Feminism

Harry Enfield: offensive sketch: Filipino Maid

Published on by Lisa

Fact: More than 3000 Filipinos leave the Philippines daily to find work overseas and to send remittances home to their families. Most of these workers are women.

Fact: Overseas Filipino women often find themselves in modern day slavery and are subject to abuse, sexual assault, and broken work contracts.

Fact: Sketches that mock Filipino maids or any domestic workers as sexual objects and demean their human worth are not entertaining and should apologize for their racist imagery and jokes.

False: This kind of entertainment is acceptable.

If you are not aware of the high rate of Filipino women who work as domestic helpers all over h world, look at the results here on YouTube when you simply search “Filipino Maid,” and find an endless list of womyn trying to find employment.

If She’s Wrong, I Don’t Want to Be Right

Published on by Lisa

So Blackamazon has a thunderous piece entitled, “Wrong Woman,” and I think you need to get your fannies over there and appreciate her and her thunder.

I love thinking about that though – what makes a “wrong” womyn?  I am thinking back to all the ways womyn are deemed “wrong.”
Womyn who…
are raped
are raped more than once
are mentally ill
take prescriptive medication for depression, anxiety, OCD, or any other mental wellness       challenges
speak up and against their physicians
have hair under their arms, on their legs, on their upper lip
don’t shave said hair
live and/or work in a “third world” country are “less right” than those in “first world” nations
are dark-skinned 
prefer to have curves
do not hold formal degrees
stop when they have had enough
limit their consumption
choose
march when other dawdle 
spell incorrectly
stick with unpopular beliefs
identify queer
move in wheelchairs
love sex
use their sexuality
are empowered by their sexuality
resist mainstream
filter news through the experiences of their lives
those who survived violence
those tried to leave, but can’t
those who stayed and died
love their abuser
quit their jobs
are on welfare
wash their hair in public fountains
read slowly if at all
have no health insurance or dental
masturbate
who are addicts
pursue their long held dreams
practice creativity and art
are loud
and angry
and continue the fight where their mothers left off
Who else is wrong?

My Nina

Published on by Lisa


She’s my blood and she speaks three different languages already.

I just met her 72 hours ago, the daughter of a cousin who I just embraced for the first time.
Her eyes were the color of charcoal and her smile bit my heart.
She had a dimple in her left cheek only, just like me.
Sweats more than any other 7 year old I’ve known,
and demands rice at every meal.
I want her world to be better and her options to be as bright as her glowing cheeks.  I thought that she would be the perfect filter for my feminism.  If it doesn’t contribute to bettering her world, I’m passing.
I want to always see her jumping.

Happy Slip Deletes MySpace Account, Filipina Misrepresentation

Published on by Lisa

Many of you may know that I am HUGE Happy Slip fan. A few months ago, I was in correspondence with her to set up an interview and while the logistical pieces didn’t fit and the interview didn’t happen, I do know that in simple emails and personal messages, this fine actress is humble, gracious, and spirited.

Happy Slip is a Fil-Am (Filipino American) vlogger on YouTube and has created tremendous success for her hilarious videos and creativity in her original one-woman show of comedy.

With 34, 000 friends on MySpace and a huge following on YouTube, Christine has stirred up MySpace friends when she recently deleted her account due to all the google ads promoting Filipina women for dating and relationships.

She writes on her blog:

About 2 months ago, I had warned all my previous MySpace friends that I might need to delete my MySpace account because of inappropriate ads powered by Google. Those ads are in direct conflict with the HappySlip brand and especially misrepresentative of Filipina women.

She writes further:

According to a Human Protection Law enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the Philippines, it is unlawful “To establish or carry on a business which has for its purpose the matching of Filipino women for marriage to foreign nationals either on a mail order basis or personal introduction”. It is unlawful “To solicit, enlist or in any manner attract or introduce any Filipino woman to become a member in any club or association whose objective is to match women for marriage to foreign nationals either on a mail order basis or through personal introduction for a fee”. This law was enacted to “take measures to protect Filipino women from being exploited in utter disregard of human dignity in their pursuit of economic upliftment.”

