Why Civil Rights?

Yesterday, we had a "Civil Rights" assembly at school. The whole school, in a circle, sharing short research papers about various civil rights leaders.

And the kids were antsy. They were bored. They complained. They didn't want to read. They hated the research. They didn't listen to anything.

And it killed me. While my co-worker tried to lead a short discussion on the "importance of Civil Rights," nobody had anything to say. They didn't care. They chatted amongst each other, cracking jokes. One kid answered her phone in the middle of it.

And I just watched it all. Tried to quiet kids. But it slowly suffocated my soul. Kids that are so directly affected by the fight for rights by race, or class, or gender in this country - so completely bored and disconnected from the topic.

And so I finally had to say something. Right when our principal was about to just cut the whole thing off to minimize the damage already done, I spoke out. I told them, flat out, "My mom had bricks thrown through her windows when she was your age because of her race. People thought she was Japanese, so they threw bricks through her windows at home. That didn't happen to me as a kid, because some people stood up. But I am still dealing with other racist actions, so now it is up to me to stand up, for my kids' sakes."

And, suddenly, the kids were with me. I went on - for a bit - about the present-tense of Civil Rights and how all the injustice and unfair things they suffer right now is only going to be improved by folks who stand up. Not just three or four token "Civil Rights Leaders," but en masse. And a discussion started. The kids engaged.

Now, I'm not going to say everything was "saved" and everybody learned a valuable lesson. But the whole mood shifted, and I could see the kids starting to see something. So much left unsaid. But it was a beginning. And I'm itching to continue it.

And so, tonight, I had to just sit down and write. I intend to share this with the kids tomorrow. It's not polished. I didn't edit it. No clever rhyme-schemes like I usually employ. But, sometimes, raw feels just fine.* So, some words by CVT:

The kids rolled their eyes and complained - 'Why Civil Rights?'
And I was shocked into silence
'Why do we have to learn about Civil Rights?'
Like it was a single set of facts that had to be painfully memorized
'Why Civil Rights?'

I almost cried with frustration
But - instead - I chose to REPLY:

"Why do we have to learn about Civil Rights?
Might as well ask why we have to learn how to breathe
Because without rights - like air - you'd live a short life on your knees
Wheezing, gasping, choking - letting your 'superiors' keep you there
Accepting injustice because 'that's just how it is.'

Why Civil Rights?
Because my mom had rocks thrown at her due to the slant of her eyes.
Why Civil Rights?
Because our grandparents were alive when mobs lynching black people 'just happened.'
Why Civil Rights?
Because without unions, poor trade workers were poisoned on the job.
Why Civil Rights?
Because our great-grandmothers - of any race - couldn't choose their president.

But that's past, right?
All those problems have been 'fixed' now
By those four Civil Rights leaders you've heard of - who happen to be dead
So stop living in the past

And so I will, and I do, and so I will tell you:
Why Civil Rights?
Because an unarmed black man, lying on the ground, submitting to arrest, was shot in the back by a police officer days before Obama's inauguration.
Why?
Because this country - built by colonizers and immigrants - patrols its borders with guns to keep Mexican immigrants from crossing 'illegally.'
Why?
Because being poor means you can't afford to sue your employer when you're fired for being too sick to work - from the cough the factory smoke put in your lungs.
Why?
Because we can call a U.S. citizen an 'enemy combatant' and lock them away without trial.
Why?
Because we can let the education system heap advantages on the already-rich
Letting a budget-crisis close schools in the less-wealthy part of town
While spending a trillion dollars on defense each year.
Why?
Because 25% of the homeless in this country are the same veterans that we 'support' - while they're abroad.
Why?
Because - in most states - you are not human enough to love and marry if you're not straight.

Why Civil Rights?
Because you have been marked
By your race, or gender, or religion

You have been marked
By your poverty, or sexuality, or disability

You have been marked
For unjust treatment throughout your life
For powerlessness at the hands of those deemed 'more capable'
For fear, and frustration, and anger when what you were born to limits your opportunities

You have been marked
For all of these things - and more
Until you understand that Civil Rights is not dead, perfect leaders from the past
That Civil Rights is not a few random dates and facts
It did not happen
It is happening
Always occurring
Ever-evolving
Sometimes progressing

But only for and by those who hear the question: 'Why Civil Rights?'

