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 Jun 02, 2017

Jun 02, 2017

 

 

 

 

By Kelly Macias

 

June 2 is National Gun Violence Awareness Day. While gun control advocates across the country try to bring attention to the issue of mass shootings, it’s critically important for us also not to lose sight of the fact that hundreds of American women are likely to be killed by their armed partners each year. These murders can often be the catalyst for the numerous mass shootings that take place in public as well. 

“We as Americans think that we are safer in the United States from violence, terrorism and other dangers,” said Allison Anderman, the managing attorney at the Law Center to Prevent Gun Violence. “But I wonder if American women know that we are 16 times more likely to be shot and killed by our counterparts in other countries.”

In April, the nation was reminded of this deadly statistic when Cedric Anderson went into the San Bernardino, California elementary school where his wife, Karen Smith (who was black), worked and shot and killed her, an 8-year-old student and then, himself. Though they’d only been married for a short time and Karen had recently left her husband. This tragedy also highlights the ways in which violence (while not limited to race, class and gender) disproportionately impacts black women. Sadly, Smith’s death at the hands of an intimate partner is not unusual.

African-American women only make up about 13 percent of U.S. women, but comprise about half of female homicide victims — the majority of whom were killed by current or former boyfriends or husbands. 

According to Justice Bureau statistics, African-American women are victimized by domestic violence at rates about 35 percent higher than white women.

“Black women are really impacted around violence as a whole, where we’re talking about domestic violence, trafficking, or sexual violence,” [said Tiffany Turner-Allen, program director at UJIMA, the National Center on Violence in the Black Community]. “The numbers skew very high.”

Part of what remains problematic about the link between domestic violence and guns is that there is a disconnect between state and federal laws. Those convicted of domestic violence charges are banned at the federal level from owning a gun. But at the state level, it’s a completely different story.

35 states don’t have a full ban on misdemeanor offenders, according to gun-control groups, creating something of a headache for local prosecutors. […]

Domestic violence charges are often talked down to a misdemeanor offense, or the charges are dropped if a witness doesn’t speak.

And yet statistics show that banning domestic violence offenders from buying guns does, in fact, work. In cities where offenders are banned from buying or possessing guns, the rate of intimate partner homicide (IPH) is lower (25 percent) than states that do not have such a ban. As a society, we have struggled with coming to terms with the nature of domestic abuse. There are plenty of ways abusers are protected and incentivized to harm others. And we most certainly cannot get a grip on our obsession with guns. But the facts are simple. When domestic abusers have access to firearms in the home, they are more likely to kill their partner. Five times as likely, in fact. We live in a society that continuously devalues women so it feels unlikely that these statistics will make a difference, especially when so many black women, in particular, get killed by their partners. But it is imperative that we raise this issue as a part of the gun control conversation. 

 

>via: http://www.dailykos.com/stories/2017/6/2/1668311/-Gun-violence-at-the-hands-of-an-intimate-partner-a-leading-cause-of-death-for-American-women

 

 

 

As an engaging, rigorous critique of how slavery provided the foundation for a racialized penal code of punishment, 13th, a documentary released last year by Ava DuVernay, is easily one of the most important films that was released last year.

The film focuses primarily on Black men who have been funneled into a system of mass incarceration, but it also important to note that Black women are also disproportionately impacted by criminalization. In general, the United States incarcerates women at a higher rate than any comparable nation: though containing just 5 percent of the world’s population of women, the U.S. accounts for 30 percent of the world’s incarcerated women.

The incarceration rate for Black women is more than twice that of White women—a racial disparity that has remained even as the overall rate of incarceration has declined.

Incarcerated women face a host of human and civil rights concerns, including labor exploitation, sexual victimization, overmedication, and assault on reproductive rights.

Now, a project examining the impact of the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which ended slavery and involuntary servitude—except “as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted”­——has been long overdue.

Susan Burton, founding executive director of A New Way of Life Re-entry Project in Los Angeles and author of the forthcoming memoir, Becoming Ms. Burton: From Prison to Recovery to Leading the Fight for Incarcerated Women, published by The New Press, has built a career responding to these and other traumas experienced by women who have been impacted by incarceration.

We need to look at what we’re allowing to happen to Black women in this nation,” Susan Burton tells NewsOne. “It’s genocidal.”

Understanding how the 13th Amendment loophole applies to Black women requires a deeper interrogation of the ways in which criminalization affects them—as both adults and children.

The punitive reaction to what Van Jones describes in the film as “Black dissent” is a leading pathway to confinement and incarceration for Black girls, who are over-represented in the juvenile legal system and who are six times more likely than their White counterparts nationwide to experience suspensions in schools. Black girls are the only group of girls who disproportionately experience the full spectrum of discipline in schools, including referrals to law enforcement and arrests on campus—often for incidents or infractions that involve no threat to public safety.

Incarcerated women and girls are largely survivors of sexual assault and domestic/intimate partner violence. The story for women in prison is an outgrowth of the historical invisibility of Black women’s trauma. Punitive laws and practices that fuel incarceration erase their pain and increase risk of arrest and incarceration for women like Marissa Alexander and girls like Bresha Meadows.

Though warehousing is an ineffective and morally deficient approach to address structural, social and medical issues such as poverty, violence, and addiction, the vigor with which Black female trauma has been criminalized–fueled by the War On Drugs, has helped to lay the foundation for a robust economic interest in incarceration, exceeding $180 billion. Between 1980 and 2014, the incarceration rate for women increased by more than 700 percent, a rate of growth that outpaced men by more than 50 percent during that time.

