Friday, 13 September 2013

Subjectivities in Life Experience

Dear Gentle Reader(s),

I've finally come up for air after the lonnnng sloggg of working on my dissertation. I noticed that a friend of mine on a social media site posted a link to a published essay detailing the transformative experience of the writer at Burning Man.

Given what happened in my life last year; losing my baby boy, and two years before that, losing my sister, my dear friend, and my grandmother all within a three month period, I've thought a lot about perspective and life knowledge. I've struggled to stay connected with people whose problems seem vastly pale by comparison. I've struggled with the estrangement inherent in losing my 'life innocence' in this way. Particularly, because of losing my son, I've struggled with the 'knowing' which comes as a result of seeing that 'everything' isn't always going to be all right and not 'everyone' just 'gets pregnant and has a baby'. I've often found myself thinking, these people have no fucking clue and very much not enjoying my new knowledge. A person can really get bogged down by knowing what others don't; it's not a smug sort of feeling, it's a longing for a return to innocence combined with a longing for other people to catch up in experience, so that you're not totally alone in it. It's not about wishing bad things on other people; it's about sometimes feeling a lack of enthusiasm for things that others are enthusiastic about, or lack of enthusiasm for things others think they understand in their innocence. But reality dictates, as it should, that people learn things in their own time and in their own way.

I was drawn to think again about this subjective wealth of personal knowledge, as I read through the comments section below that person's Burning Man essay, and was dismayed by the number of posts slamming and disqualifying this person's experience: Burning Man was better in the 90s; A person has to 'do' things, not 'watch others' doing things to experience joy and other such comments. This bitterness disturbed me, and I thought, Well, how many of these sage life experts have lost a baby? What do they know about life? And then my real answer came; to them, and for myself:

So what, Burning Man was better in the 90s? Really, a person has to 'do' things, not 'watch others' doing things to experience joy? Watching others, or maybe the act of finally 'seeing' others beyond yourself could, in fact, be 'doing' something in another person's experience. This is all subjective. What if I told you that the majority of people here don't have a clue about reaching deep, feeling deeply, knowing true love, touching creation, or surviving until they birth, then grieve the loss of a baby they birthed? That is what I did, and it doesn't mean that other peoples' experiences don't count for shit all of a sudden. At the end of the day, you can only know what you know through your own experiences, in your own way, in your own time. The experiences of one don't necessarily negate or invalidate the experiences of others. How someone draws upon, gleans, and finds lessons in experiences (experiences which may very well be contextually passé or superficial to another person) is personal, may be experienced as transformative for that person, and therefore valid. Can folks stop pissing on other people's experiences, please? Live in your own truth and let others live in theirs, please. Give them a chance to find their own way, not your way.

That is all.

Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Trayvon Martin And The Myth Of The "Acceptable Negro": A Personal Anecdote

Dear Gentle Reader(s),

I have to say something. I have to. I don't know whether anyone is reading this or not. But I know that if there's even a remote chance that anyone who has anonymously enjoyed my quirky blogs about "cute" things, or sexism, horror films, or late pregnancy loss, dating faux pas, or toxic people, or the awesomeness of Foo Fighters, then I know that I need to share this, and in a moment it will be clear why.

There's a guy I know from the film industry here in London. He seems a gentle soul, intelligent, humorous, and unmistakably upper middle class in that quirky, weird vintage sweater-wearing British sort of way. Since working with each other years ago, we've been Facebook friends. He once made it clear that he enjoyed vintage clips of the TV show Soul Train, which I found to be such a charming trait that for one of his birthdays, I posted one of these clips on his page - of course, he loved it.

Living in London has afforded me the luxury of getting to know people whom I might otherwise not have had the opportunity to even meet - and I don't just mean that in a literal way; I mean it in a sociopolitical way. Because I know something about my home country of America that others like me, from Josephine Baker in the 30s to your average modern day African American US military person, know: Europe treats us better. And just when I think I'm descending into mental dramatics, I remind myself of how socially segregated my life was in America, even though I'm the product of an ethnically and religiously mixed family.

Here's the reality check: I am brown skinned, so in America I am "just black". Beyond my own high school social group, I can count on one hand the times I witnessed multicultural groups of adults socializing together, and beyond my own family, I can count on that same hand the number of white people I was actually close to or called friends when I lived in America. My life in the UK is completely different. Sure, here I can complain that I don't get nearly as much film work as an English Rose with the same credentials because I don't fit the standard, BBC-mentored, middle class white girl mould. And yes, that certainly hurts my pocketbook, but I can say that I have a generally pleasant life here where my social pool is very diverse, and much more importantly I don't fear for my safety like I did back home. Even in the face of the fatal police shooting of Mark Duggan in 2011, I know that in London my class status and gender, the fact that I'm articulate and pretty by British standards protects me, unlike in America.

There is a certain emotional discomfort in the knowledge that my British contemporaries, with their predominant acceptance of me and belief in my in right to experience social dignity in daily life, have no idea why I have so much in common with someone like Trayvon Martin. I know this because I've had countless discussions with British contemporaries who scoffed at the idea that I might identify with a disenfranchised underclass, or the possibility that I know anything about being racially profiled. This place, where average men become impatient with me for bashfully trying to cover myself in my bra and underpants when faced with another early waking visitor at a friend's house because I "obviously know [I'm] beautiful" is a place full of people who have no idea what it means to be black in America, much less a fat black woman in America.

After the George Zimmerman acquittal I posted a link to the Southern Poverty Law Center's press statement on my facebook feed. Shortly after posting this link the British friend I mentioned earlier posted a link to a video which he clearly thought pertained to me. In it, radio talk show host Stefan Molyneux of Freedomain Radio (which calls itself the largest and most popular philosophy show on the web) proceeds to break down the Zimmerman case quite subjectively. Molyneux reconstructs, and even reimagines facts of the incident, cites the worst comparative social statistics concerning African Americans I've ever heard barring Neo-Nazi sites, then closes with (and I'm paraphrasing here) urging presumably intellectual, middle class people to focus on things other than "race"  and "race baiters" because "we" have bigger fish to fry. Without saying anything more about how this pertains to the first portion of my thoughts here, I would like to take this moment to present my response to the poster of this video on Monday, July 15, 2013:



"Sorry, [name withheld], but this is essentially hegemonically constructed hogwash and I can’t allow it to go unaddressed in my presence. In fact, I’m just going to put it out there and let the chips fall where they may. This is the only time I’m going to address this issue and I’m going to make it count so everyone knows where I stand. I warn you, it’s going to be lengthy, but this is important. This is my contribution to fighting the good fight so I’m not going to skimp. A hegemonic, white supremacist framework and its institutional apparatuses are, as far as I’m concerned, not to be trusted when it comes to fair and balanced collection and reporting of all of these *amazing* statistics which your buddy above is using to essentially rationalize the murder of an unarmed boy and absolve society of any further concern for its lowest rungs. This sort of thing has been going on for a very long time, and I’m frankly surprised that you seem to be advocating this sort of thinking. It has actually been a very long time since anyone has not known better than to approach me with such a load of drivel – I’m being quite serious. Watching this man reduce (one of) my ethnic group(s) down to savagery in order to rationalize or contextualize this Zimmerman crime... God, it’s as if Critical Race Theory never existed at all, and someone has travelled back through time to find this rationalizing, pathologizing, asshole.

