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Some reflections on a legacy of “New World” terror…

I have a question that needs answering: What are we doing, big or small, to create effective change? To dismantle our fear(s)? There’s too many soul-sucking things happening these days. It’s not enough to say it’s 2017: therefore, these things (also known as the persecution of POC) shouldn’t be happening. As if we’re looking at relics from the stone age. But, history is never static; it moves between past and future, influencing passing moments.

Thinking on what happened recently in Charlottesville—something that’s happened in too many similar patterns of hate, too many times before, and in too many disturbing settings—is what led me to my question. It also made me feel paralyzed, for a time, by what felt overwhelming and draining as more and more details and more videos came out—which, to my eye, all revealed an apathy for black lives that the Nazi/supremacist/terrorists demonstrated in Charlottesville to deadly purpose.

Reflecting on this violence, I felt stuck for a moment. As if time was playing a twisted game, gambling on western history’s long-reigning fable that POC’s voices could never—never!—win a place within its pages; or its streets and public spaces where statues stand to commemorate the innumerable ways that POC’s voices have been silenced. In Charlottesville, the statue of Confederate general, Robert E. Lee—sitting proudly and upright on his horse, this general who pushed to continue slavery and all the benefits it afforded him—attests to this.

His statue carries on a tradition of silencing. One where the wounds of Blacks are looked down upon and seen as illegitimate in the face of an old romanticized South: a vision seen in the face of Robert E. Lee on his noble steed. This carrying on, this version of history, is what the activists in Charlottesville were calling to end. (A move the Nazis and white supremacists, in keeping with their old tradition and standard that Black Lives Don’t Matter, saw as this: “dishonorable! dishonorable!”) Yes, throughout the history of the Americas, people have suffered from those who’ve turned a blind eye to the ways the insidious past still rears its head.

To those who look at the events in Charlottesville and say, “this is not what we believe in,” how can that be? How can that be when too many people in the history of the Americas, from the very northernmost of Canada to the tail-end of Chile, have barely been recognized as human because of the varying degrees of melanin in their skin? Have had their humanity disregarded from the very moment the ships landed and “discovered” the “New World”—and, from those moments on, created its foundations on the genocides of the Indigenous and the lives of the enslaved? These are the foundations, the legacies of terrorism, that the “New World” was built upon—and is still fighting against, still struggling and dealing with, today.

So, it brings me back to this: What are we doing, big or small, to create effective change? To dismantle our fear(s)?

Because, in some way or another, tomorrow has to be better. There can be no more carrying on of “New World” traditions of erasure. Not when it comes to my survival, or those who look like me with melanin running deep in their skin, and all the history that brings with it; not when it comes to our collective memories that keep us moving forward, to live and, above all, above everything, not only to survive, but to thrive and to do so ardently, generously, vitally.

The path showing tomorrow only as some continuation, as some dragged out violence of colonialism and all its oppressive ideals, is unacceptable to my understanding of the world, of its possibilities, and the convictions I stand on as my own personal foundation. Even if what I witness today makes me feel weary at times with fear. I remind myself that people have choices and actions, and that the world wasn’t made to carry all this destruction.

It shows in the work being done to create change, to overturn the oppression embedded deep between the Americas, as those who protest against racism and its symbols of hate have been doing in Charlottesville. Their work is encouraging—and, even more than this, necessary.

*

Below are two links to those who were injured by the act of terrorism in Charlottesville, and who are in need of financial support in their physical recovery:

https://www.youcaring.com/alexismorrisnoellemorris-903027

https://www.gofundme.com/natalie-romero-medical-fund

And, in memory of the life lost in Charlottesville, and of those seriously injured defending anti-racism, here’s an article with suggestions of groups to support:

https://www.bustle.com/p/how-to-support-anti-racism-organizations-in-charlottesville-76190

Please feel free to add links that you know of in the comments below. I’m looking forward to reading what you have to share. (And, this should go beyond saying but I’ll say it anyway: no statements of hate or phobias towards other people’s humanity—ie. transphobia, anti-Blackness, anti-immigration, etc.—will be welcome in any way in the comments. Check your privilege. Be mindful, be respectful.)

Take care of yourselves.

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For International Women’s Day 2017

Courtesy of the phenomenal Dr. Maya Angelou:

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

***

And that’s so many of the women who’ve inspired me throughout my lifetime. To all of you, Happy International Women’s Day!

To all phenomenal women, let’s continue working for our stories to intersect, to be heard, to matter, so when one of us talks, and shares our truths, it will shatter barriers.

To all phenomenal women, let’s make it known that our freedoms are things that grow; that they are made over with our understandings of what it means to be a “woman”. That the expressions of joy and struggle that we share with the world are not an inconvenience — never can it be an inconvenience! — but a benediction for all humanity.

To all phenomenal women: continue living in all of your greatness.

That’s it.

– Becky

On Islamophobia, Hatred, and the 29th of January, 2017

There is a lot of work to be done to diminish hate, in all its forms, in this country we call home. Islamophobia should have no place in Canada—but it exists here. All lives should matter—but, the dirty and honest truth is, that there are people who exist in spaces of privilege. Those who wear blindfolds when it comes to equality, and who practice the idea that many lives are less valuable than their own. And can do this to violent extremes.

