Deconstructing "Interracial"...

So I'm in Vancouver visiting the cousins. We're at Pin Pin, the Filipino eatery, and everyone is snickering over the latest family joke as the row of Pinoys stare across the table at their White significant others, some of whom are daringly digging into the mystery meat, dinaguan. Being as unabashedly un-PC as we are, there is talk about accidentally "wiping-out the Filipino blood in our family" if the kids keep on dating and marrying Caucasians--an obvious pattern considering all four of us are in mixed-race relationships...

But besides some minor cultural barriers (ie. never referring to filipino elders by their first name--EVER--but instead using the universal Tita/Tito and Lola/Lolo--unless you want to risk a harsh slipper to the rear end; or accepting the fact that Filipinos will always eat fish with their hands since it's the most common sense way to pick out the bones), all of our boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, and wives have embraced our colourful family dynamic, while our Pinoy relatives have lovingly welcomed the in-laws with open arms despite the obvious interracial-ness of our relationships.

Sadly, I know the issue would have been a lot more controversial just a generation ago...

When my aunt arrived in Canada over 40 years ago, she was only 22 years-old. Winnipeg's Health Science Centre was recruiting nurses from abroad to join their growing team and my auntie, straight out of Nursing School, was forturnate enough to be chosen for the program. She was elated. The hospital was acting as her official sponsor so Auntie would have no problem gaining her permanent residency, and the accelerated training program would allow her to receive her Canadian RN credentials in no time. When it was all said and done, she would become the first Filipina nurse--EVER--at the Health Science Centre.

Somewhere along the way, Auntie had started dating. A young and strapping army sergeant began courting her and soon after, they were married. And even though the couple were happy and successful with up-and-coming careers, there was an undercurrent of disconnect brewing on her side of the family.

Auntie's new husband was Black and not everyone was on-board with this mixed-race marriage.

And without getting into the specifics of this family drama, I will tell you that for awhile, things did get a little ugly. Hurtful words were spoken, spiteful letters were written, and at times, entire family bonds were lost on account of their interracial courtship. To think, all of this fuss began over two shades of brown....

But that was then and this is now.

Our family has come full-circle from those days. Family gatherings are now a halo-halo of our multicultural roots--boisterous conversations in English laced with the native Cebuano, a bunch of White guys getting schooled while attempting to take on the Titas and Lolas in a game of Pusoy, and a husband proudly serving-up his first dish of pancit palabok after his mother-in-law gave him her secret recipe...

What Makes You a Filipino?

What is the essence of a culture?


Is it language? Values? History?


Can we possibly pinpoint a single attribute that authenticates one's culture?

Recently, I discovered the Speak Out series on Youtube that originally aired on The Filipino Channel. A Filipino-centric talk show, Speak Out explores relevant issues in a town hall meeting-style forum.


So what happened when they got a group of Philippine and American-born Filipinos together to define the Pinoy identity ?


Well, let's just say it involved a heated debate about the subjective essence of Filipino-ness (you can watch the program HERE):

Assimilating into American culture...

• "The message that I received was that my Filipino-ness was not good enough. And that I will not be accepted by my accent and by the way I dress. In essence, I have to shed my self of my Filipino-ness."
  

The language debate...

• "They expect us to explain our [Filipino] club...you know...our mission statement in Tagalog. And then they came up and said, 'We don't think you should call yourself Filipino because you can't even speak the language!'"

• "How are you going to tell me that you're a Filipino organization and you can't even speak Tagalog?! The essence--the foundation--of that organization...you can't even explain!"
  

What is American?

• "What does Americanization mean or what is the American Dream? And who is American? When we think about this...when we think about this concept...most people think about White folks. So if a Filipino wants to be a Filipino American, are you trying to be White or trying to have the ideals of America--of freedom and democracy, and have wealth and privilege?"

What is Filipino?

• "Let's just reverse the question: What does it mean to be Filipino? Does it mean chinellas (slippers) in the winter? Or does it mean putting our parents on a pedestal? "
  

Needless to say, the program stirred up a lot of strong feelings regarding the cultural authenticity of a Filipino, and I have to say I was getting pretty riled-up in the process! I guess the whole debate caught me off guard since I didn't realize such a strong rift existed between these two groups of Filipinos...but then...after thinking about it, I started to get it.