Part of the very meta-discourse being had in cultural and critical studies and theory (and this is technically aside from critical race theory, though there are clearly overlaps) since the late 20th century covers how cultural and social data have historically been, and continue to be collected in alignment with, and through the agents of hegemonic frameworks. So thank you for posting a shining example of that above (not the meta-discourse, but the hegemonically aligned data) which, by the way, is particularly ironic since he speaks at the end about people who are selling off “our” future, starting and sending “us” to wars, putting massive numbers of “people” in prison for having the wrong “vegetation” on them. So it just escapes this man that in my country, the majority of people who were actually sent to Vietnam, the majority of people encouraged to join the military rather than going to university today, and the majority of people who are sent to prison for having the wrong “vegetation” on them are working class and poor people of colour... specifically, black people, who were/are sent up the river because they were profiled, targeted, slated for mediocrity, and processed with more zeal, harshness, and at greater rates than their white counterparts, thanks to dehumanizing rationalizations shakily formed by the dodgy collection of *exactly* the sort of hogwash data that he peddles throughout most of his video? Seriously, I didn’t think anyone outside of backwoods, poorly educated, middle America was into pathologizing the oppressed with such a straight face anymore.

On a personal level I understand, as a person who did not grow up in an environment of poverty and lack of education, that if someone like me can be affected and profoundly traumatized by the realities of institutional racism, and if I know that, via institutional apparatuses, the odds are stacked against minorities, particularly poor minorities, then I should be wary of the message of the gatekeeper any time he wants to drag out the trumped up carcass of black savagery to rationalize a terrible act like shooting an unarmed boy. This is an old song. You should read some Tim Wise, Stuart Hall, and perhaps some Homi K. Bhabha, since the endorsement of such a video as the one above happens to denote a terribly archaic perspective.

Speaking of Tim Wise, amongst so many other reality checks, he mentioned a few years back that according to a US study released in 2004 “black and Latino males are three times more likely than white males to have their cars stopped and searched for drugs –even though white males are four and half times more likely to actually have drugs on us on the occasion when we are stopped.” That small statistic is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to racial profiling, stopping and searching, and the greater goals of maintaining the prison industrial complex which is overwhelmingly full of black people. The prison industrial complex generates everything from free labour to manufacture goods, to prison-based gerrymandering – which, by the way is structured pretty similarly to counting slaves as 3/5 of a person for the purposes of using them as constituents while denying them any political voice. This is a business, my friend, and every business needs personnel to keep running. Why not fast track potential personnel by sending them straight to prison? Of course if you do it the way Judge Mark Ciavarella Jr. did, you might get done for selling thousands of kids straight to the prison system, which actually isn’t shocking when you consider how much more likely black people in the US are to be given the straight to jail ticket. 

In the decades following slavery, multiple generations of us have been treated as second class citizens, been firebombed (someone planted a bomb outside a beach house my family was renting one Thanksgiving in the 90s – the police had to actually disarm it), chased, intimidated, grandfather-claused, used for medical experimentation without anaesthesia, disenfranchised, marginalized, shot, beaten to death, and pathologized all by the same system and its agents which supposedly impartially collect data on us. Yeah, okay, single black mothers are the *real* problem with “the blacks”. In fact, it’s their problem. I don’t understand why those “blacks” are such savages, but this obviously has nothing to do with US. Racism is just... over. Not. The game is rigged and has been for a long time. Fortunately, as I mentioned earlier the academic sphere has cottoned onto this reality (if you’ll pardon the pun), though I won’t hold my breath for any of this to filter into the mainstream consciousness.

But because you saw fit to share this video with me thereby implying my inclusion as member of the group your boy Molyneux seems to feel has bigger fish to fry, I’m compelled to share some personal observations and anecdotes here. Perhaps Molyneux and his contemporaries have bigger fish to fry because his children won’t EVER be at risk at the hands of fascist police and crazy nutcases like Zimmerman. Mine will, which is one of the reasons why I live here rather than the US. Yes in Britain black and Asian men are 30 times more likely than whites to get stopped and searched, but at least I probably won’t have to worry as much about some neighbour PROFILING, STALKING, SHOOTING and MURDERING my future son one day. Only people who will never have to worry about such a fate for their children are loath to admit that this is a serious problem. It actually speaks to a degree of acceptance within in your culture, [name withheld], that you would even consider sharing this video with me and believe that it applies.

But wait, there’s more. Let’s break down Racial Identity in America 101: George Zimmerman’s ethnic background holds little to no significance to how he is identified and self-identifies in daily life. In a society where skin colour has traditionally represented, and been legislated as currency and rights to social privileges, and is the predominant means of identifying and categorizing people, having very light skin makes a person essentially “white” in the eyes of a majority of citizens, including those charged with the responsibility of upholding and enforcing laws. Conversely, having dark skin makes a person essentially “black” to said majority. The social signifiers attached to colour in my country are deeply ingrained and very negative for those who fall along the darker lines of the spectrum. Note the confusion and hurt experienced by many dark immigrants who arrive into America and suddenly realize that they’re being called, and treated as black when they’re not from Africa and don’t consider themselves to be black – surprise! Colorism is a bitch and it is very real. Racial profiling wouldn’t be such a huge problem if this weren’t the case. Even as a person who grew up upper middle class, presumably with all the hallmarks of class privilege, I have had the opportunity to experience first-hand how racial profiling works in America. One of the major reasons I moved out of my country was because I got tired of suffering through racism and racial profiling as part of my pedestrian life. Let me share a few anecdotes.

My maternal grandmother used to take me everywhere with her when I was a little girl. My grand was European and very pale, and I am brown, which amounted to stares and comments (often nasty) when we went out. For many, it was an impossibility that we should, or could be related simply based upon our skin colours, though in all other physical features I very much resemble the women on her side of the family – in the eyes of many strangers it was okay to stare at and ostracize a grandmother and her little granddaughter. This may not seem like much to others, but for a small child, it’s terrifying and demoralizing overall. In fact, the first time in my life when my grandmother and I were not stared at or commented on was when she came to visit me here in London in 2005.

