a writer will write with or without a movement

Once in a while, I’ll recall my response to a question posed by Derrick Weston Brown during the Blueprint Sessions, a q&a with the featured artist of Nine on the Ninth series at Busboys and Poets (14th & V). He asked: This is a question that Langston Hughes wrote in this article and he talks about talking to this young poet that said, “I don’t wannna be known as a Black poet. I just wanna be known as a poet”. And so Langston Hughes wrote and said that he got held back by what the poet was saying, you know, about “I just wanna be the status quo, I just wanna be a white poet”. And so the question I like to ask poets of color is well, what kind of poet are you?

My response began with: I would want to be the status quo (that’s as an Asian American woman poet). I find more complex ways to respond to the question every time I think about it.  Just today, as I was reading an essay by Cherrie Moraga, poet, playwright, and essayist in her book, The Last Generation, I found a pertinent passage that answers the question: What kind of poet are you?

Excerpt is from the essay, “Art in America con Acento”, which was first presented as a talk on March 7, 1990.

“Fundamentally, I started writing to save my life. Yes, my own life first. I see the same impulse in my students–the dark, the queer, the mixed-blood, the violated–turning to the written page with a relentless passion, a drive to avenge their own silence, invisibility, and erasure as living, innately expressive human beings.

A writer will write with or without a movement; but at the same time, for Chicano, lesbian, gay, and feminist writers–anybody writing against the grain of Anglo misogynist culture–political movements are what have allowed our writing to surface from the secret places in our notebooks into the public sphere….

Like most artists, we Chicano artists would like our work to be seen as “universal” in scope and meaning and reach as large an audience as possible. Ironically, the most “universal” work–writing capable of reaching the hearts of the greatest number of people–is the most culturally specific. The European-American writer understands this because it is his version of cultural specificity that is deemed “universal” by the literary establishment. In the same manner, universality in the Chicana writer requires the most Mexican and most female images we are capable of producing. Our task is to write what no one is prepared to hear, for what has been said so far in barely a decade of consistent production is a mere bocadito. Chicana writers are still learning the art of transcription, but what we will be capable of producing in the decades to come, if we have the cultural/political movements to support us, could make a profound contribution to the social transformation of these Americas. The reto, however, is to remain as culturally specific and culturally complex as possible, even in the face of mainstream seduction to do otherwise….

I still believe in a Chicano literature that is hungry for change, that has the courage to name the sources of our discontent both from within our raza and without, that challenges us to envision a world where poverty, crack, and pesticide poisoning are not endemic to people with dark skin or Spanish surnames. It is a literature that knows that god is neither white nor male nor reason to rape anyone. If such ideas are “naive”, (as some critics would have us believe) then let us remain naive, naively and passionately committed to an art of “resistance,” resistance to domination by Anglo-America, resistance to assimilation, resistance to economic and sexual exploitation. An art that subscribes to integration into mainstream Amerika is not Chicano art.“

 

mothertongue anniversary show – thursday, nov 12

 

 

Mothertongue is one of the collectives and people who have been good to me this past year, as i made and continue to make my way as an artist. Good vibes and good times. See you there!

the launch of SULU DC

It’s finally here, folks! The first performance showcase of SULU DC, an underground, grassroots network for Asian American and/or Pacific Islander (AAPI) artists from multiple performance disciplines. We organize a showcase on the 3rd Saturday of every month.

The Facebook event. Join the mailing list to receive emails on the monthly showcase.

APARNA NANCHERLA
Aparna Nancherla has an intimidating name, but don’t be scared! In fact, she’s quite approachable onstage, from a heckler’s perspective. Her credits include 2007 NBC Stand Up for Diversity Finalist, Last Comic Standing, and the Bentzen Ball. Her favorite pasttime is trying too hard.
MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/aparnatron
Blog: http://innerlimits.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/aparnapkin

