#how do i reclaim that and still acknowledge my struggle is lesser than others’)

[amethystpath-writes]

The Society

(NOT A PROMPT)

The grandiose room would have been extravagant had Nahzi been seeing it from anywhere other than the stage. She was a prop- no. A prop was hardly noticed. Nahzi was the whole exhibit, ready for viewing, prodding, and throwing insults at.

“She looks uncomfortable.” I’m stuffed in a too-hot dress.

“Her hands shouldn’t be covered in those gloves. They are for the elite class- for the Society.” My hands are scarred and Garnor thought they would be too ugly to look at- said it would distract from my ‘pretty, scratched face.’

And what did it matter anyways? Nahzi was a Society member’s property, so the gloves should have made the elite class feel well. This lady had no right. Then again, Nahzi didn’t want the Society gloves. She didn’t want them. She wanted them off. Now. Goodness, she never even thought about the meaning behind it. Nahzi was adorning their clothing, becoming more and more like them. Her stomach twisted.

“Is she capable of lifting her lips at all?” Into a snarl, perhaps, but that would only get me into trouble. “Garnor must have found the perfect routine. I should ask him about it after the Gathering. Misfortune befall you, Creature.” You used to be a Creature, too.

Did he say ‘routine?��� If unpredictability was routine, then yes. If Garnor was so great at what he did, why wasn’t Nahzi his wife yet? And why wasn’t he the one with special abilities?

The gloves were itchy now. So was the dress. The pins in Nahzi’s hair. They didn’t belong on a Creature.

Most of the critics were women, ones all dressed up in uncomfortable gowns and with faces powdered themselves. Looks like they fell right into their new roles. Women with pale, olive, chocolate, and all skins had fallen victim- had all been manipulated so easily by those around them. There were a few men who had fallen prone to a woman’s influence, too, but they were much fewer than the alternative. There was no particular reason- only an easy pattern Nahzi noticed too soon as she stood broadcasted on the stage.

A hand landed on Nahzi’s waist. Her first reaction being to pull away was a mistake as it rattled the chains hanging from her wrists, drawing the attention of all the hungry sharks. Nahzi dropped her gaze, but kept her chin angled high. She had nothing to be ashamed of as long as she defied Garnor. He would want her to speak; she wouldn’t.

“You have received many compliments, I heard.”

Nahzi nearly hummed mockingly, but that was just as close to speaking as deliberately saying, ‘Go screw yourself.’ She swallowed, taking a small breath. Still, Nahzi said nothing, but she did turn her chin to make eye contact with Garnor. He hated it when she did so. Hated it because it meant she didn’t acknowledge him as a threat. Garnor forgot Nahzi wasn’t a puppy dog like the rest of the bitches here- literally and metaphorically speaking.

“You know what happens when you ignore me.”

Ignore you? Is that what you call this? Nahzi made a tss sound, one that gathered more attention than she meant. Everything she did was an attraction. Everything. It was why she remained so silent, and otherwise so obedient- despite her grandest wishes. It broke her- literally- to be so docile. However, fighting the guests would have caused a ruckus that Nahzi would not be able to survive later. The silence, on the other hand, that she could deal with the consequences of- because Garnor didn’t understand the importance of it.

The chain was grasped at Nahzi’s left wrist, and she was pulled into Garnor’s chest. Hating the gasp she gave, Nahzi turned her head away, her arms becoming riddled with chilled bumps. Contact be damned. Looking him in the eye usually caused him discomfort. That was…until the reason it happened was because she’d been frightened by him enough that she glanced.

“Look at me.”

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Tongue on roof of mouth. Nahzi plastered a look of contempt on her face- the same expression she always bared until slip-ups like the one just now. She faced him again, blinked, and nearly smiled when Garnor frowned at her self-control.

“You will regret making a fool of me.”

Nahzi shrugged. Maybe I will, maybe I will not. See, as horrible as the punishments sometimes were for not being Garnor’s little trophy-power wife, it was always somewhat satisfactory to watch him stomp around like a toddler throwing a tantrum. That satisfaction was all she needed to protect herself.

“You are going to perform.”

