Wednesday, December 3, 2008

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus.

By now, most of you have probably already heard about that poor Wal Mart worker who was trampled to death last (Black) Friday. In the midst of all the fingerpointing as to who should be held liable -- I dare say, or at least, I dare point my finger at those people who actually trampled on him. Que se joda to those who were driven by greed. Yes, I understand that times are tough, that's why people get like that in the face of a big sale. But the fact that you can still shop tells me that you are not in the brink of death due to poverty. If you're poor or "feeling the credit crunch" then how's this for size: DON'T SHOP. Save your money for something more important. Or if you must shop, remember what the real act of giving is all about. This isn't what Christmas is about. If I had known that somebody got me a gift this way, I'd eat it up and vomit it back out in front of them. This is how much this story disgusts me. What a senseless and sickening death. I am beyond livid.

The other day, my husband and I dropped by the local grocery to pick up a few things. There was a guy ahead of us in the check out line. He looked disshevelled, a little dirty, and he looked like he was going through a crunch or two (or ten.) In his hand, he had two items: a cheap 12.99 watch (that actually looked kinda pretty) and one of those scented lotion/shampoo/soap kits. When he was about to pay, he held out all the coupons he managed to gather before paying for the remainder of the total bill. It almost broke my heart because he looked like he didn't have a lot of money, but he still managed to get something pretty for two very lucky women in his life. This is what Christmas is about.

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. There is no beatific, plump, white-haired dude up north ready to reward you for being good. (Yeah, I was that kid in grade school who made the other kids cry because I told them so.)

I look further up, beyond the North Pole, beyond the skies, beyond the stars. Jesus does not always reward me for being good (well, because I'm not always good...) because he doesn't work that way. He doesn't reward and punish based on our meager understanding of reward and punishment. But get this: he loves me despite the fact that I am not good. He died for me. This is my "reward" -- my undeserved reward.

This is what Christmas is about for me. You may have a different god from me, you may call him a different name, but I refuse to think that rabid shopping is what Christmas is all about.

No, no, no, no.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Happiness is a New Box of Crayons

It's that time of the semester again. Ugh. I'm actually doing good time, though. All I have left is one major paper to do, but it's a monster one. I have to make a 12-page theoretical criticism on how magic realism furthers post-colonial Philippine culture's attempt to redefine national identity. (Whew, that was the first time I actually wrote down my topic.) I know. Guh. Much as I would like to do otherwise, I don't have anyone to blame but myself because I thought of the topic myself, hehehe.

Anyhoo, I just wanted to make a quick post because in the midst of all the stress, I managed to find one "weeeee!" moment (ala Liesl Von Trapp when she had her first kiss). I had to submit a project inside an envelope that looks like a house for one of my classes (don't ask, it's too convoluted to explain.) I found myself, on my second to the last semester in grad school, needing crayons to finish a project that looks like something I would assign to my students.

Oh, I can't tell you how excited I was to buy my new crayons! There were so many kinds to choose from! (Do you know that apparently, you can roll them up ala lipstick now so that they won't break or you won't have to peel the paper off when they get stubby??? I know, right?!?!). But I went back to my roots and went old school -- my only concession to high-tech-ness is the now-un-high-tech sharpener attachment.

But -- there really is a certain magic in opening a new box of crayons. All the pretty colors, all of them still clean, all in a neat row...happiness. :-)

So I share my fleeting moment of happiness with all of you. I'll allow myself to work like a madwoman starting tomorrow, but for now, I'd like to be babaw and just enjoy this moment. Enjoy it with me. :-)


P.S. I know I'm too old for stuffed toys, but I can't let go of about 5 of them. These two, Mumble and Grover, are especially dear to me since my then-boyfriend-now-husband gave them to me in a really awesome way. They add an extra dose of happiness. :-)

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Principle vs. Principal

OK, I've tried to calm down. I took a shower. I'm a little calmer. I'm more frustrated now than mad.

I have a class this semester that is driving me nuts. Theoretically, it sounds super. It's called Teaching Writing, and we talk about the different strategies to effectively teach our students to write well. Nice, diba? The problem is, my classmates are idiots. OK, not all of them are idiots. Some of them are just lazy buffoons and I have no idea why they're even teaching.

Breathe. Breathe. I'm resorting to name calling, I know this. Must. Be. Rational. Must qualify these angry feelings with logical reasons. (Must. Stop. Talking. Like Captain Kirk.)

So anyway, unlike my other Educ and Lit classes, all my classmates here are also English teachers. I had high hopes that I would engage in lively debates and discussions regarding the different paradigms we adopt in our classrooms. But alas -- oh, alack! -- my classmates are idiots severely uninformed. No, that's not it. If that were so, then I'd pity them. No, they're amazingly lazy. They're lazy thinkers, that's what.

OK, OK, back to the story: Our professor gave us a bunch of sentences to look over. The sentences were from past New York Times articles. Apparently, some of those sentences had not-so-obvious errors, and they were able to make it to the published version of the newspaper. Our task, then, was to spot those errors and correct them. (Yes, I will post those sentences in another blog post. Maybe tomorrow.) English nerds like me just love this stuff, so I pounced on those sentences with glee.

After going through those sentences on our own, we all discussed the changes we made. One of the sentences was this one:

She said that the jury had been told the principle purpose of the enterprise, as the indictment charged, was to generate money for the detectives, through legal and illegal activities.

The error in the sentence was the word "principle" -- instead, it should have been "principAL." We went on to the next sentence...when all of a sudden, one of my classmates (henceforth called she-who-started-it-all) said,

"Wait. There was nothing wrong in that sentence!"

"I know! I think there's an error with the error," said another classmate (who thought she was being oh-so-witty -- OK, I shall stop with the sarcastic name calling...).

