This weekend, Iain and I were at Barnes & Noble, where I picked up a copy of Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, because I can't find my copy (I probably lost it to the same place I lose most of my lost books—lending it to someone), and I haven't read it in a long time and Iain's never read it. It's now more than a century old, and the continued exploitation of workers makes it still-relevant. Depressing.
Anyway, as we were browsing, Iain sort of made a chuckle-gasp noise and then hissed at me, "Lisssssss! Look at this fooking fing!"
Not infrequently, the issue of inclusion/authorship at Shakesville comes up in threads here, or at other blogs, or arrives in my inbox. Typically, criticisms center on my not writing enough on a particular demographic of which I'm not a part or an issue that doesn't directly affect me, or not writing about them/their issue in the right way, or leaving too much of this or that to guest contributors, or not featuring enough guest contributors of a particular marginalized group.
So let me just take a moment to explain again my philosophy on this stuff.
As I once said to Renee regarding what issues still need more attention, "the list is endless. There are so many issues of concern to marginalized people which are all but invisible within mainstream culture—so much 'conventional wisdom' about sex, race, sexuality, gender expression, body size and stature, disability, mental illness, addiction, class, religion (and lack thereof), sexual assault, etc. that needs to be challenged. Any lack of parity in any place among any people means that we've still got work to do."
The truth is, I'm not sure I can talk about anything "enough"—which is not a backhanded way of avoiding all critique, but an honest attempt to address a reality that is true for every single marginalization about which I write. There is a lot of goddamned teaspooning to do.
Saying that doesn't mean I believe I'm above criticism on either the quantity or quality of my blogging on any issue. It means only that I engage in good faith concerns about content at Shakesville, or the lack thereof; if you bring to me a complaint regarding this or that getting less attention than it needs, I likely agree and hope you will work with me to do something about it.
Which brings me to guest posts.
Let me go back to something else I said in that interview with Renee:
I don't find that I have difficulty balancing interests; there's not a finite amount of space at Shakesville, so I don't feel as though anything ever has to be sacrificed in favor of something else, except insomuch as it comes to what I personally have time to cover—although, as regards issues of intersectionality, I'm obviously not the best person to cover every issue, or even most, anyway. I struggle more with trying to find people who are willing to bring their unique perspectives to Shakesville, who can speak to experiences and intersectionalities I simply don't have.
The two relevant ideas there are: I am not always the best person to speak about everything; and: Personal narratives are an extremely powerful bit of teaspooning.
I am immensely grateful to the women and men of color, LGBTQIs, parents, women and men who are differently- or disabled, chronically ill, atypically partnered, non-American, recovering addicts, formerly homeless, abuse survivors, etc. who tell pieces of their stories and share their perspectives at Shakesville. Because marginalized people's stories often aren't told in the mainstream (or told with some fucked-up agenda), it's incumbent upon us to tell our own stories on our own terms wherever we can, to fill that void, to be unrepentant and loquacious raconteurs every chance we get, to talk about our bodies, our struggles, our triumphs, our needs, our lives in every aspect. It's our obligation to create a cacophony with our personal narratives, until there is a constant din that translates into equality, into balance. Making the personal public and political is so important—and I want to use Shakesville toward that objective as best I can.
Part of the reason I can write with a particular passion about feminist issues is because I am a woman, and fat issues because I am fat, and queer issues because I have been in a queer relationship, and sexual assault issues because I am a survivor of multiple sexual assaults. One of the earliest widely-linked posts at Shakesville was my post The Sound of My Voice, in which I came out as a survivor of sexual assault. And one of last year's most widely-linked posts at Shakesville was Shaker Anonymous' post Breaking the Silence: On Living Pro-Lifers' Choice for Women. Both of those are personal narratives that no one else could have written—and it is impossible to underestimate the difference between someone writing a generic post about rape or adoption and someone talking about her rape or giving up her child for adoption.
I cannot write a post like that about chronic disease, or any disability but my own, or being trans, or being gay, or being a woman of color, or being a man who feels the bootheel of the patriarchy on his neck, or being a dwarf, or any one of a million things, which means if I don't open up this space to people who can, those posts won't exist at Shakesville.