If you’re not a fan after that…

H/T To Filipina Images Online
Cross posted at APA for Progress


Please, Barack, Don’t Do It

Published on by Lisa

Whatever happens,

Barack,
please
do NOT
put Hillary on your ticket.
*Update
6/4/08
Ok, here’s my reasoning as to why.
Just as much as anyone else, I am not too hopeful when it comes to public office. The corruption – from the grounds of community councils all the way to the White House – is dispicable. However, I do believe that there are small pockets of people in each sector that genuine try to make this world a better place. I don’t believe that they’re capable of miracles, but I believe in small ounces of their goodness and fight.
Regardless of whether or not people like politics because of the media, contrite speeches, or the wealth attributed to public office, it’s an incredible time in the history of this country. One thing I have learned is that while the sins of this country run deep into the roots of our civilization, I know that the people of this country are capable of goodness, analysis, hope, and healing. I’m not looking for perfection or wholeness to come from the brief pieces of justice our government gives, but I do look for at least an ounce of hope.
To truly be different, as Barack says he is, I expect him to do as exactly as I have thought – to bring NEW people together. Hillary Rodham Clinton is as iconic old skool politics as Bush Sr. and W have been. The presidency, the governance of our country cannot be anything new if it retains the old names of history. The Clinton name is just as legendary (or notorious) as the Bush legacy. The parties might be different, their politics may be different, and I may side with one over the other ,but when it comes to change, fresh air, and direction, it cannot come from Hillary Clinton. Not for me. She is a remarkable and disciplined politician, but I don’t trust her anymore than I could throw her. And while I may support her ideas, the “experience” she carries comes with a price. The old fogies will be sitting in the same cherry oak furniture seats. The same pens will be voting the same check boxes. The Clinton backlash will be ready to strike in 2012 or 2016, probably with another Bush.
No thank you.
Now, it’s not like I would trust my first born’s soul with the Obama family. They are, clearly, public figures and with public persona, there can only be so much authenticity and integrity. So far, I do not trust him, but I do hope in kind of energy he brings to areas. I hope in the people who have been fired up by his speeches, his presence, and his honesty. To put Hillary on that ticket is the first sign of selling out. With Hill comes Bill and with Bill comes…well, bad things.
I understand why people don’t vote. I get it why people are jaded, don’t want to be involved with the debates, news, or excessive media coverage. It’s gross, to be honest. However, if you can get past all that garbage for one moment, there is a shift going on in our country. It’s a shift, one step in a not so bad direction. Is it all that we’re hoping for? No. Will it heal our past? Will it move us out of racial divisions? No. Is it all that we want it to be? No. Will it ever be? No.
But, it’s a shift. And those shifts in the underground plates eventually cause earthquakes. That quake may not be for another thousand years, but there is a shift taking place in our country. I’m filled with a lot of doubt, but I’m not afraid to hope.
Maybe Barack won’t be as inspiring in 3 months, 3 years, 30 years, but at this moment, right now, he has spoken words that I have long wanted to hear. It’s, at minimum, more inspiring than anything else I have heard from any politician I’ve ever listened to, more inspiring than administrators in universities where I have been employed, and more true than what most people are willing to say.
He’s flawed, and limited, and wrong on many levels, but again, what are you looking for in a politician? I’m not looking for complete answers or medals or absolute confidence, but an ounce, just an ounce of hope that he might see a bit more than what previous government leaders have seen before. That his background may afford him to see an extra 2 feet from from his face, instead of the usual 6 inches like Bush, Clinton, Reagon, or previous presidents. Obama is a man, not a god. He’s a leader, not a magician.
More importantly, I’m hopeful, not naive. I’m inspired to work in my local communities because I believe that IS the only way to impact change. The road to Better will not be carved by Obama, but by the citizens who want to pave it. Obama, in my eyes, tries.
I’m so over the 90s both with the politicians and my old views.
I want and am ready to move forward.

The Fire Has Started

Published on by Lisa


In 17 days, I will be leaving for two months to study, research, and write in the Philippines, my parents homeland and the mysterious keeper of a large portion of my identity.  I enrolled and was accepted into the Philippine Studies Program where I will be an independent researcher studying transnational feminism, solidarity, post colonial feminism, and the impact of westernized concepts of human rights on developing countries.

