Immigrants expected to boost US housing market
Army blocks disability paperwork aid at Fort Drum (this story is disturbing--the army ordered the VA at Fort Drum not to help disabled veterans with their paperwork because when the VA did so, the soldiers would end up qualifying for more benefits, and the army didn't want that!)
A New Post-Racial Politics
With the early success of Obama in some of the primaries, commentators like Daniel Schorr seem to be falling all over themselves to declare that racism is over and that discrimination based on race is not the stumbling block that it once was. Mr. Schorr, you might be surprised to know that a book has been written about you!
...and some other sutff:
Color-Blindness, Inarticulate Reporters, and Race
The anti-feminist politics behind the pornography that "empowers" women
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
I went to the Improv Olympic on Friday with my girlfriend and a few friends to see their free show The Jam, a show where members of the audience get on stage and play some improv games. I was pretty impressed with people's talent, although I heard that a some of them were professional improv actors at the iO or other places around Chicago. In my (admittedly limited) experience with improv shows (read: improv at various clubs and shows in Chicago and on college campuses), they have tended to be overwhelmingly white affairs, both with the audience and especially with the performers. This night was no exception, with two of the people out of a total of twenty-five or thirty who got up being people of color, one an African American guy and the other a guy who appeared to be of South Asian descent.
One of the games entailed the guy who was leading the games ringing a bell after someone said a line that he didn't like or didn't think was funny, and they immediately had to come up with a different line. The African American guy was playing, and his set-up was at a concert. Nothing that anyone was saying was really very funny, and the last line of the skit was directed at him. The guy speaking, who was white, said something, but the bell was rung. He said something else, and the bell was rung again. The third time, he said something to the effect of, “Dude, I think your blackness is rubbing off on me.”
The place went nuts upon the delivery of this line. Questions of race aside, the comment wasn’t really funny—it didn’t quite make sense in the context of what they were talking about. But that one line made the place erupt in laughter louder than anything else that had been said that night. That line was the end of that game, and people were supposed to just leave the stage at that point. But the African American guy stayed on stage, put his arm around the guy leading the games, and addressed the crowd, saying, “I’ve been gone from this city for eight years. I’m glad to see that my race is as much of an issue as when I left.” He wasn’t laughing when he said this—he kind of had a grin-and-bear-it-type look on his face. People laughed when he said it, and the night went on. Every time he was up there for the rest of the night, a comment was made referencing his being black. And every time, he gave a slight smile (although he didn't look happy), shook his head or turned away from the crowd, and tried to continue on with what he was doing. It was like he knew that he had to just get through the requisite racist nonsense in order to participate in what he loved.
It was clear to me, watching this guy, that he was a huge fan of improv. He was yelling out things for the performers to do the whole night, and was cracking up hysterically at many of the jokes. And it was also clear that he had heard all of this shit before, and was trying to just plow through it to get on to the part he really enjoyed, the comedy that wasn’t about his race. Maybe I was reading into his body language and statements too much, but it appeared to me that he was caught in this struggle between participating in something that he loved, and dealing with the racist shit he had to put up with as a result of participating in it. No one else there who performed appeared to be going through this sort of internal struggle. They all got up onstage, did their thing, seemed to enjoy it, and got off. It wasn’t so easy for the person there that seemed to be enjoying the show the most.
What happened at the iO made me really wonder how white people can keep up the silly charade that we live in a color-blind society where race doesn't matter anymore. How is it that people can cling to this notion of not seeing color and of race being insignificant, yet in a situation like this all it takes is a drink or two and a light-hearted atmosphere for the racism to start flowing effortlessly?
One of the games entailed the guy who was leading the games ringing a bell after someone said a line that he didn't like or didn't think was funny, and they immediately had to come up with a different line. The African American guy was playing, and his set-up was at a concert. Nothing that anyone was saying was really very funny, and the last line of the skit was directed at him. The guy speaking, who was white, said something, but the bell was rung. He said something else, and the bell was rung again. The third time, he said something to the effect of, “Dude, I think your blackness is rubbing off on me.”