I opened this space and made it a group blog with guest contributors because I am one person with one person's experiences and intersectionalities. I opened it up because I am flawed; I fuck up; I fail; I commit sins of omission; I can't and don't do enough on a variety of issues. I opened it up because I will never be as strong an advocate for your needs as you are—and no one else can tell your story.
I also don't have time to make myself familiar—to the degree of confidence and expertise that I require before I write about something, so I can answer questions that readers will inevitably have on any new subject I introduce—with every issue that someone wants me to cover. I get hundreds of emails every day, and many of them are from people admonishing me to familiarize myself with their issue and get to work on their behalf.
I'm not asking anyone to feel sorry for me; that's just the reality of running this blog. Lots of people want a piece of my time, and telling me to learn about something doesn't actually create more of it, which is what I need to be able to cover a new (to me) issue.
Issues about which I can write with clarity and confidence are frequently issues in which I've been immersed for years. When I write a post about a particular issue, and someone comments on my ability to perfectly put into words what they've always felt but have never been able to articulate, that's not magic. If innate talent plays any role at all, it's a vanishingly small part compared to the decidedly unsexy role of daily practice and hard work.
When I write about a subject I know inside and out, it shows. And when I write about a subject I don't know inside and out, that shows, too. I don't like writing about things I don't know a hell of a lot about—because I am more likely to get something wrong, inadvertently offend the people most intimately affected, end up being counterproductive to the cause, be generally unhelpful and make a hash of it.
I have no interest in pretending I know everything about everything, which is why I invite people to write in this space with me.
That's not an abdication of responsibility as a feminist or as a progressive. It's just the best I've got to balance my finite output against infinite needs, to facilitate inclusion, to avoid appropriation, and to make available whatever little platform I've got to my allies.
So, please: If you don't see here what you'd like to see, pick up your teaspoon.
[Originally posted in similar form on March 24, 2009.]
The link to this Flickr gallery filled with photos of signs at tea party rallies has been floating around the internets for about a week. It's pretty much stuff like this:
by C.L. Minou, who blogs about trans and feminist issues for such esteemed locales as The Second Awakening, Below the Belt, and Tiger Beatdown, when she is not destroying the fabric of America by spending a weekend at a hotel in New England.
So there's a protest being organized for tomorrow in New York against the Tribeca Film Festival's decision to give "Ticked Off Epithet-That-I'm-Not-Going-To-Repeat With Knives" it's world premiere. I plan to be there, and I hope New York area Shakers can make their way down (bring a candle in memory of Angie Zapata).
Now, over here we've talked about the million and one reasons that this entire project—but most especially, the trailer—its fan-failing-tastic, but I thought I'd review some of the more pernicious defenses of the film that have been floating around the 'Nets of late. Just in case you need to defend against the concerned. (I won't touch upon the normal silencing tactics, like the appeal to the Law of Conservation of Protest or the Razor of Lighten Up, It's a Joke.)
It's a revenge fantasy, and that's good, right? I'm not going to touch on the morality of revenge fantasies (mostly because I've been guilty in that regard myself), but it's important to note two things: First the absolutely despicable use of the real life tragedies of Angie Zapata Jorge Mercado. We've all talked about that. But the trouble doesn't stop there: as Gina notes, director Israel Luna made the film because, essentially, gay revenge fantasies are played out and trans folk are the next in thing:
I didn't want to write about a male gay bashing victim. That's a story we've seen all too often, and I wanted to do something more modern and I thought "Whose story do you never see on the news these days?" It's not gay men—it's transgenders.It seems the word most strongly associated with this film shouldn't be revenge—it's appropriation.
It is officially spring now that Dougie has sniffed a bluebonnet. I think this might be the cutest thing that has ever happened. Ever.
Hi all y'all!
Let's jump right on in, shall we?
My older brother is autistic.
His name is Bill.
He’s aphasic, so he doesn’t speak in sentences or all that often…and he’s a charmer, loves to eat sometimes foods all the time and is a master of the barbeque grill (with supervision…lots and lots of supervision).
Growing up with autism in my world has taught me a lot about communication…about the power of sound, the meaning behind high pitched wails or low rumbling laughter.