How can we strip one of their Filipino-ness on account of the fact that they may not speak Tagalog, but instead speak "fluent" English? Many of our parents believed that raising us in North America accent-free would allow us to become more successful within the larger culture, having encountered their own challenges with discrimination when immigrating to the new country. But the the seed of European superiority was obviously planted long ago...

Why do we often convince new Filipino immigrants that being American or being Canadian trumps being Pinoy? What is really dividing us? Why do Filipino American and Canadian kids often ignore their Philippine-born counterparts at school? Is it really because of their accents? OR is it because new Filipino immigrants remind us that we came from a place that's often been suppressed by our "good English" and North American privilege?

So what makes you a Filipino?

Family
loyalty is layers
of strength
as many Pinays
runs through my veins
my brown skin
at times
triggered the taunts
that have lingered
along
with Those dark times
All Pinoys share
the mountain
from which I see the world
and the way
that world
wishes to see me.

Video Cop-out: Def Poetry Jam Featuring Filipino American poet--Marlon Unas Esguerra

In my search for Filipino poets on YouTube, I found Marlon Unas Esguerra's moving spoken word performance from Def Poetry. His poem really struck a nerve with me...

Fumbling Towards Equality

My first experience with racism occurred in elementary school. I was around 8 years-old at the time, and my mom had just dropped me off at the playground before classes started. On my way to the monkey bars, or tire swings, or whatever fit my fancy on that particular day, I heard this grating little voice heckling me from behind. As the voice got closer, I started to get a good look at the chubby kid taunting me, “You’re a n*****!” Honestly, I didn’t really know how to react to this little jerk’s comments. What I should have done, was walk right up to that mini bigot and kick him in the nuts, but alas, hindsight’s only 20/20. I knew he was calling me a really bad name, but I categorized it in the same way a child does for shit, fuck, bitch, etc. So as far as I can recall, the school day carried on like this little occurrence never happened.

That night, I somehow let the whole story slip to my mom. It probably started off like, “Mom, what’s a n*****?” And boy, was she ever PISSED—as in downright LIVID! If I’ve learned one thing in my 26 years on this planet is to watch out when a Filipino mom is angry! Seriously, they are downright scary! Needless to say, we marched right into the principal’s office the very next morning and my mom unleashed the beast. She did such a great job that not only did the little guy get that dreaded phone call home, but I scored an official apology out of the deal. Not a surprise considering I had the world heavyweight mom on my side of the ring.

But I wasn’t going to get off that easily. When I got home from school that day, my mom and I had a little sit-down. And that’s when she basically educated me on how cruel that “N-word” really was—how Black people were once treated like slaves and how that one word symbolized their years of oppression. She obviously gave me the simplified version at the time, minus the lynchings and the rapes and the KKK, but I still got it. But I somehow knew that after learning this dark truth, I would never be the same.

So now, as a Filipina Canadian in her late twenties, that certainly wouldn’t be the last time I’d have to deflect a racial slur. I’ve been called “chink” and “paki” since then, but to me, neither has carried the same weight as the “N-word.” And while I’m obviously not Black, and therefore, truly cannot understand the very magnitude of that word, I am deeply saddened when I think how damaging that experience would be for an 8 year-old Black child. Just to be minding your own business while playing in the playground and then BOOM—some dumb little kid, who probably doesn’t even know what that word means, drops the “N-bomb.” Then what? That dumb little kid gets reprimanded by the school, his/her parents get involved, end of story, right? Unfortunately, the world is a lot more complicated than that.

The bottom line is that hate does not exist in a vacuum. This is pretty obvious. I don’t believe that people are inherently evil and thus become the Hitlers, or Pol Pots, or top Klansmen from birth. It isn’t biology that spreads racism and intolerance, ideologies pursued in ignorance do. And whose minds are the most impressionable of such beliefs? Well our children, of course. We all know that kids are like sponges.

And the problem is obviously not just black or white either. There are Asians who hate Black people, Arabs who hate Asians, White people who hate Aboriginals, and Aboriginals who hate Whites. So what is the reasoning behind such racism? "All Black men are dangerous.” “All Arabs are terrorists.” “All Aboriginals are lazy drunks.” “All White people are racists.” Really sound logic, eh?