The place went nuts upon the delivery of this line. Questions of race aside, the comment wasn’t really funny—it didn’t quite make sense in the context of what they were talking about. But that one line made the place erupt in laughter louder than anything else that had been said that night. That line was the end of that game, and people were supposed to just leave the stage at that point. But the African American guy stayed on stage, put his arm around the guy leading the games, and addressed the crowd, saying, “I’ve been gone from this city for eight years. I’m glad to see that my race is as much of an issue as when I left.” He wasn’t laughing when he said this—he kind of had a grin-and-bear-it-type look on his face. People laughed when he said it, and the night went on. Every time he was up there for the rest of the night, a comment was made referencing his being black. And every time, he gave a slight smile (although he didn't look happy), shook his head or turned away from the crowd, and tried to continue on with what he was doing. It was like he knew that he had to just get through the requisite racist nonsense in order to participate in what he loved.
It was clear to me, watching this guy, that he was a huge fan of improv. He was yelling out things for the performers to do the whole night, and was cracking up hysterically at many of the jokes. And it was also clear that he had heard all of this shit before, and was trying to just plow through it to get on to the part he really enjoyed, the comedy that wasn’t about his race. Maybe I was reading into his body language and statements too much, but it appeared to me that he was caught in this struggle between participating in something that he loved, and dealing with the racist shit he had to put up with as a result of participating in it. No one else there who performed appeared to be going through this sort of internal struggle. They all got up onstage, did their thing, seemed to enjoy it, and got off. It wasn’t so easy for the person there that seemed to be enjoying the show the most.
What happened at the iO made me really wonder how white people can keep up the silly charade that we live in a color-blind society where race doesn't matter anymore. How is it that people can cling to this notion of not seeing color and of race being insignificant, yet in a situation like this all it takes is a drink or two and a light-hearted atmosphere for the racism to start flowing effortlessly?
Sunday, January 27, 2008
So I saw a street fight today...
I was heading westbound on Irving Parkto the El (the public train system in Chicago) from my girlfriend’s house this afternoon when I heard a chorus of yelling and horn-honking. As I got to Irving Park and Broadway, I saw two elderly cab drivers yelling at each other in the middle of the street. One of their cabs was partially blocking the intersection, and a bus was trying to get through. As soon as I started watching the two men started grabbing each other by the shoulders and trying to punch each other. I started to run over to the street, wanting to break up the fight but not quite sure how, when I noticed the crowd of men near the cab drivers and on all four corners cheering them on. There were at least ten, maybe fifteen men, made up of random passers-by and construction workers, yelling at the men. All of them had these humongous smiles on their faces, and were yelling things like “Knock him down!” or “Hit him in the face!” Literally all of the men that passed by except a bus driver and I were yelling for one of the men (it didn’t seem to matter which one) to do this or that to the other man. When one fell on top of the other, people went even crazier. Eventually, the two decided that their fight wasn’t worth it, and one helped the other up.
Much could be said about the fight itself, although I have no idea what it was about. But what was most disturbing to me was the reactions of the men surrounding them. The looks on their faces were sickening. It was like they were at a sporting event, only they didn’t have a specific team they were rooting for. These two men were at least in their sixties, if not older, and both appeared somewhat frail. They were almost fighting in slow motion—after they would make some kind of move on each other, they would wait for a period of a few seconds, like they had to catch their breaths before moving again. These men could’ve done serious damage to each other, especially when the one fell on top of the other. Yet the men surrounding them were acting like the two were prizefighters in a boxing ring.
The whole encounter made me think a bit about sports and masculinity. The surrounding men’s reactions showed no regard for either of the men fighting, but rather simply for the desire to see violence transpire in front of them. It wasn’t about the people and their conflict, but how their conflict was carried out and could gratify and excite the men watching. They treated it like an entertaining sports event. I wonder how the viewing of sports affected this spectacle of violence was treated. I know there have been studies done on participation in sport and propensity towards violence (like this, for example), but I wonder about watching sports and attitudes towards violence. The first thing that comes to my mind is the excellent documentary by the Media Education Foundation “Wrestling with Manhood,” but it’s easy to say that grossly exaggerated violence like pro wrestling has an effect on perceptions of violence. But what about sports like basketball and football? Admittedly, I am somewhat of a basketball fan NBA’s channel on YouTube and watch the highlight reels on a regular basis), but the hypermasculinity on display during those games is so disturbing to me. I mean, the ultimate play in basketball is to dunk in someone’s face, as they’re trying to block you. It makes commentators, fans, and players go nuts, oftentimes with the player doing some kind of in-your-face taunt to the defender afterwards. And we all know of the hypermasculine behaviors constantly taking place in football.