My father, who is African American, a consultant level physician with his own practice, and a past president of a state medical association was stopped by police in his BMW while on his way back from seeing patients at a hospital one night. He was wearing a shirt and tie, had a stethoscope around his neck and his lab coat in the back seat. He was stopped for no apparent reason and repeatedly questioned about where he got his car. Eventually, they reduced themselves to repeatedly asking if he had STOLEN his car, even though it had to have been clear that he was a doctor. In the end, they were forced to let him go, but he was lucky to have made it away from there without getting his skull bashed in or run into jail on some sort of trumped up charges, considering the reputation of the county he was driving through. From my father to men like Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr and actor LeVar Burton, this sort of harassment happens routinely and most consider themselves lucky if they escape these incidents unharmed. Imagine your own father having to deal with living this way his whole life no matter what his class, how successful, what his credentials were, or how much money he had. Imagine yourself having to live this way. Imagine your son having to live this way. Really, try to imagine it.

In another experience, I once watched as my ex-husband was taken out of our flat in his pajamas AT GUN POINT, handcuffed, and held at gun point as a “suspect” in a robbery, because the police arrived at the wrong address. What robber have you ever heard of who would be willing to answer someone else’s door in striped Polo pajamas? We were truly in fear for his life because these police looked positively poised to use their guns at a moment’s notice, and had a reputation in that city for having used deadly force on hundreds of unarmed, innocent people. In this same city, my ex and I were repeatedly stopped by police without explanation while driving through neighbourhoods, including our own, where we apparently didn’t ‘seem’ to belong. Racial profiling isn’t just something that police do in ‘drug ridden ghettos’. And obviously, it isn’t just police.

In another incident, my ex and I once had a volatile, noisy, alcoholic neighbour whom the management couldn’t manage to legally evict. We pleaded with our building management to move us to a different apartment, which they agreed to when one became available. Later, the executive building manager, in an attempt to distract from promises to move us, started talking about not feeling she could trust us because of “that black guy down the hall who does drugs and doesn’t pay his rent on time”. She was actually attempting, based upon skin colour, to link us with the poor behaviour of a total stranger with whom we had nothing in common. We were at this person’s mercy and her extreme prejudice. Never mind that we’d lived in that building for over two years, never mind their promises to move us; suddenly, we had simply become like that black drug user who never pays rent because it was more convenient to intimidate us and let us move away than to prepare a new flat. Incredibly demoralizing. This same woman’s associate also offered us another apartment in another building at one point. Imagine our shock and dismay when our “viewing” amounted to being shown a flat in a dilapidated building all the way across town in a ghetto.

I have had two incidents where I sat with a group of friends in restaurants and literally been ignored by the staff as other patrons arrived, were served, and went. Once we waited to be served for nearly two hours in a restaurant which actually had a reputation for refusing service to African Americans, but we were young uni students on a road trip, were hungry, and there was nowhere else in the area open after 9:30 pm, so we just waited. And waited, and waited. And after the 100th attempt to flag down a waiter or waitress, a waitress stopped at our table with a sour look and simply asked, “What?”

I can’t count the number of times I have been followed around high end department stores and shops (sometimes by black or Hispanic security guards, by the way) as if I were going to steal something – never mind that I was always well dressed, well spoken and that I could afford to shop at these establishments – I was still automatically a potential thief because of my colour.

I can’t count the number of very well qualified people I know who have had to shorten or change their names for their CVs just to be granted job interviews because their names sounded “too African American”. I’ve had friends and family walk through my parents’ neighbourhood and not long after, we’d get neighbours calling to “make sure” those people were associated with us, otherwise the police might be called. In fact, I was almost abducted by a strange man in a car at dusk in my parents’ neighbourhood while walking one of our dogs, and I knocked on a neighbour’s door to get to safety and the gentleman wouldn’t open the door, speak with me, or even call the police. Later, at a neighbourhood association meeting this neighbour claimed not to know who I was and therefore didn’t feel “safe” helping me. To him I was just some ‘suspicious black’ knocking on his door at dusk, even though I clearly identified myself, my address, my name, and my parents’ names, asked him to phone the police, and explained the situation at hand –I’d been in tears, as a strange man first tried to blind me with his headlights, then cut off his lights totally and slowly followed me down the road before quickly speeding away. None of that mattered to the man behind the door. All he saw was that someone black was at his door and he had no intention of helping. The reality is that the majority of the (very few) crimes in that neighbourhood have been committed by white criminals, but for this gentleman, my skin colour meant that I was suspicious, and my skin colour even trumped my gender (which was presumably why I was targeted by the man in the car).

I have an African American friend who was hit in a head-on collision by a pair of drunk drivers (who happened to be white) and was asked by the police repeatedly what SHE was doing, driving around that neighbourhood at 8 at night. The drunks weren’t even taken to jail, though they were deeply intoxicated. I have hundreds of these stories not from the trenches of “the ghetto” but from middle class life. This is life in America, where a person like me has to be concerned with personal safety in an environment where I am automatically assumed to be the suspect. And I’m not even male.

The situation becomes even further complicated by intra-racism and colourism. Not unlike India, where dark skin is bad, ugly, and automatically takes on a signifier of low class and criminal potential, people of colour in America don’t exist in a bubble where we haven’t internalized institutionalized racism and colourism. Hegemonic victims can and do become its agents very often. There are self hating minorities all over the place. And why shouldn’t there be, when they’re given a pretty consistent message that they’re nothing in society? It’s no more difficult to understand than the case of people in Britain who move up in class, then reign hatred down on lower class people because they’re trying to escape being painted with the same brush. But what about those who don’t ever escape? What do we supposed happens to their internalized racism? This might be a bit complicated and inconvenient to those who enjoy reducing racism to the use of offensive words and KKK hoods, but it’s a real phenomenon, is employed in pedestrian life, and is an extension of a larger hegemonic framework.

Consequently, anyone who believes that the average person like George Zimmerman, regardless of his controlled dealings with black people, or even his own ancestry wasn’t making assumptions about Trayvon Martin based upon skin colour is living in a fantasy land influenced by the greater hegemonic framework. At the end of the day, people are complex and internalize racism in all sorts of ways. George Zimmerman’s alleged volunteer work with ‘young blacks’ doesn’t negate his aggressive and racist Myspace messages in 2006 slamming random Mexicans he saw crossing the road for potentially being “gangsters” or “gangbangers” –yes, he’s technically Hispanic and this is how he views Mexicans. That explains a lot for those who wish to excuse a racist motive from Zimmerman’s actions. Trayvon Martin’s alleged 3.7 grade point average or his drug use is irrelevant. Sensational statistics about how terribly black people treat their children are irrelevant. What is relevant, when a citizen – a minor no less - is not investigated, known, or observed engaging in clear criminal activity but profiled automatically as a suspect by another citizen, is raising questions on how the person doing the profiling came to such a conclusion, and if we should continue to give creative license for citizens to act as judge, jury and executioner with other citizens based upon skin colour. Given how common racial profiling is, it isn’t whining or race baiting to admit that if Trayvon Martin had been white – given all the same background and history - George Zimmerman likely wouldn’t have profiled him at all and he might still be alive. 

