Misty's blood is the first novel from new author Sincerely Yours. Unlike most novels today, Misty's Blood has a purpose, according to the author: "Misty's Blood was written as a reminder that life presents each of us with challenges, struggles, temptations, and even disappointments that pave the way for us to impart wisdom..." And that is precisely what this book represents: a secret cave with nuggets full of wisdom to impart to anyone who gets a chance to take the journey with Misty.
Misty's Blood is the story of a young woman whose life seems destined for failure. Her story, though specific to Misty, feels familiar. Born into one of the most unpleasant of circumstances, living in poverty with her mother, who lives paycheck to paycheck, Misty's life only takes a downward spiral as time goes by. Her mother, Denise, sets the pace for what becomes a labyrinth of twists and turns in both their lives.
Whether or not you can relate to the specific circumstances of the characters' lives, it can be difficult at times not to find some of the characters endearing, like Mark, who takes Denise into his home during bad times, or Misty as a precocious seven year old. Despite the difficult roads upon which Misty treads, one of the novel's major themes is hope and faith. Many of the characters hold on to faith no matter their imperfections, shortcomings, or circumstances, and ultimately their ability to hold on helps the characters make it through, even when they can't see their destinations.
It is true that African-Americans have been telling stories like this in music, books, theater, television and film for decades, from 'Precious' to Ntozake Shange's "For Colored Girls..." and from Tyler Perry plays to the humble and deeply rooted beginnings of hip-hop. Besides the fascinating plot twists of the story, which are unique to Sincerely Yours' storytelling, what this novel does differently is the way in which the author's desire to impact and change the lives of others shines through, particularly when compared to contemporary authors. Sincerely Yours follows in the footsteps of many African-American women, both the forgotten and the honored, who have contributed their talents and energy to reaching out to humanity.
Of course, the book isn't without its imperfections, but I believe the storytelling , its intent, and poignancy make them forgivable. And ultimately, that is the essence of the story--the journey to forgiveness, of others and ourselves, to seek out the greater forgiveness of God who uses Sincerely Yours' talent to speak healing into the lives of the world's Mistys.
You can read more about the book and author, and purchase the book at: http://mistysblood.com/
I encourage you to visit the site.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Ignorance Is Bliss...and Ignorance: A Non-Muslim Perspective on Islamophobia
PREFACE
As I began writing this, I got this feeling...it was almost like I felt I shouldn't be writing this, because I'm an ally, an outsider attempting to speak on an issue with which I have little experience. Then I thought: How would I feel if a straight person, non-black person, or man were writing about issues pertaining to my respective communities? I think as long as they are not attempting to write from the perspective of a queer person, person of color, or a woman, or with a paternalistic point of view, it is something that is greatly needed. We need our allies in all movements.
IGNORANCE IS BLISS...AND IGNORANCE
Over the past few months, I've watched the news unfold. It almost seemed like a wildfire, with embers burning secretly and then bursting into flames without warning. I am not Muslim, so I cannot say with certainty when this year's obsession with rekindling fires began, but for me, it started with a noble idea conceived by a man name Imam Rauf (or "Iman", as Pastor Jones would say). It was a simple enough idea: an Islamic cultural center and Muslim prayer room in lower Manhattan--beautiful leaves on the autumn ground. Then out of nowhere, sparks began to fly. Protesters at an anti-cultural center rally held up signs that said in red ink (made to look like blood): SHARIA (referring to Muslim civic law). Panelists and politicians took advantage of the media, alleging everything from terrorist training to comparisons to Hitler (that gets old, you know). The fire was beginning to burn, and the heat was about to be felt beyond the borders of The Big Apple.
And then...vandalism from California to Tennessee, a stabbing in the heart of the beast, and a planned Qu'ran burning in Florida. I couldn't believe my ears and eyes. I could not, in my wildest dreams, believe history was repeating itself in such a way. According to reports, fear was in the voices of many Muslim Americans. I remember reading one quote where someone said they were more afraid now than they were after 9/11.
