Protest Photos

Protest Against the Massacre in Gaza, January 3rd, NYC

Protest Video

Foreign Passport Holders in Gaza Decide to Stay- "We Will Not Leave."

http://www.palsolidarity.org/main/2009/01/02/foreign-passport-holders-in-gaza-decide-to-stay-we-will-not-leave/
One more article, on human rights activists who have decided to stay in Gaza.
Of course, most Gazans don't have a choice, and this privilege granted only to international visitors is...well, there are no words to say how problematic, unfair, and absurd that is.
However, their decision to stay is one I find inspiring.
And for those of you who are currently grasping for home as I am, this is one place to find it.
Dedication to struggle. Dedication to a People. Dedication. Conviction. Love. One day, Liberation.

Some Blogs to Check Out...

This is a link to the blog of one of the members of the Free Gaza Movement (you know, the one with the boats...) - -
http://talestotell.wordpress.com/
I just found this blog, and I'm very glad I did.

And this is the blog of Dr. Mona El-Farra who lives in Gaza and identifies as "a physician by training, a human rights and women's rights activist by practice, in the occupied Gaza Strip."
http://fromgaza.blogspot.com/
Her latest post (from 1/1/09) asks for contributions to MECA, for another shipment of medical aid to Gaza. You can donate to MECA here:
https://secure.groundspring.org/dn/index.php?aid=1171

I am finding many more blogs, but I will post them later, because I don't want this to be overwhelming...check out these for now.

Routine...and Ethnic Cleansing in Gaza

I remember the last time I felt like this...
It was at the beginning of the Iraq war.
I used to look at images of broken people on the internet before I went to sleep. Sometimes I'd have nightmares. I'd wake up and check the news again. "Awake" began to blur with "Dreaming."
Why do I do it this way?
Why do I check the news every morning before I've even had a cup of coffee?
Maybe it's desperation, fear of what the news will say. Maybe I'm secretly hoping for a headline that I don't really (rationally) expect about how the bombing has stopped or at least they've let more aid in or something.
Maybe it's more like ripping off a band-aid: "If something even worse has happened tell me now. Do it fast."
Or maybe it's self-protection: before I've had my morning coffee, I'm never completely present. Maybe it's less painful that way.

My routine now:
Ma'an News
Al Jazeera
Facebook (people post news I haven't seen elsewhere)
Then, sometimes, New York Times (because it's good to know what other people are reading here in NY)
Then, sometimes Ha'aretz, because I want to know what the Israelis are reading (and it's the only Isreali paper I can stomach)
If I'm particularly angry after that, I'll go to YNET (which I refuse to link to) and leave vicious anti-Zionist comments on the most problematic posts.
Leaving comments on Ha'aretz is frustrating because among their "guidelines" (or your post is deleted) is one that says you're not allowed to accuse anyone of genocide or ethnic cleansing. WTF? You're also not allowed to compare anyone to the Nazis. Again...WTF?
Not that I generally do the second (unless I'm talking to specific Jews and it makes a specific, useful point) but I do tend to talk about ethnic cleansing and genocide a lot...

This story is posted somewhere on this blog already, but it was years ago, so I think it's time to tell it again:

When I was in Hebron, the soldiers would not allow us to walk on Shuhada Street. We asked one soldier "Why?" He told us that it was a "sanitized zone."
Who was allowed to walk there, we asked.
"Only --"
he didn't finish his sentence. we pushed and prompted. "Only who?"
"Only Jews."

"Sanitized." "Only Jews." But don't talk about ethnic cleansing.

One Israeli dies and they respond by killing over 400 Palestinians. Who are walled in on all sides, no escape. But no. Don't talk about ethnic cleansing.

Watch Al Jazeera Online

For those of you frustrated with the U.S. media's blatantly biased coverage of the situation in Gaza, you can watch Al Jazeera online here:
http://www.livestation.com/channels/3-al_jazeera_english

You have to download something, but once you do, it actually comes in pretty well...significantly better (at least for me) than the regular "watch now" button on their site.

428

428.

I can't possibly keep up with the death count on my blog, because I don't post nearly enough, but the latest is 428 (according to the director of Ambulance and Emergency Services in Gaza).
Every time I leave the house, I rush back to check...
Why? Is it so important to know the number? Is Israel worse because they killed 428 than they were when they had killed 400? ...I don't know what it is, though, but I need to check. Scroll through the pictures. Look at images of people whose heads and limbs have been shot off. Cry.
But that isn't helpful, is it? What does it do for me to cry?
So then I think, "I should pray."
Then I think, "So many people are already praying. Would it really matter if there were one more?"
Then I think, "I just need to go to the protest."
Then I think, "What does that do? Neither Israel nor the United States cares much about the opinions of 'the People.'"
I think of many things, and then I think how they won't help.
Then I think that this is exactly what Israel wants: to break the resistance in every way. To shatter our hope and make us afraid.
I don't want to let that happen.
Just now, I scanned the internet for profiles of some of the individuals killed. I could not find any. If anyone knows where to find this, please let me know.