Dragging Trayvon Martin’s character through a fine strainer and finding dubious activities does not negate the fact that Zimmerman had no idea who Trayvon Martin was. Given Zimmerman’s qualifier for sighting a ‘suspicious’ individual, he could easily have been profiling one of my younger cousins – any one of my incredibly bright and gifted male cousins who happens to inhabit a tall, brown body. Even though my cousins, being nerds, aren’t known for being particularly tough I can imagine that any one of them would have attempted to defend themselves against a stranger who took it upon himself to follow and aggressively interact with them. One of the many ways a hegemonic, white supremacist framework succeeds at crazy-making is by denying that being young, black, and male is a cultural signifier or code for potential criminal, and putting the onus on its victims to prove it so in an environment where all the odds of believability are automatically stacked against them because they’re not respected members of society to begin with. Rendering subjugated people crazy by pathologizing them; calling them delusional and paranoid in the face of what is actually real makes it easy for hegemony to propagate and carry on, business as usual. The fact that the President of the United States made an acknowledgement of widespread problems of racial profiling, racially motivated aggression and violence by coded language; that had he had a son, he would have looked like Trayvon Martin, should tell you something.

Whether or not it is legally binding, it is a bad idea and a clear act of aggression and of racial profiling to decide that someone you don’t think ‘belongs’ in your neighbourhood should be followed and questioned as you carry a your *gun* when dispatchers tell you that you don’t need to do such a thing. I don’t care how anybody wraps it up in twisting facts, presumed intentions, dodgy backgrounds, and what was within Zimmerman’s legal right to do – he thought he was going to take down a big, black, criminal but instead he got a scared kid who was willing to fight his way out of the situation, and so Zimmerman MURDERED him. And guess what? He got away with MURDER. They actually said that Trayvon Martin “weaponized” the sidewalk. That is amazing and really presents a new low. Zimmerman wasn’t the first in my country to kill a black boy in a murder which was the culmination of his personal suspicions, and I’m sure he won’t be the last.

This isn’t philosophical for me, this isn’t just theoretical for me, this is real. Me, my husband (who’s English and white, by the way) and our close friends, particularly in the US, who stand any chance of raising black boys have taken time to discuss and strategize on how to keep our children safe not just from bullies, or drugs, but from fascist police who are willing to use deadly force as an automatic measure, psychos like Zimmerman or Michael David Dunn, and a justice system which insures that men like them get to “stand [their] ground” against an unarmed, teenage boys with whom they pick fights and murder.

It’s obvious by his dismissive tone and use of insider/outsider language towards the end of his diatribe, Molyneux absolves himself of all responsibility after presenting a case for the perpetuation of internalized violence in the so-called black community and that is his prerogative, though again, it’s a cheap trick to inject this discussion of profiling and rights with the familiar ink of ‘black on black’ violence. But what I really have a problem with is the use of “I” then being transferred into “we” and “we” transferring into “society”.  The problem with the “I’m/we’re not responsible” argument is that it makes “I”  or “we” (one’s contemporaries) synonymous with “society” and then muffles legitimate discourses on institutional racism and the functional, practical apparatuses of hegemony to spotlight skirmishes over who is an individual racist and who isn’t. Consequently, the much needed discourse about how to reduce structural racism is ignored, the reality of white privilege is ignored, and economic and educational stratification are ignored. Molyneux, never having been on the receiving end of prolonged racial profiling and racist verbal abuse and experiencing racism’s psychologically debilitating effects (like I have), and being confident that society belongs to him and his, now positions himself into the privileged spot of basically claiming that the social failings of people of colour as a group aren’t society’s problem to solve, since “we” aren’t racist, and black people have created these terrible problems all on their own.

When Molyneux speaks about what “we” need to do, he isn’t speaking to me, because I have grave concerns about where structural and social racism are going and how people of colour have and may continue to internalize racism. I am a person of colour, so this affects me and goes way beyond whether I live in a mansion, a ghetto, or in the hipster central of East London. Maybe it’s because I have one foot in the subjugated camp and one in the privileged camp, but I say this IS society’s problem; society created these problems and helps to perpetuate these problems. It’s amazing how society gets drawn into it when it concerns young white men who freak out and suddenly shoot and kill dozens of innocent people, but somehow, a society which has had African Americans as slaves longer than it has had African Americans as free people, isn’t responsible for the creation and perpetuation of social ills playing out in the lowest economic rungs of society which happen to be mostly black (clearly by design, by the way). The double standard is staggering. Again, this affects me, people I care about a great deal, and lots people I don’t even know and will never meet, so please don’t post any more of this garbage on my Facebook posts. This man’s video clearly isn’t addressing me, no matter how acceptable and pleasant a black person you find me to be."

That was my response, friends, because I'll not sit idly by and allow anyone in my presence to endorse propaganda shamelessly debasing the direct descendants of the population responsible for physically building the United States brick-by-brick in chains for free; the population responsible for launching a civil rights movement so powerful that it has inspired the world community; the population which boasts intellectuals, professors, artists, musicians, doctors, attorneys, scientists, and business people produced with talent, brilliance, hard work, and tenacity with no white privilege or legacy privilege to rely upon. Emmit Till, Rosa Parks, MLK, and Malcolm X might be symbols of the fight, but countless other unnamed black Americans, in all their glory, fought and continue to fight this spectacular fight against stacked odds and against those who benefit from a hegemony which rationalizes the terrible treatment of blacks while allowing those who succeed as exceptions to their general view of black people as savages. I will double dog dare anyone to assume that it is okay to come to me with such nonsense. At the end of the day it isn't enough for me to be tolerated or accepted, live away from home in a place where my future children will be less likely to encounter crazies like Zimmerman and therefore avoid suffering great personal loss, like Sybrina Fulton, Trayvon Martin's mother, did. I need to know that wherever I go, wherever my future children go, wherever we all go, we will be afforded all the privileges of first class citizenry in any lands on which we set foot, but especially in the land we toiled over and bled on. Until that day comes, I will not be complacent, I will not be silent, I will fight for what is right.

Friday, 5 July 2013

So Effing Cute

You know, Gentle Reader(s), I know I'm cute. Small and squishy and... well, cute. And since I'm so cute, I'm inclined to love other, even cuter things like Grumpy Cat and Bunny Shaming and Freddy Krueger. I also love coffee. I mean, I really love coffee. Really, I should have married coffee. Anyway,  I don't know about you, but I've often thought about what a shame it is that I couldn't combine cuteness with coffee. Well today I despair no-mo because someone has done it.