Our understanding of the U.S. incarceration crisis must fully acknowledge that prison, and the growing culture of surveillance and industries that surround it, are extensions of rape culture for women–a “Spawn of Slavery,” as W.E.B. DuBois called it 1901–that must be called out and dismantled.

For women, the institution of slavery included not only forced physical labor. Black women routinely experienced sexual violence and exploitation, as well as other manipulations of their bodies and relationships, to sustain the institution of slavery. Women reacted to these unsafe conditions with the tools available to them—they ran, they fought, and they engaged in underground activities to facilitate their survival. And for these actions, they were punished. Their trauma was never recognized, and instead was exploited to sustain a system of servitude that thrived on their dehumanization. This is the historical trauma triggered by the incarceration for Black women and girls today.

Hundreds of thousands of women have been incarcerated for being traumatized,” Burton told NewsOne. “People need resources to take care of themselves. We sit in circles at A New Way of Life…and time after time, women share that they were exposed to enormous traumas, but that there were no resources to address it…Then, when women respond in ways that are unacceptable to our society, they get incarcerated.”

+++++++++++
Monique W. Morris, Ed.D. is the Founder and President of the National Black Women’s Justice Institute and author of PUSHOUT: The Criminalization of Black Girls in Schools, published in 2016 by The New Press.

 

>via: https://newsone.com/3656598/black-women-mass-incarceration/#.WJ7hny9pZBY.twitter

 

 

 

May 30, 2017

May 30, 2017

 

 

Beyond Respectability:

A New Book on

Black Female

Public Intellectuals

 

 

brittney cooper
The author of Beyond Respectability is Brittney C. Cooper, a newly tenured Associate Professor of Women’s and Gender Studies and Africana Studies at Rutgers University. She teaches courses on Black feminist theory, Black Intellectual Thought, Hip Hop, Gender and Media. Cooper is a widely sought-after public speaker at universities throughout the country and an in-demand commentator for radio, podcasts, and television. Her work and words have appeared at MSNBC, BET, NPR, PBS, the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, TV Guide, New York Magazine, Salon.com, The Root.com, and Al Jazeera America, among many others. She is a regular contributor at Cosmpolitan.com and co-founder of the Crunk Feminist Collective and blog. Cooper is also the author of the forthcoming Eloquent Rage: One Black Feminist’s Refusal to Bow Down (St. Martin’s Press, 2018) and co-editor of The Crunk Feminist Collection (The Feminist Press, 2017).

Cooper is also the recipient of numerous awards for her research, teaching, and service. In 2015, the African American Review awarded her its Darwin T. Turner Prize for the top journal article in any time period in African American Literature or Culture. In 2016, she was awarded the Northeast Council of Graduate Schools Excellence in Teaching Award for Masters Level Instruction. In 2016, she was also awarded the Olga Vives Award from the National Organization of Women and awarded the Top Blogger Award by the NewsWomen’s Club of New York. In 2017, she was awarded the Black Feminist Waymaker and Shapeshifter Award by Black Women’s Blueprint, Inc.

beyond respectability

In the late nineteenth century, a group of publicly active African American women emerged from the social and educational elite to assume racial leadership roles. Their work challenged thinking on racial issues as well as questions about gender, sexuality, and class.

Beyond Respectability charts the development of African American women as public intellectuals and the evolution of their thought from the end of the 1800s through the Black Power era of the 1970s. Eschewing the Great Race Man paradigm so prominent in contemporary discourse, Brittney C. Cooper looks at the far-reaching intellectual achievements of female thinkers and activists like Anna Julia Cooper, Mary Church Terrell, Fannie Barrier Williams, Pauli Murray, and Toni Cade Bambara. Cooper delves into the processes that transformed these women and others into racial leadership figures, including long-overdue discussions of their theoretical output and personal experiences. As Cooper shows, their body of work critically reshaped our understandings of race and gender discourse. Cooper’s work, meanwhile, confronts entrenched ideas of how—and who—produced racial knowledge.

At the cutting edge of black women’s intellectual history, Brittney C. Cooper weaves together the ideas and lived experiences of women heretofore known as activists rather than thinkers. Through exacting analysis, a feminist lens, and her signature verve, Cooper establishes the centrality of black women’s ideas to twentieth century political thought. This is a pathbreaking history of ideas.” —Martha S. Jones, author of All Bound Up Together: The Woman Question in African American Public Culture, 1830–1900

Ibram X. Kendi: What type of impact do you hope your work has on the existing literature on this subject? Where do you think the field is headed and why?

Brittney C. Cooper: Beyond Respectability intervenes in the scholarly conversation about the role of the politics of respectability in the lives of 19th- and 20th-century Black women, like Anna Julia Cooper, Mary Church Terrell, Fannie Barrier Williams, Pauli Murray, and Toni Cade Bambara. Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham began this conversation nearly 25 years ago with her groundbreaking book Righteous Discontent. However, the troubling class politics that were frequently associated with some Black female leaders at the turn of the 20th century have left a bad taste in the mouths of newer generations of scholars who largely wrote off race women as uncritical elitists.