Names

The named victim receives a great deal more mourning than the unnamed one, or so I've heard...
So, here are some names, thanks to Ma'an News Agency.

The first 187 Palestinian victims were identified as:

Ibrahim Al-Jamaj
Isma’il Al-Husari
Isma’il Salem
Isma’il Ghneim
Eyman Natour
Eyhab Ash-Shaer
Ibrahim Mahfoudh
Abu Ali Ar-Rahhal
Ahmad Al-Halabi
Ahmad Al-Kurd
Ahmad Al-Lahham
Ahmad Al-Hums
Ahmad At-Talouli
Ahmad Zu’rub
Ahmad Abu Jazar
Ahmad Radwan
Ahmad ‘Udah
Ahmad Abu Mousa
Ahmad Tbeil
Adham Al-Areini
Osama Abu Ar-Rus
Osama Abu Ar-Reish
Osama Darweish
Ashraf Ash-Sharabasi
Ashraf Abu Suhweil
Amjad Abu Jazar
Ameen Az-Zarbatli
Anas Hamad
Anwar Al-Bardini
Anwar Al-Kurd
Ayman Abu Ammouna
Ayman An-Nahhal
Ibrahim Abu Ar-Rus
Basil Dababish
Bassam Makkawi
Bilal Omar
Bahaa Abu Zuhri
Tamir Qreinawi
Tamir Abu Afsha
Tawfiq Al-Fallit
Tawfiq Jabir
Thaer Madi
Jabir Jarbu’
Hatim Abu Sha’ira
Hamid Yasin
Husam Ayyash
Hasan Baraka
Hasan Abid Rabbo
Hasan Al-Majayda
Hussein Al-A’raj
Hussein Dawood
Hussein ‘Uroq
Hakam Abu Mansi
Hamada Abu Duqqa
Hamada Safi
Hamdan Abu Nu’eira
Haydar Hassuna
Khalid Zu’rub
Khalid Abu Hasna
Khalid An-Nashasi
Khalid Shaheen
Raed Dughmush
Rami Ash-Sheikh
Raafat Shamiyya
Riziq Salman
Rif’at Sa’da
Rafiq Na’im
Ramzi Al-Haddad
Ziyad Abu ‘Ubada
Sarah Al-Hawajiri
Salim Abu Shamla
Salim Qreinawi
Sa’id Hamada
Salim Al-Gharir
Suheil Tambura
Shadi Sbakhi
Shahada Quffa
Shahada Abd ar-Rahman
Sabir Al-Mabhouh
Suhayb Abu ‘Iffat
Suhayb Abd al-‘aal
Tal’at Salman
Tal’at Basal
‘Aasim Ash-Shaer
‘Aasim Abu Kamil
Abid Ad-Dahshan
Abd ar-Raziq Shahtu
Abd as-Sami’ An-Nashar
Abdul-Fattah Abu ‘Uteiwi
Abdul-Fattah Fadil
Abdullah Juneid
Abdullah Al-Ghafari
Abdullah Rantisi
Abdullah Wahbi
Arafat Farajallah
Azmi Abu Dalal
Isam Al-Ghirbawi
‘Alaa Al-Qatrawi
‘Alaa Al-Kahlout
‘Alaa ‘Uqeilan
‘Alaa Nasr Ar-Ra’i
Ali Awad
Imab Abu Al-Hajj
Omar Darawsha
Omran Ar-ran
Anan Ghaliya
Gharib Al-Assar
Fayiz Riyad Al-Madhoun
Fayiz Ayada Al-Madhoun
Fayiz Abu Al-Qumsan
Camellia Al-Bardini
Ma’moun Sleim
Mazin ‘Ulayyan
Muhammad Al-Ghimri
Muhammad Al-Halabi
Muhammad Asaliyya
Muhammad Az-Zatma
Muhammad Az-ahra
Muhammad Gaza
Muhammad An-Nuri
Muhammad Abu Sabra
Muhammad Abu ‘Amir
Muhammad Abu Libda
Muhammad Hboush
Muhammad Al-Mabhouh
Muhammad Sha’ban
Muhammad Abu ‘Abdo
Muhammad Salih
Muhammad Tabasha
Muhammad Al-Habeil
Muhammad Abdullah Aziz
Muhammad Abdul-Wahhab Aziz
Muhammad Awad
Muhammad Abd An-Nabi
Muhammad Salih
Muhammad An-Najari
Muhammad Hamad
Muhammad Barakat
Muhammad Muhanna
Mahmoud Al-Khalidi
Mahmoud Abu Harbeid
Mahmoud Abu Matar
Mahmoud Abu Tabour
Mahmoud Abu Nahla
Mustafa Al-Khateib
Mustafa As-Sabbak
Mu’ein Hamada
Mu’ein Al-Hasan
Mumtaz An- Najjar
Mansour Al-Gharra
Nasser Al-Gharra
Nahidh Abu Namous
Nabil Al-Breim
Nathir Al-Louqa
Ni’ma Al-Maghari
Na’im Kheit
Na’im Al-Kafarna
Na’im Al-Anzi
Nimir Amoum
Hisham Rantisi
Hisham Al-Masdar
Hisham Abu ‘Uda
Hisham ‘Uweida
Humam An-Najjar
Hanaa Al-Mabhouh
Haytham Hamdan
Haytham Ash-Sher
Wadei’ Al-Muzayyin
Wasim Azaza
Walid Abu Hein
Walid Jabir Abu Hein
Yasser Ash-Shaer
Yasser Al-Lahham
Yahya Al-Hayik
Yahya Sheikha
Yahya Mahmoud Sheikha
Yousif Thabit
Yousif Al-Jallad
Yousif Sha’ban
Yousif Diab
Yousif Al-Anani
Yousif An-Najjar
Younis Ad-Deiri

Please take a moment to mourn each of these people.