Check out Kotaku for the scoop (scoop of marshmallow, that is... mmm mmm good).

Also, while we're on the subject of cuteness, are you familiar with "George-ing"? You know the phenomenon of wanting to hug and squeeze something SO cute incredibly tightly? Well beyond Looney Tunes animation, Of Mice and Men, and what my large husband does to me when he comes home after work, there's a scientific name for it other than "George-ing". That name is "cute aggression". Check out the phenomenon of "cute aggression" as explored by Scientific American. Who knew?

Thursday, 20 June 2013

The Unrecognizable: Ageing in the Age of the Ageist Rule

Dearest Gentle Reader(s),

If you're in your early twenties and you're reading this, you may not quite be able to relate to what I'm about to present as my brief discourse [rant] of the day. However, if you're a bit more seasoned by the years, say 35 or older, or you're just seasoned by being empathic, then you might be able to relate.

I want you to imagine the following: you're at a yard sale, walking around, browsing the goods, and generally going about your business. A few days later, you get an email from the son of an old acquaintance. The email reads, "I was driving through Fern Street the other day and thought I saw you at that yard sale. Wow, you're unrecognizable." The email contains two attachments. One is a photo of you at the yard sale and the other is a photo of you when you were 20; youthful, thin, fine line-free, and cool looking in a baby-faced sort of way. In other words, you, when you were 20. Obviously the person who wrote you the email did recognize you, somehow, because otherwise they wouldn't have known to email you. Why did they do this? Why would they essentially say that you didn't look like yourself simply because you'd grown up? How would this make you feel? Pretty shitty I'd imagine.

Well that's what happened to Axl Rose, front man for iconic eighties Metal band, Guns N' Roses courtesy of a Huffington Post feature and video clip. At first glance, this may appear to be a non-story; an unimportant blip on the radar. But I welcome any opportunity to become one voice of dissent against an increasingly poisonous attitude concerning ageing peddled by narcissistic media climbers and sycophants.

On one level, as a general Rock fan, I have respect for Guns N' Roses, and then on another level, I don't have any particularly deep love for Axl Rose. But it was painful and awkward to watch a couple of people, who had to have been toddlers at the height of Guns N' Roses, break out with hmming and umming their way through an aesthetic criticism of a man who is 51 years old now and has clearly paid his dues for the price of admission into Rock and Roll bad-ass-dom. Guns N' Roses' heyday was in 1985 thanks to their gritty and groundbreakingly catchy album, Appetite for Destruction. Axl was 23 at the time. So now he gets to be physically compared to the 23 year old version of himself? And the commentators on the Huffington Post clip actually mention the fact that he's using a cane, as if needing a cane is some sort of affront to their ultra cool, Abercrombie and Fitch-esque sensibilities. Oh the horror of needing to use... a cane! Are these people on crack?

Take a good look, because this is what happens when you let the Romper Room kids run the media center. These people are products of a post nip-tuck era where you'd be hard pressed to find one clear example of natural ageing, or the honest face of Rock n Roll 'hard living' in the celebrity pool. Just as parents of young adults are complaining that they fear their children won't be able to appreciate a pair of natural breasts once they grow up, thanks to a contemporary internet porn which is rife with breast implants and genital surgery, those of us who are mature enough to remember how people age naturally have a right to be concerned that young humans who have yet to make any sort mark on the world for their intellectual or creative talents are critiquing others through a skewed lens and devaluing them for failing to appear to be in their twenties anymore.

A few years ago I regularly watched the British version of the television show, The Apprentice. My friends and I started discussing a disturbing trend which was emerging: many contestants, when under threat of being fired in Sir Alan Sugar's "Boardroom" and asked what special attributes they thought they offered, began to repeatedly resort to claiming their youth. "Sir Alan, Sir, I'm only 24" some guy would inevitably snivel at some point. This seemed to happen again and again, eventually to the point where you knew it was coming at least once for every episode. This launched an ongoing discussion amongst my contemporaries, who couldn't understand how youth culture had finally reached this low point of young people speaking about their own youth as if they were privy to a big secret that youth has become some sort of prized currency over savvy, intelligence, and experience in the world of business.

My anecdotal scope only extends back to the mid-twentieth century, but here is my take on the monstrous metamorphosis of youth culture: once a youth culture existed where its members looked forward to being viewed as mature enough to make important decisions and contributions. Then that was replaced by a youth culture whose members sought to be left alone to experiment because they were young and needed to find themselves - they'd eventually grow up, they said, but don't rush us. Then that was replaced with a youth culture whose members viewed their age as totally irrelevant - they felt they had something important to say, and nevermind that they were younger; they had a voice too. Then that seemed to finally be replaced  with a youth culture whose members recognize that youth is the desirable commodity against the backdrop of an increasingly younger power grid, so they exploit the value of youth and use it as bargaining currency. And that would be fine, if that sort of manipulative self-awareness didn't read as slightly sinister like an overly-precocious child actor that you grow to hate, and translate into slamming anything or anybody who isn't young looking, usually thin (and usually white, unless you're a black rapper, because ya know, rappers are sooo cool). The 1990s advent of a decentralized media via the internet created an environment ripe to be taken over by people under 30... which would have been great, if they hadn't been the greedy internet self-starters (my generation), who then groomed the 5.0 version of our youth culture to become youth-aggrandizing, cell-texting, porn-addicted, emotionally void, socially alienated, gentrifying, body fascists who now RUN the media, and broadcast these values to the masses.

I remember how we used to say Rolling Stones guitarist, Keith Richards looked like The Crypt Keeper because he'd done so many hard drugs over the years, but I don't ever remember anyone I knew pulling out an old picture of Keith and exclaiming, "Oh, he's SO unrecognizable!" or anyone handing me an article of a similar sentiment. He was recognizable. He was recognizable as a man who had been rode hard and put out wet, thanks to his Rock n Roll lifestyle. That was all. Now we get to listen to a bunch of baby monkeys in the control room call Axl Rose unrecognizable because he had the nerve to age over a period of nearly thirty years.

In the everyday, pedestrian world it has been generally accepted as natural that young people have always looked at people ten, twenty, and thirty years their seniors and called them old, but it is a sign that our society lacks balance and perspective when the people now at the helm of the media machine are products not of the youthful-but-seasoned crowd, but of the generation which frequently likes to remind itself how young it is and creates daily news slamming people for looking like they're not in their twenties anymore... or looking like they've lived a rockstar's life when they have... or looking drug addicted when they are, and the list goes on.