Besides unfounded and offensive allegations, most people frame anti-center arguments around the 9/11 victims and their families. The site of this future center, they assert, is "too close to Ground Zero". Not all 9/11 victims and families are against the center I soon learned, so I began to wonder why this was being used as a reason. As I began to come to a conclusion in my own heart and mind, I began to realize that no matter how I said it, this would probably be considered insensitive, and perhaps even offensive (not toward Muslims, in case you were wondering), but I am convinced:
No matter what one may say outwardly, the only truly logical reason for being against this center on the grounds of its proximity to Ground Zero is our human inability to separate emotion from reason - in this case, consciously or not, associating all Muslims, in some way, with the people who orchestrated the 9/11 terrorist attacks.
This realization made me very sad. Not simply because it's sad on its own, but also because I believe in my heart that many people will reject my opinions - perhaps even some of you. Maybe you'll assume that I think you're a bad person, or an extreme Islamophobe. Maybe you'll wonder how the hell I could be so insensitive to the victims and families of 9/11. But the fact of the matter is, if a church, synagogue, Hindu temple, library or even an adult video store were being built two blocks from Ground Zero, no one would be batting an eye. I could understand if it were extremists trying to build a center - they were the perpetrators. But regular Muslim Americans? Really?
What exactly are we afraid of?
In my first blog, "Not Gay (Enough) Part I", I briefly mentioned binaries. Binaries perpetuate cultural norms by pinning one abstract idea against another: black/white, gay/straight, female/male, non-believer/believer, etc. What binaries also do is solidify the belief that things are only this or that, when life teaches us that there are many gray areas. (In fact, I am of the belief that most things in life are gray.) So when it comes to oppression, often binaries creep up again, in a more unusual way.
With respect to Islamophobia, I found, both on internet messageboards as well as comments on TV by political pundits, it was often said that most anti-center folks weren't Islamophobic because they weren't extreme "Qu'ran burning" types. In this scenario, the binary is "Islamophobe/Islam-friendly" or something to that effect. Of course, as I said earlier, most things are not that black and white. There is a spectrum of prejudice, if you will (and not just in regard to Islamophobia), and I think this needs to be acknowledged for progress to be made. Just because you wouldn't support Qu'ran burning doesn't mean you don't get nervous when boarding a plane with someone who "looks Muslim". Just because you don't think it's right to bully a Muslim high school student doesn't mean you don't see a Muslim man and assume you know how he views and treats women.
You may be thinking, "Thoughts are irrelevant. They have no effect on people's lives." But they do, all the time. They have an effect on how we interact with others (or don't interact with them) and how we treat them, consciously or otherwise. And perhaps most importantly (and that's a big 'perhaps'), thoughts have an effect on the person doing the thinking. I can say this from personal experience, but I'll be discussing that more in-depth in a later blog.
Of course, in all the rhetoric, many things get lost in misunderstandings, and there is one aspect of this misunderstanding that I would like to address, assuming I still have your attention. Around the time that Pastor Terry Jones, of the Dove World Outreach Center in Florida, first announced that his church would be doing a Qu'ran burning as part of what he dubbed International Burn a Qu'ran Day, he gave an interview with CNN's Rick Sanchez during which he emphatically says, "Islam is of the devil." among other atrocious things. Understandably, many Muslims were highly offended by Jones' association of their faith with someone most would consider the most evil figure in history (whether you believe he exists or not). But I found myself seriously thinking about that whole situation, which is what leads me to add this to my blog, which otherwise would have ended with the above paragraph.