For Gaza

Where do I start?
There are no words.
There are always numbers:
375 Palestinians killed in Gaza…and the death count continues to rise…
1,720 Palestinians have been injured

…and how is one to heal when they do not allow medical supplies or doctors through the border?…and when they're bombing the medical supply centers and pharmacies that do exist?…and the tunnels, that might have been used to bring in new supplies.

Part of me is afraid to say this. Negative thinking is not helpful. I should say "Israel will stop the bombing and everyone in Gaza will heal."

Yesterday, I tried to pray. I don't really know how, so I opted for creative visualization. It was hard to picture Gaza without war. I realized that I have never seen it portrayed, except in times of war. I thought about how sad this is. There was a battle of images within my brain: hope vs. the-current-reality. Hope eventually prevailed. If only this were true in real life.

In Bethlehem, they canceled Christmas to mourn the attacks. If you are Christian and you read my blog, please-please-please convey this powerful piece of information to your families. There are usually lights in front of the barn where Jesus was (according to Christian doctrine) born. This Christmas, they turned them off. In Palestine, Christians do not celebrate on the 25th of December but in the beginning of January…if I remember correctly, it's the 7th, but I could be off by a few days, I'm not sure. They plan to keep the lights off for the local Christmas celebration as well.

I feel desperate. Helpless. Hopefully not hopeless, because then what's the point?
I remember this feeling from the beginning of the Iraq war. I hope this one doesn't last as long. I really, really, hope it doesn't. I guess that means I'm not hopeless after all.
This is a good thing.
I'm glad I found one good thing.

obamathoughts

The president-elect is not our lover. He is not a potential messiah. He's not going to save us.
And in my opinion, that's okay.

I know, I know, this might be considered blasphemy by Obama extremists on both sides of the spectrum. But why?

When Obama put the words "hope" and "change" under his picture on a poster did that really convince so many people that he represents all possibility of hope + change? Did we forget how to hope for change outside of electoral politics? In grassroots social movements and activism? In real community organizing?

I know I already blogged about "cautious optimism," and that's still how I feel about Obama...although I admit I'm getting increasingly cautious by the day. Yes, he appointed Rahm Emmanuel, whose father was a member of the Irgun (a Zionist terrorist group) and now he has this anti-gay, anti-choice pastor delivering the invocation at his inauguration. Of course I'm disappointed. But my hope doesn't lie in Obama so I'm not crushed, betrayed, devasted. These were bad decisions. He's the president of the United States. The president of the United States makes bad decisions, it's probably somewhere in the job description. But he might not declare war on hella countries like McCain probably would have. So I'm still glad about that. He's not Bush. Glad about that. He's got a new dialogue going about race by the mere fact that he's a Black president. I'm pretty happy about that dialogue too - it's great to see more (white) people acknowledge that race exists and, for a minute, forget to pretend that they're "colorblind." He made politics a lot more "hip" and I'm glad about that too- - it gets a lot more people aware and involved.

To some who identify as "more radical" this probably makes me a sellout, but I disagree. I'm not selling out and I'm not in love with the guy. But now he's in office and, unless your daddy owns an oil company and your brother is the governor of Florida, you can't change that. I just feel like hating Bush took a lot of energy from the progressive movement, and I don't want us to re-focus on tearing apart Obama...there are so many more productive things for us to focus on. And I know there were a lot of organizations dedicated specifically to hating (or impeaching or criticizing or whatever) Bush...what are they doing now? How can we re-allocate their resources and memberships? What happens next?

I'm never going to be a flag-waving patriot. Even if Obama were perfect, he's not powerful enough to reverse this nation's history of colonization, genocide, militarism, and capitalist greed. I'm not gonna say that that's okay, but it's true. I support hope but let's be reasonable, people. Let's hope for the future, let's hope for specific victories, and let's never let hope be represented by the flag of an imperialist nation.

So, those are my most recent obamathoughts. What are yours?

...Who would have thought? Me, the practical one? It feels weird.

cynical idealism or cautious optimism?

I have often described myself as a cynical idealist.
In this article from Al Jazeera, I learned a new phrase that I just might prefer: "cautious optimist." I like it. And I think it sums up exactly what myself and others in my life are feeling about Obama. We're optimistic, even hopeful, but...I mean it's still the government, it's still the United States, this certainly doesn't make us patriots...he's far from perfect. But, I can't help but think that maybe we should look at the bright side. Because, for the first time in 8 years, I think there actually IS a bright side.
I don't know.
Thoughts?

