Okay, now it is time to hit the blog again. I'm am an expert at dismantling any true semblance of discipline (when it comes to blogging). But as I do always say: "I'll only ever do anything only when I need to do something." Today's topic kids is dream interpretation. The past few nights have been like X-Box on crack for me. From wayward stints of sonambulism to crazy vivid dreams fit for one suffering from dementia.
Alright: I have four that I need to report on:
(1) The first dream I was a character in World of Warcraft. I had ears resembling that of a hare or a rabbit and a bow and arrow. This one is not quite so vivid. The details escape my grasp like smoke.
(2) I was a woman in this dream. I was getting ready for bed. I was in an apartment. It was shaped like a 'T'. The living room forming the base with the exit on the adjacent. With my bathroom and bedroom on top. Hopefully the T can help you visualize the layout. As I was finishing getting ready with my various toiletries and such I hear a knock on the door. It is my ex-boyfriend who comes to visit me. I allow him inside remember a feeling of uneasiness wrapping itself around my stomach. Goes to show you that these gut feelings are even accurate in the dream world. My ex attacks me and attempts to rape me. However, I refuse to play victim. Among my toiletries is a gun and I shoot him in the face. At the end of the dream I realize that I am no anonymous woman but rather Demi Moore and my boyfriend is, you guessed it, Bruce Willis.
(3) This one was equally strange. I am also a woman in this dream this time with blond hair. I am a secret agent for some special ops agency of the CIA I'm assuming. I am on the run, a fugitive perhaps, but running from one particular person. A man. He chases me and hunts me down to my current residence and attempts to kill me. But Ice-T is in my living room and shoots the man to defend me. I come to realize that I am the blond actress that plays a lawyer on Law and Order. Ice-T being my co-star in the drama. We leave my house and hot-wire our neighbor's car and drive away. Our destination, O'Hare airport.
So yeah...there it is.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Can I just say something...
Can I just say something without you getting angry? Maybe I should just call this post "I'm Pissed: Part Deux". I have just been thinking something over that I think needs to be shared with the world. If you have friends that you would classify or would classify themselves in some sort of minority group, or further, an oppressed minority group, then perhaps you should listen to what I have to say. You may not like, you may not agree, but at least hear me out.
A problem that I run into when talking to be people in the dominant group about issues of race, ethnicity, sexuality or any sort of subject that might pertain to a social construal that facilitates inequality, is that they don't want to hear it. I call this "I'm white so I've got to be right syndrome." I have attended a predominantly white institution for the past four years (the years of my undergraduate career) and I have come across this phenomenon time and time again. So be assured that I do not write this impulsively. This is after years of careful, calculated and experiential observation. A gay Filipino national attending a Catholic Jesuit predominantly white institution - sort of sounds like a sociological or anthropological experiment doesn't it? But I digress, the "I'm white so I've got to be right syndrome" is a more or less subconscious manifestation of racism. It is unintentionally covert but extrinsically can manifest itself in a person's willingness to listen, to be open, to understand, to feel compassionate, to feel empathetic, to feel emotional, to feel period, to comiserate with an oppressed person's struggles and experiences. It is a palpable reality that I am sick about. I say that it is covert because no one is usually keen enough to point it out.
The pattern that I have observed is as follows: a group of friends, predominantly white, say a ratio of 2:1 white to minority, broaches a topic of conversation that has to do with race. The discussion becomes more heated and the responses of the minorities involved becomes conflated with emotion, understandably so, I might add, because it has to do with the very essence of who they are. The white people in the conversation observe these emotional responses and the social complaints of the minorities. This is where the "I'm white so I've got to be right" attitude comes in. They see the minorities as getting on a soapbox, as they say. They see their arguments as not plausible, overly-emotional (thank you Descartes), and thusly reject them. Further, they may feel that the minorities are searching for something "to feel bitter about" as I have heard it stated, rather than believe or accept that perhaps they have had a very painful past experience that would lead them to such a reaction or to make certain comments.
So can I just say something? For situations like this I feel like it is the duty of those in the majority (and I'm not just talking about race but rather a broader conception of oppression) to listen to those in the minority. Those in the majority enjoy certain privileges that are invisible to them. As I stated in a previous post, at a predominantly white Catholic institution their perspective is always taught in the classroom a fact that they may take for granted. The privileges abound. Minorities (i.e. - those that do not enjoy the same privileges) are painfully aware of those privileges. For example, a maid will know what it's like to be poor or working class and what it is like to rich. As I was saying, they are more aware of those oppressive structures that are otherwise invisible to the majority, either because of ignorance or because of a willful and vehement rejection thereof (like certain assholes in previous posts). Ahem, so like I said they are aware of those oppressive structures and are more apt to make a social critique of them because they are the ones that are most likely to be hurt by them. So in the aforementioned situation (last paragraph) a deference to those opinions should be observed. The minorities know more about it than those in the majority, that's for damned sure. Their standpoint is considerably more ample. so listen to it!