But that’s the kind of intolerance that’s easy to see. What about systemic discrimination--the kind of intolerance that often flies below the radar of the PC police? Well, it’s just as insidious. It’s the overrepresentation of Aboriginals in Canadian penitentiaries, while African Americans and Hispanics pack the prisons down South. And it's the disturbing way more than 40 sex trade workers (most of whom being Aboriginal women) went missing from Vancouver's downtown Eastside over the last thirty years--without so much of an RCMP investigation--until only 6 years ago. Like I said, systemic intolerance is insidious.

And while I haven't even touched on the implications regarding religion and borders, this post is already slipping into a state of doom and gloom. So instead, let's see how the glass looks when its half full.

A few years ago I had the pleasure of knowing an amazing youth group, known as Youth Against Racism (YAR), through the Intercultural Association of Victoria. Each of the youth fell between the ages of 12 and 18, and seemed to represent quite the multicultural mosaic which covered the map from China to Haiti to Russia.

YAR's big project during that year was to create their very own documentary. When I say create, these adolescents wrote the script, directed each scene, and starred in the short film aptly entitled, Sifting Through the Layers. And if you haven't already guessed, the film explored the realities of racism as seen through their own experiences.

And was it ever a success! These ambitious youth effectively tackled the complexities of racism and structural discrimination through a powerful commentary that came straight from their hearts. YAR explored the need for cultural visibility in media and pop culture, the distorted racialized messages sent by the beauty industry, and the undeniable power of education. In fact, Sifting Through the Layers has now become a DVD resource package in which teachers and youth workers can facilitate lessons around the subject. Ultimately, this really is a brilliant example of youth empowering other youth.

So as I bring this story to a close, I would like to go off with a bang with the help of Dr. Maya Angelou:

When we come to it

We, this people, on this wayward, floating body

Created on this earth, of this earth

Have the power to fashion for this earth

A climate where every man and every woman

Can live freely without sanctimonious piety

Without crippling fear

When we come to it

We must confess that we are the possible

We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world

That is when, and only when

We come to it.

--from the last two stanzas of "A Brave and Startling Truth"

In Memoriam: Pickton's Six (proven) Victims

On Sunday night, one long-awaited event dominated Canadian news networks: the official verdict of the Robert Pickton trial. Once the jury had spoken, Pickton joined the likes of one of the country's most prolific serial killers as he was found guilty on all 6 counts of second-degree murder. While many were initially dismayed by the seemingly lesser charges of homicide, lead Crown councel, Michael Petrie, reassured the media that the only difference between a first-degree and second-degree charge was in the culprit's parole eligibility. Pickton's second-degree sentencing means that he would receive life in prison while being eligible for parole after 10 years. A first-degree charge would also result in life imprisonment, however the accused would only be eligible for parole after 25 years behind bars. But as Pickton has 6 counts of murder under his belt, his chances for parole seem pretty dire. He will be sentenced on Tuesday and still faces 20 additional counts of murder in the first-degree.

As the media has since moved onto the verdict of the Conrad Black trial, I would like to turn your attention to the victims of Pickton's misogynistic crimes. The real story lies behind the lives of these women who were brutally murdered and soon forgotten on account of their work in the sex trade. They deserve to be remembered.

Andrea Joesbury was a vibrant young woman with a new lease on life. She had a troubled childhood and ran away from her home in Victoria in search of a better life. At only 16 years-old, Andrea had been lured onto the streets of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside by her drug dealer boyfriend. Once excelling in drama and sports in school, she was soon trapped in a world of drugs and prostitution.

But her future still looked bright.

Having spent nearly 7 years on the streets, Andrea was in the process of kicking her long-time heroin addiction with the help of Vancouver's methadone program. In her last phone conversation with her grandfather, the young woman expressed excitement in turning her life around and eventually moving back to the Island.

Sadly, Andrea did not have the chance to follow through on her dreams. Alarm bells started to go off as she missed her daily methadone dose at a local clinic. On June 8, 2001, Andrea was reported missing.

(photo courtesy of Victoria's Time Colonist)

Sereena Abotsway had a heart of gold and a hearty laugh to match. She had been raised by her foster parents until she was 17, but Sereena had started to reflect serious behaviourial issues associated with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. She was then moved into a group home for troubled teens. It was there that Sereena was introduced to drugs and soon found herself on the streets of the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, using sex to support her drug habit.

But after years on this path, Sereena had found solace in Christianity. She had started attending a church, located on ground-zero of Vancouver's most notorious strip, and had even been baptized in the ocean tide of Burard Inlet.