For the first time this night, Nahzi’s lips parted. What? she almost said but caught herself and snapped her jaw shut, lips forming into a defiant frown. No. You can’t make me. But Garnor could, and Nahzi knew that; she just liked to tell herself better.

“Your hand.”

She shook her head, stepping back. The stage was large, but not large enough that Nahzi could outrun Garnor. Of course, she had chains on, anyway. Nahzi thought even without them she had little chance- especially when surrounded by so many people who saw her as nothing other than an animal which needed taming.

Not here, Nahzi thought. Do not turn me into a performer in front of them. Them- all the people a part of the Society. A bunch of rich brutes and their dainty and lesser partners, taking in people like Nahzi to starve to death if only for entertainment. It was a vicious cycle that Nahzi wished to someday put an end to.

“One of them will take me,” Nahzi said, and her voice was rasp and unpractised from her long hours of rebellious silence. “You know they will.”

“Good, then you will smile when you receive your next compliment.”

As horrible as Garnor was, she didn’t trust that others in the Society weren’t worse. Nahzi heard stories of Miss Meighleen’s Creatures being damaged so far beyond repair that the husband smashed it with one of those meat mallets used in the kitchens- killing it once and for all.

At least its life was ended before it could become such a horrible and mindless contribution to the Society. Still, Nahzi had no wish to die. She preferred this constant fight and struggle over an endless motionlessness.

It. Nahzi used to be called that…before Garnor assigned her a name and gender. How unfair? Nahzi never paid attention to that change before but now…now as the gloves itched, and the dress scratched her skin…as she spoke to Garnor as a plea to remain as she was…it was all this which made Nahzi realize with raised brows…she was becoming one of them. It was this change, she realized, which was the cause of her misfortunate state now- the reason she had ever been able to be put in these horrendous chains, ones that pushed her fingers into unusable fists.

“I could not perform even if I wanted,” she whispered. Nahzi touched a closed, useless, and restrained fist to her lips, then to her eye as a tear slipped and she tried to hide it. The sniffle was unconcealable, though.

Was this it? Was Nahzi finally broken in after months- or was it years- of a hard, dreadful silence? After rebellious glares and jerks away from touches? But she still felt Creature-esque. Still felt angry at this change, at this sudden transition of sacrifice.

All this time, Nahzi thought, and whimpered in the back of her throat, I thought I was making such strategic sacrifices. Not fighting the visitors because it might have meant more torture behind-the-scenes, which would have meant submission. When all along…those sacrifices were acts of submission, and they were adding up- so quickly that Nahzi didn’t even see it coming until this very moment.

“Your hand,” Garnor said again, and this time Nahzi didn’t even have the capacity in her mind to reject him, to- to defy him, even in an aggravating glare. She stood still, sniffing with eyes wide open as she recounted each of her small sacrifices, only realizing that she doomed herself, and that Garnor hardly had to step in to do it.

As her hand was involuntarily lifted, Nahzi began to wonder, Is this my species’ fate- to become slaves to the Society? Have we no way to eliminate the threatful parts of ourselves?

The restraint around Nahzi’s fists fell away, clattering to the ground in a way that the sound ricocheted across the room, ringing in all Societal ears, ringing their attentions to the stage where an unrestrained Creature now stood sobbing to herself.

Nahzi clenched her fist at her own free will, but as she released her fingers to reveal her palms, a string of glowing white light slithered out, skittering across the air in bounded hops…right towards Garnor.

The Society, which had congealed into a massive, crowded audience erupted into cheer, laughter, and applause as the white caressed Garnor's hand, gliding across his knuckles and around his shoulders before steadily sinking into his skin.

Meanwhile Nahzi fell to her knees, head in her hands as she sobbed at her loss of powers, at her sense of being having been so cruelly ripped from her with hardly a moment’s notice.

Now, if Nahzi ever wanted her abilities back, she would have to do to a Creature what Garnor did to her. Or rather, what she did to herself. Could she do it? Could Nahzi continue the cycle of thievery and grievances just to reclaim what was stolen from her, even if it meant stealing from another?

Would she become a part of the Society, or would she find a way to tear it at its seams from within its gates?