And respond -
Because they're mine."

*Mental note, this isn't "poetry," but meant to be performed, spoken-word and all that . . .

On Fire

I'm back. Back from Central Oregon. Back in Regular-Internet-Access Land. And it's time to get this blog back in order because it looks like I lost my readership over the last month. We'll see what I can do about that.

Anyway, I spent the last month working at an arts camp. Of course, that statement does no justice whatsoever to the work I was really a part of - because this place is far beyond an "Arts Camp." We serve primarily "at-risk" kids (I still hate that term, but it gets my point across) in a sort of relationship-based program that echoes the style of the school I teach at. It's not hippies in the woods (although there's some of that). We bring hip-hop and consciousness, as well. We work with the kids year-round to keep them in school and safe. We bring artists from diverse backgrounds (we actually have professional artists of color that teach there). We work hard to represent the kids we work with.

So, all that said, we have a contingent of Native American kids (from the Warm Springs res) that come to camp each year (our kids are about half from Central Oregon, half from Portland). And, luckily for us, we have a Native American staff member, as well (Klamath tribe). We'll call him "S." S just so happens to be a good friend of mine (a bond formed in the last four years of us working together at this camp). The two of us actually get confused by kids (and staff, sometimes). Not because we look like each other (because we don't, at all - not even similar body-types), but because of our skin-tones and racial "ambiguity." We're not black. We're not white. So we must be the same thing.

Obviously, I have no qualms talking about race with people. Neither does he. And we both love bringing up issues of race and cultural diversity with the folks around us (especially when educating "well-meaning white folks"). We also both feel that kids are smart enough to be exposed to a bit of unvarnished truth from time to time - and that kids of color NEED that.

And so, we collaborated on a spoken-word piece that we performed at camp (for the kids, staff, and - best of all - donors and board members) that I'm going to share here. Granted, it hits much harder when performed out loud, but reading it gets the point across. His lines are those in normal type. Mine are in italics. Lines that we speak together are in bold.

Nothing more to be said. Enjoy:

I’m angry that my people are still suffering
From genocidal tactics and unnecessary killing
Unwilling to share with us our own homeland
Banned from the sacred places we used to roam
Home is no longer here among our war parties

And hardly mentioned in that history is the part my own played
Hair in coolie braids, train tracks run over our backs – until none of HIS land remained
The only truly successful colony – made with the blood of my people and slaves
Then claimed as “free” by those with European names

Treaties were broken, remaining only to cause us pain
So much has been taken, barely leaving us with a name
Fame has been given to cowardly cowboys
Who got their strength from numbers no value in the coup
True to nothing least of all their word
It wasn’t a voice that leapt from their tongues though; it was more like a poisonous disease
Or maybe it was a disease working its way through our water with ease
Teasing us with false promises
The land and water weren’t enough though
Next they ravaged the plains and took the buffalo
Now many were starving and thirsty
Our land plagued, animals slaughtered, and our water dirty
Soon they would be coming in great numbers
Promised freedom and all the riches they could lust for
Their true intentions lied with the cavalry and George Armstrong Custer
Under false pretenses they started killing using all the strength they could muster
They wanted to rid the land of us savages it mattered not if they were women or children
They tried to kill us all. They had such hate for our red skin

And within few textbooks will you read our suffering
Ever hear about the Rape of Nanking?
That’s rhetorical, because I know you didn’t
Hundreds of thousands died in weeks – but nobody was listening
Rape, murder, torture – but Western ears heard not a word
You know the Holocaust – God rest their souls
But Asian lives lost – and y’all just shrug your shoulders
Burmese slaughtered right now, crying out – and half the world just moves right on