8

Alright, my turn.
I feel like I'm always running late on this blog thing...I mean, I missed the opportunity to mock Sarah Palin entirely...
I didn't once blog about Obama, hope, or the election...

But, here I am, back(ish). (for a minute, at least).
to talk about Prop 8.
by talk, i think that maybe I mean rant.

So, I'm a little fascinated with the crowd of people that seems to have suddenly realized they're oppressed.
I can see how they may not have noticed. The Castro in San Francisco is a prime example. I mean, these people have money, they have access to resources, they even have a neighborhood of bars, restaurants, and more all catering to them and their interests. If they rarely leave the area, of course they wouldn't notice that anything was wrong. I mean, unless they did something crazy like acknowledge their privilege...
But why would they do something like that?
Now, newly "politicized," these men are suddenly taking to the streets with the rest of us...
some of these men have even gone so far as to stick bumper stickers on their cars and lawn signs on their lawns (or in the windows of their apartments and condos, since the Castro doesn't have so many lawns)
they're talking politics on the sidewalks
i think i even heard one or two political conversations in bars!
Well...
welcome.
I'm glad you could finally make it.

See, the rest of us have been organizing this whole time. And by this whole time I don't mean when Prop 8 was put on the ballot, nor do I mean when some gay people decided they wanted to get married.
I mean the WHOLE time.
I mean, some of us have been working on issues of social, racial, and economic justice for YEARS.
I mean, some of us have been passionate about other issues, either because they affect us personally and/or because we're compassionate people who think it's worth getting up and out and into the streets when other people are being bombed, evicted, or denied healthcare...

I WANT to feel total solidarity with these people, I really do. And I AM excited to see them on the streets, to see them in offices making phone calls, to hear them talking politics, to see that politically-induced rage that leads to mass movements and can potentially lead to real change...But the thing is, as friendly as they are on the streets, when we're in Bar on Castro the next day, or trying to dance at the Cafe, they're still pushing me and my friends around (often literally), treating us like we don't have the right to exist, certainly not in THEIR space at THEIR bar.
So, tell me, why exactly should we trust them not to eventually decide that we also don't have a right to participate in or benefit from, well...THEIR issue ?
This might sound cynical, but I think they're questions and fears that the "movement" around No on 8 really does need to address.

And now, as the media tries to spin Prop 8 as a proposition created, advocated, and passed by People of Color (who are, apparently, all straight?!) what exactly are these self-proclaimed, self-appointed No on 8 leaders saying about it?
Not Enough.
Look: Gay is NOT the new Black.
That doesn't even make sense, because that saying is about fashion, not oppression.
The fact that Obama is elected certainly does NOT mean that racism is over.
And, one I haven't heard yet...YES, gay people supported Obama. They didn't do it because they were anti-racist. They did it because he was running against McCain, who would've hurt People of Color AND gay people AND low-income communities AND women AND the list goes on. I mean, seriously, gay participation in the Obama campaign was often as self-centered as gay prioritization of No on 8 over basically everything else. And maybe self-centered is sometimes okay but not when it's used to fuel racism and hate while simultaneously patting yourself on the back for all the good work you've done and criticizing everyone else for their lack of involvement in the campaign.

Ok, rant over.
And now, I am hesitating to press "publish post," because I don't want to contribute to this divisive way of thinking.
Then again, I'm not sure anyone who would actually disagree would ever read my blog...
Nope, probably not.

Okay. Here we go....

another rant about the NPIC

...guess who has a new job?

yes, once again, my life has changed drastically, but this time, I know it's only for a month.

What am I doing, you ask? ...This: http://www.girlsforachange.org
In other (my) words, I am driving a giant billboard across the country for a corporation that's masquerading as a non-profit. Or, for a non-profit that's even more entangled in the corporate world than usual, since apparently that's possible. Who knew? Ready for Exhibit A? We have a CEO. Exhibit B? We're in the middle of a "National Expansion Tour." That's right. Not movement building. Not outreach. Not organizing. Expansion.

That said, the organization does some pretty awesome workshops in schools. That seems to be a theme with org's that support education - - the educators are awesome, the workshops are great, and the rest of the organization is...well...doing more to maintain the status quo than they are to make the changes we claim to advocate.

Anyway, if you want to see my kinder, gentler blog go to htpp://www.girlsforachangeactionnetwork.com
(What? I can be kind and gentle!)
I have to blog about our "Action Zones" as a part of my job....Our action zones are where we go to Sephora stores (You know, the people who sell expensive make-up?) and ask people what they want to change in the world for women and girls. So far "education" and "body image" are the most popular. Today, we're doing one in Beverly Hills. Seriously. Do those people want to change anything about the world? We will see...

Okay, okay, enough cynicism.
It's actually pretty exciting to see how people's answers change as we travel across the country...Texas, for example. What will that be like?