ADRIEL DRIZZLETRONIUS LUIS
After Adriel Luis had his left eye’s lens replaced due to a childhood medication-induced cataract, he knew he would never see the world the same way again. However, as an artist he has been able to use his new perspective as a jumping point for the unexplored. From his work with the groundbreaking spoken word and funk collective iLL-Literacy, to the Emmy Award-winning adaptation of his poem “Slip of the Tongue,” to his classical-contemporaryspoken-word mash-up Tragic Aviator, to his book of visual poetry How to Make Juice, Adriel avidly seeks to present things as you’ve never heard or seen before. His electronic music project, Pretty Buoyant Society, is yet another successful testament to his mission to bring his unprecedented work to all corners of the map. See, for Adriel, a surgically-injected mechanical eye isn’t a bad thing. It’s an opportunity to see the world in a fresh new light.
Website: http://www.ill-literacy.com
http://www.twitter.com/drizzletron

ALEX CENA
A community organizer and a poet, Alex has spent 10 years working with various Filipino American and Asian American organizations. He began his exploration of identity and community through the Filipino American Cultural Society (FACS) of Salem High School in Virginia Beach in 1998. In 2009, he helped found the Filipino Americans Creating A Dynamic Environment (FACADE) in Virginia Beach. Alex graduated from Virginia Commonwealth University with a B.A. in International Studies and a minor in Religious Studies. He currently works as the DC Secondary Schools Programs Coordinator for Asian American LEAD.

TAIYO NA (with Mark Concerto)
Born, raised and based in New York City, Taiyo Na is an MC, singer, songwriter and producer who has performed nationwide at venues such as Lincoln Center, The Public Theater, Knitting Factory and many more. Hailed as “undeniably soul-rootsy” with “storytelling through music at its finest,” his critically acclaimed debut album Love Is Growth (Issilah Productions, 2008) features the song “Lovely To Me (Immigrant Mother),” an ImaginAsian Entertainment Original Song Contest Winner. He is also Artistic Director of the monthly Sulu Series at the Bowery Poetry Club and Entertainment Series host for the PBS-syndicated TV show Asian America.
Website: http://www.taiyona.com

TALA ABU RAHMEH
Tala Abu Rahmeh is a Palestinian poet and writer. Originally from Yaffa, she was born in Amman in 1984. After moving to Ramallah, living through the second intifada, and graduating from Birzeit University, she moved to Washington DC to pursue an MFA in Creative Writing.She earned her degree this May. Tala’s work has earned recognition from Palestine to the US and she has received the Eliav-Sirtawi Middle East Journalism Award and the Expressions of Nakba Competition 2008 Best Written Work Award. She will also be featured in the upcoming anthology 25 under 25, which is edited by Naomi Shihab Nye, and published by HarperCollins.

for All Saints Day

In the Philippines, All Saints Day is “Undras”. Similar to traditions with roots in Spain (due to colonization), families spend the night at the graves of their family members. We eat and talk until the sun rises; I think there is less emphasis on what kind of food is prepared and consumed. For example, we don’t make candy skulls, at least, as far as I can remember. I don’t recall much as a kid, except for candles and magnolia flowers…

Undras, 1990

Families gather at the graves of their matriarchs
Their faces framed by candlelight
Their whispers a string of stories uncoiled

Children run in circles
Chasing each other, crying out:
Tabi tabi po
With each step to pay respects
To the spirits present

We watch hot liquid wax pool until it cools
Enough to mold into a ball
That we melt and melt again

We sleep beside our ancestors
And wake up to our parents’ quiet urging
Dark circles under their eyes

I lay magnolia flowers fallen from a nearby tree
On Lolo’s tomb and introduce myself:
I am Jenny
The youngest daughter
Of your youngest son

the sun setting over Baltimore on Tuesday evening

issue 1 of TAYO Literary Magazine

Last week, my friend, MV, sent me a copy of the first issue of TAYO Literary Magazine, in which we’re both published. TAYO (“tayo” in Tagalog means “us/we”) is a new publication out of the West Coast and community of artists and writers with the purpose of bringing our community together and empowering Filipino American youth through many creative forms of expression such as poetry, essay, photography, paintings, and drawings. He told me that it was a really nice magazine, and I thought he was only referring to the content. But when I pulled the magazine out of the envelope, this is what I saw:

[ check that image. it's split in the same way as the colors of the flag of the Philippines ]

Then as I flipped through the pages…everything’s in color! What was even more surprising is that my poem is on the first page spread.