Beyond Respectability makes three key interventions: first, it moves to situate the National Association of Colored Women as its own school of intellectual thought, a move that makes clear where Black women intellectuals received their training and intellectual orientation to the world. Second, it argues that respectability politics cannot be understood solely as a form of class policing among Black women. Rather, I argue that respectability discourse is an early form of gender theorization emerging from Black communities in the aftermath of Reconstruction. Respectable ideology is an attempt to give meaning, shape, and form to categories of manhood and womanhood that Anna Julia Cooper argued had been “impoverished” in the process of slavery. Rather than excusing problematic class politics, viewing respectability discourse as a form of gender theorizing points us to Black communities’ intellectual debates about the meanings and performances of gender and the relationship of these gender performances to notions of Black identity and to the project of Black freedom.

Third, I argue that race women themselves maintained a healthy skepticism about respectability politics and often looked for opportunities to subvert it. In particular, Murray and Bambara revise and critically challenge heteronormative and cisnormative ideas about Black gender and sexuality. I hope that by taking on these women as theorists and thinkers engaged in a multigenerational conversation about Blackness, feminism, and womanhood, that we can enrich both our existing intellectual history and the conceptual terrain from which we theorize around race, gender, sexuality, and feminism. I hope to see more and more work extending the field of Black women’s intellectual history (like that of Bay, Savage, Griffin, Jones in 2015), work that takes seriously Black women as theorists, and work that takes up historical arguments among Black women about the meanings of race, gender, and sexuality as salient political categories.

 

>via: http://www.aaihs.org/beyond-respectability-a-new-book-on-black-female-public-intellectuals/

 

 

December 7, 2016

December 7, 2016

 

 

BLACK FEMINIST

JOY: A PHOTO ESSAY

 

by Maneo Mohale

 

black feminist collage

“Joy is good. And joy that need not be gated and walled against the pain of others is surpassing good.”
Shailja Patel, Kenyan Writer and Political Activist

“Nothing is more political than love for those brutalised and systemically erased.”
Prof. Pumla Dineo Gqola, South African Literary and Gender Studies Professor

In the first few days of November, I found myself in a crowded living room full of Black feminists. We had all gathered at my shy request in an apartment in Woodstock—a diverse, complicated and rapidly gentrifying neighborhood in Cape Town—with the sole intention of speaking about joy.

Each face that congregated in the space belonged to someone that I deeply admired.

Some I had come to know through their organizing within and adjacent to powerful political movements such as #RhodesMustFall (an on-going student movement which seeks to tackle the legacy of racism within South African universities). Others were acquaintances whose work I admired from afar, through online activism and writing. Others I am fortunate to call friends and chosen family.

In my mind, the purpose for our meeting seemed deceptively simple. Why not gather a group of powerful people engaged in various struggles against racism, sexism, transphobia, and queer antagonism to speak about joy?

What followed were profound and difficult conversations about our experiences with joy, our desires for joy, the relationship between joy and identity, and the myriad barriers (both self-imposed and structural) we experience in our pursuit of joy. A common refrain that arose in our chats was: “Joy was never meant for us.”

Thus, our conversations about joy took on a larger significance. In a world increasingly marked by deeply racist narratives that prescribe Black bodies and bodies of color as visible and legible only through the lenses of oppression, violence, and death – the insistence, pursuit and desire for joy becomes an act of vital resistance.

Mia McKenzie, founder of Black Girl Dangerous echoes this insistence her essay, “Resistance is the Secret of Queer Joy.”.She writes that, “this is true for people of color, for queers, for all of us whose lives are deemed less valuable in a hateful world run by evil people. Resistance comes in many, many forms. It comes in the throwing of bricks, but not only in the throwing of bricks. It comes, most often, in quieter, less media-worthy ways.”

Neo Baepi, the immensely talented Cape Town-based photographer who lends her eye and images to the following photo essay, captures the quiet ways that these fierce feminists resist and exist in a world with little space for their fullness and complexity. In describing her intentions with their portraits, she explains that, “I’m making the effort to capture us as something other than bodies in constant pain and danger. We live, laugh, fuck, drink, and dance too.”

blk women 01

Lindiwe Mngxitama

I am a 23 year old Black Queer Femme and a Radical Black Feminist. The kind of feminism I align myself with is one that allows for the ability to be dynamic and nuanced. So if I want to go be, y’know, sluttaceous on a night and twerk on whiteness and male tears and all of those things I’m gonna do that.

My feminism arises from a personal point of departure. It comes from the faces I carry on my face, and seeing my mother and my grandmother and my aunt and the collective communities of Black women around me and how there’s been so much we’ve been denied. My feminism is about reclaiming that. It’s about saying, “Yes, I don’t always have to be strong, I can be a mess. I can be loud. I can be tender. I suffer from depression and anxiety. I can be selfish. I can be hurtful and vicious but I am also a vessel of love and joy.”

I feel [joy] by virtue of me choosing myself. Because we’ve never been given the space to choose ourselves – if we do, we’re considered selfish. As Black womxn, you must choose everyone else before you choose yourself. So, as a Black womxn, choosing yourself is inherently a political act, in whatever manifestation that may be – as a queer Black womxn, as a cis-het Black woman, a trans Black womxn…It may not be an overtly political act, but it is inherently tied to radical love. Once we learn to love and choose ourselves, we can really learn to build towards each other and choose each other and ultimately, fuck shit up.

blk women 02

Kumkani Siwisa

As a masculine of-centre non-conforming queer Black feminist I have always known joy to be fluid; as fleeting moments and feelings that are coming and going but never static. Joy is the safety and solidarity I find in Queer feminist Black spaces, sharing the beauty and pain of being in a default state of resistance. To me, joy is the ability to genuinely celebrate ourselves, the people who’ve been taught we do not deserve it; it is to fall and feel deeply in love with myself and with others, whether or not the world approves.