Autism has taught me the precious value of a hug or a kiss…of eye contact or a quick glance…of a tickle and the giggles it inspires.
I have lived my entire life with autism.
For me and mine, autism is…it just is. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass and sometimes it is the most amazing thing, but autism is a constant thing not limited to months or years or days when walks take place.
Autism Awareness Month often brings with it a lot of stories about autistic children. I understand why, because so much rides on early diagnosis and therapies and education. But my brother is 39 years old…he’ll be 40 this July (Lawd, have mercy!)…and not enough attention is given to autism after a child with autism becomes an adult with autism.
So, be aware…that my brother’s life isn’t wretched or sad. My sister and I work very hard to make sure that it isn’t.
Bill is not a cure that didn’t happen or a diagnosis…he’s a human being, who gets up every day and goes about his bitness.
Some days are good.
Some days are not so good.
I could say the same about my life.
Be aware…that autistic children will become autistic adults. A body doesn’t grow out of autism. That is not an argument against advocacy for autistic children…but rather a challenge to advocates to extend our work beyond programs for children.
Be aware…that there is a strain on loved ones and that not all of us are parents. I am my brother’s co-guardian and, as such, I often find myself wading through the world of programs and funding…of Medicaid and the Department of Mental Health…of wants versus needs. My sister and I balance our role as sisters with our role as guardians…and we are not the only ones doing it. Families need to plan for a life, not just a childhood…they need support and education on how the system works once a child becomes an adult.
Be aware…that our lives are a different kind of normal.
I grew up knowing that eventually my sister and I would have to take on a guardianship of some sort. I confess that I used to fret about it…I watched my mother become consumed by advocacy and the search for a cure and I worried that I’d never be able to be a sister for all the demands of being my brother’s advocate.
But be aware that my different kind of normal is a life full of happiness and bitchitude and laughter and tears. We have challenges and set backs and achievements and victories.
More often than not, we share a meal…catch up on what’s new…and communicate with each other in a way I never dreamed was possible until it simply was.
Not a life of regrets and guilt, but a life where sometimes my brother gets on my last nerve…and that’s okay, because all brothers can work a nerve.
Sometimes I worry about my brother’s future and happiness…and that’s okay, because people who love each other want the best for each other and sometimes fret over shit like that.
April is Autism Awareness Month…a month out of a year in the lives of millions.
Be aware.
Organize.
Share.
Love.
Act.
Live.
This I write for my brother Bill, lover of sometimes foods all the time, who I love beyond measure even when he works my last nerve.
Crossposted from AngryBlackBitch.com!
Last night, Iain and I were having a conversation about 19th century literature (whatever, we're nerds!), which inevitably came around to Charles Dickens, and as we debated the merits of his work (Position Iain: He tends to go on a bit; Position Liss: Much of his work was written as serials for the newspaper, so he's better read a chapter a night before bed than in multiple-hour sessions; Position Iain: Good point!), I noted that one of the things I loved most about Dickens is his playfulness with language.
I have not read Knud Sørensen's Charles Dickens: Linguistic Innovator, but I have always meant to get my hands on a copy of it. Sørensen identified more than a thousand (!) neologisms coined by Dickens.
And Dickens was a master of the eponym. Next time you call someone stingy a scrooge or someone sanctimonious a pecksniff, tip your hat to Mr. Dickens. In fact, next time you chuckle at "Benjamin H. Grumbles" or "Butch Pornstache," consider the source of that humor lies in Dickensian eponyms. (Dickensian eponym—how meta!)
All of which is a very long way of saying I love Dickens because he invented words. When I was a wee thing, writing "books" on scrap paper and stapling them together and selling them to my grandparents for 10¢ apiece, if I couldn't think of a word I liked, I made one up.
(Sometimes I would later learn that I hadn't made up a word, but had merely just used an existent word that was then beyond my child's vocabulary. I was very proud of "grumping" until I discovered it in my dictionary.)
I recall being teased about using a "made-up word" in middle school, and of later learning that Dickens and Shakespeare were linguistic rebels, and of slowly coming to understand that new language and ideas about social justice—especially conveyed via humor or satire—were inextricably linked. I wasn't weird; I was part of a tradition!