*Mild laughter from the class.*

"No, it really should be 'principal' -- with an 'A-L,' " said the teacher.

"But they weren't even talking about a school, so how could there be a principal?" said she-who-started-it-all.

***At this point, I would like to pause to eject expletives off air. Cue the elevator music.***

Dude, pare, chong naman o...Grabe, diba??? Diba? DIBA?

DIBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA???

"Principle is like a belief, like you what you believe in," my teacher said calmly. (Really, I didn't know how she remained so calm. I'd be sputtering my words in disbelief at this point.)

"Yeah, but principal is like, the head of the school!" said another classmate.

ANUBAAAAAH. PANGINOON, KUNIN N'YO NA PO AKO!!!

At that point, I calmly (I swear, I tried to be calm, even my seatmate, who knew how pissed I was, said she was impressed) said, "Principal means lead, head, or foremost. That's why the principal is called the principal, because he or she is the head of the school."

"Oh, I didn't know that," said she-who-started-it-all. "Well aren't you a Ms. Snooty Know-It-All?" she said half-jokingly. (See, she started with the name calling...)

*More laughter from the class.*

Breathe, just breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...Oh screw it.

It's no use...here it is, folks. Brace yourselves:
No, I wasn't being snooty. I was being frikken' CORRECT. I refuse to feel bad because I was correct. I didn't tell you that you were a dumb broad and that you shouldn't be in a classroom -- although I should have. well, maybe not in those terms -- so don't call me snooty, biatch. Who do you think you are??? Why am I being called out for something that we should know! We're English teachers for crying out loud! I'd understand if there were, I dunno, Math teachers in the room. (But I'm willing to bet that my other Math teacher friends would know the difference anyway.) But this...THIS?!?! It's not like pondering on the exact value of mfing pi!!! (Wait, does such a value exist? I dunno, I'm not a Math teacher...which brings me to my point...GAAAAAH!!!)

I can't believe that people like you teach!!! And I can't believe that I was in a room full of English teachers and not a single person backed me up!!! Didn't anybody else know of this??? Am I -- the minority, the one who did not grow up in America, the one whose first language is NOT English
-- am I the only one who knew this???

The fact that you are teaching and my husband cannnot is beyond unfair!!! My husband is far more intelligent, compassionate, and appreciative of our vocations as teachers!!! And he can't teach because he has no papers, but YOU can??? You awful, turdish, ludicrous woman!!! We've been in this country for so long and we can't find work because people like you are the ones these schools prefer??? ARE YOU FRIKKEN' KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!


My friends (McCain mode...), I apologize for my tirade. And no, I didn't say these things to her. I just tried to swallow my anger as best I could, and proceeded to yell in the car, on the way home.

But as you can see, this goes beyond her idiocy. I am angry at what she represents: I am angry at the school system, I am angry at the fact that my poor husband has been out of work all this time because of this. THIS. THIS.

I miss home. I miss my school. I miss my co-workers. I miss the gazebo. I miss my friends. I miss my friends in the gazebo who would understand my frustration and not think that I was overreacting (well, maybe they would, but they know that's how I am and they'll love me anyway). I miss my girl friends who would share my frustration, who would see that this is pain speaking, not anger. This is the pain that comes from seeing my husband being rejected over, and over, and over again because no school wants to sponsor him ("We can't at this time." BOVINE POOP.) This the pain that comes from him feeling bad when it's really not his fault. This is the pain that comes from seeing him trying to keep it together for me. And this is the pain that comes from trying to keep it together for him.

Peace out, folks. I'm too upset to close this rant with a witty remark. I'm spent. Don't worry, I'll feel better tomorrow. I just needed to let it out.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Good, and Now Back to Work: Avoiding Cynicism and Overconfidence in the Age of Obama by Tim Wise

Another entry from Tim Wise's blog.

. . . . .

Good, and Now Back to Work: Avoiding Cynicism and Overconfidence in the Age of Obama
by Tim Wise

Tonight, after Barack Obama was confirmed as the nation's president-elect, I looked in on my children, as they lay sleeping. Though they are about as politically astute as kids can be, having reached only the ages of 7 and 5, there is no way they will be able to truly appreciate what has just happened in the land they call home. They do not possess the sense of history, or indeed, even a clear understanding of what history means, so as to adequately process what happened this evening, as they slumbered. Even as our oldest cast her first grade vote for Obama in school today, and even as our youngest has become somewhat notorious for pointing to pictures of Sarah Palin on magazines and saying, "There's that crazy lady who hates polar bears," they remain, still, naive as to the nation they have inherited. They do not really understand the tortured history of this place, especially as regards race. Oh they know more than most--to live as my children makes it hard not to--but still, the magnitude of this occasion will likely not catch up to them until Barack Obama is finishing at least his first, if not his second term as president.

But that's OK. Because I know what it means, and will make sure to tell them.

And before detailing what I perceive that meaning to be (both its expansiveness and limitations) let me say this, to some of those on the left--some of my friends and longtime compatriots in the struggle for social justice--who yet insist that there is no difference between Obama and McCain, between Democrats and Republicans, between Biden and Palin: Screw you.

If you are incapable of mustering pride in this moment, and if you cannot appreciate how meaningful this day is for millions of black folks who stood in lines for up to seven hours to vote, then your cynicism has become such an encumbrance as to render you all but useless to the liberation movement. Indeed, those who cannot appreciate what has just transpired are so eaten up with nihilistic rage and hopelessness that I cannot but think that they are a waste of carbon, and actively thieving oxygen that could be put to better use by others.