Ironically, Sereena had also become a strong advocate for the missing women from Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. Many of those lost were her friends and she had participated in community rallies in order to pressure local law enforcement to investigate each of their disappearances.

Sereena became one of these tragic statistics once she disappeared in August 2001

(photo courtesy of missingpeople.net)

Marnie Frey was a generous person--so generous, that she often came home from school with missing articles of clothing since she gave away pieces of her wardrobe to friends in need. Even when she became a young mother at 18, Marnie was still known for sharing her formula, diapers, and baby clothes with other moms in order to lend a helping hand.

And her bright spirit didn't stop there. Marnie loved animals. Growing up in Campbell River, her family had a little chicken coop on their property. When Marnie was 10 years-old, she became extremely distraught when one of her chickens was suddenly found dead. So in order to placate her daughter's pleas, Marnie's father, Rick, agreed to have an autopsy done on the deceased fowl. What was the cause of death? Apparently, the poor chicken had swallowed a nail.

But as the sad story goes, Marnie unfortunately got tangled up in drugs and eventually ended up on Vancouver's Downtown Eastside as a sex trade worker. The last time her parents heard from her was right before her birthday in 1997. While Marnie was last seen on August 1997, she wouldn't be reported missing until an entire year later.

(photo courtesy of the Vancouver Sun)

Brenda Wolfe was often known as a "guardian angel" as she worked as both a "street bodyguard" in order to provide protection for those working on the streets, and a bouncer/server at Downtown Eastside's Balmoral. But despite the tough exterior, many remember her as a caring and gentle soul.

While Brenda originally came from southern Alberta, the events surrounding her descent into drugs and the streets of Vancouver is highly speculated.

Like the tragic fate of so many before her, Brenda also became one of the dozens of missing women on February 1999.
(photo courtesy of Vancouver 24 Hours)

Mona Wilson had endured a heart-wrenching childhood marred by both physical and sexual abuse at the hands of her biological family. When she was finally taken into protective custody, Mona was welcomed into the home of her foster family.

At 14, the ministry moved her out of the safey of her long-time foster home into another. Two years later, Mona was walking the downtown streets of Vancouver's notorious Eastside in order to support her emerging heroin addiction.

As Mona became one of the city's many missing women in November 2001, her foster dad, Ken Garley, laments, "She would have been a great wife and great mother, she had true love in her heart."
(photo courtesy of missingpeople.net)

Georgina Papin was a loving mother of 6 who had fallen on hard times. As a child, she was bounced between foster homes and residential schools in Alberta.

Despite Georgina's downfalls as a drug addict, her daughters, Kristina and Ruth Bateman, still had fond memories of their mother. Since Georgina was a member of the Enoch Cree First Nations outside of Edmonton, she really wanted her daughters to be in touch with their Native heritage so she encouraged them to attend Cree powwows and taught them the secret to making the perfect bannock (traditional biscuit).

When she finally jumped on the wagon of sobriety in an attempt to gain custody of her kids, Georgina went missing in March 1999. However, her disappearance wouldn't be reported until two years later.

CTV's "Missing Lives" profiles

missingnativewomen.org
orato.com

Vancouver Eastside Missing Women

Vancouver 24 Hours--The Pickton Trial

Victoria Times Colonist's profiles of the six women

Storytelling Our Lives

"Home is where the heart is. My heart is at home." --from "Storytelling Our Lives" project

Last year, I had the pleasure of working on the Intercultural Centre of Victoria's "Storytelling Our Lives" project. It was a community-based program which sought to empower immigrant and refugee women, as well as women of colour, through a series of workshops appealing to a variety of modes of self-expression--theatre, music, dance, and like the name suggests, storytelling. Each of these workshops eventually culminated into a theatrical production of the same name put on by the Puente Theatre.

As you can imagine, participants came from all walks of life and represented various cultures. There were women from Ethiopia, Korea, the Philippines, China, Sweden, Chile, Bangladesh, Mexico, Iran, India, the UK, and of course Aboriginal women from Canada. Even though these women started off as strangers at the beginning of each workshop, they came out as sisters, mothers, and daughters by the end.

The essence of each event could be summed up in one word: powerful. Since I was piecing together a story about the project, I was originally going to sit on the sidelines and watch from afar. But I soon realized that was not an option as I got roped into every single activity--and absolutely loved it! Not only did you get to hear the diverse voices of women often silenced by racism, sexism, and language, cultural, or religious barriers, I had the privilege of listening to their individual songs, while learning to dance their dances.