Joy is reading and writing myself into existence, rejecting the belief that my story is too much: too overwhelming, too messy, too inconvenient. Joy is the tenderness in the embrace of my partner; the sharing of stories, food and books among friends. Joy is Saturday morning hikes; Sunday afternoon beach dates alone; Tuesday writing time with all of my selves – joy is deliberately and intentionally seeking ways to celebrate myself and those around me. When I begin every thought, action or feeling from a place of love and joy, especially in Queer Black Feminist struggles, it becomes easier to appreciate the tireless efforts of those who’ve organized before me and to recognize and be affirmed by the power of those who organize with and around me.

blk women 03

Kimani

I’m queer. Queer sometimes? Sometimes I venture into calling myself lesbian. I’m 80% queer, and lesbian the rest of the time because I enjoy the jokes. The jokes are funny. I enjoy lesbian jokes.

For me, where I find a lot of joy in feminism is in how dynamic it is. I don’t want a feminism that is the same from the start point to the end point. I think there are principles that are consistent in feminism—especially ones of compassion and loving one another. My own feminism is shifting right now, from a space of “I hate the world and what it looks like, so much is wrong with it” to a love-based feminism where that love manifests in the creation of good or better spaces.

blk women 04

Alex Hotz

I’m in the midst of figuring everything out. I’m in a whirlwind of figuring out what, who, when, why. It feels like it’s been a year of crisis. Both internal and external. 2016 can actually fucking miss me.

Something I’ve had to grapple with this year, specifically in my feminism, is being being consistent in my politics. Specifically to other feminists—whether I’ve let them down in particular spaces where I needed to be more consistent, and be more of what I say I am. And that’s something that I think has been very difficult. That’s also where a lot of my hurt and pain stemmed from in movement spaces. Finding my way back to joy looks a lot like undoing that hurt.

blk women 05

Nala Xaba

I am a black women; a black feminist who, honestly, still feels too new in this world to identify beyond that. Whether it is the age I am at, or the age we are in—it seems to be one that demands a naming/owning/deliberately presenting with confidence I haven’t been able to grasp. I’m (un)learning still.

In this body, a politicised body, my smile is politicised too. Joy is the logic of feminist fellowship. The sounds of my three mothers’ laughter over Christmas lunch ingredients or of the squad over Stellenbosch wine (not meant for our) tasting, have inscribed in me the resilient beauty of black women. To revel in our light is to look at the things that would cause us pain and say, “Hey Whiteness! Hey Cis Hetero Patriarchy! What’s good, Capitalism! Nawe (You too) Ableism! Look at this, you can’t keep me down!” I think the most beautiful thing though, about our joy, is that it does all of this inadvertently. Our joy is all ours. It does not form itself for “them,” not even to reject them. Our joy is all ours.

blk women 06

Tabisa Raziya

About a week ago I was very clear about being a queer Black womxn, but I think now I want to say lesbian. Because people don’t take me seriously when I say “queer”. They think I’m confused but I’m not confused. I do what I want to do when I want to do it. But also, I don’t completely understand the term lesbian, as a definition, so I’m trying to make it mine. I don’t think I can hold queer. I think it’s a bit too soft for me. It can mislead you into thinking that I’m open. I mean, I’m fluid, but only until a certain limit, until a certain metre. And now I’m like, actually, I’m a Black lesbian. Because I was so young when I was introduced into that space.

I definitely believe that individuals create their own joy. I love spending time alone. I’ve finally learned this lesson that I don’t have to put myself in harm’s way for anyone. I decided that my life doesn’t have to be this miserable experience. I often was put into a space where people wanted me to be this person, this perfect feminist. My favorite word of 2016 is “problematic.” I firmly believe my joy is not problematic. In deciding not to try so hard, and being a Self-Care Toss Queen, I’ve never felt so powerful.

blk women 07

Thato Pule

I’m a Black queer trans womxn. For me, including the word queer speaks back to how the conversation on transness is largely Westernized. There’s a need for us, as Black queer trans people on the continent, to give content to what it means for us to be gender diverse. And that’s the kind of journey that I’m exploring. Also, my inclusion of queerness is also speaking back to the sexualities that are imposed on me.

So for example, as a trans womxn, for me to affirm myself as a woman I had to be attracted to a certain gender. It’s as if I killed my inner queer child growing up, which I think we all do, and I was successful at it because it wasn’t just about assimilating but also about affirming myself in that space, in a cis-het framework of identity. So right now, that’s the work that I’m undoing: finding out my own relationship to identity. Like, how do I express myself? What am I influenced by? Who am I really attracted to? Because within this framework only certain bodies are deemed desirable.

The work of joy and community is so difficult because we’re often in a cycle of continuous critique. That’s why personally I couldn’t be in the movement space anymore. Critique with few people coming forward with solutions to the pain and the hurt that I was experiencing. I felt like I was a dumping ground. I was already a landfill on my own, I had my own issues going into spaces.

I’m not always sure the activist space is a space that can do the transformative work of real accountability and tenderness and joy. Lately, the space in which I’ve felt the most joy is my personal space. I love being alone now.

blk women 08

Ntebaleng Morake

I am a queer Black womxn and usually, when I say I’m queer, people still want to know what I mean and them knowing is them putting a name to who I date.  It’s strange because sometimes I don’t know and it’s okay. My relationship with the word queer is very intimate because I know that at least, in some space, I too have an opportunity to have joy call me a friend.