This election does indeed matter. No, it is not the same as victory against the forces of injustice, and yes, Obama is a heavily compromised candidate, and yes, we will have to work hard to hold him accountable. But it matters nonetheless that he, and not the bloodthirsty bomber McCain, or the Christo-fascist, Palin, managed to emerge victorious.

Those who say it doesn't matter weren't with me on the south side of Chicago this past week, surrounded by a collection of amazing community organizers who go out and do the hard work every day of trying to help create a way out of no way for the marginalized. All of them know that an election is but a part of the solution, a tactic really, in a larger struggle of which they are a daily part; and none of them are so naive as to think that their jobs are now to become a cakewalk because of the election of Barack Obama. But all of them were looking forward to this moment. They haven't the luxury of believing in the quixotic campaigns of Dennis Kucinich, or waiting around for the Green Party to get its act together and become something other than a pathetic caricature, symbolized by the utterly irrelevant and increasingly narcissistic presence of Ralph Nader on the electoral scene. And while Cynthia McKinney remains a pivotal figure in the struggle, the party to which she was tethered this year shows no more ability to sustain movement activity than it was eight years ago, and most everyone working in oppressed communities in this nation knows it.

It's like this y'all: Jesse Jackson was weeping openly on national television. This is a man who was with Dr. King when he was murdered and he was bawling like a baby. So don't tell me this doesn't matter.

John Lewis--who had his head cracked open, has been arrested more times, and has probably spilled far more blood for the cause of justice than all the white, dreadlocked, self-proclaimed anarchists in this country combined--couldn't be more thrilled at what has happened. If he can see it, then frankly, who the hell are we not to?

Those who say this election means nothing, who insist that Obama, because he cozied up to Wall Street, or big business, is just another kind of evil no different than any other, are in serious risk of political self-immolation, and it is a burning they will richly deserve. That the victorious presidential candidate is actually a capitalist (contrary to the fevered imaginations of the right) is no more newsworthy than the fact that rain falls down and grass grows skyward. It is to be properly placed in the "no shit Sherlock," file. That anyone would think it possible for someone who didn't raise hundreds of millions of dollars to win--at this time in our history at least--only suggests that some on the left would prefer to engage politics from a place of aspirational innocence, rather than in the real world, where battles are won or lost.

So let us be clear as to what tonight meant:

It was a defeat for the right-wing echo chamber and its rhetorical stormtroopers, foremost among them Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck.

It was a defeat for the crazed mobs ever-present at McCain/Palin rallies, what with their venomous libels against Obama, their hate-addled brains spewing forth one after another racist and religiously chauvinistic calumny upon his head and those of his supporters.

It was a defeat for the internet rumor-pimps who insisted to all they could reach with a functioning e-mail address that Obama was not really a citizen. Or perhaps he was, but he was a Muslim, or perhaps not a Muslim, but probably a black supremacist, or maybe not that either, but surely the anti-christ, and most definitely a baby-killer.

It was a defeat for those who believed McCain and Palin would be delivered the victory by the hand of almighty God, because their theological and eschatological vacuity so regularly gets in the way of their ability to think. As such, it was a setback for the religious fascists in the far-right Christian community whose belief that God is on their side has always made them especially dangerous. Now, having lost, perhaps at least some of these will be forced to ponder what went wrong. If we're lucky, perhaps some will suffer the kind of crisis of faith that often prefaces a complete nervous breakdown. Either way, it's nice just to ruin their Young-Earth-Creationist-I-Have-an-Angel-on-My-Shoulder day.

It was a defeat for the demagogues who tried in so many ways to push the buttons of white racism--the old-fashioned kind, or what I call Racism 1.0--by using thinly-veiled racialized language throughout the campaign. Appeals to Joe Six-Pack, "values voters," blue-collar voters, or hockey moms, though never explicitly racialized, were transparent to all but the most obtuse, as were terms like "terrorist" when used to describe Obama. Likewise, the attempt to race-bait the economic crisis by blaming it on loans to poor folks of color through the Community Reinvestment Act, or community activists like the folks at ACORN, failed, and this matters. No, it doesn't mean that white America has rejected racism. Indeed, I have been quite deliberate for months about pointing out the way that racism 1.0 may be traded in only to be replaced by racism 2.0 (which allows whites to still view most folks of color negatively but carve out exceptions for those few who make us feel comfortable and who we see as "different"). And yet, that tonight was a drubbing for that 1.0 version of racism still matters.

And tonight was a victory for a few things too.

It was a victory for youth, and their social and political sensibilities. It was the young, casting away the politics of their parents and even grandparents, and turning the corner to a new day, perhaps naively, and too optimistic about the road from here, but nonetheless in a way that has historically almost always been good for the country. Much as youth were inspired by a relatively moderate John F. Kennedy (who was, on balance, far less progressive than Obama in many ways), and much as they then formed the frontline troops for so much of the social justice activism of the following fifteen years, so too can such a thing be forseen now. That Kennedy may have been quite restrained in his social justice sensibilities did not matter: the young people whose energy he helped unleash took things in their own direction and outgrew him rather quickly in their progression to the left.

Tonight was also a victory for the possibility of greater cross-racial alliance building. Although Obama failed to win most white votes, and although it is no doubt true that many of the whites who did vote for him nonetheless hold to any number of negative and racist stereotypes about the larger black and brown communities of this nation, it it still the case that black, brown and white worked together in this effort as they have rarely done before. And many whites who worked for Obama, precisely because they got to see, and hear, and feel the racist vitriol still animating far too many of our nation's people, will now be wiser for the experience when it comes to understanding how much more work remains to be done on the racial justice front. Let us build on that newfound knowledge, and that newfound energy, and create real white allyship with community-based leaders of color as we move forward in the years to come.

But now for the other side of things.