Regardless of these questions about larger social trends, what I saw today was deeply disturbing and really showed me the tangible effects of the valorization of these hypermasculine behaviors. I saw two old men engage in a fistfight in the middle of a busy intersection and an entire crowd of men gratified by the sight of it. And it deeply disturbed me.
Much could be said about the fight itself, although I have no idea what it was about. But what was most disturbing to me was the reactions of the men surrounding them. The looks on their faces were sickening. It was like they were at a sporting event, only they didn’t have a specific team they were rooting for. These two men were at least in their sixties, if not older, and both appeared somewhat frail. They were almost fighting in slow motion—after they would make some kind of move on each other, they would wait for a period of a few seconds, like they had to catch their breaths before moving again. These men could’ve done serious damage to each other, especially when the one fell on top of the other. Yet the men surrounding them were acting like the two were prizefighters in a boxing ring.
The whole encounter made me think a bit about sports and masculinity. The surrounding men’s reactions showed no regard for either of the men fighting, but rather simply for the desire to see violence transpire in front of them. It wasn’t about the people and their conflict, but how their conflict was carried out and could gratify and excite the men watching. They treated it like an entertaining sports event. I wonder how the viewing of sports affected this spectacle of violence was treated. I know there have been studies done on participation in sport and propensity towards violence (like this, for example), but I wonder about watching sports and attitudes towards violence. The first thing that comes to my mind is the excellent documentary by the Media Education Foundation “Wrestling with Manhood,” but it’s easy to say that grossly exaggerated violence like pro wrestling has an effect on perceptions of violence. But what about sports like basketball and football? Admittedly, I am somewhat of a basketball fan NBA’s channel on YouTube and watch the highlight reels on a regular basis), but the hypermasculinity on display during those games is so disturbing to me. I mean, the ultimate play in basketball is to dunk in someone’s face, as they’re trying to block you. It makes commentators, fans, and players go nuts, oftentimes with the player doing some kind of in-your-face taunt to the defender afterwards. And we all know of the hypermasculine behaviors constantly taking place in football.
Regardless of these questions about larger social trends, what I saw today was deeply disturbing and really showed me the tangible effects of the valorization of these hypermasculine behaviors. I saw two old men engage in a fistfight in the middle of a busy intersection and an entire crowd of men gratified by the sight of it. And it deeply disturbed me.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Why I started this blog
I haven't been an avid reader of blogs for very long, and judging by the amount of blogs on other people's blogrolls, maybe I'm still not. I only read a few of them right now, partially because I don't have enough time to keep up on scores of them. But I was drawn to the medium because of the unique opportunity you can get in addressing the very serious things happening in the world in a very personal way. I'm a college student right now, and in my day-to-day academic work, there certainly isn't much of a space for that.
In the social sciences (I'm a sociology student), we are supposed to remain value-neutral as we go through our work. Of course, this is impossible, but we're all supposed to do the best we can with it. I can do work like that, that pretends like I don't have a position on what I'm talking about, and I think I'm good at it, but what really got me turned on to sociology in the first place was works by authors who tackled these issues in very personal ways. I first became interested in race after reading two books in particular: The Heart of Whiteness by Robert Jensen
and White Like Me by Tim Wise. Both are books written by white men that are honest, personal, and self-critical that made me interrogate and question my own life in ways that "value-free" works have never made me do. Around the same time, I read bell hooks' Killing Rage, which introduced me to the idea of race, gender, and class being inextricably linked. Killing Rage was the first of many bell hooks books I would read, and hooks was an invaluable starting point for me coming to terms with oppression.