Joy is definitely political. We are taught that you need to be living on the floor. You need to be surviving. But finding joy is so political in that context. Joy, pleasure, everything—because when those things were created they weren’t meant for us. They weren’t meant for bodies like ours. And when we find joy and feel it, we say to the system, “Listen, you ain’t shit.’’

 

+++++++++++
Maneo Refiloe Mohale is a queer, Black feminist writer, poet, and performer born in Johannesburg, South Africa. She writes about race, media, queerness, survivorship, language, history, and silliness, and her work has appeared in print and online publications including Jalada, The Beautiful Project, From the Root Zine, Ignite!, and Expound. 

 

>via: https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/black-feminist-joy-photo-essay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TROUBLE THE WATERS:

Tales from the Deep Blue

 

edited by

Sheree Renée Thomas, Pan Morigan, and Troy L. Wiggins

Illustration by Stacey Robinson

Illustration by Stacey Robinson

She moves with deliberate grace.

 

Mami Wata, Momu Watu, La Sirene, Sedna, Coventina, Suijin, Mother of Waters

She is the water between us, the water within us, the water that slakes thirst, from which we were born. Water is the natural and the sacred, the functional and the necessary. All over the world, in cultures young and old, water is life and from this force, great adventures, quests, and legacies begin. And whether it is still, moves, rises, or falls, water fills us. Imagine what stories and strange tales can be told from the depths of its depths.

 

TROUBLE THE WATERS: Tales from the Deep Blue will be a new anthology of water-themed speculative short stories that explore all kinds of water lore and deities, ancient and new as well as unimagined tales. We want stories with memorable, engaging characters, great and small, epic tales and quieter stories of personal and communal growth. Science fiction, fantasy, horror, interstitial, and unclassifiable works are welcome. We are seeking original stories in English (2500 – 7000 words; pays 6 cents per word) from writers of all walks of life from this beautiful planet and will accept some select reprints (pays 2 cents per word). Deadline: November 1, 2017. Projected publication: November 2018, Rosarium Publishing, www.rosariumpublishing.com. Please send submissions as a .doc, .docx, or .rtf file in standard mss formatting with your name, title, and word count to: TroubletheWaters2018@gmail.com

 

Please note that we are unable to accept simultaneous submissions.

 

>via: http://rosariumpublishing.com/trouble-the-waters-submissions.html

 

towson univ

Towson University
Prize for Literature

Deadline: 
June 15, 2017 

Cash Prize: 
$1,000 

A prize of $1,000 is given annually for a book of poetry, fiction, or creative nonfiction by a current resident of Maryland who has lived in the state for at least three years. Books published within the past three years or scheduled for publication in 2017 are eligible. Publishers, institutions, or individuals may submit three copies of a book or manuscript by June 15. There is no entry fee. Visit the website for the required entry form and complete guidelines.

Towson University, Prize for Literature, English Department, 8000 York Road, Towson, MD 21252. Chris Cain, Department Chair.

 

>via: https://www.pw.org/writing_contests/prize_for_literature

 

 

 

The Emerging Voices Fellowship is a literary mentorship that aims to provide new writers who are isolated from the literary establishment with the tools, skills, and knowledge they need to launch a professional writing career.

Applications are now open for 2018 Emerging Voices Fellowships

Deadline: August 1, 2017

 

LITERARY MENTORSHIP BENEFITS

By the end of the Emerging Voices Fellowship, a writer will leave with:

  • Seven months of guidance from a professional mentor and written notes on their current writing project.
  • An author photo and bio.
  • A logline—the short summation of the project in progress.
  • A clear action plan for finishing this project.
  • Writing life, and craft tips, from notable visiting authors.
  • An editing guide from a professional copy editor.
  • Insider knowledge of publishing from agents, publishers, and editors.
  • An individualized submission guide for literary journals, agents, residencies, and fellowships.
  • Improved reading technique from a professional voice coach.
  • Public reading experience for a variety of audiences.
  • An understanding of how to be an effective workshop participant.
  • Lifetime membership in PEN Center USA.
  • An introduction to the Los Angeles literary community.

FELLOWSHIP COMPONENTS

The seven-month fellowship includes:

PROFESSIONAL MENTORSHIP: Emerging Voices Mentors are carefully chosen from PEN Center USA’s membership and from professional writers based in Los Angeles. The Mentor-Fellow relationship is expected to challenge the fellow’s work and compel significant creative progress. Over the course of the fellowship, Emerging Voices Fellows and Mentors should meet three times in person, and be in contact at least once a month. In these three meetings, Mentors will offer written feedback on the Emerging Voices Fellows’ work in progress. Authors who have been mentors in the past include Ron Carlson, Harryette Mullen, Chris Abani, Ramona Ausubel, Meghan Daum, and Sherman Alexie.

CLASSES AT THE UCLA EXTENSION WRITERS’ PROGRAM: Participants will attend two free courses (a 12-week writing course and a one-day workshop) at UCLA Extension, donated by the Writers’ Program. Program Manager will assist the Emerging Voices Fellows with course selection.