This wouldn't even have so much effect if what every cultural studies theorist has been saying for the past forty years weren't realistic: that in the post-modern era our work lives, social lives, private lives, and consumer lives have completely merged to the degree that these cultural messages are unavoidable, and translate into how we treat each other. There are plenty of us for whom a bit of hair dye and facial treatments aren't the enemy, but we wish not to have to go under the knife and join the ranks of the plastic people, lest our our attractiveness, our value as humans, and our very identities be weighed against images of ourselves from thirty years earlier. I don't like the idea that our culture is becoming a virtual version of Logan's Run, an ageist, dystopian era where people are eliminated once they're deemed too old. The only thing truly unrecongnizable to these people is what the range of the natural ageing process looks like.

Tuesday, 18 June 2013

The Lords of Bullsh*t

Warning; big spoilers here: so I saw The Lords of Salem last night. Brandon Trost's cinematography was very good - it saved the film in a lot of ways with its atmospheric and ominous take on the streets of Salem, Massachusetts - but as usual, the work of Rob Zombie was style over substance. The film was admittedly creepy along the way, with the luxury of some odd ghost-witches hovering in corners and spooky hallway stunts but unfortunately, like most of what I've seen from Zombie, the script and story development felt very undercooked, and the subtext was confused at best.

The setup was this: many moons ago, there was a coven of (evil) witches led by Margaret Morgan (played by classic cult, spooky-eyed actress Meg Foster) in Salem and one Reverend Jonathan Hawthorne burned them at the stake. These witches, who were referred to as the Lords of Salem, swore a curse on the female descendants of the town, and on Hawthorne's female descendant in particular, that she should become a sort of Anti-Mary and give birth to the Anti-Christ. Though Zombie doesn't get into characterizing Hawthorne as evil, per se, he includes all sorts of offensive imagery of priest-monsters in Catholic garb doing obscene things throughout the film, and Reverend Hawthorne himself has actually burned six people at the stake so, it is intimated that while the witches are bad news, Christianity ain't no picnic either.

We come into the story during the modern life of Heidi (played, unsurprisingly, by Sheri Moon Zombie), a rock DJ at a local radio station. She and her radio show co-hosts (played by Jeff Daniel Philips and the legendary, cult favorite Ken Foree) are sent a mysterious vinyl record by a group calling themselves The Lords of Salem, and the radio team inevitably decide to play the record on live radio. The results become problematic when Heidi and other women in Salem react strangely to the odd music and, sure enough, everyone accepts the invitation of these mysterious Lords of Salem when news arrives that they will be performing a concert in town shortly. The enchanted album and the fake concert setup is the work of a group of  three elderly witches (led by legendary actress Judy Geeson) who are the modern day representatives charged with the responsibility of raising of the original Lords of Salem and also with the bringing about the birth of the Anti-Christ. They also happen to be Heidi's landladies. Heidi, as it turns out, is the descendant of Reverend Hawthorne and is therefore tagged to be the Anti-Mary and give birth to the Anti-Christ.

So overall, for the sake of 'horror scares' I was willing to allow for the shrivelled, "evil" witches bit, though anyone who knows me knows how I feel about that sort of characterization of witches and the avoidance of serious discourse on the persecution of persons accused of witchcraft and by association, allegiance with evil. I was willing to suspend my political views on the reality of the matter for some quality scares. However, the real problematic lies in the display of Zombie's obvious disdain for Christianity while combined with a reliance on the very woman-as-evil conventions typical of Christian tradition. But okay, if you're going to play that game, then play it full tilt boogie with conviction, is what I say.

If Mary, mother of Jesus, is set up as an untainted virgin - and Mary is mentioned several times in the film - then it stands to reason that a character like Heidi, who will become the mother of the Anti-Christ, should not be set up as a friendly, average dreadlock-donning rock chick with a cute, happy golden retriever. Heidi should have been set up as someone primed for being the vessel of the Anti-Christ; the antithesis of the likes of Mary - and no, creating a vague recovering addict backstory doesn't count as a character having a history which primes them to become the mother of pure evil. Zombie should have set Heidi up as a far more hedonistic, reckless character from the start; a person void of empathy and purity by default, if still unaware of her flaws as precipitating her fate had Zombie wanted to go down that road, especially given that Heidi's the descendant of the murderous Reverend Hawthorne. Alternately, Zombie could have set Heidi up as a good character who really fights and struggles against her inclinations and terrible fate, which would have upped the stakes, created more tension, and made her plight feel more tragic to viewers but, alas, he didn't do that either. But these are all details, compared to the fact that the big payoff is not big at all.

In the end, Heidi falls off the wagon and "does drugs" (dun, dun, dunnn), is rounded up by the three elderly witch ladies who get her all set up to become impregnated by Satan (a sort of tiny, potbellied Rumpelstiltskin mandrake root looking creature), then bring her to the fake concert they've orchestrated where she ascends (or descends as it were) to an audience of thirty Salem women, and gives birth to something that looks like a wagging mandrake root. Her eyes roll back into her head as she floats there, suspended above the variety of lifeless, naked bodies of the 30 Salem women. The whole thing is labeled as a mass suicide with a missing person case trailing behind it, as Heidi is never seen again.

Zombie means to tell us that all this stuff, big, catastrophic stuff like the arrival of the Anti-Christ has been orchestrated... and it ends with the suicide of thirty people and a missing woman? The resolution is way too microcosmic, provincial, pedestrian, and overall inconsequential to be preceded by big concepts like a woman being groomed, then impregnated by Satan, followed by the conception, and then the arrival of the Anti-Christ. Isn't that sort of arrival earthquaking, reality shattering in nature? Has anybody seen The Omen and its sequels (which weren't very good, but you get the point)? Some might argue that Rosemary's Baby presented a pedestrian approach to the arrival of the Anti-Christ, but then again, Polanski didn't choose to have Rosemary hovering above ground, backlit with celestial light, immortalized in an classic religious ecstasy pose as one of the final shots of the film. The setup and the iconographic visions in The Lords of Salem don't fit the anti-climactic and low scale resolution of the story.

I'm calling it like I see it: Rob Zombie is a lazy, lazy filmmaker who lacks broad vision. His only vision is to make sure we all see his scrawny wife naked. That, and to make a stamp for himself in the genre because, you know, bein' a horror director is "cool" and evil stuff is "neat-o". If you want to see an extended music video, then go for it, but if you're looking for a John Carpenter, or even Joss Whedon style apocalyptic payoff, you've come to the wrong place, friend.