First and foremost, please know that none of these victories will amount to much unless we do that which needs to be done so as to turn a singular event about one man, into a true social movement (which, despite what some claim, it is not yet and has never been).

And so it is back to work. Oh yes, we can savor the moment for a while, for a few days, perhaps a week. But well before inauguration day we will need to be back on the job, in the community, in the streets, where democracy is made, demanding equity and justice in places where it hasn't been seen in decades, if ever. Because for all the talk of hope and change, there is nothing--absolutely, positively nothing--about real change that is inevitable. And hope, absent real pressure and forward motion to actualize one's dreams, is sterile and even dangerous. Hope, absent commitment is the enemy of change, capable of translating to a giving away of one's agency, to a relinquishing of the need to do more than just show up every few years and push a button or pull a lever.

This means hooking up now with the grass roots organizations in the communities where we live, prioritizing their struggles, joining and serving with their constituents, following leaders grounded in the community who are accountable not to Barack Obama, but the people who helped elect him. Let Obama follow, while the people lead, in other words.

For we who are white it means going back into our white spaces and challenging our brothers and sisters, parents, neighbors, colleagues and friends--and ourselves--on the racial biases that still too often permeate their and our lives, and making sure they know that the success of one man of color does not equate to the eradication of systemic racial inequity.

So are we ready for the heavy lifting? This was, after all, merely the warmup exercise, somewhat akin to stretching before a really long run. Or perhaps it was the first lap, but either way, now the baton has been handed to you, to us. We must not, cannot, afford to drop it. There is too much at stake.

The worst thing that could happen now would be for us to go back to sleep; to allow the cool poise of Obama's prose to lull us into slumber like the cool on the underside of the pillow. For in the light of day, when fully awake, it becomes impossible not to see the incompleteness of the task so far.

So let us begin.

Here, Here and Now: Phenomenology of Being Foreign

I wrote this for my History of Lit. Theory and Criticism class. We attended a poetry reading by noted poets Natasha Tretheway and Paul Muldoon. The experience was nothing short of wonderful. Stamp my forehead with "Paul Muldoon Fan Forever."

. . . . .

What struck me about Paul Muldoon wasn’t something he said during his poetry reading, rather, it was something that was said about him after the session. An individual (who I shall henceforth call Tom, because I simply cannot remember his name anymore) said that he was surprised to find that Muldoon was more “Americanized” than he thought he would be. Curious, I asked him to qualify what he meant with “Americanized.” Tom said Muldoon sounded Americanized, and it had something to do with his vowels. So I asked him if I sounded Americanized and he said yes. It went off-tangent from there, but I’m guessing he said that because of my consonants. No, really. I personally think that my vowels sometimes give my nationality away (that is, if my looks aren’t obvious enough). Words like “amen” I pronounce as “a-men” and not “ay-men” or “aa-men” (although I do say “po-tay-toe” and not “po-taa-toe.”) It’s a nuance that a lot of Americans miss, probably because there are so many existing accents in this country. But to my trained (read: foreign) ear, there is a perceptible difference.

I open with this little anecdote, and the sub par linguistic introspection that followed suit, because I don’t think that Muldoon is Americanized at all, at least not exactly in the way that Tom explained. I can still hear Muldoon’s distinct Irish lilt, even though I could understand every word he said (which doesn’t often seem to be the case with the other Irish people I know.) But more than whether or not Tom and I agree that Muldoon sounded American, what it more interesting is how Tom and I understand “Americanized” differently. Granted that Tom didn’t really put much thought into his notion of Americanized, I can’t help but think that what Americanized (or insert-nationality-ized) means goes beyond the superficial level of accents.

As far as I’m concerned, Muldoon isn’t Americanized because he spoke of “anseo,” Joseph Mary Plunkett Ward, pubs, and secret camps. His poems are about people, places, and memories that portray a lingering kinship with Ireland. It is not simply because he was born there, or that his father was a typical blue collar worker, or the fact that they have bad teeth because their water did not have fluoride. He is not just from Ireland, he is, and forever will be, of Ireland, the country that shaped him. Ireland begat him. Everything – from his values, his quirks, even that interestingly unique hairstyle – speaks of his Irish-ness, and his poems wonderfully reflect this.

It is difficult to wrap my mind around Muldoon’s alleged Americanized-ness. 

To this non-American-who-is-also-often-called-Americanized, the ability to speak English in such a way that Americans will find it easy to understand –- while certainly a compelling piece of evidence –- does not necessarily guarantee Americanized-ness. At least not in the sense I know. Belief and value systems trump accent, no matter how (im)perfectly American it is.

Case in point: Muldoon opened his reading with Anseo. I initially thought he meant “Anne Shaw” and I thought it was odd that they would use someone else’s name to signify their presence. This misinterpretation of this Irish term is inconsequential, and I mention it only because, if anything, it is indicative of my mild acculturation to America. On the other hand, “anseo” reveals Muldoon’s brazen Irish-ness. From being a term that he associates with his youth:

“When the master was calling the roll
At the primary school in Collegelands, 
You were meant to call back Anseo 
And raise your hand
As your name occurred.
Anseo, meaning here, here and now, 
All present and correct,
Was the first word of Irish I spoke” 
(Anseo, lines 1-8); 

To a term that signified an individual’s presence and readiness to join the efforts to stand behind the political and social ideals of their native land: 

“I last met Joseph Mary Plunkett Ward 
In a pub just over the Irish border.
He was living in the open, 
in a secret camp 
On the other side of the mountain.
He was fighting for Ireland, 
Making things happen

How every morning at parade
His volunteers would call back Anseo
And raise their hands
As their names occurred” (29-35, 39-42).

