Last day of class

Today, while waiting for the bus, I stopped myself to observe the clouds. I don't remember the last time I just stopped. Watching the moisture gather, moving with the air current, forming this white and gray cloud against a stark cerulean sky. It was beautiful.

Starting Over

It's nearly 2am and it seems as though the sandman is having a difficult time finding me tonight. Really, my inability to find solace in a pillow comes from this bit of anxiousness building in my gut. Tomorrow (today), I will be facilitating a workshop, with the help of my dear colleague, for grad students and faculty in our department. Perhaps I'm nervous, perhaps it's other stresses (I have plenty), I can't tell exactly, but I am not really feeling tired- that's a fact. If am nervous, I am certain that those feelings will fade after a rigorous hour spent with the Austin Boxing Babes in the morning.

Yeah, I'm taking boxing classes now.

Obviously, it has been ages since my last post. Much has happened between then and now. However, rather than taking on the heady task of filling in the blanks now- which would inevitably result in writing paralysis- I will simply acknowledge that I need to write more. And I will.

I need to loosen up these stiff fingers and grease the rusty cogs in my brain to become more accustomed to writing on the regular. After all, I am expected to write a dissertation one of these days. So, what better way than to get back into blogging again?

It's time to shift gears and start exploring the ideas and events that get my creative juices flowing. Until next time...

The cultivation of Home in a new city

Home is a place whereas a house is a space.

A house arguably does not become a home until it is filled with items which are attached with symbolic meanings (see Domosh & Seager for a discussion on the topic of home and feminist geography). Yet the concept of home as a place can be understood at different scales- it does not necessarily need to be contained in one space, such as a house or apartment- rather the idea of home can be contained within oneself (body) or extended to country of birth, the possibilities abound. Athens, Ohio was my home.

It has been nearly a month since I made the epic journey across the states from Ohio to Texas. Life has kept me busy by throwing challenge after challenge my way. I am thankful to still have a strong network of friends and family around the US who have been able to help me get through this most recent string of challenges. Because truthfully, even the most independent of folks needs a little help every now and again.

Among my many challenges this month has been finding a new apartment. As it turns out, the house in which I am "living in" now is not quite what I had in mind. In short, my roommates and I have very different lifestyles when it comes to living with dogs so I am opting to move out. Which is unfortunate because both of my roommates are incredibly nice but as it stands, Nando and I cannot live according to the rules set in place. Thankfully, for the last couple of weeks I have been living at my advisor's apartment, watching her dogs, so Nando and I have been out of my roommates' hair if you will.

Sleeping in a real bed has been very nice. But because I am dog-sitting and also watching another professor's cat at another house I have been jumping from house to house on a daily basis. Add to that, the fact that I am living out of a suitcase and I occasionally have to go back to "my house" to pick up items, then mix into the equation work (yes, I am actually working in addition to dog-sitting and cat-sitting) and one could understand that I simply have not made a "home" for myself in Austin quite yet.

Admittedly, I miss Athens.

I miss being able to walk everywhere that I need to go. I miss running into folks I know at any given time/place. I miss taking Nando to the dog park and having conversations with other dog owners who pamper their dogs just as much as me. I miss being able to walk upstairs to have a heart-to-heart with my best friend or to walk just a couple houses down my street to enjoy tacos and hookah with my favorite doctors. I miss blowing off steam on the bike path or at the pond at SuBAMUH. I miss having friends for whom I can cook delicious meals. I miss hugs.

I miss many things.

But the truth is that the cultivation of community, friendship and love- key components of a home for me - takes time. As Terkenli (1995) discusses:

Historical time becomes the central dimension to the idea of home, because habits that repetitively unfold in specific contexts differentiate these locales or circumstances from the rest of the known world. Therein lies the meaning of home as "a place where every day is multiplied by all the days before it" (Tuan 1977, 144).

Notably, Yi Fu Tuan is also quoted in this little block of text defining home as, "a place where every day is multiplied by all the days before it". And so, as the days pass, I too will eventually come to know Austin as my home. I first need to find a space to call my own.

Apartment hunting at this point is slim pickin's. With such short notice, the school year fast approaching and a Nando dog (folks are anti-German Shepherd around here)- I have had a hard time finding any open apartments that will accept my application. There is one place that I have applied to that looks promising- keep your fingers crossed. With luck, I will be move into my new apartment on September 5th. As the school year begins and I settle into my apartment- into my own life (as opposed to the trans-local house-sitting life that is very much not my own), I will be able to establish my "routine" and surely Austin will begin to feel more like home. Naturally, along the way I imagine I will pick up a few new friends here and there.

