at Group News Blog.]
TIME-LAPSE MONDAY
Starting this Monday and lasting for ten weeks, I'll post a time-lapse video showing a fascinating natural event. Hat-tip to WordWeaverLynn for the original link, and Wired Science for the article which brought them all to our attention.
Created by JCMegabyte. Text at YouTube reads:
Here we see the later life stages of several Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui) Butterflies.
Once the caterpillars are mature, they suspend themselves upside-down, by attaching a body part called the "cremaster" to a silken pad on the twig, much like the way Velcro works.
In about 1 day, the caterpillar sheds its final skin to complete the pupation process. Inside the pupa, the caterpillar has essentially liquified itself into a soup of cells. During the next 12-14 days, metamorphosis takes place - the cells are "re-arranged" and transformed into the adult insect. For most of this process, there is no visible change on the outside, but as the final few days approach, the developing adult butterfly can be seen through the semi-transparent pupal case. The butterfly's wing colors and pattern can be seen to darken. Finally, the fully developed adult separates from the pupal shell about an hour before it emerges, a process called "eclosion".
Once the adult emerges, it takes only a few minutes to expand its wings by pumping a body fluid into the wings' vein structure. After a couple of hours, the fluid dries and hardens, leaving the wings rigid enough propel it in flight.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
WOMEN AMONG US: ACHY OBEJAS
(Achy Obejas, photo courtesy of Depauw University)
Achy Obejas is a brilliant, innovative, lyrical novelist and poet whose work is a motherlode of synthesis. She uses her solid background in journalism to report on culture, but with a poet's sensibility, using a combination of brevity and metaphor to animate across borders.
She was born in Cuba in 1956 and brought to the U.S. by her parents after the Cuban revolution at age six. She grew up in Michigan City, Indiana, with her parents expecting to eventually return to Cuba. Instead, in 1979 Achy moved to Chicago, where she has lived as an out dyke who writes with authority and grace on embracing multiple identities.
The biography up at her website states:Achy's poetry and fiction have been published in Review: Literature and Arts of the Americas, Indiana Review, Story, La Gaceta de Cuba, Habana Elegante, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Best of Helicon Nine, Another Chicago Magazine, Abraxas, Antigonish Review, Bilingual Review, Conditions, Ikon, Interstate, Phoebe/George Mason University Review, Rambunctious Review, Revista Chicano-Riqueña, Sing Heavenly Muse!, Sinister Wisdom, Strong Coffee, Third Woman, and many others.
Watch Achy Obejas read from her current novel Ruins at Galeria De La Raza in San Francisco on 14 January 2009:
An award-winning journalist, she worked for more than ten years for the Chicago Tribune writing and reporting about arts and culture. Among literally thousands of stories, she helped cover Pope John Paul II's historic 1998 visit to Cuba, the arrival of Al-Queda prisoners in Guantánamo, the Versace murder, and the AIDS epidemic.
She writes regularly about Latin music for the Washington Post and about books for In These Times.
Her articles have appeared in the Village Voice, Vogue, Playboy, Los Angeles Times, MS, Weep, Nerve.com, Latina, Latin Girl, Poz en Español, The Nation, Out, Chicago Reader, The Advocate, Girlfriends, Windy City Times, High Performance, New City, Chicago Reporter, The Catalyst, Chicago, Chicago Sun-Times, Hispanic, La Raza, Hispanic Link (a bilingual national syndication service), and many others.
Achy's translation projects have included Maria Torres Piers' By Heart (Temple University Press); catalogue text for "Passionately Cuban," an art exhibition at the University of Albany, Albany, New York; catalogue text for the Kunsthalle Wien, Vienna, Austria; Picturing Cuba (University of New Mexico Press, 2002) by E. Wright Ledbetter; and articles for the Chicago Tribune. She was recently contracted by the family of the late Cuban poet laureate Nicolás Guillén to produce a new translation of his work, including the classic "Motivos de Son" (the only authorized English version was previously translated by Langston Hughes in 1948).