"Islam is of the devil." What does that mean exactly? On the surface, it seems like Islamophobic rhetoric. And you know what? In the context of the other things that Jones has said about Islam and Muslims, it is exactly that: Islamophobic rhetoric. However, I would like my Muslim siblings to understand this, before I address my Christian siblings: I grew up in the Black Church. I was raised to believe that God has certain characteristics and Satan (the Devil, Lucifer, whatever you wish to call him/it) has certain characteristics. Essentially, one is the antithesis of the other. God wants what is best for us, and Satan only wishes to "steal, kill and destroy" (John 10:10) As I'm sure any believer of a monotheistic religion knows (or those knowledgable about monotheistic religions understands), by believing one god, you reject all others, as well as doubt and non-belief. For most Christians, this means rejecting Islam (and Judaism, and Hinduism, and atheism, and agnosticism, etc.). Now, with the theological understanding that Satan does not want what is best for humanity, and that only the Christian God is the God that wants what's best for humanity (and only the Christian faith is what's best for us, and so on and so forth), it stands to reason that Christians would see other religions, as well as other things that line up with the theology, as "tricks of the enemy", as per Matthew 7:13 (New International Version): "Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it." If Christianity is the only way, Jesus being "the way, the truth, and the life" and the Christian God knows what's best for us, and Satan wants the opposite of what's best for us, and therefore as the one who wants to destroy us has ways to trick us into going through the "wide gate", it stands to reason that all other religions, including Islam, would be considered by most Christians to be a tool of Satan, no? Regardless of whether or not one agrees with this theology, everyone is entitled to their beliefs. Within the specific language, "Islam is of the devil", it is the above theology wrapped up in culture--Southern culture, evangelical culture, African-American culture. In my experience, even people who no longer practice Christianity within the African-American community (or no longer practice it in a traditional/mainstream way) still use phrases like, "That's the devil!" (or sometimes "debil"). This phrase is generally used in a joking way, though not always. There is also the phrase "The devil is a liar!", also sometimes used in a joking way, though less so in my experience. Of course, being that I do have the privilege of being a Christian (though most Christians I know would take issue with that) in a nation that is predominately Christian. If any Muslims reading this take issue with my above readings, feel free to espouse your opinions on the comments (either here or on Facebook). I believe that with any privilege we may have, we need to constantly confront that privilege, and I would be a hypocrite as a black bisexual woman from a poor background to ask whites, heterosexuals, men and the well-off to acknowledge and address their places of privilege without acknowledging my own.
That being said, however, it is now time for me to address my Christian siblings, of all flavors, though mostly targeted toward communities that tend to use language like the above described: I'm family, so I'm just going to keep it real. If you are a Christian, particularly if you have mainstream beliefs (anti-LGBT, anti-abortion, etc.) you have social privilege in a country that is predominately Christian, in a world that is predominately Christian. What does that mean you may ask? It means that when you watch TV or film and people make references to "the trinity" or lions and lambs as symbols, you know what it means. It means that most politicians identify in some way with Christianity, and as such politics is colored by your beliefs, and that the views of people of no faith or other faiths don't have as much of a voice, if any at all, in politics. It means that only God knows when we'll ever elect a Jewish, Muslim, Wiccan, or atheist president. (Look how long it took us to elect a Catholic one--remember, just like the Civil Rights Movements, that was only 50 years ago.) I could go on, but I have more to say and this thing is already too long. Because of that, the language you use when discussing your beliefs (to which, again, you are entitled) has an impact on things beyond the immediate space around the sound of your voice (particularly if you have access to forms of media, and you don't necessarily have to have access to institutions like CNN). Whether you like it or not, words have an impact on people. Ask anyone who has been called a nigger/lover, a dyke (myself included), or a cunt. Not only can it affect those at whom the language is directed, it can also affect those reading or hearing the language. Simply put, choose your words carefully. No one is trying to censor you; no one is trying to take away your freedom to believe what you want. But the fact is, you do not live in your own little bubble. Yes, the Bible says that although you may be in this world, you are not of this world, but within the context of this issue you must remember that you are in this world, whether you like it or not, whether you're "of" this world or not. Your words and actions affect this world, as do mine. In all of this, please remember that, and everyone, treat others with love.