Been suffering far too long
They tried to have my entire race erased through genocide
Historical trauma left to take care of the rest through homicide and suicide
We were forced onto reservations without hesitation
Devastation ensued as we were moved from territory to territory
Our freedom fading like a distant memory
Sovereignty has been the common goal
But it has been hard, because as a whole we have been relocated and terminated
Our culture deemed uncivilized until it was generalized that we were one with the land and people became fascinated

Culturally appropriated –
Sip green tea in a Buddhist monastery with a neck-tat of Chinese calligraphy
Do they really even know what it means?
“Pan-Asian” only exists in their restaurants, we’re completely different ethnicities
While the less-palatable aspects of Asian-ness are cast aside
Like those “submissive” Asian women, tried, used, and made trophy wives
Fetishes as dimly veiled racism mixed with sexism
Call me “exotic” one more time, and we’ll see that I don’t need kung-fu to show how I feel about Orientalism

Alcoholism became our trademark, or what we were famous for
More to get away from the memories of abuse and neglect that have been trickling down from generation to generation

Caucasian barbarians brought us opium to enslave us in our own nation
Bigger guns deemed more “civilized” by Western “civilization”
And now they call us “foreign” and fight immigration
Because our labor isn’t cheap enough when we’re here
Keep us far away, so they can wear their slick sweat-shop gear
Without feeling sick inside
Because they don’t have to see the blood that gets ripped from yellow hands
Then drips into all the unnecessary garbage they buy

And yet here I am with my head held high
Setting a good example for young Natives to live by

And I – I just want you to broaden your minds
Mostly with love, sometimes with fire – I remind everyone about history’s true racial ties

Showing them the positive standards and morals in which I live my life
So that one day I might be the one they look to in moments of strife

And I can be a strong Asian voice to help the shy ones to rise
Helping them realize we can stand up and non-violently fight
Exclusion by the majority

Constantly thriving to be a positive member in my under represented minority
Hoping one day I’ll be a brown role model in a position of authority.

Mixed, Triumphant

Mixed, Triumphant,

This blog and my posts are young, yet, but I felt that it was important that I have some all-positive posts thrown in as often as possible because I have a tendency to focus on and criticize all that's wrong without acknowledging - enough - all that's right (I also tend to write long sentences).

So, in that light, I want to celebrate a wonderfully, positively mixed 24 hours that began on the evening of July 3rd and went on through last night.

My July 3rd evening began with me hanging out with some folks: my mixed (black/white) friend and two of her friends (a black woman, and a white man). I'm not going to go into a lot of detail there, but it was a good time, in general, but it also stood out as a nice combination of races just having a good time in mostly-white (and more-than-that-segregated) Portland. I also got a chance to bond with T. about how - since South Africa has now made Chinese folks legally "black"* - we now had the same background and should be able to understand each other and connect much more. We pondered the new strength blacks and Chinese alike would now have as one single identity (and more, but I digress).

Anyway, I then slipped away from that group to head to an Open Mic** where I was going to make my debut (secretly, because my friend and the other woman are a professional spoken-word duo, and I didn't feel ready for them to watch me this first time, just in case I fell flat).

So a quick explanation: I dabble in some hip hop and spoken word for my own personal entertainment (and therapeutic release), and so I had determined that it was finally time to bring it public (I've been doing this for quite a while, but never for a large, public audience). So there's a venue here in Portland (so far, the ONLY one I've found) that does a weekly Open Mic that sort of caters to the political, more colorful folks of this town. It's probably the only place here where the performers are pre-dominantly people of color (and - I would add, with bias - talented), and it thus has a much more welcoming feel for me. I scouted out the scene a few times in advance before signing on to perform, but I finally felt ready.

Now, the emcee had already told me that I was probably going to go first. That wasn't the best news, because - usually - when the first person goes, a lot of people haven't shown up yet, and the energy is a bit dead. So I planned to start with a lighter, tongue-in-cheek piece about "nobody listening," and then to drop some fire after I had their attention. The second piece was one I had done for some people before - basically a tribute to my Chinese side, while touching on the "mixed" experience.