AUTHOR EVENINGS: Every Monday, fellows will meet with a visiting author, editor or publisher and ask questions about craft. Fellows must read each visiting author’s book before the evening. A schedule of Author Evenings is distributed at the first Emerging Voices orientation meeting. The 2016 Private Author Evening Series included (in order of appearance):

Samantha Dunn
Douglas Kearney
Dinah Lenney
Heather Simons
Wendy C. Ortiz
Justin Torres
James Ragan
Betsy Amster
Victoria Chang
Derrick C. Brown
David Francis
Janice Lee (Entropy)
Darcy Cosper (The Offing)
Bonnie Nadell
J. Ryan Stradal
Bernard Cooper
Harryette Mullen
Julia Callahan (Rare Bird Lit)
Chris Heiser (Unnamed Press)
Dan Smetanka (Counterpoint Press)

Click here for info for the Emerging Voices Author Evening Series, which is open to the public.

MASTER CLASSES: After completing the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program courses, Emerging Voices Fellows will enroll in a Master Class. The Master Class is a genre-specific workshop with a professional writer that affords fellows the opportunity to exchange feedback on their works in progress. The 2017 Master Class Instructors are Alex Espinoza (fiction and nonfiction), and F. Douglas Brown (poetry).
 

VOLUNTEER PROJECT: All Emerging Voices Fellows are expected to complete a 25-hour volunteer project that is relevant to the literary community. The 2016 Fellows collaborated on projects with 826LA, Reading Opens Minds, A Place Called Home, and POPS the Club.
VOICE INSTRUCTION CLASS: The Fellowship will provide a one-day workshop with Dave Thomas, a professional voice actor. The Emerging Voices Fellows will read their work in a recording studio and receive instruction on reading their work publicly.

PUBLIC READINGS: Fellows will participate in three public readings, The Welcome Party, Tongue & Groove Salon, and the Final Reading. Fellows have read in various venues and events including the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, Silver Lake Jubilee, Skylight Bookstore, The Standard, Downtown LA, and Hotel Café. The fellowship culminates in a Final Reading showcasing the progress each fellow has made in his or her work.

STIPEND: The fellowship includes a $1,000 stipend, given in $500 increments.

 

The Emerging Voices Fellowship runs from January to July. Participants need not be published, but the fellowship is directed toward poets and writers of fiction and creative nonfiction with clear ideas of what they hope to accomplish through their writing.

The application period for 2018 will open May 1, 2017.

 

>via: https://penusa.org/programs/emerging-voices?utm_content=53683815&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter

 

 

 

 

black city mixtape

BLACK LIVES MATTER TORONTO

BLACK CITY MIXTAPE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

photo by Alex Lear

photo by Alex Lear

 

 

I Want To Talk About You

(for my sister Czerny)

 

this poem was supposed to be

for/abt you but as i was thinking

i felt another need

& know in order to truth talk

abt you i had to truth talk

abt how our hours

on this earth spot

some call a civilized nation

have been bitter centuries long

long, long after the chains fell

our unhealed scars are serious sores

still too tender to touch

 

abt how few

of us really comprehend the enormity

of our history of captivity

not only the horror of what was done to us

but what the residue of that historic undoing

continues to do to us today

 

our genitals were

put on public display

 

if you were white

you could see cleotis’ thing

silent in a sealed see-through coffin

howard kept the sinister cylinder at his shop

behind the unpainted cypress wood counter

out of plain sight but was always proud

to hoist the mason jar

with the shiriveled, pickled penis

into the surprise of sunlit delight

and the carefree hoots of the gathered

good old boys, although we never knew

who actually did the cutting

we all knew where the evidence was kept

 

they say in france they got

the vagina of our sister entombed

(for medical research of course)

venus, the “hottentot venus”

they sarcastically called her,

and when she was alive they paraded her

naked on a pay per view basis

and people paid to see how big her butt

was, and later after she died, how big

her vagina was, and the worse

part was that crowds of humans

actually went and oohed and ahhed

and paid money to see something

the creator gave to all of us

 

could my name be cleotis

could your name be venus

& why should anyone want

to trophy our genitals?

 

i turn over naked

in my nude sleep sometimes,

hold myself hard with my hand

and imagine the pain

and wonder how does a man

live without himself?

 

what i really want to talk abt

is how we lived despite

the mutilations

i am so impressed by the beauty

of a people who can survive

the public display of our privates,

who could rise the next morning

face the pain and still believe

in living a good life

 

you are one of those old ones

the women who tear-washed

and bare-handedly buried the broken bodies

cauterized wounds and stitched together

some kind of tough, tough love

that mended men

and raised the manchild even after

the man was gone

 

this poem is

for you and all the race

women like you who continue

to feed us reason to live

when suicide seems unavoidably sensible

 

me and all my manhood

bears daily witness

i would be nothing were it not

for the redemptive love

of certain of my sisters, my mothers

my aunts, grandmothers and 

women friends securely umbilicaling

sustenance into my soul

 

all the remaining years of my life

i will never cease

wanting to talk abt you

needing to talk abt you

to talk abt you

talk abt you

 

—kalamu ya salaam

 

 

 

MAY 30, 2017

MAY 30, 2017

 

 

The Racial Segregation

of American Cities

Was Anything But

Accidental

A housing policy expert explains
how federal government policies
created the suburbs and the inner city

 

Suburban single-family homes in Fresno, California. (Alamy)

Suburban single-family homes in Fresno, California. (Alamy)

SMITHSONIAN.COM

It’s not surprising to anyone who has lived in or visited a major American metropolitan region that the nation’s cities tend to be organized in their own particular racial pattern. In Chicago, it’s a north/south divide. In Austin, it’s west/east. In some cities, it’s a division based around infrastructure, as with Detroit’s 8 Mile Road. In other cities, nature—such as Washington, D.C.’s Anacostia River—is the barrier. Sometimes these divisions are man-made, sometimes natural, but none are coincidental.