In Solidarity,
D
"Islam is of the devil." What does that mean exactly? On the surface, it seems like Islamophobic rhetoric. And you know what? In the context of the other things that Jones has said about Islam and Muslims, it is exactly that: Islamophobic rhetoric. However, I would like my Muslim siblings to understand this, before I address my Christian siblings: I grew up in the Black Church. I was raised to believe that God has certain characteristics and Satan (the Devil, Lucifer, whatever you wish to call him/it) has certain characteristics. Essentially, one is the antithesis of the other. God wants what is best for us, and Satan only wishes to "steal, kill and destroy" (John 10:10) As I'm sure any believer of a monotheistic religion knows (or those knowledgable about monotheistic religions understands), by believing one god, you reject all others, as well as doubt and non-belief. For most Christians, this means rejecting Islam (and Judaism, and Hinduism, and atheism, and agnosticism, etc.). Now, with the theological understanding that Satan does not want what is best for humanity, and that only the Christian God is the God that wants what's best for humanity (and only the Christian faith is what's best for us, and so on and so forth), it stands to reason that Christians would see other religions, as well as other things that line up with the theology, as "tricks of the enemy", as per Matthew 7:13 (New International Version): "Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it." If Christianity is the only way, Jesus being "the way, the truth, and the life" and the Christian God knows what's best for us, and Satan wants the opposite of what's best for us, and therefore as the one who wants to destroy us has ways to trick us into going through the "wide gate", it stands to reason that all other religions, including Islam, would be considered by most Christians to be a tool of Satan, no? Regardless of whether or not one agrees with this theology, everyone is entitled to their beliefs. Within the specific language, "Islam is of the devil", it is the above theology wrapped up in culture--Southern culture, evangelical culture, African-American culture. In my experience, even people who no longer practice Christianity within the African-American community (or no longer practice it in a traditional/mainstream way) still use phrases like, "That's the devil!" (or sometimes "debil"). This phrase is generally used in a joking way, though not always. There is also the phrase "The devil is a liar!", also sometimes used in a joking way, though less so in my experience. Of course, being that I do have the privilege of being a Christian (though most Christians I know would take issue with that) in a nation that is predominately Christian. If any Muslims reading this take issue with my above readings, feel free to espouse your opinions on the comments (either here or on Facebook). I believe that with any privilege we may have, we need to constantly confront that privilege, and I would be a hypocrite as a black bisexual woman from a poor background to ask whites, heterosexuals, men and the well-off to acknowledge and address their places of privilege without acknowledging my own.
That being said, however, it is now time for me to address my Christian siblings, of all flavors, though mostly targeted toward communities that tend to use language like the above described: I'm family, so I'm just going to keep it real. If you are a Christian, particularly if you have mainstream beliefs (anti-LGBT, anti-abortion, etc.) you have social privilege in a country that is predominately Christian, in a world that is predominately Christian. What does that mean you may ask? It means that when you watch TV or film and people make references to "the trinity" or lions and lambs as symbols, you know what it means. It means that most politicians identify in some way with Christianity, and as such politics is colored by your beliefs, and that the views of people of no faith or other faiths don't have as much of a voice, if any at all, in politics. It means that only God knows when we'll ever elect a Jewish, Muslim, Wiccan, or atheist president. (Look how long it took us to elect a Catholic one--remember, just like the Civil Rights Movements, that was only 50 years ago.) I could go on, but I have more to say and this thing is already too long. Because of that, the language you use when discussing your beliefs (to which, again, you are entitled) has an impact on things beyond the immediate space around the sound of your voice (particularly if you have access to forms of media, and you don't necessarily have to have access to institutions like CNN). Whether you like it or not, words have an impact on people. Ask anyone who has been called a nigger/lover, a dyke (myself included), or a cunt. Not only can it affect those at whom the language is directed, it can also affect those reading or hearing the language. Simply put, choose your words carefully. No one is trying to censor you; no one is trying to take away your freedom to believe what you want. But the fact is, you do not live in your own little bubble. Yes, the Bible says that although you may be in this world, you are not of this world, but within the context of this issue you must remember that you are in this world, whether you like it or not, whether you're "of" this world or not. Your words and actions affect this world, as do mine. In all of this, please remember that, and everyone, treat others with love.