On January 29, 2017, a white supremacist showed that this Canada does, in truth, and to the great sorrow of many, exist. This white supremacist stole six lives from their family and friends—and he stole them during moments of reaffirming the beauty and intricacy of life; a confirmation done during shared, and private, prayers. And those lives and what they stood for should not be forgotten. They are lives that should inspire us to be better, to do better. To love more, and not less.

They are the lives that represent being Canadian. And, if we love our country—like we truly believe and say we do—we should challenge what we feel and know is not right. And the people who gathered across Canada, mourning in vigils from British Columbia to Newfoundland, they did this; and in those moments, inspired me to believe that this principle still exists. Yes, they inspired me to believe in this; even at this long moment of darkness.

The vigils were a stand against misguided hate, against the senselessness of prejudice. Against fears of a religion whose practice is best reflected in its very name itself. Islam: a submission and obedience to the best of all virtues: a search for peace.

What we are facing today in Canada is the long-haul of a fight we have to win; for (in paraphrasing a verse from the Quran) the loss of one life is a loss for all humanity. And the loss of these six lives, of Ibrahima Barry, Aboubaker Thabiti, Azzeddine Soufiane, Mamadou Tanou, Khaled Belkacemi, and Abdelkrim Hassane, is a loss for everyone; for those who grew up believing that Canada is home to many (despite of, or even, because of struggles we may have faced; struggles those labelled as “others” had to, and most definitely, still face today—as these six men surely experienced for the freedom of calling themselves Canadian.)

Many of us have been frightened by the actions of the white supremacist-terrorist who shot these six men figuratively (and as the Vice President, Labidi, of the Cultural Centre where the men were praying believed, literally) in the back; and a few of us have been frightened into perhaps believing, whether outright or deep in our subconscious, that Canada is not a home for everyone. That it is home for those who claim power or position. But power is useless unless there is a fight to compare it with. And that fight belongs to all of us. And it should be done for the sake of all of us.

Perhaps, a few more of us have even been intimidated into secretly believing, for a single and undeniably irrational moment, that power belongs to those who will use violence to make their views known. (Namely, those whose vision of the world is one of white superiority, and who terrorize people in their places of worship. And to those supremacists, all I can say is this: your vision of the world will never be true. It was not true yesterday; it is not true today; and it will not be true tomorrow.

Unless you claim the rightful titles of those indigenous to this land—of those who were here before waves of white supremacy took root and created strains of sickness: from residential schools, to isolated reservations without safe drinking water, to treaties for stolen land, from all these things, there and back again, and so many other unspoken strains—I say this: Canada will never belong wholeheartedly to you. You have no right to that.)

The thin-iced fragility of white-supremacist-identity has proven itself to be blatantly deadly, time and time, and exceedingly over—and over!—again.

The destruction that lies beneath that should not allow us to forget that Canada belongs to a network of stories. That they include the stories of immigrants and generations of their families who have worked to make Canada a place of possibilities; that they have done this with their sacrifices, ambitions, and even, at times, their own affirmative actions taken because of that sadly lingering feeling of not really belonging.

They are the stories of people like my parents and grandparents who traveled across the Atlantic Ocean, making a home in Canada while not fully knowing how their lives would play out. They are the stories of people like Azzeddine Soufiane, Aboubaker Thabiti, Mamadou Tanou, Khaled Belkacemi, Abdelkrim Hassane, and Ibrahima Barry.

And I believe these are the stories of many Canadian families. So, I challenge Canadians to believe that white supremacy and it’s spurring on of Islamophobia and hate and the dishonest and terrifying narrative that Canada is for an “exceptional” few is, very simply, dishonest. Our stories tell us differently.

But we also need to share more of our experiences, and have honest conversations about what it means to be Canadian (and the ways people have been, or currently are, excluded from this because of their identity, history, heritage, and so many other areas.)

Canada doesn’t need to be made “great again.”

Its evidence is in getting to know your neighbours. In gathering at celebrations of humanity; at mosques and centres of learning—like the Cultural Centre that was terrorized in Quebec City.

Still, there’s a lot of work to be done. To continue being present, and continuing to confront and engage with the status quos of the world. And with the negative ways in which Islam is often presented. To dissect the tumor that may linger in minds, which whispers “most terrorists seem to be people of colour,” or “people who are Muslims.” And, if the old logic continues gaining strength, well, the actions of the shooter—a white man!—who terrorized the Islamic Cultural Centre should—if you yourself are willing!—help to remove that blindfold and reveal a new and honest truth:

That we are all working to define our daily struggle, between our inner-graces and darkness, and the world that sees our bodies, faces and the melanin it holds, or withholds, in peculiar and difficult ways. And that we should all be offered opportunities to live fully and fearlessly beyond the burden of prejudice and hate; and, to the benefit of everyone, it may one day become unconditionally true.

However, in our fight against Islamophobia and hatred today, we are still struggling with a very real and dark truth: that because they loved Islam, in an instant, six people were killed.