During her career, Achy has received a Pulitzer for a Tribune team investigation, the Studs Terkel Journalism Prize, several Peter Lisagor journalism honors, two Lambda Literary awards, a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship in poetry, and residencies at Yaddo, Ragdale and the Virginia Center for the Arts, among other honors.
Her work has been translated into Spanish, German, Hungarian and Farsi. She has lectured and read her work in the U.S., Cuba, Mexico, Spain, Argentina and Australia, and has served as the Springer Writer-in-Residence at the University of Chicago and the Distinguished Writer in Residence at the University of Hawai'i.
Achy Obejas is currently the Sor Juana Visiting Writer at DePauw University in Chicago.
QUOTES FROM ACHY OBEJAS:
“I like to think that a poem sort of floats above the banalities of things like calendars and clocks. And I like that space that poetry puts you in—where all logic is suspended.”
Not in Cars
dark danger in the shadows of the city city city driving
by the danger darkness urban building and the men men
that serve as girders beams the backbone of the danger
men in windows stories high indiscriminately lurching from
the speeding cars the freeway thieves that drop their
compliments their vile demands commands from rusting
cars on cracking crosstown roads twisting twisted shadows
grotesque mouths that vomit words like green white bullets
to the womyn on the sidewalks in the buildings not in cars
~~ from Sinister Wisdom #16, 1981
"It's just that sometimes other lives lived right alongside mine interrupt, barge in on my senses, and I no longer know if I really lived through an experience or just heard about it so many times, or so convincingly, that I believed it for myself--became the lens through which it was captured, retold and reshaped." ~~ from Memory Mambo
Llorona
cry sorrow sorrow
coming with your dried snakes charm
charming the crazed and
the innocent with your lyrical
lunacy
mystical
tales of the moon
you claim immortality
you
you think you'll find me there
docile
bewildered
the lost child torn from
you by demons that swirl and
burn amidst the golden
brown hair of your devil devil
child
oh cry sorrow with
your spells and the magic no
one doubts you own
the power that swallows everyone's
fantasies
you claim life forever
using scars for tears and a
noise noise that shakes
reverberates
beating all the passion
with a passion
the black sweet bruises and dark systems
wanting to wring them out of
me out of you
you claim life forever
again and again thinking
I'll be there steady ready
to take up the fight
of mother and daughter divided
unsatisfied forever
antagonistic cry sorrow
let your ovary
throb from the pain of my absence
I am the daughter the children
shredded castrated decapitated
in the arid desert
the blood red flames in your eyes
which serve as blinders
to keep you from seeing what
you wish not to see
take a white woman to lie
with you
clean smooth as
enamel
the veins plainly visible
through vinyl skin
rest your head on what
you claim so close to perfection
and take repose
rest rest
but when when all seems finally
quiet
there's a beat beat
a beat in your head
a pain in your abdomen
y
siempre
siempre por las
noches
there's that fearful wailing
~~from Sinister Wisdom #16, 1981
LINKS TO ACHY OBEJAS:
Achy Obejas website
Her MySpace page
Bio at Voices from the Gaps
Interview with Achy Obejas about Days of Awe at the National Yiddish Book Center
BOOKS BY ACHY OBEJAS:
Ruins, 2009, Akashic Books, ISBN-10 : 1933354690
This Is What Happened In Our Other Life (Body Language), 2007, Midsummer Nights Press, ISBN-10 : 0979420822
Days of Awe, 2001, Ballantine, ISBN-10 : 034543921X
Memory Mambo, 1996, Cleis Press, ISBN-10 : 1573440175
We came all the way from Cuba so you could dress like this?, 1994, Cleis Press, ISBN-10 : 093941693X
ONLINE WRITINGS AVAILABLE (Available at her website via Other Writings)
"My Own Private Cuba", an account by Obejas -- in both English and Spanish -- of her most recent visit to Cuba, published in The Chicago Tribune, 19 January 2002
"The End Of The Affair", an article by Obejas about Cuba and Alma Guillermoprieto's memoir Dancing with Cuba, published in The Nation on 15 March 2004
"From Havana With Love", an article by Obejas on how "A new generation faces Cuba's dark reality", published in The Village Voice in February 2001
[Cross-posted at Group News Blog.]
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