 

A narrative of racially discriminatory landlords and bankers—all independent actors—has long served as an explanation for the isolation of African-Americans in certain neighborhoods in large cities. But this pervasive assumption rationalizing residential segregation in the United States ignores the long history of federal, state and local policies that generated the residential segregation found across the country today.

In The Color of Law: A Forgotten History of How Our Government Segregated America, Richard Rothstein, a research associate at the Economic Policy Institute, aims to flip the assumption that the state of racial organization in American cities is simply a result of individual prejudices. He untangles a century’s worth of policies that built the segregated American city of today. From the first segregated public housing projects of President Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal, to the 1949 Housing Act that encouraged white movement to the suburbs, to unconstitutional racial zoning ordinances enacted by city governments, Rothstein substantiates the argument that the current state of the American city is the direct result of unconstitutional, state-sanctioned racial discrimination. 

Smithsonian.com spoke with Rothstein about his findings and his suggestions for change.

Your book aims to turn over misconceptions on how American cities came to be racially segregated. What are some of the biggest misconceptions people have, and how did they influence your research and writing of this book?

There’s one overall misconception. And that is that the reason that neighborhoods in every metropolitan area in the country are segregated by race is because of a series of accidents driving prejudice and personal choices.

Income differences, private discrimination of real estate agents, banks and all of these come under the category of what the Supreme Court called, and what is now generally known as, de facto segregation, something that just happened by accident or by individual choices. And that myth, which is widespread across the political spectrum, hobbles our ability to remedy segregation and eliminate the enormous harm that it does to this country.

The truth is that segregation in every metropolitan area was imposed by racially explicit federal, state and local policy, without which private actions of prejudice or discrimination would not have been very effective. And if we understand that our segregation is a governmentally sponsored system, which of course we’d call de jure segregation, only then can we begin to remedy it. Because if it happened by individual choice, it’s hard to imagine how to remedy it. If it happened by government action, then we should be able to develop equally effective government actions to reverse it.

 

Why do you think there is this national amnesia about the history of these policies?

When we desegregated the buses, people could sit anywhere on the bus they wanted. When we desegregated restaurants, people could sit anywhere in the restaurant that they wanted. Even when we desegregated schools, if the ruling was enforced, the next day, children could go to the school in their neighborhood. But residential segregation is a much more difficult thing to do. If we prohibit the effects of residential segregation, it’s not as though the next day people can up and move to suburbs that once excluded them by federal policy.

 

So given how difficult it is and how disruptive it would be to the existing residential patterns in the country, people avoid thinking about it, rather than having to confront something that’s very difficult. And once people start to avoid thinking about it, then fewer and fewer people, as time goes on, remember the history at all.

How did the Great Depression contribute to the problem?

In the Great Depression, many lower-middle class and working-class families lost their home. They couldn’t keep up with their payments. So the Public Works Administration constructed the first civilian public housing ever in this country. Initially, it was primarily for white families in segregated white projects, but at some point, a few projects were built for African-Americans in segregated African-American projects. This practice often segregated neighborhoods that hadn’t previously been that way.

In Langston Hughes’ autobiography, he describes how he lived in an integrated neighborhood in Cleveland. His best friend in high school was Polish. He dated a Jewish girl. That neighborhood in Cleveland was razed by the WPA, which built two segregated [ones], one for African-Americans, one for whites. The Depression gave the stimulus for the first civilian public housing to be built. Were it not for that policy, many of these cities might have developed with a different residential pattern.

How did the Roosevelt administration justify these New Deal policies, like the WPA, if segregation wasn’t constitutional?

The main justification they used was that segregation was necessary because if African-Americans lived in those neighborhoods, the property values of those neighborhoods would decline. But, in fact, the FHA had no evidence of this claim. Indeed, the opposite was the case. The FHA had research that demonstrated that property values rose when African-Americans moved into white neighborhoods, but it ignored its own research.

African-Americans had fewer options for housing. African-Americans were willing to pay more to purchase homes than whites were for identical homes, so when African-Americans moved into a white neighborhood, property values generally rose. Only after an organized effort by the real estate industry to create all-black suburbs and overcrowd them and turn them into slums did property values decline. But that was the rationale and it persisted for at least three decades, perhaps more.

How did the Housing Act of 1949 contribute to the issue of segregation?

President Harry Truman proposed the act because of an enormous civilian housing shortage. At the end of World War II, veterans returned home, they formed families; they needed places to live. The federal government had restricted the use of building materials for defense purposes only, so there was no private housing industry operating at that time.

Conservatives in Congress in 1949 were opposed to any public housing, not for racial reasons, because most housing was for whites. But they opposed any government involvement in the private housing market, even though the sector wasn’t taking care of the housing needs of the population.

So they decided to try to defeat the public housing bill by proposing a “poison pill amendment” to make the entire bill unpalatable. It said from now on that public housing could not discriminate, understanding that if northern liberals joined conservatives in passing that amendment, southern Democrats would abandon the public housing program and along with conservative Republicans, defeat the bill entirely.