As it stands, I have made a couple new friends so far. Most seem like fleeting acquaintances but a couple are definitely worth keeping around. We shall see where life takes us.

On that note, I need to be on my way- I have doggies to walk and a friend to meet.

Hasta luego.

Spring is in the Air- Summer fast approaches

There is one thing about the changing seasons that I will truly miss when I move- the symbolism of rebirth. As Spring begins to unfold I feel a renewed sense of self- as though the real me is waking up again.

It is so bizarre to me- how my mood is so contingent upon the weather. I feel more like myself, more me, more alive, when the sun is shining and I am able to function outside without protective clothing. It makes sense though, I am more able to do the things that bring me joy when the weather is favorable- like gardening and yard work, hiking with the pooch, cleaning with the windows wide open and music blaring, bike rides, long walks to nowhere... it's the simple things. Even when the sun isn't shining though, waking to the sound of songbirds in the morning, seeing the crocuses and hyacinths make their way up through the soil, the smell of fresh rain, these things bring me just as much joy as the activities that can be done in warm weather. Still, there's something about sunshine that makes me feel invigorated.

I feel as though I can take on the whole World.

So in classic literary use of Spring as metaphor for new beginnings, I will employ this usage in the context of my life.

"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. You are the [gal] who'll decide where to go.”

As summer fast approaches my life is headed in new directions and I couldn't be more excited.

I have spent the majority of Spring usin' mah brains within the realm of academia, yet rather than being the student I have been playing the role of professor. Teaching in the women and gender studies program has been an incredible learning experience! Certainly, this topic merits a post all on its own. As spring quarter comes to a close I do feel a bit of sadness, honestly. My students have been diligent, smart and encouraging- I will miss them. But I am happy to have known them, that they were my first class, and that some will remain in contact as they continue on their own journeys and I continue on mine.

Most folks are well aware by now that I am headed to Austin, TX to pursue my PhD in geography but I'll reiterate here. I was offered a rather delicious deal by the dept. of geog at UT and after my visit to Austin in March, how could I really pass up such a great opportunity?

Evergreen, heat, and sunshine are certainly a great combination for this Chicana. Add to the mix a spectacular department of geography, closer proximity to family and a big city and this Malinche is sold. Unfortunately, I will not be teaching my first year at UT but I look forward to teaching again during subsequent years.

I make the move from Athens to Austin at the end of this month. It's time to set out on my own once again.

Listening to: Indigo Girls - Rise Up, Muse- Butterflies and Hurricanes, Ani DiFranco- Shameless

A revolution without dancing...

Laughter rises up from a group sitting at a picnic table beneath the starlight. They are seated on the patio of Gibson's on S. Lamaar, some are finishing their inside-out sandwiches, most have a drink or two in front of them. Glasses clink. Threads are being spun and woven between this mix of faculty, graduate students, prospective students, family and friends. But most importantly, there is laughter.

The evening would soon take them to other parts of the city to enjoy live music at Emo's, with a special concert by The Noise Revival Orchestra. Naturally, there was dancing. A revolution without dancing is not worth having.

"What revolution?," you ask?

Why, one of the many upheavals that have/will occur throughout my lifetime brought forth by my own hands, of course! It is time, once again, to pack my bags and prepare for a new beginning. As it stands, I am months deep into the process. Yet, every day brings new opportunities- it is sometimes difficult to keep up as I continue forward. Still, these are exciting times.

Throughout the next 5 months, I will be getting myself ready to move across the country. I shall be ridding myself of most of my possessions, either through gift, donation or garage sale. The only items I intend to keep are my clothes, books, kitchenware and naturally, the mammals. But realistically, whatever I can fit in my car. This purging of goods is a way of starting from scratch- bringing only the bare necessities along with me.

"Okay... so where are you moving?"

That's a good question. I'm not entirely sure yet. But I can tell you that my recent visit to Austin has me leaning very much towards that option. I mean, on a superficial level I have to say, you have no idea how amazing it is to hear your name pronounced properly, consistently, after not hearing it for nearly two decades. On a more practical level, UT has a lot to offer me (something I will address in a later post) in terms of resources and support. I have been admitted with funding to UO and now I only wait for UA to let me know their admissions decision.

So, as the coming weeks bring a dramatic shift in my working situation, so too will they bring news of my nearing future. Until then... patience.

A funny thing happened...