“Here, here and now” becomes something more than a signifier of presence in school. It becomes a statement of belief, of readiness, of willingness to remain in the fight for what Ward and his companions believe. Muldoon, in one poem (in three stanzas!!!), was able to evoke the nostalgia of childhood, the emerging identity of a rebellious youth, and the passionate dedication of a citizen who understands his role in his society. That Muldoon can go through these stages, with accuracy and conciseness, is sheer genius. This is absolute, unadulterated, unabashed admiration speaking, but I can say this also because these stages resonate with me. I am a citizen of a country where people still die if they are on the wrong side of the political fence, a country whose ideals are slowly be eaten away by colonial mentality, a country so far away. I, too, am reminded of days when the most important thing about being in school was, well, being in school. I also remember how school allowed me to become more politically and socially aware. I remember going to my first protest in my Catholic school uniform and my enthusiastic participation in EDSA 2. I remember those days as I look at my own frustrations at being here, so far away from home, not knowing enough but wanting to do something; knowing so much, but not being able to do anything. If anything, the frustration at being here and the yearning to go back shall forever keep me from fully embracing the notion that I, too, am Americanized.

This is precisely why I cannot accept the idea of Muldoon being Americanized. His poems speak too much about Ireland, and even when they do not directly speak of Ireland, I hear it being spoken. His poems begin with something seemingly mundane, but by the end of the poem, I am left feeling raw. I am reminded that I am also a transplant, trying desperately to deal with this new society.

In The Sightseers, Muldoon, yet again, takes his readers on a journey from the mundane to the poignant. The poem describes a benign childhood memory that is coupled with political strife. What begins as a simple ride to see the new roundabout ends with a painful memory that is distinctly Irish.

“Uncle Pat was telling us how the B-Specials 
had stopped him one night somewhere near Ballygawley 
and smashed his bicycle 
and made him sing the Sash and curse the Pope of Rome. 
They held a pistol so hard against his forehead 
there was still the mark of an O when he got home”
(The Sightseers, lines 9-14)

His words are simple yet descriptive. The flippant way he describes that memory -– culminating in an O-mark on a forehead -– does not belie the gravity of what had happened. The O-mark, a reminder of the horrendous experience of being at the business end of a gun, is also the reminder that he is alive. Things could have been much worse than having a ridiculous O on the forehead.

Yes, Muldoon has spent a good portion of his adult life in a foreign country but this does not take away from his Irish-ness. Juxtaposition almost always accentuates one because of its difference from the other. If it’s any indication, I never really felt this Filipino -– whatever that means -– back home. I am now proudly, adamantly, and almost-brattily Filipino and mostly because I live, not just in America, but in West Michigan. As far as racial juxtapositions go, I think I’m all set. In perhaps the same way, Muldoon’s presence in America underscores his Irish-ness, and while his English has become more understandable to Americans, it certainly does not take away from his Irish-ness.

Yes, I am well aware of the tone of defensiveness. Tom actually made a good point, and the reason he gave is one that is shared by many Americans I have met since moving here. And here lies the rub: if I were to acknowledge that Muldoon is Americanized, then I have to acknowledge that I, too, have become Americanized. And that is something that I simply cannot do –- must not do -– because my guilt will have none of it. I simply cannot declare myself Americanized, because I am still too Filipino at heart, others’ opinions of my accent notwithstanding.

National pride and national identity do not figure in a zero-sum equation with quasi-acculturation. This I know, and I keep telling myself that it’s OK to be here, that I can fight for my country from here, that I will eventually go back home. But to be back home, to be with my people…there is no way I can explain how exponentially better that would be. Instead, this is a statement of inequality, where my Filipino-ness will always -– always -– be greater than my alleged American accent.

“Here, here and now” then becomes a phrase that is painfully beautiful and beautifully painful to me in so many levels because I am here. Not there. My “here” has changed. My “there” has changed. But my accent does not determine my Filipino-ness and neither does my location. So I may be here now, but I will be there soon enough.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

For the Love of Two Stephens: Greenblatt and Colbert

I actually had the honor and the pleasure to attend Stephen Greenblatt's lecture here in my school. He's brilliant really: funny, intelligent, and amazingly approachable. *Mega crush alert!* He panders to my Electra sensibilities like you wouldn't believe. *goofy smile*

His lecture was on what he and Charles Mee have been working on: the Cardenio Project. Through the project, he and Mee reveal the cultural mobility of Story. I can try explaining it, but no one can do it as well as Greenblatt himself, so go read about it when you have the time.

We were required to make a paper on his lecture, and because he was so inspiring, *swoon again* I got an A! I made a Filipino version of Cardenio, revealing the hybridity of current Filipino culture, a result of being colonized for many years.

Anyway, here he is in The Colbert Report with another Stephen that I hugely adore. He discusses how McCain and Obama can be likened to several Shakespearean characters. See? Funny, intelligent, and great looking. My perfect nerdy matinee idol. LOL!. :-)

Friday, September 26, 2008

Of Flowing Rivers, Paddling Ducks, and Dancing Sunlight

The building where my classes are held sits on the banks of the Grand River. To see the river, I have to face the East, so I don't get to see the sunset. My building is not that high, but it's high enough to block the dying rays of the sun from fully hitting the river. In between buildings though, there is a sliver of sunlight that slips through -- and that's what I see now, dancing on the still-swelled-with-rain river's surface.

The river flows to the north, but the light stays in one place and even if it's not moving, the sunlight engages in a dance. On this patch of light sits a duck, serenely paddling towards the south. It isn't going anywhere really. It just sits there and paddles constantly so that he maintains his position under the sun.

River flowing to the north.

Sunlight loosely firm in front of me.

Duck calmly paddling to the south.

Duck's legs frantic underneath.

This constant moving without going anywhere, the panic under the calm.

All this unfolding in front of me, all this unfolding inside of me.