Guess we'll all just have to wait and see....

unravelling my monday...

since i left work, i have been unravelling the layers of this story one of my students told me today, while waiting for her parents to pick her up:
This girl, we'll call her S, was born in the u.s, not far from san jose. Her family, however, is from India, and most of them still live there. "When I was born, my skin was white," she explained, then added that actually, it was "kind of a pinkish color." Then, she went to India. She went a few times, for months at a time, and after a series of these trips, the sun in India turned her skin brown, little by little, till it transformed into the color it is now, and she said proudly "that's why my skin is brown," and looked at her arm, smiling.

***

Another transformative moment during the actual class:
Another child (also Indian) today told the whole class how NOT to mispronounce his name: "It's not chimney, chimpanzee, etc," he said, and listed a variety of unwanted nicknames he'd received throughout his life. He then pronounced his name clearly, so that everyone knew, and would remember what it was.
Of course the rest of the kids responded by calling him everything he'd asked them not to. Eventually I asked them to stop - gently - and told them that it was important that we all feel safe and trust each other, and that means being respectful. This boy had specifically requested that his name be pronounced correctly and not mocked, and we all had to honor that request. "We can all make requests that are important to us, and everyone should honor those."
And after that?
...they stopped.
Not because I threatened them, but, it seems at least, because they understood that it was important to be respectful. And more importantly, because he had asked them in the first place.

Respectful children make me smile.
Empowered children make me hopeful.
Strong, respectful, and empowered children inspire me to be a better teacher and a better person.

thoughts, all jumbled and rambling

thoughts:

not enough time for errands & resting & fun on the weekends. im tired.

race, class, gender in the classroom:
….WOW.
observations from this week –
power & privilege play out so MUCH, but it's hard to call them out, because (1) there's another level where I, as the teacher, actually have the most power so "calling out" is not the same as it is with peers and (2) we'd have to go waaay back to some kind of beginning/baseline, because i'm pretty sure these kids, unlike the ones I worked with in SF, don't talk daily about racism, classism, and sexism with their principals and other school leaders.
anyway, if anyone has any ideas about how to address this with a group of 7-14 year olds, please pass them my way.

oil:
if we use it all up, do you think that would make the war in iraq stop? 'cause i'm thinking maybe that should be our new strategy. i mean it's set to run out in 2012. …what difference is a couple of years gonna make?
and by the way, it's set to run out in 2012. it's 2008. why do people still talk about this like it's way in the future?

traffic:
ARGH

normal sleep hours:
i miss you

weekend:
please don't end after tomorrow, i'm not ready to leave you yet

violence:
is it true what they say about violence in the media getting into these young kids' minds and changing the way they see the world and conceptualize violence? their stories are scary. especially scary: when i had them writing to various songs (trying to match their style with the rhythm, although they all just matched it with the words, so i went with that) and i played a nancy ajram song their words got even more violent. this only happened after they asked what language it was, and i told them it was arabic.

libraries:
what a brilliant idea. actually, almost a little socialist... i mean a building full of books the government pays for, that you get to borrow and then return, instead of always trying to buy your own? shh, don't tell anybody, 'cause i'm sure as soon as they notice, they'll privatize 'em.
just got an oakland library card today. yay!

my neighbor's crying baby or possibly meowing cat:
either way, glad it isn't mine

what don't we want? grammar!

*yawn,* except not as much as i should be.

i got a job!

i'm teaching writing here: http://www.lekhapublishers.com/

so far, interesting.

today i decided that teaching my students about picketing was more valuable than teaching them about nouns, verbs, and adjectives, so when one girl made a sign on a piece of folded up looseleaf paper that said "no more grammar," i took the opportunity to explain (and pantomime) a picket. they agreed that they were, in fact, picketing grammar (once they learned what a picket was) and we decided to write stories instead.
it was fun.
i have fantasies about them attempting to use this strategy in their regular classrooms and starting some kind of uprising when an oppressive teacher refuses to cave to their demands.

these kids though, are really into violence/war/weapons. it's intense. "ak-47" seemed to be their favorite "noun," and they wrote collective stories about a man who started a war with the world, and then the universe (i mean they do have dubya as their "leader", so i guess we shouldnt expect any different).

as plain as day

a lot of writers dislike the cliché.
they say things like "never use the words soul, love, or heart in a poem."
even words like "liberation," "justice," etc, they want you to describe it.
ok, well when we're all liberated, i'll tell you how it feels in metaphor and simile. till then, it's just an idea, and i can't say what it tastes/feels/smells/looks/sounds like 'cause the truth is, none of us know.

anyway this isn't supposed to be a rant as much as a reflection

about how in moments of extreme emotion, it's the cliches that suddenly make a lot of sense.

boiling anger, for example...
absolutely. it isn't cliché as much as a pure and simple description. no one ever said the 'blue sky,' is cliché. so then neither is boiling anger. it boils, it feels hot, like it's rising, and haven't we all wondered if one day it's going to rise up right out of us…
maybe it does. maybe that's what our activism is.