Last night I had a dream that I was driving my car West on US 33, towards Columbus. As I was veering left on the ramp in order to stay on 33 W (you know, where it forks towards Lancaster and the speed limit picks back up to 65) I took a sharp left and drove off of the (now) bridge. I remember thinking, "Oh shit." Then there was suddenly water beneath me and the car, and the road was no longer behind/above me. I slowly made my descent and remember that the water below was relatively still, save for the ripples of the wind and I thought to myself, "It's okay, I am going to survive this." Maybe that was when I had the "Ah ha!" moment in realizing that it was all a dream because just as I the car was about to hit the water, I readied myself to jump out (naturally, my sunfire became a convertible making it so much easier to make my escape) and I woke up.

I am no dream interpreter. If I had to guess I would say that I dreamed about driving to Columbus because I have driven there three times in the last two weeks and maybe I am stressed so the car going off the bridge symbolizes that, or something. Makes sense.

If I was a dream interpreter maybe I would say that driving a car represents my life and my ability to move forward. The road will take me to my goals. Could the road represent my desire to become a professor? Unfortunately, in my dream, I drove off the road. The thing is, I drove off the road. In my dream, I chose to take that hard left. Perhaps that hard left represents my decision to stay in Athens for a little while, the decision to do the AmeriCorps gig. So I have chosen to deviate from my path for the time being, I'm still making progress. But in the dream the consequences were not violent. Even as the car careened off of the bridge/road, I had the mindset that everything would be okay. The water is calm. Supposedly water represents emotion and I would say that hits the nail - spot on. And I survive the fall. So I assume anyway, otherwise I don't believe I would have woken up as I had.

So, dreams have a funny way of telling us what our subconscious is thinking. While I am no dream interpreter, it is kind of interesting to ponder. Also, reassuring. If this is all shades of confusing to you, I am not going to apologize. Maybe you should call me and catch up, eh?

Oh right, one last thing. When I woke up from my dream, I was lying on my side and I opened my eyes and I saw something looking down on me. Whatever it was, looked translucent green and red and it gave me chills but I had already grappled with the fact that I had been dreaming a crazy dream just seconds before and I was too tired to be afraid. So, I rolled over, ignoring whatever it was (and it was probably nothing) glanced at the clock (it was 3:48am), groaned and fell asleep once again.

Needless to say, it was creepy to think about this morning.

Peace.

"Imagine if the Tea Party Was Black" - Tim Wise

It has been a while since I have had the opportunity to sit down and write anything for me, from me lately mostly due to my thesis writing. Just as I have not had much time to write I have also found it difficult to keep up with the latest news but on the occasion I have caught glimpses of what the teabaggers and extremists in AZ have been up to and have been appalled. That being said, I read this blog recently and found it quite eye opening, especially after having read some of Patricia Hill Collins' work. So I am reposting this blog from Ephphatha Poetry in hopes that this reaches more people than just those who already 'get it.'

I hope that this encourages respectful and productive dialogue.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

"Imagine if the Tea Party Was Black" - Tim Wise

Let’s play a game, shall we? The name of the game is called “Imagine.” The way it’s played is simple: we’ll envision recent happenings in the news, but then change them up a bit. Instead of envisioning white people as the main actors in the scenes we’ll conjure - the ones who are driving the action - we’ll envision black folks or other people of color instead. The object of the game is to imagine the public reaction to the events or incidents, if the main actors were of color, rather than white. Whoever gains the most insight into the workings of race in America, at the end of the game, wins.

So let’s begin.

Imagine that hundreds of black protesters were to descend upon Washington DC and Northern Virginia, just a few miles from the Capitol and White House, armed with AK-47s, assorted handguns, and ammunition. And imagine that some of these protesters —the black protesters — spoke of the need for political revolution, and possibly even armed conflict in the event that laws they didn’t like were enforced by the government? Would these protester — these black protesters with guns — be seen as brave defenders of the Second Amendment, or would they be viewed by most whites as a danger to the republic? What if they were Arab-Americans? Because, after all, that’s what happened recently when white gun enthusiasts descended upon the nation’s capital, arms in hand, and verbally announced their readiness to make war on the country’s political leaders if the need arose.

Imagine that white members of Congress, while walking to work, were surrounded by thousands of angry black people, one of whom proceeded to spit on one of those congressmen for not voting the way the black demonstrators desired. Would the protesters be seen as merely patriotic Americans voicing their opinions, or as an angry, potentially violent, and even insurrectionary mob? After all, this is what white Tea Party protesters did recently in Washington.

Imagine that a rap artist were to say, in reference to a white president: “He’s a piece of shit and I told him to suck on my machine gun.” Because that’s what rocker Ted Nugent said recently about President Obama.