Wait, the duck just flew away.

9/24/2008
6pm

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Worth Remembering: John Cleese's Revocation of American Independence

This made the rounds a few years ago when Bush was re-elected. Aside from it being hilarious, I think it should also give us pause. Hopefully Americans won't make the same mistake. ;-)

Now go put your tongue in your cheek and read on. John Cleese coming at you...

To the citizens of the United States of America: in light of your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories. Except Utah, which she does not fancy. Your new prime minister (The Right Honourable Gordon Brown, MP for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world outside your borders) will appoint a minister for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. You should look up revocation in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up aluminium. Check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it. The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘favour’ and ‘neighbour’, skipping the letter ‘U’ is nothing more than laziness on your part. Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters. You will end your love affair with the letter ‘Z’ (pronounced ‘zed’ not ‘zee’) and the suffix -ize will be replaced by the suffix -ise. You will learn that the suffix ‘burgh’ is pronounced ‘burra’ e.g. Edinburgh. You are welcome to respell Pittsburgh as ‘Pittsberg’ if you can’t cope with correct pronunciation.

Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up vocabulary. Using the same twenty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as “like” and “you know” is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. Look up interspersed. There will be no more ‘bleeps’ in the Jerry Springer show. If you’re not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn’t have chat shows. When you learn to develop your vocabulary then you won’t have to use bad language as often.

2. There is no such thing as “US English.” We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter ‘u’ and the elimination of -ize.

3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents. It really isn’t that hard. English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier.) You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents - Scottish dramas such as Taggart will no longer be broadcast with subtitles. While we’re talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in England. The name of the county is Devon. If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American states will become shires e.g. Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire.

4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as the good guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to play English characters. British sit-coms such as Men Behaving Badly or Red Dwarf will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience who can’t cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness.

5. You should relearn your original national anthem, God Save The Queen but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want you to get confused and give up half way through.

6. You should stop playing American football. There is only one kind of football. What you refer to as American football is not a very good game. The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your borders may have noticed that no one else plays American football. You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play proper football. Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls. It is a difficult game. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American “football”, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies.) We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by 2005. You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the ‘World Series’ for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders,your error is understandable. Instead of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls’ game called rounders, which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.

7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler. Because we don’t believe you are sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, we will require a permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

8. July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a new national holiday, but only in England. It will be called Indecisive Day.

9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and it is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean. All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips. Fries aren’t even French, they are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat. Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.

11. As a sign of penance, 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.

12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all, it is lager. From November 1st, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. The substances formerly known as American Beer will henceforth be referred to as Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine,with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as Weak Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine. This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in Pilsen,Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.

13. From November 10th, the UK will harmonise petrol (or Gasoline, as you will be permitted to keep calling it until April 1st 2005) prices with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon- get used to it).

14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you’re not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you’re not grown up enough to handle a gun.

15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us crazy.

16. Tax collectors from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776.)

Thank you for your co-operation and have a great day.

John Cleese

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Muslim-Christian Relations

As some of you might know, my family has roots in Iligan (in Mindanao, way down south, near Cagayan de Oro). My grandparents have since returned and decided to retire there. They now live in our ancestral home which sits just a few meters by the sea. Their home is beautiful and serene, and I always look forward to the chance to spend time with them over there. They spend six months there and roughly the same time here in the US. While there, my Nana writes for the local newspaper.

Right now, the situation is a little scary. Those of you back home would probably know more about the conflict between the Muslims and the Christians and know to what extent this political crap affects those in Mindanao. For us though, the extent of our knowledge does not go far beyond the fear for our grandparents' lives.

But they're staying because that is their community. The people for them are not just Muslim or Christian - they are their neighbors.

Here is her take on what has been going on and they intend to make things better:

IF SO…THEN WHAT?
by Dette Pascual

First Steps

What does one do when faced with a heavy burden that sees no immediate relief in sight?  Wise men say, "Take small steps, one day at a time."

This is what the "Save Muslim-Christian Good Relationships" movement is about. Per Mindanao Scoop (Aug. 31), "The movement, led by Hadji Abdullah Dalidig and other respected and prominent Muslim civic leaders in the cities of Iligan and Marawi, seeks for peaceful ways of resolving the conflict precipitated by the now-notorious MOA-AD issue. A simultaneous development was the peace dialogue on Aug 21 of the Ulama, Imams, Bishops of Iligan and Marawi, priests and laity and political leaders.This was followed by an Aug. 30 meeting of top leaders of Iligan City, Lanao Sur and Norte which they called 'Peace Summit and Drafting of a Peace Covenant.' "

So while those in the national government continue to debate on the best action to take on the Mindanao crisis, the local people are quietly working to restore the harmonious relationships that Muslims and Christians have had for such a long time in the two Muslim/Christian  provinces of Lanao. Being in ground zero, with their lives and their family's lives at stake, these people have focused on what is really important: Relationship with one another, and respect for each other's God. Unlike what is heard from some quarters in Manila, there is no talk of war. Instead, what is voiced is a need for a structure in which to dialogue, listen to one another in a face to face communication. It is a monumental  task. The harrowing experience in terms of loss of lives, grief, anger, vengeance, is still there.

Yet one must start somewhere. The situation calls to mind the birds in Iligan that I have been observing for a year now. When we decided to retire here,  my husband put up a bird feeder,  like what we had in our garden in Santa Barbara. But unlike the birds over there, no bird came to the feeder. It seems the birds here are more wary. They flit from tree to tree. They chirp. They look. But none came near the bird feeder. Why?