Between the poor payoffs and style over substance, I always come out of the Rob Zombie experience - whether it's his films or his concerts - feeling like I've just visited an online rock paraphernalia site or received one of these catalogues through the mail: t-shirts with peace symbols are right there next to SS style lightening bolt pendants and dark angel figurines are right there next to atheist posters; anything goes because all these items fall under one general genre and all rolled together they cancel out all politics because they're trinkets appropriated from previously important social movements, now presented for mass consumption, with no political conviction or meaning anymore. Rob Zombie is like Rock n Roll junk mail to me. And the ultimate problem with Rob Zombie as a director is that the majority of his fans don't seem to have the will to cast a critical enough eye to hold his feet to the fire and tell him to evolve and mature as a director, if directing is what he wants to do. Most of the criticism that he's going to get will be from non-Rocker, nerdy horror genre fans whose genre tastes are stuck in 1983, so that they're primed to dislike virtually anything new or perceivable as too trendy, and Zombie can tell himself that all his critics are simply random, jealous haters and ultimately ignore any potential pressures to creatively evolve. Considering his resources, the crew talent at his disposal, and his apparent affection for the genre, it's a real shame that he can't or won't do better.

Thursday, 11 April 2013

My Beef With "Big Country"

Hi there, Gentle Reader(s). I was inspired by reading an editorial on Vice.com titled "I'm Sick of Pretending: I Don't "Get" Beyoncé", linked on Facebook by the amazing sociopolitical commentator, Son of Baldwin. I have some longstanding thoughts on Beyoncé, or "Big Country", as I affectionately call her (because she's big and country, a term historically used by African Americans to describe those perceived as unsophisticated and intellectually simple). And though you guys have probably heard it all before, I'm going to give it to you nonetheless.

I am not a fan of Beyoncé and one reason is because I don't tend to listen to her genre of music very much (I like very little contemporary Pop R & B). But then add to that the fact that I don't particularly like her vocal quality (i.e, the style of her voice), and what's more, I intensely dislike most of what I deem to be her sort of weird 'desperation' dance moves, circa Crazy In Love, where she's scrambling and wiping herself all over some loading dock floor like a human mop. That terrible dancing irks me. Conversely, I did like the Run the World (Girls) video - but then again, I'm a big Mad Max trilogy fan, adore most post-apocalyptic imaginings (and efforts towards the genre), and I also like the Tofo Tofo inspired dance moves featured in the music video. So overall, not a big Beyoncé fan musically, but you know, I can get over all that; I'm flexible. I'm not going to tread into the realm of discourse over her blond weaves. The broaching of that discourse would merit a separate, longer, far more extensive blog entry covering mainstream beauty standards, patriarchy, self-hatred, and whitewashing (no pun intended).

More than any of that, I cringe when I hear Beyoncé speak because she really doesn't seem very bright at all, and as the author of the article mentions, it's pretty awkward. With all the pomp and circumstance and sort of power role play in her performances, I know the truth, but amazingly and stupidly keep expecting over and over that she'll speak and suddenly speak like Tina Turner, Janet Jackson, or hell, even Mariah... or any one of the many relatively intelligent musical 'Divas' of the 20th and 21st centuries. Beyoncé's just not very engaging as a person, her verbal skills seem rudimentary, her elocution fairly poor (still), and I can't figure out how someone who appears to be essentially tabula rasa, could command so much respect and give these so-called powerhouse performances (well, I can figure it out, but my mental answer to the rhetorical question disturbs me).

I find myself expecting 'power' there; the maturity and intellect of a seasoned and well traveled performer. But no matter how many times I hear Beyoncé speak, I don't get anything but a shell with nothing to back up the amaze-balls image. I realize that my standards for entertainers of color are high, and I suppose it's because, as a product of the post-Jim Crow, post-Civil Rights generation, I still fall prey to that collective consciousness representation paradigm where I want to see them do well and do everyone proud. But also, on an even more subjective level, I like musical artists who are thinkers. It's not enough to be extra pretty, dance, sing, and deliver lyrics about empowerment (all be it, light lyrics about empowerment). I always inherently feel that something is missing from the message of a performer's music if that performer is revealed to be more of the puppet than the puppeteer of their image. All that girl power business lacks authenticity when its messenger is about as bright as a bag of wet hammers, speaking as if she was coached, but dropped out of elocution lessons after the second week.

I wish Beyoncé would go back to school - and I'm not suggesting this sarcastically; I honestly wish that she'd take the opportunity to enhance her intellect and verbal communication skills. It would be amazing if she did. Imagine all that elaborate costuming, performace power, hair whipping, hip shaking, empowering messages with a finely tuned intellect to back all it up. But she probably won't further her education. She has enough unconditional support from her fans, and has done enough speaking engagements just as she is for me to assume that she doesn't see any reason to enhance her cognitive and verbal skills. The irony of Run the World (Girls) and its homage to Mad Max, specifically Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome starring Tina Turner, is that for all her long legs, strong thighs and blond tresses, Beyoncé will never be Tina Turner. She hasn't the intellect.

Friday, 8 March 2013

Page WHAT?? International Women's Day and Me

Let's face it, I'm mildly amused and fairly unaffected by International Women's Day. I assure you, I had no intention of writing any blog today (I've got too much other stuff to do) much less a blog pertaining to IWD. What is it for really? There's something about packaging "international" womanhood into an acknowledged day that just smacks of corniness. What are people going to do, bake cakes for us? I haven't gotten a cake or any telephone calls on the matter. But it's all very Hallmark cardy, wrapped up in some ambiguous package of "international" as if by its title it sweeps away all the complexities of class, race, culture and distributions of privilege imbedded in the problematic of what does or should constitute "feminism" and re-brands womanhood into a happy little Google cartoon of cute smooshy pink and brown faces. Solidarity at last. Thanks Google! Have I lost you? If not, read on. I promise I'm coming to a point.

But in all seriousness, perhaps its my own realization of the oceans-deep and continent-wide polarities between what I deem to be my 'woman issues' and the issues of women in the far reaches of other places which makes me want to rebuke what seems like a trivial and superficial celebration of womanhood. I can't get down with articles harping about being treated like a "second class citizen" because you're a single white woman in the West. Really? I just can't, when I know a plethora of things, like the reality that single (young) white womanhood is heralded and exploited by mainstream media as the apex of beauty and freedom, both sexually and socially. I want to crumple that stupid photo of Bridget Jones, with her well-fed hamster cheeks and her pristine white sheet set, then shake the author of that article and yell, Oh YOU'RE treated like a second class citizen?? Try being a 60 year old black woman in America like my mother, you gormless mouthbreather! Or better yet, try being a single woman in Iran, you idiot! And in a way, even as I write this I seem to be writing my way out of addressing one issue that struck me this morning, in favor of dismissing it as negligible as I weigh it against the legitimate and systematic suffering of so many women and girls throughout the world. But I'm determined to convince myself that simply working on your own microcosm represents some sort of effort towards progress, so here I go.