Most notable of all the activities would have to be both the storytelling and voice workshops. As each woman was encouraged to share a special story from either her family or culture, this lovely First Nations women brought all of us to tears as she candidly took us all along on her spiritual journey. From her tortured childhood within the confines of the residential school system to her current work in building a cultural revitalization program for her band, this amazing women shared how she eventually found her own peace in her nation's special spiritual relationship with the land. It was truly moving.

During the voice workshop, an exuberant vocal coach led the group through a series of exercises that helped the women ease into the idea of singing their lungs out to a bunch of strangers. In the beginning, one would get the sense that most of the group was extremely uncomfortable with the prospect of singing...well...anything. Some participants even decided to sit-out during the first few activities. However, this all changed once the women realized how great they sounded together. Since the first language of most of the women was one other than English, the coach designed an activity to showcase their diversity. As the women were broken into various "language groups," each section was to sing "Home is where the heart is/My heart is at home" in their designated language. Working like dominoes, the first group would start, then subsequent sections would layer each of their songs until the group formed one harmonized voice. As I looked around the room, I realized that we were all sharing a very special moment with one another. And at that melodic climax, I couldn't help but think how strong and beautiful our voices sounded as they resonated together as one.

"Picasso of the North" Dies at 75

photo courtesy of Louie Palu

Canada mourns the death of one of its most treasured icons--Norval Morrisseau. Waging a long-time battle with Parkinson's disease, Morrisseau passed away on Tuesday after suffering from related health complications.

Morrisseau was a groundbreaking painter and Grand Shaman of the Anishinabe (Ojibwa) nation. As a self-taught artist, he revitalized Ojibwa iconography by creating the Woodlands art movement which showcases his culture's visual artistry. An honorary inductee into the Order of Canada and a recipient of the the eagle feather, the highest honor of the Assembly of First Nations, Morrisseau's critical acclaim reached far beyond national borders. In 1989, Paris' Museum of Modern Art showcased his work in the Magicians of the Earth exhibit, calling Morrisseau the "Picasso of the North."


But like many significant artists before him, Morrisseau's greatness was often eclipsed by his personal troubles. As a victim of Canada's residential school system, the future painter endured sexual abuse by a priest when he was a young boy. This painful experience led Morrisseau to drop out of school in the fourth grade to pursue work as a miner.

After a vision came to him in a dream, Morrisseau turned to a canvas and paintbrush for self-expression in 1959. Three years later, the Anishinabe artist was putting on his breakthrough art exhibition at Jack Pollock's gallery. And that's when the people had spoken. Each of Morrisseau's featured pieces sold-out within 24 hours of the show's opening.

And as his artistic vision began to take Canada by storm, Morrisseau's personal demons began taking on a life of their own. Before long, he began his dark descent into addiction and eventually homelessness. Morrisseau started shaking hands with devil by trading his valuable paintings with a Toronto mobster in exchange for cocaine and booze, and soon began wondering self-destructively through both Canada and the States. Sadly, the painter finally hit rock bottom on the streets of Vancouver.









And as fate will have, this is also when Morrisseau's life began to change...for the better.







He met a street kid named Gabor Vidas and together, they became each other's crutch. Once they got off the streets, Morrisseau jumped on the wagon and even took Vidas under his wing as his adopted son.



So like the triumphant phoenix, Morrisseau re-emerged--amidst experiences of abuse, addiction, and self destruction--as one of the greatest artists of his time. Needless to say, Canada will miss him.









Morrisseau's Bio
CBC Story on Morrisseau
Collection of Morrisseau's paintings

Hate's Twisted Logic

"For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others." -- Nelson Mandela



Today, I was cruising by one of my favourite blogs and became completely struck by their last post. It was a heated response to the blatantly racist sentiments expressed by a shameless hate monger on a South African blog. While I won't shed light on this individual's identity because I wouldn't want to intentionally link him to my site, I will try to logically critique his hateful rant without dropping too many F-bombs along the way. In the meantime, I will refer to this individual as X. (Please note that the following is a highly censored version of how I really feel about X's perspective)...

So the most disturbing of X's claims is: "Blacks deserved apartheid fair and square." If that isn't abhorrent enough, he even goes on to say, "In fact, blacks were treated way too softly; [South] African authorities made the fatal mistake of thinking of blacks as HUMANS, an item of faith which has been debunked by black African HISTORY (and ‘African-American’ behaviour in the civilised world). By ‘civilised world’ I mean WHITE-ruled states."