Then one day, I saw a little boy passing by holding a sling shot and looking up to the trees in our garden. "Aha! There's the answer," I told myself. The birds are afraid to feed because someone has been hunting them down. Once hurt, it is hard to make them trust human beings. I told my theory to my husband, who joked  that the bird feeder which I painted blue and white, with shutter windows and a picket fence, looked "stateside." Maybe we should build a nipa hut. But I told myself that there was no way I was going to give up that bird feeder.  I enjoyed painting it and if I say so myself, I think it's cute. Besides, to be practical, if we make it with bamboo and nipa, a single rainstorm with strong winds will blow that house away. So I told myself, "Patience!" Relationship must be built on friendship and trust, and the first step was to talk to that little boy with a sling shot.

So I waited for that boy by the beach, then started a conversation. Where did he live? Did he go to school? What grade? etc. When he was comfortable with me, I told him that I liked birds. Did he? He said yes. Then I asked  what he learned in school about birds. "They are our friends," he parroted. "They eat insects." "So,"  I said, "Why do you hunt them?" He smiled shyly, the sling shot was gone, and I found a friend .

But that was not enough. The birds were still wary, until one was brave enough to peek inside the bird house and took a peck at the seeds inside. Then he flew away. In the afternoon, he came back, took another peck, flew away again. Days later, others came. Today, birds come in and out of that birdhouse, happily chirping and eating. They got so crowded, that my husband added 3 more bird feeders. And every time we put in the feeds, we get a full house in all of them. Ah, what simple joy the singing of  birds bring to our everyday world. The friendly relation did not happen in a day. Not even weeks. It took months.

It takes patience and time to build up a trust that has been lost. In the case of the Mindanao conflict, it will take years. So much of the past intrudes on the present. Both sides, Christians and Muslims, are hurting. The military, caught in the middle, and following orders, suffered  loss of lives too. But  is there any other alternative? We do not have the luxury of dreaming new dreams. The immediate task is to restore the peace that was in place, but was rudely interrupted by the sudden burst of violence. Like the story of the birds, we take one step at a time.  

Friday, September 19, 2008

White Privilege

A friend of mine "introduced" me to Tim Wise and that's how I was able to see this article that he wrote. He was so nice to personally give me his permission to reprint this here (*kilig*). Check out the rest of his stuff (especially This is Your Nation on White Privilege) and learn a thing or two. This guy's good.

. . . . . . . .

Explaining White Privilege (Or, Your Defense Mechanism is Showing)
September 18, 2008, 7:52 am

Sigh.

I guess I should have expected it, seeing as how it's nothing new. I write a piece on racism and white privilege (namely, the recently viral This is Your Nation on White Privilege), lots of folks read it, many of them like it, and others e-mail me in fits of apoplexy, or post scathing critiques on message boards in which they invite me to die, to perform various sexual acts upon myself that I feel confident are impossible, or, best of all, to "go live in the ghetto," whereupon I will come to "truly appreciate the animals" for whom I have so much affection (the phrase they use for me and that affection, of course, sounds a bit different, and I'll leave it to your imagination to conjure the quip yourself).

Though I have no desire to debate the points made in the original piece, I would like to address some of the more glaring, and yet reasonable, misunderstandings that many seem to have about the subject of white privilege. That many white folks don't take well to the term is an understatement, and quite understandable. For those of us in the dominant group, the notion that we may receive certain advantages generally not received by others is a jarring, sometimes maddening concept. And if we don't understand what the term means, and what those who use it mean as they deploy it, our misunderstandings can generate anger and heat, where really, none is called for. So let me take this opportunity to explain what I mean by white privilege.

Of course, the original piece only mentioned examples of white privilege that were directly implicated in the current presidential campaign. It made no claims beyond that. Yet many who wrote to me took issue with the notion that there was such a thing, arguing, for instance that there are lots of poor white people who have no privilege, and many folks of color who are wealthy, who do. But what this argument misses is that race and class privilege are not the same thing.

Though we are used to thinking of privilege as a mere monetary issue, it is more than that. Yes, there are rich black and brown folks, but even they are subject to racial profiling and stereotyping (especially because those who encounter them often don't know they're rich and so view them as decidedly not), as well as bias in mortgage lending, and unequal treatment in schools. So, for instance, even the children of well-off black families are more likely to be suspended or expelled from school than the children of poor whites, and this is true despite the fact that there is no statistically significant difference in the rates of serious school rule infractions between white kids or black kids that could justify the disparity (according to fourteen different studies examined by Russ Skiba at Indiana University).

As for poor whites, though they certainly are suffering economically, this doesn't mean they lack racial privilege. I grew up in a very modest apartment, and economically was far from privileged. Yet I received better treatment in school (placement in advanced track classes even when I wasn't a good student), better treatment by law enforcement officers, and indeed more job opportunities because of connections I was able to take advantage of, that were pretty much unavailable to the folks of color I knew growing up. Likewise, low income whites everywhere are able to clean up, go to a job interview and be seen as just another white person, whereas a person of color, even who isn't low-income, has to wonder whether or not they might trip some negative stereotype about their group when they go for an interview or sit in the classroom answering questions from the teacher. Oh, and not to put too fine a point on it, but even low-income whites are more likely to own their own home than middle income black families, thanks to past advantages in housing and asset accumulation, which has allowed those whites to receive a small piece of property from their families.

The point is, privilege is as much a psychological matter as a material one. Whites have the luxury of not having to worry that our race is going to mark us negatively when looking for work, going to school, shopping, looking for a place to live, or driving for that matter: things that folks of color can't take for granted.

Let me share an analogy to make the point.