I was not expecting that, but it’s pretty flattering. Big ups to the co-directors who put the magazine together, and also helped me edit my poem.

Check out their website: www.tayoliterarymag.com for online features and more info on the upcoming Issue 2.

Family Style open mic hosted by Yellow Rage

On Friday night, I drove up to Philly to bear witness to the first Family Style open mic at the Asian Arts Initiative hosted by the one and only dynamic duo, Yellow Rage! Lead by Gayle, her staff, and dedicated volunteers, the Asian Arts Initiative is a community-based arts center that engages artists and everyday people to create art that explores the diverse experiences of Asian Americans, addresses our social context, and imagines and effects positive community change.

When you walk up to the center, the first thing you notice is the wall of windows—nothing obstructs your view of the current art installments. So even if you don’t go inside, the art displayed is accessible to folks walking by. Written on the door in small letters is “Asian Arts Initiative” back dropped by a colorful hallway painted in yellows, purples, reds, and greens. I entered the bright gallery and was enchanted by the space from the high ceilings to the small kitchen/dining area tucked behind a thick black curtain. Further in the back is a small theater, complete with a screen and sound system. Even the bathrooms were all gender (brownie points to the Asian Arts Initiative)!

I met up with Michelle of Yellow Rage and she invited me to the “green room”, aka the area tucked behind the thick black curtain. Catzie was there and so was one the features for the night, Taiyo Na (I only caught Magnetic North right when they were about to catch the last bus out of the city). Taiyo hooked me up with his Love is Growth album, which is currently on heavy rotation. (Cop one if you don’t already have it). Catzie kept trying to get me to sign up on the open mic list, but since it was the first Family Style, and I’m not a Philly head, I just wanted to watch and listen and get a feel of Philly’s spoken word/poetry scene. Besides, I didn’t have anything that pertained to the theme of “Tongue-ticular: A Celebration of Food, Language, Song and Other Things that Tickle the Tongue.” Although, now that I think about it, I could’ve started with a tongue twister. Next time.

A wide range of folks from Asian American youth, emcees/poets, one of the hosts of the Harvest open mic, and poets, Sham and Lovella I remember from the 2007 APIA Spoken Word & Poetry Summit in NYC rocked the mic that night. It was refreshing to be out of one’s stomping ground! It felt good to just sit there, listening, not knowing what someone will say or how they’ll say it. When you hit up the same poetry spots consistently, people start sounding the same after a while as we all imitate each other in an attempt to find our own voice. I can’t tell you whether there is a distinct DC sound. Sometimes I think there is, or at least, I can trace the imagery and style of articulation of certain poets in others. But I’m sure this is true for other cities as well.

The next Family Style open mic is Friday, November 20. The feature is Def Poet, Kelly Tsai! So who wants to go?

Is it My Job to Teach the Revolution?

I briefly talked to my former college advisor and now very dear friend yesterday about my previous work in student affairs. She asked if I was still interested in continuing the work. I told her I was, but I’m not sure if I was any good at it. I wished that I had taken classes at the grad level before or while in the position to get a better grounding on the nature of the work of a Multicultural Resource Center, or really, any center focused on social justice. She explained that a masters in student affairs/college student personnel wouldn’t necessarily provide answers, but would help shape my philosophy.

Then last night, I had a conversation with a current college student from a university in DC about student movements for Asian American Studies programs. After the convo, I started to miss the work I was immersed in for a couple of years.

This morning, I received a forwarded email from a friend with the following article on the precarious position of staff in resource centers. It reminded me of my time at Oberlin College, and many of the questions I struggled with and continue to do so. There are parts I agree with–volunteering for decision making committees is an effective form of activism. But I don’t think that scheduling meetings with administrators guarantees that they’re listening to student concerns.

I’d like to know what you think.

October 11, 2009

Is It My Job to Teach the Revolution?