In Solidarity,
D
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Not Gay (Enough): The Bisexual Narrative Within the Queer Story (Part I)
I've been a very bad queer lately. Of course, much of that is due to the fact that it is difficult fo me to organize myself under my current circumstances in the ways that I would like.I could write an entire blog just on class and location (and race and gender and...) as they relate to access to organizing, but I digress...
The reason I'm discussing bisexuality is because the way I keep myself engaged wih my communities as of late is through periodically catching up on what's going on in our news (and by 'our' I don't just mean queerness). So I guess it's to be expected that there will be times when I'm late on a story. This was such a case, and it happened by chance.
I was reading an article about a certain cable television news anchor on some random website I found via Google. This website had a link to a story from March or April of this year.
Here is a link to one of the more in-depth articles (I found several) to give you the jist of the story:
http://www.advocate.com/News/Daily_News/2010/04/20/Ballplayers_Sue_Gay_Softball_League/
I would like to point out that one thing the article fails to mention is that they are suing for discrimination because, although the NAGAAA is a private organization, the venues they used to play were public property, and therefore subject to law.
My initial reaction was, "Not this again." I began to read comments from readers (on several sites), and I notced that certain themes seemed to pop up again and again. I will write about these themes in a series.
The first, and maybe most obvious question is: What does it mean to be "gay enough"? I thought specifically about bisexual identity as it relates to queerness. If human sexuality is a Kinsey scale, can a bisexual ever be "gay enough"? Wouldn't that imply that we are gay, as many gays and straights alike (mostly gays, let's be honest) keep telling us? Do we even want to be gay? I mean, because...we're not, right?
This then, caused my reaction to the story to have a duality to it (surprise, surprise): on the one hand, I felt (and still feel) that those bisexual men, as queer men, should have been able to play - whether or not to disqualify them qualifies as discrimination aside, I thought it was wrong, and ironic considering the way gays and lesbians have been (and still are) treated. On the other hand, I felt, "What kind of message does it send for three bisexual men to be included among their gay brethren, only to have their bi-ness erased, by being considered "gay" (as oposed to "not gay", as they were determined to be)? The binary problem, that is, the idea that things are only "this or that", manifests greatly in this story.
So as I sat in my ambivalence, I thought about the histories of the queer and black communities. The struggles for bisexuals, transgendered folks, and multiracial folks to carve out our/their own identities, though rich with history, seems to be fairly recent as major movements, as far as I can tell. Before this, we were, consenting or not, lumped in with The Other, gays and blacks respectively (and often still are).
So again, on the one hand, I not only want to be, but in fact demand that bisexuals and trans folks be included as part of the queer community as a whole. Not out of some puffed up sense of entitlement, but with the knowledge that The Movement and the community have never been just gay and lesbian in the first place - and I'm talking about decades here. And I'm talking about before Stonewall. Our stories, seemingly erased from queer history, except for those of us who fight to keep them alive, and rewrite them into the narrative.
On the other hand though, I do desire to distinguish myself from the gay identity, not because homosexuality is maligned in our society, not because of some pretend heterosexual privilege that some people seem to think I possess simply because I'm bi, but because I am bi, that is how I want to be seen. (Although I readily concede that if in a relationship with someone perceived as male, in that moment I do benefit from heterosexual privilege, just as a person of color who passes as white can benefit from white privilege - but it is not my identity itself that gives me heterosexual privilege, because, at the end of the day, I'm not straight [or gay]. I'll touch on this more in depth at a later date.) It isn't "Call me this because I don't want to be that!" It's "Call me this because this is what I am." It's really that simple.