[jewish-privilege]

Being an ethnically ambiguous person comes with a lot of privileges; however, answering the constant questions about my identity is not one them. Like many other exoticized women, I am asked on an almost daily basis: “What are you?” and “Where are you from?” followed up with “No really, where are you from?” after I reply “Brooklyn” to their line of questioning.  

When you tell folks in America that you are Romani, nearly 100 percent of the time they will ask if you mean Romanian. Often times, I will reply “No, Romani, which is gypsy but please don’t call us that because it’s a slur.” I’ve learned that Americans are familiar with the word “gypsy,” using it to describe a vagabond, free-spirited lifestyle, and have a faint idea of us as mythical creatures, but are ignorant to the plight of actual Romani people.

So, who are Romani? More importantly, why do we need to remove the word gypsy from our vocabulary?

Simply put, Romani are the largest ethnic minority in Europe, originating from northwest India, migrating through the Middle East, and some through North Africa, to Europe. There are Romani living around the world, with estimates of 10 and 12 million living in Europe and another million in the US. Europeans imposed the word “gypsy” on Romani when they came to Europe, believing that we originated from Egypt because of our dark features. Romani have a history of persecution in Europe; it is estimated by Roma historians that over 70 to 80 percent of the Romani population was murdered in the Holocaust, a fact that is little known or recognized. Even lesser known, Romani experienced chattel slavery in Romania for over 500 years ending in 1860.

Although it is rarely talked about, the situation for Romani has not improved much; we are still victims of hate crimes, receive inadequate health care and housing, experience segregated education, and die in prison. While policies in the US systematically discriminate in covert ways, many of the policies against Romani in Europe are overt, which is apparent through opinions from political officials. In 2013, Zsolt Bayer, co-founder of the Fidesz Party in Hungary, said, “A significant part of the Roma are unfit for coexistence. They are not fit to live among people. These Roma are animals, and they behave like animals. When they meet with resistance, they commit murder. They are incapable of human communication. Inarticulate sounds pour out of their bestial skulls. At the same time, these Gypsies understand how to exploit the ‘achievements’ of the idiotic Western world. But one must retaliate rather than tolerate. These animals shouldn’t be allowed to exist. In no way. That needs to be solved — immediately and regardless of the method.”

These ideas are not reduced to words; according to a study by the National Federation of Gypsy Liaison Groups and Anglia Ruskin University, 9 out of 10 Roma children have suffered racial abuse in the UK. In Hungary, 60 percent of Romani live in secluded rural areas, segregated neighborhoods, and settlements. The fact that 90 percent of Romani in Europe live below the poverty line is an even more extreme illustration of current living conditions for Romani.

We cannot have a conversation about the use of “gypsy” without mentioning what it specifically means to be Romani and a woman facing racism, classism and sexism, excluded from traditional feminist and Romani activist movements. Romani women experience particularly disparate treatment in the areas of education, reproductive health care, and in the labor market. Only 1.6 percent of Romani women attend college in Romania, while 90 percent of Romani women are unemployed in Hungary. Romani women in Slovakia, Hungary, and the Czech Republic were victims of forced sterilization, a practice that ended less than 10 years ago. Romani infant mortality remains an issue; it is double the national average in the Czech Republic. These policies that impact actual lives of Romani women are upheld by cultural attitudes, some of which people don’t notice they are perpetuating.

...The media offers two stereotypes of Romani women: the beggar, who is dirty and exploiting social welfare, and a hypersexualized magical being who threatens the patriarchy. So, while the use of the word “gypsy” seems innocent, it is dangerous to Romani women. It conjures up a romanticized image of poverty and sexualization, which doesn’t acknowledge that there is nothing romantic about being a victim of institutionalized racism. There is nothing romantic about the link between perceived uncontrollable sexuality and forced sterilization. There is nothing romantic about being a victim of domestic violence but afraid to speak out because law enforcement won’t believe you or it will further oppress your community. There is nothing romantic about lacking political power and representation, and being left out of both anti-racist and feminist politics.