By Xenia Markowitt

When I wake up in the morning and head to my job, I ask myself: Will this be a day I start the revolution? Or will I be called upon to stop it?

The question has become prescient over the past 12 years in my work at a women’s center at a small, prestigious liberal-arts college. My favorite memory, of a student intern I’ll call Cathy, illustrates the dilemma I face daily: Cathy had helped the center organize Sexual Assault Awareness Week, which included our Take Back the Night march and vigil. She had secured permits from our security and local police departments for marching and for use of a bullhorn; speakers for stops along the route; and materials to construct makeshift candleholders. The event had attracted hundreds of participants. A few days later, she asked to talk with me in my office at the women’s center.

First I told her what an exemplary job she had just done.

“Thanks,” she said. “But I have something else that I’m working on.”

I waited.

“We’re going to take over the administration building,” she said. “We’re fed up with the administration dragging its feet on diversity issues, and we’re going to have a sit-in.”

Still I waited.

“I need to know what to do first. I thought you could help me. Should the first thing be to go and get a permit? Do I need a permit to take over the central-admin building? I’ll need one for the bullhorn, I know. Should I go to safety and security first, or to the police department?” She looked up hopefully.

I started slowly. “Cathy, since you have used some language of the 60s, I’m going to, also.” She nodded. “You are planning a sit-in and want to know if your first step is to get a permit?” She nodded.

“Cathy, first of all, if you’re going up against the Man—don’t inform the Man.”

I waited while this sank in. Then I added: “And while I may not look like it to you, I am the Man.”

Ever since uttering those words, I have pondered the role some of us play on college campuses. Many of us have positions that simultaneously require us to represent the institution as one if its officers, even as we hope to use our positions to agitate for social change.

To some degree, we have institutionalized social protest. Take Back the Night is a perfect example. When I was a college student, in the early 80s, it was a social-protest phenomenon. At my university, we chalked the outlines of a body on the sidewalk where a woman had been raped, and we wrote a message to that effect. The action involved only students, not administrators. Besides taking back the night from society, we were taking it back from the university. Take Back the Night now is a line item in my budget. It is one of my job responsibilities, and it could influence my job-performance evaluation.

Are we to blame Cathy for conflating the two events in her student-activist life—the one organized by the college to raise awareness of sexual violence, and the one she and her friends were organizing on their own? I’m not always sure I know the difference philosophically—just that one is my responsibility, and one may be my responsibility to suppress, or perhaps I should say reframe. That’s what we often do, those of us with these jobs: We “reframe.” Is it our job to teach activism? To some that would appear essential; to others counterintuitive. So I struggle with how to make that decision.

I explained to Cathy that the nature of campus activism had changed. After all, sit-ins, or building takeovers, were staged in order to get the attention of the administration. But getting the attention of the administration can be done on my campus with a phone call—even directly to the president himself.

I told her: “If you hold a sit-in, the deans are going to order pizza and sit down next to you and ask what your concerns are. Will you be ready to answer them? You can make an appointment anytime you want to see the president and voice your concerns directly to him. So what is the purpose behind your sit-in? What do you hope to achieve?”

That’s my role, after all: to get a student to think about what she may want to achieve, and to follow through. It may not be as exciting as demonstrating, but volunteering for committee work is a more direct way to influence policy on my campus. It could be argued that such work is more strategic, even if it is a more tedious and solitary form of activism.
The random group of students did take over the administration building with a sit-in of sorts. They held a rally on the front steps, but they didn’t interrupt the work of those inside or prevent people from entering or leaving the building. They introduced student speakers who voiced complaints about the college’s lack of action on certain diversity-related issues. I didn’t see Cathy speak, but I saw another woman (whom I did not recognize) demand a bigger, better-financed women’s center. The rally was planned while the trustees were visiting, and they and the deans responded by arranging for a campuswide gathering in our student center’s largest hall that afternoon. At the gathering, students would have a platform and a microphone to voice their concerns (but no pizza).