Taking things out of the racial context for a minute: imagine persons who are able bodied, as opposed to those with disabilities. If I were to say that able-bodied persons have certain advantages, certain privileges if you will, which disabled persons do not, who would argue the point? I imagine that no one would. It's too obvious, right? To be disabled is to face numerous obstacles. And although many persons with disabilities overcome those obstacles, this fact doesn't take away from the fact that they exist. Likewise, that persons with disabilities can and do overcome obstacles every day, doesn't deny that those of us who are able-bodied have an edge. We have one less thing to think and worry about as we enter a building, go to a workplace, or just try and navigate the contours of daily life. The fact that there are lots of able-bodied people who are poor, and some disabled folks who are rich, doesn't alter the general rule: on balance, it pays to be able-bodied.

That's all I'm saying about white privilege: on balance, it pays to be a member of the dominant racial group. It doesn't mean that a white person will get everything they want in life, or win every competition, but it does mean that there are general advantages that we receive.

So, for instance, studies have found that job applicants with white sounding names are 50% more likely to receive a call-back for a job interview than applicants with black-sounding names, even when all job-related qualifications and credentials are the same.

Other studies have found that white men with a criminal record are more likely to get a call-back for an interview than black male job applicants who don't have one, even when all requisite qualifications, demeanor and communication styles are the same.

Others have found that white women are far more likely than black women to be hired for work through temporary agencies, even when the black women have more experience and are more qualified.

Evidence from housing markets has found that there are about two million cases of race-based discrimination against people of color every year in the United States. That's not just bad for folks of color; the flipside is that there are, as a result, millions more places I can live as a white person.

Or consider criminal justice. Although data from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration indicates that whites are equally or more likely than blacks or Latinos to use drugs, it is people of color (blacks and Latinos mostly) who comprise about 90 percent of the persons incarcerated for a drug possession offense. Despite the fact that white men are more likely to be caught with drugs in our car (on those occasions when we are searched), black men remain about four times more likely than white men to be searched in the first place, according to Justice Department findings. That's privilege for the dominant group.

That's the point: privilege is the flipside of discrimination. If people of color face discrimination, in housing, employment and elsewhere, then the rest of us are receiving a de facto subsidy, a privilege, an advantage in those realms of daily life. There can be no down without an up, in other words.

None of this means that white folks don't face challenges. Of course we do, and some of them (based on class, gender, sexual orientation, disability status, or other factors) are systemic and institutionalized. But on balance, we can take for granted that we will receive a leg-up on those persons of color with whom we share a nation.

And no, affirmative action doesn't change any of this.

Despite white fears to the contrary, even with affirmative action in place (which, contrary to popular belief does not allow quotas or formal set-asides except in those rare cases where blatant discrimination has been proven) whites hold about ninety percent of all the management level jobs in this country, receive about ninety-four percent of government contract dollars, and hold ninety percent of tenured faculty positions on college campuses. And in spite of affirmative action programs, whites are more likely than members of any other racial group to be admitted to their college of first choice.* And according to a study released last year, for every student of color who received even the slightest consideration from an affirmative action program in college, there are two whites who failed to meet normal qualification requirements at the same school, but who got in anyway because of parental influence, alumni status or because other favors were done.

Furthermore, although white students often think that so-called minority scholarships are a substantial drain on financial aid resources that would otherwise be available to them, nothing could be further from the truth. According to a national study by the General Accounting Office, less than four percent of scholarship money in the U.S. is represented by awards that consider race as a factor at all, while only 0.25 percent (that's one quarter of one percent for the math challenged) of all undergrad scholarship dollars come from awards that are restricted to persons of color alone. What's more, the idea that large numbers of students of color receive the benefits of race-based scholarships is lunacy of the highest order. In truth, only 3.5 percent of college students of color receive any scholarship even partly based on race, suggesting that such programs remain a pathetically small piece of the financial aid picture in this country, irrespective of what a gaggle of reactionary white folks might believe.**

In other words, despite the notion that somehow we have attained an equal opportunity, or color-blind society, the fact is, we are far from an equitable nation. People of color continue to face obstacles based solely on color, and whites continue to reap benefits from the same. None of this makes whites bad people, and none of it means we should feel guilty or beat ourselves up. But it does mean we need to figure out how we're going to be accountable for our unearned advantages. One way is by fighting for a society in which those privileges will no longer exist, and in which we will be able to stand on our own two feet, without the artificial crutch of racial advantage to prop us up. We need to commit to fighting for racial equity and challenging injustice at every turn, not only because it harms others, but because it diminishes us as well (even as it pays dividends), and because it squanders the promise of fairness and equity to which we claim to adhere as Americans.

It's about responsibility, not guilt. And if one can't see the difference between those two things, there is little that this or any other article can probably do. Perhaps starting with a dictionary would be better.

*U.S Federal Glass Ceiling Commission, Good for Business: Making Full Use of the Nation's Human Capital. (Washington DC: Bureau of National Affairs, March 1995); Fred L. Pincus, Reverse Discrimination: Dismantling the Myth. (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2003), 18; Roberta J. Hill, "Far More Than Frybread," in Race in the College Classroom: Pedagogy and Politics, ed. Bonnie TuSmith and Maureen T. Reddy. (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press), 169; Sylvia Hurtado and Christine Navia, "Reconciling College Access and the Affirmative Action Debate," in Affirmative Action's Testament of Hope, ed. Mildred Garcia (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1997), 115.

**U.S. General Accounting Office, 1994. "Information on Minority Targeted Scholarships," B251634. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, January; Stephen L. Carter, "Color-Blind and Color-Active," 1992. The Recorder. January 3.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

I do not have

...the testicular fortitude to stop caring, not feel disappointed, and be brave about it. Well, I do not have the required gonads, period. If I did, then I'd make like a worm (or fish? or both? or WHATEVER?) and go and reproduce on my own then. Sigh.

 Another failed month. Stupid effing ovaries. Back to the drawing board. Gah.