However, that doesn’t stop the rampant consumerism and pop culture references associated with “gypsy.” Just to name a few examples: The Gypsy Shrine, Gypsy Warrior, Shakira’s song “Gypsy,” Fleetwood Mac’s song “Gypsy,” Cher’s song “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves,” and the latest, Netflix’s original series Gypsy. There are over 2,000 “gypsy” costumes on Amazon and over 250,000 “gypsy” items for sale on Etsy. When folks unknowingly or knowingly profit off of the word “gypsy,” claim they have a “gypsy soul,” or use “gypsy aesthetic” for a day at Coachella, they are reinforcing racist stereotypes of Romani women and dehumanizing us. People in the US must recognize the link between the language we use and how cultural depictions inform public policy for marginalized groups. Beyond language and the word gypsy, this is about how gypsies are struggling for liberation, and how Romani women suffer while gadje (non-Romani) profit off of our likeness. So before you put on that coin skirt and scarf, or proclaim your “free-spirited gypsy-ness,” remember that we already exist and will be always be gypsies and Romani.

---

I’m sick of seeing celebrities who are so good with anti-racism (and even antisemitism, which almost never happens!) “reclaim” the g-word when they, as non-Romani, have no right. When they are confronted with the history and present of the word, they either ignore it or scoff at the possibility that they are acting in a racist manner. I’m not Romani and it feels like a slap every time I see it; I can only imagine how painful and exhausting it is for a Romani person to deal with it on a daily basis.

[afterourhearts]

RETWEEEEEEET.

I didn’t like this movie at all. She’s half-Korean but there’s basically no difference between her and a full Caucasian girl besides that one scene where she drinks some Yakult... otherwise, no acknowledgement of her Korean heritage whatsoever. Granted, her Korean mom had passed away, but an Asian girl who completely disregards her Asian identity and only crushes on white guys (and one black guy) is a character who annoys me on so many levels. 

Couldn’t help but notice that my friends who are obsessed with this movie are the ones who are probably more whitewashed and themselves say stuff like, “I never like Asian men!” etc. etc. 

Look, I’m not saying that if you’re an Asian girl, you HAVE to like Asian men. We are allowed to have our own preferences. But I am saying that we should take a moment to consider why our preferences are what they are. It’s not inherently bad to think white guys are cuter or have better personalities or whatever else might draw you to consistently choose white guys first, but there IS a fine line between preferences and flat out racism that probably gets crossed more than we realize. Inadvertent racism is still racism.

Growing up, I admittedly only liked white guys. My elementary school journals are filled with details about crushes I had on solely white boys. I used to think my Asian-ness was ugly, which made me think Asian-ness in general is ugly, and of course that meant Asian guys are ugly. It wasn’t until late middle school/early high school that I started to reclaim my Asian identity and realize the horrifying brainwashing that had been happening as a direct result of growing up in a white-dominated nation where racism is not only real but thriving. And what came after this realization? Genuine crushes on ASIAN MEN and not just because “we can understand each other better” but also because of physical attractiveness. It’s like as I started to love myself more, I started to find beauty in other Asians as well, girls and guys. 

I would argue that many Asian girls who only pursue white guys/can’t find ANY Asian guys “cute” have a problem with finding Asian features beautiful which stems from a place of finding herself not beautiful enough. And that is heartbreaking. Will you be truly happy in a relationship where you get to date a white boy whose features you envy (consciously or subconsciously) while at the same time fail to resolve your own shame of the lesser attractive Asian features you possess? His fascination with your “exotic” ness might mitigate some of your insecurities for a moment, but will that really be enough? Is that a good marriage?

Not trying to make sweeping generalizations here or point fingers at interracial couples, especially when I’m in one myself. But very few of my friends in interracial relationships are the, “I exclusively date ___ race” types, which is so refreshing to me. We don’t discount a guy because he isn’t a certain race, and we don’t think white status is better than another racial status. But there are a few exceptions, and it’s these ones I’m concerned about. 

Maybe one or two people popped up in your head while you were reading this. Can you imagine trying to have a conversation with that person where y’all confront this issue? It’s hard to have that conversation and not offend the person somehow. You can’t exactly point a finger and be like, “I’ve got you all figured out. You self-hate and you white worship and that’s WRONG.” You’re making assumptions on so many levels and you will only hurt your friend by bringing all of this up. So what do you do? Accept that this is how they have chosen to live and make peace with that, even when this mentality is toxic and something you can’t make yourself respect?