For all our similarities, there are many differences. We are collective fraternal twins - not identical, but close enough and similar enough that we ought to have a bond. I'll never be just like my siblings. I was never meant to be. What's important at the end of the day is that we remember that we're family. I hope you remember that as this series continues.
In Solidarity,
D
The reason I'm discussing bisexuality is because the way I keep myself engaged wih my communities as of late is through periodically catching up on what's going on in our news (and by 'our' I don't just mean queerness). So I guess it's to be expected that there will be times when I'm late on a story. This was such a case, and it happened by chance.
I was reading an article about a certain cable television news anchor on some random website I found via Google. This website had a link to a story from March or April of this year.
Here is a link to one of the more in-depth articles (I found several) to give you the jist of the story:
http://www.advocate.com/News/Daily_News/2010/04/20/Ballplayers_Sue_Gay_Softball_League/
I would like to point out that one thing the article fails to mention is that they are suing for discrimination because, although the NAGAAA is a private organization, the venues they used to play were public property, and therefore subject to law.
My initial reaction was, "Not this again." I began to read comments from readers (on several sites), and I notced that certain themes seemed to pop up again and again. I will write about these themes in a series.
The first, and maybe most obvious question is: What does it mean to be "gay enough"? I thought specifically about bisexual identity as it relates to queerness. If human sexuality is a Kinsey scale, can a bisexual ever be "gay enough"? Wouldn't that imply that we are gay, as many gays and straights alike (mostly gays, let's be honest) keep telling us? Do we even want to be gay? I mean, because...we're not, right?
This then, caused my reaction to the story to have a duality to it (surprise, surprise): on the one hand, I felt (and still feel) that those bisexual men, as queer men, should have been able to play - whether or not to disqualify them qualifies as discrimination aside, I thought it was wrong, and ironic considering the way gays and lesbians have been (and still are) treated. On the other hand, I felt, "What kind of message does it send for three bisexual men to be included among their gay brethren, only to have their bi-ness erased, by being considered "gay" (as oposed to "not gay", as they were determined to be)? The binary problem, that is, the idea that things are only "this or that", manifests greatly in this story.
So as I sat in my ambivalence, I thought about the histories of the queer and black communities. The struggles for bisexuals, transgendered folks, and multiracial folks to carve out our/their own identities, though rich with history, seems to be fairly recent as major movements, as far as I can tell. Before this, we were, consenting or not, lumped in with The Other, gays and blacks respectively (and often still are).
So again, on the one hand, I not only want to be, but in fact demand that bisexuals and trans folks be included as part of the queer community as a whole. Not out of some puffed up sense of entitlement, but with the knowledge that The Movement and the community have never been just gay and lesbian in the first place - and I'm talking about decades here. And I'm talking about before Stonewall. Our stories, seemingly erased from queer history, except for those of us who fight to keep them alive, and rewrite them into the narrative.
On the other hand though, I do desire to distinguish myself from the gay identity, not because homosexuality is maligned in our society, not because of some pretend heterosexual privilege that some people seem to think I possess simply because I'm bi, but because I am bi, that is how I want to be seen. (Although I readily concede that if in a relationship with someone perceived as male, in that moment I do benefit from heterosexual privilege, just as a person of color who passes as white can benefit from white privilege - but it is not my identity itself that gives me heterosexual privilege, because, at the end of the day, I'm not straight [or gay]. I'll touch on this more in depth at a later date.) It isn't "Call me this because I don't want to be that!" It's "Call me this because this is what I am." It's really that simple.
For all our similarities, there are many differences. We are collective fraternal twins - not identical, but close enough and similar enough that we ought to have a bond. I'll never be just like my siblings. I was never meant to be. What's important at the end of the day is that we remember that we're family. I hope you remember that as this series continues.
In Solidarity,
D
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