What really made me decide to start this blog, though, was reading Robert Jensen’s latest book, Getting Off. The book’s subtitle is “Pornography and the End of Masculinity,” and in his discussion and analysis of porn and masculinity, he includes his own life experiences, both with porn and coming to terms with what it means to be a man and what it means to be a man who is conditioned by porn. I was really moved through reading it, and wanted to try to make some kind of contribution of my own to the discussion of intersecting oppressions—both how I as a white middle class heterosexual male contribute to it, and how I try to struggle against it.
So maybe none of y’all have any interest in reading what I’m writing. Overall, I guess I don’t really have any reason you should. I’m not a particularly witty writer, and that seems to be a prereq for blogs these days. And I’m not audacious enough to think that what I have to say is new or particularly insightful. So, if nothing else, even if nobody else ever reads a word of these posts, I hope that my efforts to make things personal furthers me on the road to coming to terms with my role in oppression. Maybe some day I’ll have the gall to hope that it can help others, as well.
Interview with Robert Jensen on his book, from my good friends at Media Mouse:
NPR discussion of his book The Heart of Whiteness
In the social sciences (I'm a sociology student), we are supposed to remain value-neutral as we go through our work. Of course, this is impossible, but we're all supposed to do the best we can with it. I can do work like that, that pretends like I don't have a position on what I'm talking about, and I think I'm good at it, but what really got me turned on to sociology in the first place was works by authors who tackled these issues in very personal ways. I first became interested in race after reading two books in particular: The Heart of Whiteness by Robert Jensen
and White Like Me by Tim Wise. Both are books written by white men that are honest, personal, and self-critical that made me interrogate and question my own life in ways that "value-free" works have never made me do. Around the same time, I read bell hooks' Killing Rage, which introduced me to the idea of race, gender, and class being inextricably linked. Killing Rage was the first of many bell hooks books I would read, and hooks was an invaluable starting point for me coming to terms with oppression.
What really made me decide to start this blog, though, was reading Robert Jensen’s latest book, Getting Off. The book’s subtitle is “Pornography and the End of Masculinity,” and in his discussion and analysis of porn and masculinity, he includes his own life experiences, both with porn and coming to terms with what it means to be a man and what it means to be a man who is conditioned by porn. I was really moved through reading it, and wanted to try to make some kind of contribution of my own to the discussion of intersecting oppressions—both how I as a white middle class heterosexual male contribute to it, and how I try to struggle against it.
So maybe none of y’all have any interest in reading what I’m writing. Overall, I guess I don’t really have any reason you should. I’m not a particularly witty writer, and that seems to be a prereq for blogs these days. And I’m not audacious enough to think that what I have to say is new or particularly insightful. So, if nothing else, even if nobody else ever reads a word of these posts, I hope that my efforts to make things personal furthers me on the road to coming to terms with my role in oppression. Maybe some day I’ll have the gall to hope that it can help others, as well.
Interview with Robert Jensen on his book, from my good friends at Media Mouse:
NPR discussion of his book The Heart of Whiteness
Monday, January 14, 2008
First post!
Although no one will probably read this, I'm pumped to be writing the first post in this new blog! ::pause for cheers, applause:: I'm excited to begin posting my thoughts on here, for whoever I can get to read it to listen.
When you think about it, starting a blog is a fairly pompous thing for a person to create. I mean, where do I get off thinking that what I have to say is so important that I have to create a blog so that the entire world can have access to my reflections on oppression, that anyone searching for things on race or gender will be able to find my blog through a simple Google search? Who am I to think I am important enough to think, much less act, on these things?
But somehow, someway, I have fought through these feelings and created the online thought publisher you now stare at. We'll see if I use it on a regular basis, if anyone other than myself reads it on a regular basis, and whether what I have to say is smart enough for anyone to give two shits about.
When you think about it, starting a blog is a fairly pompous thing for a person to create. I mean, where do I get off thinking that what I have to say is so important that I have to create a blog so that the entire world can have access to my reflections on oppression, that anyone searching for things on race or gender will be able to find my blog through a simple Google search? Who am I to think I am important enough to think, much less act, on these things?
But somehow, someway, I have fought through these feelings and created the online thought publisher you now stare at. We'll see if I use it on a regular basis, if anyone other than myself reads it on a regular basis, and whether what I have to say is smart enough for anyone to give two shits about.
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