If I knew the clear cut answer, I wouldn’t be here writing this and being confused. 

I have friends like this and it makes me sad. Friends who think white people are better even if they don’t outwardly admit it although some of them actually DO outwardly admit it.

I remember a jarring moment in 10th grade when I was sitting with 2 Asian girls and 1 White girl at lunch. This white girl was good friends with the other 2 Asian girls but I wasn’t very close to her. We started talking about how this one white guy only dated Asian girls, and the white girl chimes in and is like, “Well that’s because he can’t get any white girls so he has to resort to Asians. No offense. Haven’t you noticed all the white guys who date Asians are the weird and ugly ones that white girls would’t go for ever?” and then I watched in horror as the other 2 Asian girls laughed in agreement. One of the Asian girls was adopted by white parents. The other was fully Asian, and I don’t know why she laughed. Peer pressure, or true agreement? Either way, it made me sick to my stomach.

And there was another incident a couple years back where I met this white guy on Tinder and he asked me if I had ever been with a white guy [sexually] before and I said no and then he literally told me, “You’ll like my d*ck better, trust me.” 

Situations like these have made me realize that it’s not “harmless” for an Asian girl to express very strongly that she only likes white men. There is harm. There is harm to Asian men. There is harm to Asian women. And there is harm to the girl herself. A cycle of shame and hatred of others and of oneself. So on the one hand the part of me that hates conflict wants to just sit back and let people live their lives and be chill with it but on the other hand, it’s a disgusting ideology and I lose respect for those who live that way. I know I should be feeling empathy but I find myself irritated. I try to see where it comes from but it doesn’t justify the end results. 

I think ... we need to have these conversations, however difficult. Not in a let’s point fingers and name-call kind of way, but at least in a “broadly speaking” kind of context. Because even though many Asian girls have been able to find beauty in their own heritage, others are still embarrassed and ashamed, and that manifests itself in even more ugliness that not only harms themselves but others. You might not reach them via these conversations, but it might trigger some much needed self-reflection. And you might be able to find yourself capable of more empathy. I know I’ve had at least 2 Asian female friends who confessed to me that they DO realize they hate their Asian-ness and that it IS a struggle for them to find beauty in being Asian. Healing begins with recognition, right?

At the end of the day, I’m thankful that I grew out of my “white boys are dom” phase. I’m also thankful that things aren’t the other way around where I can ONLY consider Asian men as viable life partner options, because for a brief period in my life I was totally anti-non-Asian guys. If I had still remained in that mentality, I would’ve overlooked the most amazing guy ever - the one I’m with now :) It’s a learning process that I’m still actively engaged in. What my preferences are and more importantly, why they are my preferences. 

Lots to think about.

[blacklivematters-blog]

The Future Of Food Is Black

Check out https://blacklivematters.tumblr.com/

The Future Of Food Is Black

As a food professional, activist and educator, I deeply understand that caring about food means caring about people.

For the past decade, I’ve worked within a movement that upholds values of “good, clean and fair,” yet remains quiet or woefully tone-deaf in conversations about black and brown people, specifically in regards to racism, state-sanctioned violence, and rising inequality. Whether I’m simmering large vats of Blenheim apricots for award-winning artisan preserves (what up, Mrs. Abby Fisher!), frying up cornmeal-crusted local fish filets for a community dinner, chatting with black youth on how to organize around better school lunches, or helping expand EBT SNAP benefits at farmer’s markets, it’s ultimately about nourishing and uplifting people.

In a very real sense, the future of food is people. And that future looks a lot like me: a young, black woman, hungry for change.

Black people still struggle to put good meals on their tables every day due to the rising costs of food and the lasting impact of supermarket redlining. This future was also written long ago. You see, my journey to feed others well was paved by black women across food landscape for generations before me From the revered restaurant of the iconic Leah Chase, to the soulful sophistication of Edna Lewis’ cooking, to the field organizing of activist-farmer Fannie Lou Hamer, black women have been central figures in the public development of American cuisine. Beyond these accolades, our country’s has a deeper history still of countless lesser-known black women, enslaved in fields and kitchens, who have fed children not their own and who have long shaped our most celebrated foodways, recipes and sustainable agricultural practices.