Not only is X's diatribe downright deplorable, it blatantly disregards both the historical and sociological implications of colonialism. First of all, to have the audacity to even suggest that Black Africans deserved apartheid is just as reasonable as saying that every individual who was ever lynched, raped, or murdered somehow deserved that fate. According to X's twisted reasoning, I would imagine that even slavery would also qualify as merely a deserved consequence of the grand plan. Having your villages pillaged, women raped, land stolen, cultures suppressed, languages lost, religions vilified, and not to mention being beaten, shackled, and shipped over to the New World as a "savage" would somehow all be justified in the name of civilizing Africa. Wow, X, you really provide one convincing argument.

If X had bothered to do any of his homework, he would realize that the colonial machine can only blame itself for the social, political, and economic fall-out facing Africa and other previously colonized nations. Perhaps X didn't realize that stripping entire societies of their traditional ways of life might somehow have devastating long-term effects on the system, or how the breakdown of colonial enterprises such as cash crop agriculture would also contribute to the continent's current instability. Not surprisingly, X didn't consider how colonial cartography, that conveniently ignored traditional religious and tribal territories, might play a part in Africa's civil conflicts. What about issues regarding the forced dislocation and diaspora of traditional African communities? Couldn't this trauma also be enough to have a negative ripple-effect for future generations? But according to X's worldview, such civilized powers are apparently infallible.

And clearly, X must have been sniffing glue when he blindly questioned the very humanity of both Black African and African American communities. Perhaps the following list will help sober him up enough to refrain from passing on such blatant garbage as truth--Nelson Mandela, Winnie Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr., Coretta Scott King, Alice Walker, Audre Lorde, Malcom X, Rosa Parks, C.L.R. James, Maya Angelou, Sojourner Truth, George Washington Carver, Phillis Wheatley, William Edward Burghardt DuBois, Toni Morrison, Spike Lee, James Brown, Duke Ellington, Akua Lezli Hope, Langston Hughes, Billie Holiday, Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Qunicy Jones, Carol Mosely-Braun, Sidney Poitier, Sammy Davis Jr., Derek Walcott, Patricia Hill Collins, Harry Jerome, Portia White, Mary Ann Shadd... These individuals are all a mere tip of the iceberg when reflecting the enormous social, cultural, academic, artistic, athletic, scientific, technological and political contributions Black men and women have made around the world. This truth, X, is undeniable. Neither your hate nor your bigotry will ever take that away...

Still I Rise--Dr. Maya Angelou

This goes down as one of my favourite poems of all time, written by none other than the great Dr. Maya Angelou. As you may know, Ben Harper also did a rendition of her poem in his song, "I'll Rise," off the Welcome to the Cruel World album. Learn more about Dr. Angelou here...

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?'

Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard'

Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

Carnival Mirror of Crime

“These CEO’s, man…If you’re that ruthless, you’re a scary dude. I tell you, now when I walk past a little gang banger, I don’t even blink. But if I see a [W]hite dude with a Wall Street Journal, I haul ass. Before I walk past the Arthur Andersen building, I cut through the projects. If you cut through the projects, you may just lose what you have on you that day. I ain’t never been mugged of my whole future." –Wanda Sykes, comedienne (originally appeared on Tongue Untied, and borrowed from Paul’s Justice Page )

The insidious nature of corporate greed really isn’t news to us, is it? From Sicko’s powerful commentary on the corruption underlying America’s HMOs, to the infamous implosion of Enron, white collar crime pervades our global culture. But you can’t really critique corporations without pointing a finger at the very law that actually enables these questionable business practices. I mean if top Canadian and American government officials weren’t so busy shaking hands with these powerful entities in the name of "I scratch your back and you scratch mine"ethics, perhaps policymakers would reform the current system that appears to be safeguarding white collar corruption.

How does the law enable corporate criminals? Well, Dr. Paul Leighton and Dr. Jeffrey Reiman provide some very convincing answers regarding the American criminal system. Reiman’s compelling The Rich Get Richer and the Poor Get Prison: Ideology, Class, and Criminal Justice, and Leighton’s companion website, Paul’s Justice Page, both provide thought-provoking analyses on the subject.