That’s my academic reason.
My main reason is to go home, to find home, find me.
This trip is not a vacation, it’s not an immersion program, it’s a transformative leap of faith.  I’ve never been to the Philippines and I am preparing for an experience that will lift me and my writing to an unprecedented state of clarity.
I was in New York this past weekend for a conference on Filipino activism and social justice and also for my orientation.  Taking the 7 train to Queens, I walked into the Filipino Community Center.  The sounds of Tagalog and the smell of the nearby Philippine bakery descended upon my senses and I breathed in what felt familiar.  New York, sometimes, is pure magic in its offerings to both lose and find yourself.  Magic, I tell you, it’s magic.
The day was as I imagined – hopeful, awesome, delayed, and running 2 hours behind.  But the spirit, the Sandiwa, the strength of the Filipino activists is alive, strong, and compelling.  I’ve never been introduced to so many womyn who looked so much like me in my life.  I met Pinays who I could have sworn I’ve met in previous lives; other Filipino American womyn who have yearned for something for which there is no word – something in between a sense of belonging and a feeling of fire.  That is what I experienced n Saturday.
I’ve lived my life on knife.  Split by the color of my skin and the color of my environment.  I’ve only known existence on the periphery, and difference, and listening to mostly White folks tell me about their lives.  And rules and concerns.  It’s time for something Else. It’s time to understand what “my people” means to me and how I plan on living, existing, and writing my feminism into transparency so there are no secrets, misunderstandings or shame.
I am so proud, and excited, and in love.
My objective, my goals for this trip are simple – to examine the deepest unknown parts of my identity and strengthen my purpose in my writing, activism, and fight.
I hope to share with you what I find along the way.
In Solidarity –
In Peace,
Sudy

New Edition, New Kids on the Block, Feminism, Ageism

Published on by Lisa

Trust me, there’s a connection.

Like many 25-35 year olds out there, I was a Blockhead.  A blockhead, for those that don’t know are fans of the 80s group New Kids on the Block who caused many a sleepless night back when I was a TeenBeat, TigerBeat, Bopper, YM, and 17 magazine reader.  NKOTB was a phenomenon.  My sister and I bought the buttons that were the size of a small child’s head, t-shirts, jackets, posters, dolls, towels and taped (!) every performance they had on non-cable telly.  We were completely out of control.  I was eleven.  And nuts.
When life rolled forward and Grunge swept through, then Alternative, Latin pop, and then Dave Matthews, I grew up.  Thanks to YouTube, I still enjoy my NKOTB fix and my iTunes collection is more Hip/Hop, Folk, Soundtrack, and Indie, than pop and candy.
NKOTB recently announced their reunion, plans for a new album, and upcoming tour.  My sister and I are surely going to attend my fourth, her sixth, NKOTB concert.  (Damn, why did I throw away my MC Hammer pants that I wore in ’88?)  And in thinking about how young I was then, I began thinking about what’s changed besides my plans to move to Boston to marry Jordan Knight.
In those archaic tapes in storage, I have more footage of NKOTB than I’d care to admit, and it’s only now that I can fully process a critical detail in the make-up of my favorite coming-of-age band.  . Their producer and manager, Maurice Starr, was also the producer for New Edition, the early sensation group that held Bobby Brown, Ralph Tresvant, Johnny Gill and the others who later became Bell, Biv, DeVoe.
It never occurred to me that Maurice Starr openly admitted that after New Edition he went to form a group with the exact same model –  five kids from Boston (Johnny Gill was a non-Bostonian and was a replacement for Bobby Brown) who could dance, sing, and break little girl hearts.  The difference is here as Joe McIntyre said, “…hey what about New Edition?  There would be no New Kids without them.  And of course, the Jackson Five begat New Edition.  So I guess we were really just the first white boy band.”
Eighteen years ago, it didn’t cross my little ol’ mind what that could mean for music, popularity, consumerism, business, and revenue.  That small but oh so significant racial difference is huge.
Today, it’s old news.  It’s easy now to understand how commercialized music, tv, and film entertainers are when there are products to sell.  How someone/thing looks in the music business is critical to it’s success.  The visual appeal is more critical, in some respects, than the ears.  
In the wake of NKOTB reunion, I’ve linked arms with nostalgic folks thinking about their younger days and who they were back then.  I read NKOTB’s words as they reflect on nearly 20 years later music and what changed in the two decades since we all grew up.  In a walnut shell, I’ve been thinking about what I couldn’t see things because I was youthful, naive, and inexperienced.  I’ve been meditating on
Age. 
AGE.
It’s utterly important to feminism.  Feminism without older feminists, I’ve realized, is a like a chair with no legs.  There’s no difference between the seat and the floor if it’s not raised up.  The legs, the older womyn, are required.  There’s memory, wisdom,  knowledge, and did I mention memory?  Aged womyn are the sacred in learning.  They a make sure we see what has always been there, how history repeats itself; how young women after us will think the same things as we did.
I don’t want to be one of those under 30 folks that speaks too soon, thinking I have something to share when in actuality it’s been said about fifty times over by someone else.  Learning patience, learning how to be educated and well-rounded, and unpresumptuous is difficult.  It’s hard to be energetic and not impulsive.  History, and its story tellers must be prioritized.
Daisy left this comment on my blog a few weeks ago and I’ve been re-reading it several times:
But some of us have been around a long time and can reference other feminist feuds of this sort that predate the internet. In a different culture, we might be asked respectfully and specifically for our old woman perspective and memories. In the USA? Ignored. Feminist blogs? Ignored. And that goes for EVERYONE, WOC and white women and everyone else. Over 50? Go the fuck away. 

