Racism
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Dear Gloria
What follows is a slight rewrite of a class assignment. The assignment was to write a response letter to “Speaking in Tongues: A Letter to Third World Women Writers” by Gloria Anzaldúa which can be found in the pages of A Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, an anthology edited by Continue reading
2024 Presidential Election, Activism, Adolf Hitler, Borderlands/La Frontera, Cheerie Moraga, Dinesh D’Souza, Donald J. Trump, Ernst Röhm, germany, Gloria Anzaldua, history, Homophobia, Islamophobia, Michael Brown, Nazi Germany, Politics, Protests, Racism, Sean Hannity, This Bridge Called My Back, Trayvon Martin, Vivek Ramaswamy, Women of Color, Writing As Healing -
Slurs
If you could permanently ban a word from general usage, which one would it be? Why? We normally don’t think of slurs being a part of the general language; although, when we talk about slurs, we’re normally talking about one specific word. For the sake of this post, I’m also going to include non-slur words Continue reading
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Listening, or the Art of Shutting the Fuck Up
Ask me twenty years ago and I might have said something edgy, or something un-ironically unprofound such as, “I’m not a feminist, but I do believe in equality.” As if they were two separate beasts. No man is without sin. That much is clear. I still don’t call myself a feminist; that’s a title earned, Continue reading
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Poetry Break
After 9/11, I read a letter to the editor in a local newspaper. The writer, angry about the events that transpired, demanded answers on why Muhammad Ali could “draft dodge” the Vietnam War, stating that if Muslims didn’t believe in war, why were they waging war with us now? He demanded that Ali be recognized Continue reading
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Lovecraft Country by Matt Ruff
“That’s the horror, the most awful thing: to have a child the world wants to destroy and know that you’re helpless to help him. Nothing worse than that. Nothing worse,” writes Matt Ruff in “The Narrow House,” just one of the many interconnecting stories that make up his novel, Lovecraft Country. Set in Jim Crow Continue reading
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I Am (Not) Trayvon Martin
I dated a girl who lived a few cities away. This was back in my youth. The drive there, by car, was about an hour. By bus, longer. Every Saturday, I’d walk to the bus stop at 6Am. And returned home every Sunday at midnight. A difference six hours makes, if you think about it. Continue reading
Chapin City Blues 