When I first moved to Britain from the US in 2004, I had an opportunity to make a lot of new and interesting friends, many of whom, at least on paper, represented demographics that I might not have been likely to connect with in my home country. Moving abroad is good that way; because you're a stranger to the culture, you're often able to travel through networks of people, unfettered by that culture's views or rules of social categorization which function along lines like class or ethnicity. This can free you up to meet all sorts of interesting people. One such friendship I made early was with a working class rock and roller who works for the London Underground. To be fair, I actually befriended his partner first. She was a monolithic, towering Metal Head Goth of a woman who worked as a civil servant (now as a very popular Metal DJ), and we became fast friends at an annual local film festival.

I can't remember whether it was the time I got my labret piercing and my friend's boyfriend pampered me with milkshakes because that's all I could eat with the swelling, or one of those times when I'd stayed over their house and we were left to scrounge up coffee and breakfast on our own because the Iron Maiden of the house had to head to work early. But on one of those mornings, over either chocolate milkshakes or coffee and cold pizza, I discovered Page 3. All the Brits will now start laughing and most of the Americans will now shrug in confusion over my mention of the infamous Page 3.

My friend - the male half of the partnership, that is - often brought home various newspapers from his long hours at work. If you spend five minutes in Britain you'll notice their impressive collection of a variety of newspaper publications. Many of these newspapers are reputable and many of these are not. Regardless, it is a commonly practiced pastime to read newspapers on the London Underground. Everyone, from the passengers to the Underground employees, obsessively reads newspapers, sometimes indiscriminately because, after all, in the view of many here it's better to read anything than to read nothing at all. So I grabbed one of his newspaper selections from the day before, The Sun, which was sitting on my buddy's coffee table. It was easy to see from the cover, with its bold red header and salacious headlines, that this newspaper was going to be trashy. But what I was not prepared for what met me on the third page. There, covering most of that page, was a pleasantly smiling young woman with nicely styled hair (probably extensions), totally bare-breasted and wearing nothing other than underpants, with giant boobs like headlights designed to mesmerize. Boiiiing! And mesmerize, they did, for a moment before I went into shock and squawked, "What the hell is this? What the fuuuck?"

My friend looked up from his own newspaper, saw which paper I had in my hands, flashed me a knowing smirk, and replied casually, "Page 3". Once he logged my total confusion he repeated, "Page 3," and then, man of few words that he is, added his version of breaking things down with something like, "It's in every issue of The Sun". I was shocked, then fascinated and mortified at the same time. I just kept staring at it, thinking of how many times I'd seen working guys on the train reading The Sun, how many times I'd spotted this newspaper in the supermarket, and everywhere else. How could this be? my tiny, puritanical American brain pondered over and over. These fucking pervert British fuckers, I thought to myself, more fascinated than angry over the fact that this was a very stark example of how sexiness, actual, real live nudity in fact, was being placed right smack dab in the middle of ordinary, pedestrian life. This newspaper was on people's breakfast tables and on the morning commuter trains, totally out in the open and totally okay with regular folks. I tried to reconcile my dawning horror that children would be regularly exposed to this sort of casual-but-bold objectification of women, with a rationalization of de-shaming nudity.

But as I continued to process the prominence of Page 3, what got me then and continued to plague me was this idea of setting bold, daily female objectification as a public, normative activity. Now I don't think I even come close to looking like a breast implanted, weave wearing, orange tanned Page 3 'beauty', but as a woman living in this society I can't help associating the mainstreaming of young, female nudity with comments like, "looking beautiful, love" from my refrigerator delivery men, and getting whistled at and complimented for my "great tits" by dudes in white work vans. Obviously other people have made the connection and worry about the harm of everyday presentations like Page 3, since articles have been written and lines have been drawn, like Lucy Holmes's petition on the matter, which has had a lot of support and publicity.

So today I read yet another article on the subject from the perspective of a woman who grew up in Britain in the shadow of Page 3. Her points about her subsequent body neurosis were well taken, but more importantly, her simple re-imagining of society with a Page 4, a page featuring the bodies of young, attractive men with their bare tackle on display for casual conversation at the breakfast table really spoke to me, and cuts to the heart of the matter. If there's nothing wrong with nudity (and I agree), and there's nothing wrong with the admiration of beautiful bodies, then why aren't nude men on display? There are plenty of people who would be more than happy to be able to sip their morning beverage of choice while casually scanning a fresh, new young Adonis every day. Why? Why don't we get to ogle the beautiful, naked bodies of men in the public arena? Why are images of male genitalia protected from the casual view to the degree that you still won't see prolonged male nudity in mainstream films and magazines? Because this is one of the ways the culture sends messages about what parts of ourselves are important according to gender, that's why.

Consider this: at this point, the importance of women's bodies; how our breasts are shaped (or need to be shaped), how our butts and stomachs are (or should be), whether we should or shouldn't have pubic hair- which used to be the personal choices of women themselves, and even how our vaginas look (or should look) is mostly decided and mediated by media conglomerates mostly run by men, not some invisible Gay Mafia, as so many straight men have pointed out when discussing the fashion industry. Meanwhile, some of us women speak as if we're so liberated now because (some) of us throughout the world now enjoy a choice of occupations, and are allowed involvement and choice in who we wish to marry, whether we'd like to get married at all, and if and when we'd like to have children.

But I am also often drawn to consider that many of us once lived during a time where a woman could present herself to a man intimately and he'd roll with the punches, and often be happy for what he was getting. Women didn't have to worry about men complaining that they had too much pubic hair, that their breasts were the 'wrong' size, or that their very vaginas were shaped the 'wrong' way. It didn't matter if you didn't have an apple bottom or large inner labia.

Now, media-reinforced expectations and dictations by a handful of men have polluted the idea and acceptance of natural variety. Now when it comes to women's bodies, nothing is sacred anymore, while what we're shown publicly tends to represents one kind of norm. Granted, there may never be an occasion for Page 3 to present the picture of a perfect inner labia, but to drive the point home, can you imagine a very dark-skinned, B cup Page 3 model with short hair? It won't happen. There are plenty of dark-skinned, small breasted, short haired foxy ladies out there - I've seen many - but it won't happen. Therefore women and girls in this society get to wake up every day faced with what a supposedly average Joe's picture of beauty should be, breasts and all - and consequently face a level of anxiety and self loathing that men and boys do not face today. When I suggest that men's bodies should also be on display, I am aware that we'd be running the risk of objectifying them in the way women continue to be objectified. Yes, and the silver lining could be that there might be a backlash once men get a true taste of what it feels like to be valued most for their bodies and compared with a very narrow standard of beauty from the time they sprout peach fuzz and first grow a pair.