So liberals in Congress fought against the integration amendment led by civil rights opponents [resulting in a] 1949 housing program that permitted segregation. When the civilian housing industry picked up in the 1950s, the federal government subsidized mass production builders to create suburbs on conditions that those homes in the suburbs be sold only to whites. No African-Americans were permitted to buy them and the FHA often added an additional condition requiring that every deed in a home in those subdivisions prohibit resale to African –Americans.

Eventually, we had a situation everywhere in the country where there were large numbers of vacancies in the white projects and long waiting lists for the black projects. The situation became so conspicuous that the government and local housing agencies had to open up all projects to African-Americans. So these two policies, the segregation of public housing in urban areas and the subsidization of white families to leave urban areas and to the suburbs, created the kind of racial patterns that we’re familiar with today.

How did the Supreme Court decision in Buchanan v. Warley set the U.S. on a path of racial housing segregation?

In the early 20th century, a number of cities, particularly border cities like Baltimore, St. Louis, and Louisville, Kentucky, passed zoning ordinances that prohibited African-Americans from moving onto a block that was majority white. In 1917, the Supreme Court found in Buchanan v. Warley that such ordinances were unconstitutional, but not for racial reasons. The Court found it unconstitutional because such ordinances interfered with the rights of property owners.

As a result, planners around the country who were attempting to segregate their metropolitan areas had to come up with another device to do so. In the 1920s, Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover organized an advisory committee on zoning, whose job was to persuade every jurisdiction to adopt the ordinance that would keep low-income families out of middle-class neighborhoods. The Supreme Court couldn’t explicitly mention race, but the evidence is clear that the [Commerce Department’s] motivation was racial. Jurisdictions began to adopt zoning ordinances that were exclusive on economics, but the true purpose was, in part, to exclude African-Americans. So they developed ordinances that for example, prohibited apartment buildings from being built in suburbs that had single-family homes. Or they required single-family homes to have large setbacks and be set on multiple acres, all as an attempt to make the suburb racially exclusive.

Even though the Buchanan decision was handed down in 1917, many cities continued to have racial ordinances in flagrant violation of the decision. Richmond, Virginia, passed an ordinance that said people couldn’t move on to a block where they were prohibited from marrying the majority of people on that block. And since Virginia had an anti-miscegenation law that prohibited blacks and whites from marrying, the state claimed that this provision didn’t violate the Buchanan decision. Many of these devices were used to evade the Court’s decision. Some cities adopted ordinances that prohibited African-Americans from living on a block that was majority white. So the Buchanan decision wasn’t totally effective, but it did stimulate the drive for economic zoning to keep African-Americans out of white neighborhoods.

People say that housing segregation happens because African-Americans simply can’t afford to live in middle class neighborhoods, but you argue that this is overly simplistic.

For one thing, when these practices of public segregation were most virulent, many African-Americans could afford to live in white suburbs. Large subdivisions developed with FHA support like Levittown, New York, were built on conditions that they be all white. The homes in those places sold, in today’s dollars, about $100,000 apiece. They cost twice the national median income and were easily affordable to African-Americans as well as whites, but only working-class whites were permitted to buy into those homes.

In the next several generations, those homes sell for seven-to-eight times the median national income – unaffordable to working-class families. So the segregation that took place when the homes were first built created a permanent system that locked African-Americans out of it as appreciation grew. White families gained in home equity, in wealth, from the appreciation of their homes. African-Americans who were forced to live in apartments and not be homeowners gained none of that appreciation.

The result is that today African-American average incomes are about 60 percent of white incomes, but African-Americans’ average wealth is about 5 percent of white wealth. That enormous difference is almost entirely attributable to unconstitutional federal housing policy in the mid-20th century.

How did reverse-redlining impact the African-American community in the financial crisis of 2008?

Reverse-redlining is a term used to describe the targeting by banks and mortgage lenders of minority communities for exploitative loans, called subprime loans. They were typically loans designed to induce African-American and Latino homeowners to refinance their homes at a low-interest rate that then exploded into a very high rate once they’re locked into the mortgage. In many cases, these subprime loans were issued to African-American families who qualified for conventional loans, but they were denied those mortgages. The result was that foreclosure [rates] in minority communities far-exceeded that in white communities. Federal regulators were certainly aware of the fact that banks they supervised were targeting African-American communities with these loans. This was their job. So the federal government was complicit in this reverse-redlining in the period leading up to 2008. The result was devastation of middle-class and lower-middle-class African-American communities.

If the federal government was complicit in this, what is the obligation of the federal government now as the nation continues to recover from that crisis and the legacy of residential discrimination?

The obligation is under our constitution. If it’s a constitutional violation, it’s the obligation of our government to fashion a remedy. It’s not as though simply saying “we’re no longer segregating” creates a situation where segregated families can pick up and move to integrated neighborhoods. But there is an obligation to remedy segregation.

That’s the reason why learning this history is important. If people believe that this all happened without government direction, then there is no constitutional obligation to desegregate. It might be a good policy, but there’s no obligation.

There are many remedies. For example, Congress could prohibit the use of exclusionary zoning ordinances in suburbs that were segregated and prohibit those ordinances from being enforced until such time the suburb became diverse. That would permit developers to create townhouses and modest apartment buildings or single-family homes in all-white suburbs that currently prohibit all of those things. There are many policies we could follow, but we’re not likely to have the political support to develop them without understanding the role of government in creating the segregation in the first place.

>via: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/how-federal-government-intentionally-racially-segregated-american-cities-180963494/