Despite this rich history, I often feel alone. Our national good food obsession can curate Instagrams of oozing sandwich stacks higher than black folks’ restaurant wages. Our movement marches against an unknown impact of GMOs, but not to change the known dearth of food spaces with black CEOs.

Without my people up front and counted, the good food movement is deafeningly hollow. I’m tired of good intentions served up on white guilt–driven platters. And whenever I’m met with yet another eye-rolling marketing campaign Columbusing collards, the erasure of black folks is painfully felt. The good food movement hasn’t fully figured out how to effectively center the literal bodies that wash our Heath ceramic dishes or gingerly prepare our $125 tasting menus.

All of this is very hard to swallow. Especially when black people still struggle to put good meals on their tables every day due to the rising costs of food and the lasting impact of supermarket redlining. Black farmers still operate less than a half percent of U.S. farmland, and black people are crushingly excluded from good restaurant jobs. The ownership of food businesses and access to necessary capital are still highly stratified along racial lines. And the winners of profit margin-critical food awards and accolades are still as homogenous as selfies of a Trump-era House GOP.

The time is now to respond to how physical, psychological, and economic violence and neglect disproportionately impact black and brown communities, particularly through our food and farming system. There are specific in ways that food and farming issues intersect with movement building to empower and liberate black people. I cannot separate my identities as a “food person” and a “Black person;” the changing future of food and farming means organizing and feeding folks at this critical intersection.

But, I am not doing this work by my damn self.

The good food movement and its leaders have a social responsibility to acknowledge and address the ways in which systems of oppression marginalize people of color, inside and out of our industry.

Food injustice parallels racial injustice. The good food movement is not exempt from this crucial work because it appears to “not be our problem.” For instance, when our co-workers in the fields or in kitchens are targeted and face unlawful detentions because of collusion between local police departments and ICE – it’s a food problem. When big food retailers are allowed to rely on cheap, prison labor to produce goods – it’s a food problem. When Black and Native American farmers faced decades of systemic bias in access to capital and credit and land loss from the USDA – it’s a food problem. When young people have to organize non-violent, direct action to raise awareness of BLM in silent/tone-deaf food spaces within their own communities – it’s a food problem. When we simply prioritize well-intentioned ideas around “nutrition and access,” but ignore the resulting racial inequity, gentrification and increased police surveillance in communities of color – it’s a food problem.

The good food movement needs to demonstrate an understanding that food injustice parallels racial injustice. Our Movement for Black Lives can continue to create points of collaboration where food people and food spaces can be included within strategies for our resistance. We already know that people of color disproportionately bear the burden of diet-related illnesses, poverty and a lack of access to fresh, affordable food. These health and socio-economic factors serve as the salt in a festering, deep wound that we must bind and heal through self-determination, equity and right relationship with the land.

And it is young black people who will lead the conversation on changing our food and farming systems.

Our healing will come and bellies will be full when we dismantle corporate control of our food systems by empowering our own communities. This is already happening. We’re teaching our own to launch good food businesses. We’re going back to the land on our terms and with our own seeds. We’re creating space for conversations at the intersection of food and race. We’re telling our own good food stories. We’re unapologetically disrupting white-dominated artisan food industries and leading our own kitchens. We’re directing investments to black-owned food startups and reshaping ownership in our cities to reclaim space and economic equity. We’re starting organizing networks within food spaces to force a power paradigm shift.

My sincere hope lies in the the words of Father Mark Day in his sweet dedication of “40 Acres.” May we continue to “gain a more abundant share in the harvest of our endless toil.” I’ll see you at the table.

#BlackFuturesMonth

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/future-of-food-is-black_us_5895f081e4b0c1284f263d69?xps7phtm8lg94tpgb9

The Future Of Food Is Black

Young Black people will lead the conversation on changing our food and farming systems. Source