and the heart as the location for intense emotion,
you know,
they were onto something. they really were.
i remember the first time i ever realized that,
i was surprised, because i'd never really felt my heart before,
and suddenly, there it was, burning. even breaking.
that was years ago, of course.

elitist writers bother me. like they think they're not just better at writing, but better at feeling than everything else, like their anger doesn't boil, like when they're crushing on someone, or loving them, or hurt by them, they don't feel it in their heart. well, if that's what makes a real writer, then let me just say that i'm not one. 'cause mine does. and i do.

of course they don't all make sense…

crystal, for example…not particularly clear, since it reflects light, and shines colors all over the place.
and, just personally, no matter how nervous i've been, it's never actually made my feet feel cold. but hey, that's just my experience.

this poem has so much truth in. never heard so much truth in just one poem. can't sum it up, but i guess that's the point, right? if what a poet had to say could be written in a sentence, then they'd just write a sentence. right?
anyway, just listen to it.

you know, i feel weird that i haven't written for so long, and especially that i didn't write on the 60th anniversary of the nakba. i guess it's like suheir says, sometimes you don't have the language...

i'm still trying to swallow this concept of time, and the idea that 60 years is long (not that it seems short, it's just hard to even conceive of so many years when you've only been alive for less than half that time...), and the idea that the occupation of this land (the u.s.) has been a LOT longer.
maybe part of it, is it's hard for me to write just one poem or just one piece or even just one blog entry on the anniversary of something- not that i don't think commemoration is important. but mourning on that one day isn't enough. feeling on that one day isn't enough. it's a tool, like anything else, to draw attention to a situation. but the mourning, for something like this (the colonization of palestine)- so many people, so much land, so much life stolen - that can't fit itself into one little day.

annnd speaking of palestine, come ON obama...i wanna like you, wanna get into this groundswell of enthusiasm everyone's feeling, but that whole 'jerusalem belongs to israel,' speech, did you have to? and still use language like "the audacity to hope" - well, obama, how 'bout you give us a reason to hope, and then we'll have the audacity? how 'bout that.
not saying i'm not gonna vote to him, not saying i'm not glad he won over clinton. but still.

sorry for the bitterness. i'm actually in a really good space right now, personally. found an awesome new roommate, getting a bunch of writing done lately, just had a bunch of friends over for dinner which i haven't done in awhile...

now if only we could just get rid of all this imperialism (& gentrification, it's local manifestation), racism, heteronormativity, etc...then i wouldn't be so bitter. let's get on that. oh wait, we already are...

sexual violence and militarization of the border in the ny times

This article is reposted from the NY Times website, where you have to have an account (it's free, but still) to read it - - I wanted to link to it in my g-chat message today, and realized that I couldn't link directly to the article, only to a page asking people to sign in...so here it is -
Of course, it takes them all the way to page 3 (in the online ny times version) to get to the part where they mention that it's systemic, and even there they don't link it to other manifestations of sexual violence as a tool/aspect of militarization...
but still worth reading, i thought.


An Agent, a Green Card, and a Demand for Sex
By NINA BERNSTEIN
Published: March 21, 2008

No problems so far, the immigration agent told the American citizen and his 22-year-old Colombian wife at her green card interview in December. After he stapled one of their wedding photos to her application for legal permanent residency, he had just one more question: What was her cellphone number?

The calls from the agent started three days later. He hinted, she said, at his power to derail her life and deport her relatives, alluding to a brush she had with the law before her marriage. He summoned her to a private meeting. And at noon on Dec. 21, in a parked car on Queens Boulevard, he named his price — not realizing that she was recording everything on the cellphone in her purse.

“I want sex,” he said on the recording. “One or two times. That’s all. You get your green card. You won’t have to see me anymore.”

She reluctantly agreed to a future meeting. But when she tried to leave his car, he demanded oral sex “now,” to “know that you’re serious.” And despite her protests, she said, he got his way.

The 16-minute recording, which the woman first took to The New York Times and then to the Queens district attorney, suggests the vast power of low-level immigration law enforcers, and a growing desperation on the part of immigrants seeking legal status. The aftermath, which included the arrest of an immigration agent last week, underscores the difficulty and danger of making a complaint, even in the rare case when abuse of power may have been caught on tape.

No one knows how widespread sexual blackmail is, but the case echoes other instances of sexual coercion that have surfaced in recent years, including agents criminally charged in Atlanta, Miami and Santa Ana, Calif. And it raises broader questions about the system’s vulnerability to corruption at a time when millions of noncitizens live in a kind of legal no-man’s land, increasingly fearful of seeking the law’s protection.

The agent arrested last week, Isaac R. Baichu, 46, himself an immigrant from Guyana, handled some 8,000 green card applications during his three years as an adjudicator in the Garden City, N.Y., office of United States Citizenship and Immigration Services, part of the federal Department of Homeland Security. He pleaded not guilty to felony and misdemeanor charges of coercing the young woman to perform oral sex, and of promising to help her secure immigration papers in exchange for further sexual favors. If convicted, he will face up to seven years in prison.