At the heart of their arguments, corporate crime essentially thrives in a judicial landscape in which they are structurally favoured (Well, even I could have told them that). Reiman reasons that the disparities between the rich and the poor, the conditions and overuse of the American penitentiary system (ie. the prison industrial complex), the accessibility of guns, and the flawed drug policy (ie. War on Drugs) are four of the main sources of crime in America. I would say his most compelling argument is how he likens American criminal law to that of a carnival mirror. If the popular consensus of the typical criminal is that of a young minority living in poverty, than a distorted criminal system can only follow. According to Reiman, such a system even “weeds out the wealthy” as the poor are more inclined to be arrested, charged, convicted, and have longer prison sentences than that of middle-class or upper-class criminals.

And Leighton’s stance follows Reiman’s scenario quite closely in, A Tale of Two Criminals: We’re Tougher on Corporate Criminals, But They Still Don’t Get What They Deserve. He effectively compares and contrasts the experiences of two very different criminals— petty thief, Leandro Andrade, and white collar culprit, Andrew Fastow. During his criminal career, Andrade was involved in a series of small-time, non-violent heists involving shoplifting from a K-mart and residential burglaries to support his drug habit. Since his last crime would mark his third straight conviction triggering the Three Strikes law under California’s criminal system, Andrade was destined to spend over 50 years in an American penitentiary as a result of stealing under $200 worth of goods. Fair enough because he’s just another dirty criminal, right?

Well, let’s look at Mr. Fastow’s story. I don’t think he really needs an extensive introduction so I’ll try to make it brief. As former chief financial officer of Enron, Fastow embezzled over $200 million from employee investments and pensions as a result of fraudulent banking transactions. He was eventually indicted on 109 felony counts including obstruction of justice, conspiracy, and securities fraud—not to mention the emotional anguish he caused thousands of former employees as he financially crippled their futures. When it was all said and done, Fastow entered a plea bargain that would get the lucky guy a mere 10 years behind bars.

I guess Leighton’s critique is pretty obvious. Neither Andrade or Fastow are innocent here but do the ends really justify the criminal means?

**NOTE: I will make sure to follow-up this post from the perspective of the Canadian criminal system. Also, I only included a very brief overview of Reiman's and Leighton positions. For greater analysis on these issues, I would recommend reading Reiman's book and Leighton's site.

Doggone Dog Digging Himself into a Deeper Ditch...Ahem...George Washington's Slaves' Grave?!?

As if shamelessly dropping the "N-bomb" wasn't bad enough! Shame on you, Dog!

Filipina: What's in a name?

The word, "Filipina," is associated with:
a) mail-order brides
b) sex tourism (ie. White guys seeking "Filipina treasure" overseas)
c) Asian porn industry
d) all of the above

Seriously, I think our name has been dragged through the mud enough. Don't you think? I can get into the political, economic, and cultural ramifications of the Philippines' long colonial history, but that's a whole other can of worms. Basically, as we all know, the above stereotypes are a result of systemic issues regarding power, sexism, and the globalization of popular culture. But as history reveals, a lot of this is old news. Equally problematic is the lack of authentic Filipina representation within popular (Western) culture and academia known to the general public. If you don't believe me, try naming five Filipina Canadian or American actresses, musicians, artists, academics, feminists, politicians, activists, etc., that even the average Joe would recognize. See, it's harder than you think, isn't it? Allow me to further elaborate:

When I was a teenager growing up in Canada, I was really into the local punk rock/ ska scene. Folks, I'm not talking about Simple Plan here either. I followed the hardcore acts of SNFU and DOA, while skankin' away at Planet Smashers's shows. Before I get carried away and start drifting off into nostalgic space, let me get to my point. Do you think there were any other Filipinas running around in those chaotic circle pits? Nope. Hell, there were hardly any people of colour at those shows for that matter. And it wasn't like I lived in small-town-hicksville either. This was like a major urban, Canadian city in which no other Filipinas or Asians enjoyed the likes of punk rock culture. At the time, I felt I had earned a level of street cred for being the lone Filipina enjoying this subculture, but there is something to be said about sharing such experiences with those from your own culture (especially if you happen to be a "visible minority"). I can tell you that if a group of Pinay punks threw together their own garage band consisting of angst-driven lyrics, "Chelsea" hair-dos, and terribly distorted power chords, such cultural visibilitiy may have strengthened my sense of identity during those years. But I guess hindsight is always 20/20, right?