So I'm all set, a little bit nervous, got in some last-second practicing, when I walk in the door. And, heading in before me was this whole group of people (looked like a family) that were clearly Asian (to some degree), and I couldn't help but feel good about my luck that they'd be in the audience when I went (not so many Asian audience members, usually). And, better yet, that group ended up sitting right up front, so that they would be the people I could see best during my performance.

My luck held out even stronger when the host for the night ended up arriving late - meaning by the time we actually started, the place was almost full, and I was going to have myself an AUDIENCE.

So I got up there and did my thing. I was wearing my China national team soccer jersey (for obvious reasons), and - before I even started - I got a "CHIN-A!" cheer from the front row. Things were looking good. My first piece was relatively well-received (got the little chuckles I was looking for), and then I laid into them with my fire.

And - holy sh$$ - did it go over. The whole crowd was listening as I spoke, cheering at certain parts - it felt GOOD. And then, as I finished off my little climb to the climax (a litany of Asian stereotypes that don't pertain to me, ending with "but I'm STILL Chinese") everybody just went nuts (especially the first row). People yelling, clapping (apparently, some stood up, but I couldn't see that). I mean - CRAZY. It felt so damn good. And, as I walked off the stage, the group in the front grabbed me and told me that EVERYBODY in that row (about 10 of them) was mixed. Absolutely perfect.

I was finished, but it wasn't over, either. Because, a couple acts after me, one of the regulars (a guy, "Don Juan," who I knew was Asian, but didn't generally mention that in his poetry) got up there and - saying I had inspired him - spit fire, as well - with his own piece blasting Asian stereotypes and our "role" in society. Needless to say, we all went crazy for that one, too. And then - after THAT - one of the mixed ladies of the front row got up to sing and blew the top off the whole place. I mean, she had the most soulful, amazing voice I have heard live in a LONG time - and the host acknowledged the same when she was finished.

It was like "Asian Pride Night" in Portland. And - damn - did it feel good. Hell - just to even know that there were that many other mixed folks IN Portland, let alone to have them hear me do my thing and then rock the house afterwards.

And then - about 24 hours later - was the 4th of July fireworks display. For brevity's sake, I'll just get to the point: all of Portland, downtown. Not just all of white Portland. Not just all of middle-class Portland. ALL of Portland. Every race, from poor to rich and everything in between. Families. Kids. Old. Young. All downtown to watch the fireworks.

As I said before - Portland is a very white town. It's also very segregated, so even though there ARE people of color in Portland, they don't exactly mix in large numbers. If there are a bunch of people of color around, that probably means you're in an area where there are few white folks. Or if there are a lot of Asian folks, few black or Latin@. You get the picture.

But last night, waiting by the river for the fireworks - EVERYBODY. In one place. All mixed up and excited. All equally eager with anticipation. Kids of all colors (I saw a lot of mixed ones, as well) running around, getting impatient for the show. And when that show came - DAMN. It was one for the ages - a great display. And - better yet - everybody in that huge crowd around me had the same happy expression on their faces. Awe. Joy. Innocence. Excitement. Nobody there was thinking about race or stereotypes or prejudice for those 15-20 minutes. They were just giving in to their child-like wonder and joy as they universally appreciated brightly-colored explosions*** in the sky above Portland.

And that's when I had one of those cheesy, Hallmark moments when I thought to myself, "America just isn't THAT bad." No, we're not a "melting pot." Portland will go back to how it has been starting today. But last night happened. And I don't think it could happen like that in many other places in the world. And the night before happened - where I could get political and spit fire at "the establishment" to applause, without any threat of censure or arrest.

Portland is mostly white - but it isn't ALL white. And this country can have its issues - but there is a lot right. And, for that, I hope everybody had a very happy Independence Day.

I know I did.


* I shall likely post in the future about what it will mean for the world that Chinese is the new black (in South Africa).

** For anybody in the Northwest (or headed here someday), the Open Mic is called "Harlem Nights" and happens every night at the Ohm, in downtown Portland. Click on the link above to learn more.

*** Fireworks, as we all know, were created by the Chinese - so that felt like some nice cross-over, as well.