His agency has suspended him with pay, and the inspector general of Homeland Security is reviewing his other cases, a spokesman said Wednesday. Prosecutors, who say they recorded a meeting between Mr. Baichu and the woman on March 11 at which he made similar demands for sex, urge any other victims to come forward.

Money, not sex, is the more common currency of corruption in immigration, but according to Congressional testimony in 2006 by Michael Maxwell, former director of the agency’s internal investigations, more than 3,000 backlogged complaints of employee misconduct had gone uninvestigated for lack of staff, including 528 involving criminal allegations.

The agency says it has tripled its investigative staff since then, and counts only 165 serious complaints pending. But it stopped posting an e-mail address and phone number for such complaints last year, said Jan Lane, chief of security and integrity, because it lacks the staff to cull the thousands of mostly irrelevant messages that resulted. Immigrants, she advised, should report wrongdoing to any law enforcement agency they trust.

The young woman in Queens, whose name is being withheld because the authorities consider her the victim of a sex crime, did not even tell her husband what had happened. Two weeks after the meeting in the car, finding no way to make a confidential complaint to the immigration agency and afraid to go to the police, she and two older female relatives took the recording to The Times.

Reasons to Worry

A slim, shy woman who looks like a teenager, she said she had spent recent months baby-sitting for relatives in Queens, crying over the deaths of her two brothers back in Cali, Colombia, and longing for the right stamp in her passport — one that would let her return to the United States if she visited her family. She came to the United States on a tourist visa in 2004 and overstayed. When she married an American citizen a year ago, the law allowed her to apply to “adjust” her illegal status. But unless her green card application was approved, she could not visit her parents or her brothers’ graves and then legally re-enter the United States. And if her application was denied, she would face deportation.

She had another reason to be fearful, and not only for herself. About 15 months ago, she said, an acquaintance hired her and two female relatives in New York to carry $12,000 in cash to the bank. The three women, all living in the country illegally, were arrested on the street by customs officers apparently acting on a tip in a money-laundering investigation. After determining that the women had no useful information, the officers released them.

But the closed investigation file had showed up in the computer when she applied for a green card, Mr. Baichu told her in December; until he obtained the file and dealt with it, her application would not be approved. If she defied him, she feared, he could summon immigration enforcement agents to take her relatives to detention.

So instead of calling the police, she turned on the video recorder in her cellphone, put the phone in her purse and walked to meet the agent. Two family members said they watched anxiously from their parked car as she disappeared behind the tinted windows of his red Lexus.

“We were worried that the guy would take off, take her away and do something to her,” the woman’s widowed sister-in-law said in Spanish.

As the recorder captured the agent’s words and a lilting Guyanese accent, he laid out his terms in an easy, almost paternal style. He would not ask too much, he said: sex “once or twice,” visits to his home in the Bronx, perhaps a link to other Colombians who needed his help with their immigration problems.

In shaky English, the woman expressed reluctance, and questioned how she could be sure he would keep his word.

“If I do it, it’s like very hard for me, because I have my husband, and I really fall in love with him,” she said.

The agent insisted that she had to trust him. “I wouldn’t ask you to do something for me if I can’t do something for you, right?” he said, and reasoned, “Nobody going to help you for nothing,” noting that she had no money.

He described himself as the single father of a 10-year-old daughter, telling her, “I need love, too,” and predicting, “You will get to like me because I’m a nice guy.”

Repeatedly, she responded “O.K.,” without conviction. At one point he thanked her for showing up, saying, “I know you feel very scared.”

Finally, she tried to leave. “Let me go because I tell my husband I come home,” she said.

His reply, the recording shows, was a blunt demand for oral sex.

“Right now? No!” she protested. “No, no, right now I can’t.”

He insisted, cajoled, even empathized. “I came from a different country, too,” he said. “I got my green card just like you.”

Then, she said, he grabbed her. During the speechless minute that follows on the recording, she said she yielded to his demand out of fear that he would use his authority against her.

How Much Corruption?

The charges against Mr. Baichu, who became a United States citizen in 1991 and earns roughly $50,000 a year, appear to be part of a larger pattern, according to government records and interviews.

Mr. Maxwell, the immigration agency’s former chief investigator, told Congress in 2006 that internal corruption was “rampant,” and that employees faced constant temptations to commit crime.

“It is only a small step from granting a discretionary waiver of an eligibility rule to asking for a favor or taking a bribe in exchange for granting that waiver,” he contended. “Once an employee learns he can get away with low-level corruption and still advance up the ranks, he or she becomes more brazen.” Mr. Maxwell’s own deputy, Lloyd W. Miner, 49, of Hyattsville, Md., turned out to be an example. He was sentenced March 7 to a year in prison for inducing a 21-year-old Mongolian woman to stay in the country illegally, and harboring her in his house.

Other cases include that of a 60-year-old immigration adjudicator in Santa Ana, Calif., who was charged with demanding sexual favors from a 29-year-old Vietnamese woman in exchange for approving her citizenship application. The agent, Eddie Romualdo Miranda, was acquitted of a felony sexual battery charge last August, but pleaded guilty to misdemeanor battery and was sentenced to probation.