When Space Cowboy asked as a Question of the Day what sniglets we've coined, I noted: "Basically, half my vocabulary is comprised of sniglets. Which is only right, given that I'm Shakespeare's Sister, and Shakespeare was the original snigleteer." The Shaxicon (more meta!) is thus full of my silly neologisms (wev, testerical, clusterfucktastrophe, fatsronauts, misogysaur, misogybag, homomentum, fauxgressive, douchehound, Apatowcalypse...), and will no doubt continue to be routinely restocked with all manner of absurd (and occasionally meaningful) eponyms, portmanteaus, and neologisms of various stripes.
Which means it was really only a matter of time before "Poopsburg" ended up in the New York Times.
What a great day for America!
"Authorities are asking for the public's help in identifying a mentally disabled man who was dumped on downtown Los Angeles' Skid Row months ago and doesn't even know his full name. ...[He] has 'Jason' tattooed on his arm. He does not remember his birthday and has no idea where his family might be. When police ran his fingerprints, the name Jason Missel popped up. But, that name doesn't exist under Social Security computer systems. ... Jason says he lived in Las Vegas before he was dropped off in Los Angeles. He's pleading for his family to claim him."
[H/T to Shaker Marste.]
[Trigger warning.]
Just this very morning, I wrote about the Catholic Church's deflection of legitimate criticism by casting critics as wicked scoundrels with an agenda.
And this afternoon, I read: "Pope Benedict XVI's personal preacher on Friday likened accusations against the pope and the Catholic church in the sex abuse scandal to 'collective violence' suffered by the Jews."
OMFG. So…basically anyone who objects to the institutional abetting and concealment of the sexual abuse of children is sorta like a Nazi or something? Sure.
The Rev. Raniero Cantalamessa said in a Good Friday homily with the pope listening in St. Peter's Basilica that a Jewish friend wrote to him to say the accusations remind him of the "more shameful aspects of anti-Semitism."
Said without a trace of fucking irony, despite the fact that the Church's culture of silence is one of critics' main criticisms. ("We talk about it
…"[Jewish people] know from experience what it means to be victims of collective violence and also because of this they are quick to recognize the recurring symptoms," the preacher said.
Quoting from the letter from the friend, who wasn't identified by Cantalamessa, the preacher said that he was following "with indignation the violent and concentric attacks against the church, the pope and all the faithful of the whole world."
"'The use of stereotypes, the passing from personal responsibility and guilt to a collective guilt remind me of the more shameful aspects of anti-Semitism,'" Cantalamessa said his friend wrote him.
In the sermon, he referred to the sexual abuse of children by clergy, saying "unfortunately, not a few elements of the clergy are stained" by the violence. But Cantalamessa said he didn't want to dwell on the abuse of children, saying "there is sufficient talk outside of here."so you don't have to because you don't!") As is the fact that the Church is more concerned about their sex predator priests being "stained" by THE VIOLENCE THEY PERPETRATED than about what their victims have suffered/are suffering.
And, hey—speaking of irony! I strongly recommend you add Constantine's Sword on your Netflix queue, Father Cantalamessa!
I look forward to Cantalamessa's next sermon on how irony is just the sort of thing that Nazi-like villains notice.
[The BBC has more. H/Ts to Shakers Lynsey and EastSideKate.]
Shaker NameChanged emails:
I am currently pregnant with my second child. I live in a rural town in Farmington, NM. My daughter was born by C-section after a long labor and an inability to dislodge her from my pelvis. We were treated by midwives before and after the C-section, and my midwife was a proponent of VBAC for any future children. Unfortunately, this was in a larger city in the state, approximately 3 hours away.
The hospital in Farmington has a no VBAC policy, as does the hospital in nearby Durango, CO, although the midwives from Durango have indicated that there is a process to attempt a VBAC, but it requires some convincing.
I am in the process of having my new OB review my files from my first birth to at least determine if I would be a good candidate for VBAC (even if the hospital won't do it). I was wondering if there is more that I should be doing.
Do any Shakers who have experience in this? I am not getting any answers here, because all of the women I know in Farmington were able to deliver naturally for each birth.
I also know that things are different for different hospitals, but any similar situations would be appreciated.