Imagine that a prominent mainstream black political commentator had long employed an overt bigot as Executive Director of his organization, and that this bigot regularly participated in black separatist conferences, and once assaulted a white person while calling them by a racial slur. When that prominent black commentator and his sister — who also works for the organization — defended the bigot as a good guy who was misunderstood and “going through a tough time in his life” would anyone accept their excuse-making? Would that commentator still have a place on a mainstream network? Because that’s what happened in the real world, when Pat Buchanan employed as Executive Director of his group, America’s Cause, a blatant racist who did all these things, or at least their white equivalents: attending white separatist conferences and attacking a black woman while calling her the n-word.

Imagine that a black radio host were to suggest that the only way to get promoted in the administration of a white president is by “hating black people,” or that a prominent white person had only endorsed a white presidential candidate as an act of racial bonding, or blamed a white president for a fight on a school bus in which a black kid was jumped by two white kids, or said that he wouldn’t want to kill all conservatives, but rather, would like to leave just enough—“living fossils” as he called them—“so we will never forget what these people stood for.” After all, these are things that Rush Limbaugh has said, about Barack Obama’s administration, Colin Powell’s endorsement of Barack Obama, a fight on a school bus in Belleville, Illinois in which two black kids beat up a white kid, and about liberals, generally.

Imagine that a black pastor, formerly a member of the U.S. military, were to declare, as part of his opposition to a white president’s policies, that he was ready to “suit up, get my gun, go to Washington, and do what they trained me to do.” This is, after all, what Pastor Stan Craig said recently at a Tea Party rally in Greenville, South Carolina.

Imagine a black radio talk show host gleefully predicting a revolution by people of color if the government continues to be dominated by the rich white men who have been “destroying” the country, or if said radio personality were to call Christians or Jews non-humans, or say that when it came to conservatives, the best solution would be to “hang ‘em high.” And what would happen to any congressional representative who praised that commentator for “speaking common sense” and likened his hate talk to “American values?” After all, those are among the things said by radio host and best-selling author Michael Savage, predicting white revolution in the face of multiculturalism, or said by Savage about Muslims and liberals, respectively. And it was Congressman Culbertson, from Texas, who praised Savage in that way, despite his hateful rhetoric.

Imagine a black political commentator suggesting that the only thing the guy who flew his plane into the Austin, Texas IRS building did wrong was not blowing up Fox News instead. This is, after all, what Anne Coulter said about Tim McVeigh, when she noted that his only mistake was not blowing up the New York Times.

Imagine that a popular black liberal website posted comments about the daughter of a white president, calling her “typical redneck trash,” or a “whore” whose mother entertains her by “making monkey sounds.” After all that’s comparable to what conservatives posted about Malia Obama on freerepublic.com last year, when they referred to her as “ghetto trash.”

Imagine that black protesters at a large political rally were walking around with signs calling for the lynching of their congressional enemies. Because that’s what white conservatives did last year, in reference to Democratic party leaders in Congress.

In other words, imagine that even one-third of the anger and vitriol currently being hurled at President Obama, by folks who are almost exclusively white, were being aimed, instead, at a white president, by people of color. How many whites viewing the anger, the hatred, the contempt for that white president would then wax eloquent about free speech, and the glories of democracy? And how many would be calling for further crackdowns on thuggish behavior, and investigations into the radical agendas of those same people of color?

To ask any of these questions is to answer them. Protest is only seen as fundamentally American when those who have long had the luxury of seeing themselves as prototypically American engage in it. When the dangerous and dark “other” does so, however, it isn’t viewed as normal or natural, let alone patriotic. Which is why Rush Limbaugh could say, this past week, that the Tea Parties are the first time since the Civil War that ordinary, common Americans stood up for their rights: a statement that erases the normalcy and “American-ness” of blacks in the civil rights struggle, not to mention women in the fight for suffrage and equality, working people in the fight for better working conditions, and LGBT folks as they struggle to be treated as full and equal human beings.

And this, my friends, is what white privilege is all about. The ability to threaten others, to engage in violent and incendiary rhetoric without consequence, to be viewed as patriotic and normal no matter what you do, and never to be feared and despised as people of color would be, if they tried to get away with half the shit we do, on a daily basis.

Game Over.

Tim Wise is among the most prominent anti-racist writers and activists in the U.S. Wise has spoken in 48 states, on over 400 college campuses, and to community groups around the nation. Wise has provided anti-racism training to teachers nationwide, and has trained physicians and medical industry professionals on how to combat racial inequities in health care. His latest book is called Between Barack and a Hard Place.