Coverage of the WAM conference made absolutely NO MENTION of the fact that it was an overwhelmingly YOUTHFUL event. I saw ONE woman in photos, who might have been around my own age. Certainly, no workshops or presentations about old women. And again, this was deemed not even important enough to mention.

Those who do not remember the past are destined to repeat it. (And who do you think remembers the past?) 

(That “someone” is usually young(er) woman of color; 13-20 year olds, in my opinion.)

I agree with this assessment, and it has been ever thus. Maybe we could talk about how this EVOLVED OVER TIME? It did not happen overnight; Rome wasn’t built in a day. Discussion with some OLD women might yield some answers, but you know, that involves LINKING US TOO, replying to us and actually admitting we exist, even if we aren’t COOL. I think we deserve a modicum of respect as old feminists. 

Obviously, some of you disagree and prefer to be age-segregationists. Certainly, do as you please, but don’t go on and on about inclusion, in that case, okay? It leaves a bad taste in this (deliberately excluded) old lady’s mouth.

And she hits the nail on noggin again right here.  Although I cringe at the terminology that uses the “waves” of feminism, the larger point needs to be addressed: age and feminism.
What is it about our obsession with the young?  Granted, yes, they “are the future,” but as we know in feminism, it is just as necessary to inform and correct the past as well.  There’s no way to do that without older womyn.  It is necessary to include the voices of womyn who WERE THERE before us.  Those who are in the midst of transformation themselves and live to tell what their own mistakes were, unspoiled accounts of history, and a wealth of insights unshared.
Young womyn need guidance, they need mentors and modeling.  Are we modeling well when we fail to include older voices?  When we talk about the present, it automatically targets the fastest talkers, most eloquent bloggers, and flashy nuances.  Are we teaching young womyn correctly when we forget womyn who have endured legislature, change, and the impact of time?
There’s one thing I know for certain and that is that history repeats itself.  This cliche is demonstrated within politics and social movements and especially within feminism.  How many times have I (a womyn under 30) shook my head at young(er) womyn, “I’ve lived through that already.  They need to get a clue.”
My head sinks to my desk when I estimate to think how many times older womyn have shaken their heads at me.
So, while I am aware that there are other womyn out there who have broken this issue open, I’m trying to get my head in there as well and sticking my ears out to learn as well.
Why the obsession with the young?
How and why are we so quick to forget older voices?
How do we centralize experience, inclusivity, and vision of ALL womyn?
How do we approach an intergenerational  vision of transformation?
While he’s talking about fame and fans in this quote, Joe McIntyre probably doesn’t know he speaks with profundity for feminists too, “Now as an adult….it’s not about me….it’s about the relationship…”
How is the relationship between youth, adult, and older adult womyn?
How do we build that relationship stronger?
 

Old Fashion Feminist Talks: Gender and Relationships

Published on by Lisa

Being in relationship, being in community with peers who support us and mentors who challenge, is critical to a transformative feminist relationship to self and the world. One of those primary relationships is, of course, a romantic partner. In my (usually) blissful world with Adonis, I normally hurdle things like dishes, your-turn-to-scrub-the-loos, I can’t stand hanging out with Matt again kinds of problems. It’s not that I’ve forgotten the acute and crippling paralysis of the break-up bug. I just haven’t visited that particular kind of depression in several years.

Then, last night, one of my dear friends had her heart broken and thus commenced those old talkings between friends of heartbreak. “It” began: the analysis, the reliving, the questions, self-doubt, the RAGE, and the necessity to repeat questions at 3am to make sure it was fully covered, twice. And don’t forget betrayal, facade, and throw the word coward in there about three times, too.

Gender is always a fascinating topic in the traumatic world of post break-up. As my weepy friend sat in her cold, dark apartment until the wee morning hours, I did the best I could but felt myself falling short of being that empathetic person who can GO there (“there” being the daaaaaarrrrark side) in the crashing tsunamic waves of misery.

I need to be a good friend and patch her up with good ideas of self-care and healing. And so I ask, dear readers, for all your pearls of wisdom, for feedback on this famous question:

What got you through your worst break-up?