This past week, I hiked this trail along the Oregon Coast. I did not find this trail easily. We hiked the wrong trail for awhile and when we found the right one, it should have been all the more rewarding. At first, I felt like I had wasted time. To be fair, I spend a lot of time wasting time alternating between
deeming myself lazy or efficient. These terms considered, I still
procrastinate. I have mostly procrastinating updating this blog for many
reasons. 1. I have been busy. 2. I like procrastinating. 3. I have had an
existential crisis related to social media and the constant humble-bragging
that I am guilty of and see others participating in. Humble-bragging to which my inner voice responds "NOBODY CARES." So just to be clear. This
is not a humble-brag space. This is a share-y space. I share to validate my own
experiences for myself in the same way that people take pictures to remember
their vacation. Perhaps, even with the hope that someone will take a better, more informed vacation after I do.
I also share because all the gaps that I can’t quite fill in
reminds me of all the times I have forgotten to stay present.
I have been thinking a lot about being present. I know it is
a cliche, but it is also an intrapersonal struggle that takes place daily. How
do I live in my body and experience the most of this life... efficiently? I add
that efficiently because today, I am lazy and sometimes these experiences have been an unfiltered onslaught of social information and academic chaos. This is called grad school. It
is an embodied experience in Oregon.
A lot of people ask me what I am doing in Oregon.
The simplest answer? I am here to mess some things up.
Goals
- Make the patriarchy sad with more black women climbing (and destroying) the ivory tower of academia.
- Make scholarly work about the vernacular/domestic/everyday black performance.
- Help shape responsible cultural producers.
Well, what does this mean in terms of this past year? I have
written a lot of papers. I have spent a lot of time realizing, crafting, and
attempting to articulate what “demands a black feminist response.”
Things that might “Demand a Black Feminist Response”
1. Your
teacher cannot articulate what happened in the Jim Crow South.
2. A
student describes performers as “colored people.”
3. A
teacher rants about “slavishly taking notes.”
4. A person
uses “Rachet” or “ghetto” to describe something with disdain.
5. An
uninvited guest pets your hair.
6. A person
tells you they don’t “understand why (xyz) is racist.”
Comments and reactions you should be prepared for when
articulating a “Black Feminist Response:”
1. You are
angry/aggressive/salty/sassy/some derivative of mammy
2. You are
a reverse-racist.
3. You
think/talk about race too much.
4. I am
color blind. I don’t see race (and negate any specific lived experiences that
you have had related to such imaginary things).
5. Well. In
the South...
6. Well,
how do you feel about Blazing Saddles/The Help/ Django etc?
7. So you
are saying white people can’t (fill in the blank with related topic)?
8. Guys, It’s
2014 there isn’t (fill in the blank with something that exists) anymore?
This is how you mess things up. You mess up. You get upset
when can’t articulate why ignorance makes you upset. You fume. You learn to ask
questions to avoid fuming. You fume some more when people don’t understand why
you’re asking. You ask again.
Wait. Well, how do you feel about Blazing Saddles/The Help/ Django etc?
I am not the new funny black sheriff riding into town. I am not a servant whose experiences can only be articulated by white voices. Oregon has not freed me from the racist structures that have shaped and brought me to the point in my life and 3000 miles from home.
So what have I been doing for the last year?
I have been asking a lot of questions.
I have been practicing being present, finding the wrong trails, and figuring out how to be okay with not being so efficient.
-les
-les
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