About a year ago, a broad coalition of students organized a “rally against hatred” late one night via e-mail. I happened to be home—and online—as they were planning their rally. (I am copied on many such messages.) I watched how they moved from the idea of burning an offending publication on the central green to planning a rally with speakers. The exchange demonstrated that they were using skills they had learned from staff members like me, such as making strategic and intentional choices. We were part of their planning process.

When I attended the rally, the following day, I noticed that the speakers’ roster included the college president, dean of the faculty, and dean of students. That kind of rally, which, I venture to think, those august speakers may have attended—or maybe even planned—at some point during their own college years, in the past didn’t provide a platform for such voices, did it? They were the very people at whom the rallies were directed: high-level administrators who were allowing the behavior that was being protested.

At whom then, was this “rally against hatred” directed? What is social protest? What is activism? Are these skills we should be teaching? When the students took over the administration building, it was a faculty member who suggested they move their protest to where trustees were meeting. Students had to be told that. Once I taught a student how to hand out fliers. Am I hired to teach the revolution? Recently a new colleague told me, “Of course social revolution is going to be managed, because it’s a service we provide in our service-based educational culture.”

We may encourage students to set goals, follow through, and leave a legacy involving an arts festival or a new sorority. However, if we support the student who engages in a similar process involving issues of social change, it can be perceived as politically charged behavior. If, for example, a student lobbies for a publication on the experience of women of color, suddenly her behavior is called activism.

So what do I do with this dissonance? Some would do away with advocacy positions like mine. Others are still waiting for me to take down the Man. As I see it, at a time when many college educators are concerned about developing the “whole student,” our role is to support students’ interests, even when those interests lead them to activism. Why shouldn’t students have opportunities for the practical application of what they learn in the classroom? How radical is that, really? It’s not as if we’re advocating the revolution.

So I remain in this unsettling place between what’s expected and what’s feared. This much I know: As part of my job responsibilities, I mostly help women—but also men—find their own voices and become compassionate and engaged citizens of our planet. Not a bad job, eh?

Postscript: Back to that moment in the student center, where the trustees were waiting to hear the student protesters’ demands. I was lying low, given that one of the demands was a bigger, better-financed women’s center. I was standing on the side of the room near two deans, who were probably in their 50s. As the students spoke, I overheard the deans whispering.

“These kids don’t know how to do this,” one said, shaking his head.

The other dean agreed. “In my day,” she said, “we knew how to pull off a demonstration.”

Xenia Markowitt is director of Dartmouth College’s Center for Women and Gender, which is part of the Office of Pluralism and Leadership.

if i should die today

let the mold in my father’s basement
devour my journals and return them to the earth.
take my only Barbie, encase her in glass
and deliver her to a museum as proof my grandmother loved me.
make sure my mother still has tears left to cry.
if i should die before my aunt,
tell her i won. because i lived.
loved my name even though i was born to spite her.
if i should die today
squeeze my sister’s hand then let her be.
document this moment for my father
for we both have long memories.

[this poem was inspired by a prompt]

elephant engine high dive revival

after a bit of a push from a friend, i ended up back on the UMD campus to experience the spoken word theater of THE ELEPHANT ENGINE HIGH DIVE REVIVAL! Members of this touring awesomeness are: Anis Mojgani (2-time Individual National Poetry Slam Champion), Derrick Brown (invited to open for The Whites Stripes, Cold War Kids), Buddy Wakefield (2-time Individual World Poetry Slam Champion), with one of their rotating members, Cristin O’keefe Aptowicz.

i almost cried twice. no, not at the love poems, or the mother poem, as others suspected. at the poems about being lost. is that indicative of my current state of mind? sure, you can take it that way.

but the show was amazing! such depth to each person’s work and performance, yet nicely balanced with some silliness and lots of laughter. even during the devastation. i was watching how deliberate every body movement was of Anis, Buddy, and Derrick. nothing was unnecessary. every twitch and wave further enhanced the piece. it didn’t look awkward. i sometimes feel and look awkward with my right hand at my side while the left does all the talking, like gravity was slowly pulling it toward the earth and i slowly tipping with it. but maybe i’m a bit hard on myself.

check out their facebook page for their tour dates and locations!