In Atlanta, another adjudicator, Kelvin R. Owens, was convicted in 2005 of sexually assaulting a 45-year-old woman during her citizenship interview in the federal building, and sentenced to weekends in jail for six months. And a Miami agent of Immigration and Customs Enforcement responsible for transporting a Haitian woman to detention is awaiting trial on charges that he took her to his home and raped her.

“Despite our best efforts there are always people ready to use their position for personal gain or personal pleasure,” said Chris Bentley, a spokesman for Citizenship and Immigration Services. “Our responsibility is to ferret them out.”

When the Queens woman came to The Times with her recording on Jan. 3, she was afraid of retaliation from the agent, and uncertain about making a criminal complaint, though she had an appointment the next day at the Queens district attorney’s office.

She followed through, however, and Carmencita Gutierrez, an assistant district attorney, began monitoring phone calls between the agent and the young woman, a spokesman said. When Mr. Baichu arranged to meet the woman on March 11 at the Flagship Restaurant on Queens Boulevard, investigators were ready.

In the conversation recorded there, according to the criminal complaint, Mr. Baichu told her he expected her to do “just like the last time,” and offered to take her to a garage or the bathroom of a friend’s real estate business so she would be “more comfortable doing it” there.

Mr. Baichu was arrested as he emerged from the diner and headed to his car, wearing much gold and diamond jewelry, prosecutors said. Later released on $15,000 bail, Mr. Baichu referred calls for comment to his lawyer, Sally Attia, who said he did not have authority to grant or deny green card petitions without his supervisor’s approval.

The young woman’s ordeal is not over. Her husband overheard her speaking about it to a cousin about a month ago, and she had to tell him the whole story, she said.

“He was so mad at me, he left my house,” she said, near tears. “I don’t know if he’s going to come back.”

The green card has not come through. “I’m still hoping,” she said.

still marching...

today, the san francisco skyline cloaked itself in fog, like it was trying to hide behind its thickness from the bleakness of today's reality:
the fifth "anniversary" of the u.s. invasion of iraq.

this morning, i wrote of the fog,
"rain that never quite falls
like the tears we don't quite cry anymore
they didn't help last year anyway,
we just hold them like a cloud in our memory

when will the rain fall
hard enough to stop bullets and bombs?"

i wasn't trying to write a poem…just get a hold on my emotions…
all day, i was cynical, questioning whether or not i even wanted to go to the antiwar march – and rightly so, i think, because each year it feels more like an annual political get-together, and less like the passionate expression of outrage i remember from the past.

i also wrote:

"i still remember the first year,
we thought if we brought enough breathing bodies into the streets with signs that asked for peace we could stop this war,
i remember the first tears
as the war was announced, standing outside the white house, "chant loud enough to make them hear us!" we yelled into the ten dollar megaphone,
people stopped us on the street and thanked us, as though they too thought a ten dollar megaphone could amplify our voices loud enough to make anyone listen."

…and it's true, I really do remember. those days we thought we could stop the war from happening at all. the outrage when bush got on tv for the first time, announced "shock and awe," and cautioned everyone in iraq "whatever you do, don't attack the oil wells." (don't quote me on that, it's not a direct quote, but it's close)

Then, in an attempt to invoke that hope I used to hold onto, I searched for my older poems, the ones I wrote in 03 and 04 and even 05, the ones before this cynicism - -


2003
"the unified song of an impassioned people ignites the air
and calls upon the swiftly setting sun to climb again over pink mountains and lyrical
oceans, serenading us with her emphatic presence."

2003
"She sat Rhapsodizing a new world while the sun set,
sun set,
receding to a new home beneath the horizon of dignity
Sun set,
because its light was swallowed by the brighter light of bursting bombs
Bombs that burst in the air and gave proof through the night that the war was still there"
[addendum 2008:
and the war was still there.]

and back to 2008
To anyone I saw today, I apologize for my intense cynicism. I think all day I was waiting for that one idealistic person, just one, to respond to my cynicism with something hopeful. And all day, it didn't happen. I've seen articles and heard news anchors say that people in the US are losing interest in the war, becoming more apathetic. I don't think that's what it is. I'm no expert – but I think it's more a loss of hope than a loss of interest. We need to inspire ourselves and each other…maybe a piece of that is not waiting till March 19th each year to get out there and do something about this war that, surprise surprise, doesn't actually just affect Iraqis (or the economy for that matter) on the anniversary of the day it started, but every day since it started.
But i'm not trying to strategize…just process. and mourn. you know, maybe that's where this cynicism is coming from…i'm tired of playful protests, creative direct actions, "die-ins," where we outline bodies in colorful chalk and walk away. i don't feel playful, or creative (not in that way), or colorful. after five years, these symbolic protests feel like a time for mourning, not dancing and partying in the streets. those tactics were for the times we thought our voices might actually make a difference.

i seem unable to find my usual hopeful ending right now, so i just keep writing and writing…
i think we'll just have to hope for a more hopeful ending the next time i blog…
and hope that next year, we won't be marching in mourning again. hope that next year we'll have a real reason to dance and party in the streets.