If you are not willing to at least be receptive to those opinions then I would label you as the worst kind of bigot. It is a spectrum, those on either extreme would be classified as either those that are not bigots at all or those that are the most vocal and racist, while those in the middle are those that tell themselves that they are uncomfortable with social injustice and oppression but aren't willing to do anything about it. This is 90% of the population. This is the worst kind of bigotry. What can you say for yourself when you are uncomfortable or don't agree with social injustice but you don't do anything about it? You are no ally. I don't want you. You can take your half-assed support back. You suffer from "I'm white so I've got to be right syndrome." The cure? Take a long hard introspective look at yourself. Observe how you listen to people, if you listen to people who are different from you. Think twice about things that you think "aren't a big deal." That's a start.
A problem that I run into when talking to be people in the dominant group about issues of race, ethnicity, sexuality or any sort of subject that might pertain to a social construal that facilitates inequality, is that they don't want to hear it. I call this "I'm white so I've got to be right syndrome." I have attended a predominantly white institution for the past four years (the years of my undergraduate career) and I have come across this phenomenon time and time again. So be assured that I do not write this impulsively. This is after years of careful, calculated and experiential observation. A gay Filipino national attending a Catholic Jesuit predominantly white institution - sort of sounds like a sociological or anthropological experiment doesn't it? But I digress, the "I'm white so I've got to be right syndrome" is a more or less subconscious manifestation of racism. It is unintentionally covert but extrinsically can manifest itself in a person's willingness to listen, to be open, to understand, to feel compassionate, to feel empathetic, to feel emotional, to feel period, to comiserate with an oppressed person's struggles and experiences. It is a palpable reality that I am sick about. I say that it is covert because no one is usually keen enough to point it out.
The pattern that I have observed is as follows: a group of friends, predominantly white, say a ratio of 2:1 white to minority, broaches a topic of conversation that has to do with race. The discussion becomes more heated and the responses of the minorities involved becomes conflated with emotion, understandably so, I might add, because it has to do with the very essence of who they are. The white people in the conversation observe these emotional responses and the social complaints of the minorities. This is where the "I'm white so I've got to be right" attitude comes in. They see the minorities as getting on a soapbox, as they say. They see their arguments as not plausible, overly-emotional (thank you Descartes), and thusly reject them. Further, they may feel that the minorities are searching for something "to feel bitter about" as I have heard it stated, rather than believe or accept that perhaps they have had a very painful past experience that would lead them to such a reaction or to make certain comments.
So can I just say something? For situations like this I feel like it is the duty of those in the majority (and I'm not just talking about race but rather a broader conception of oppression) to listen to those in the minority. Those in the majority enjoy certain privileges that are invisible to them. As I stated in a previous post, at a predominantly white Catholic institution their perspective is always taught in the classroom a fact that they may take for granted. The privileges abound. Minorities (i.e. - those that do not enjoy the same privileges) are painfully aware of those privileges. For example, a maid will know what it's like to be poor or working class and what it is like to rich. As I was saying, they are more aware of those oppressive structures that are otherwise invisible to the majority, either because of ignorance or because of a willful and vehement rejection thereof (like certain assholes in previous posts). Ahem, so like I said they are aware of those oppressive structures and are more apt to make a social critique of them because they are the ones that are most likely to be hurt by them. So in the aforementioned situation (last paragraph) a deference to those opinions should be observed. The minorities know more about it than those in the majority, that's for damned sure. Their standpoint is considerably more ample. so listen to it!
If you are not willing to at least be receptive to those opinions then I would label you as the worst kind of bigot. It is a spectrum, those on either extreme would be classified as either those that are not bigots at all or those that are the most vocal and racist, while those in the middle are those that tell themselves that they are uncomfortable with social injustice and oppression but aren't willing to do anything about it. This is 90% of the population. This is the worst kind of bigotry. What can you say for yourself when you are uncomfortable or don't agree with social injustice but you don't do anything about it? You are no ally. I don't want you. You can take your half-assed support back. You suffer from "I'm white so I've got to be right syndrome." The cure? Take a long hard introspective look at yourself. Observe how you listen to people, if you listen to people who are different from you. Think twice about things that you think "aren't a big deal." That's a start.
Friday, May 4, 2007
I'm pissed
So I haven't blogged in a few weeks. With finals and commencement just around the corner it's hard to find the time to even breathe. But now I'm pissed. I got into it with one of my fellow staff members last night. Just to backtrack a little bit: I'm a resident assistant the University I go to. Alright back to the present - so I got into with this staff member who will remain nameless. We began to become nostalgic about our English teachers from our freshman year. I stated that I admired my teacher because she was a lesbian. My colleague (I loosely use this term here) proceeded to tell me that I was a bad person. I gently inquired why. He told me that you shouldn't like someone just because they are this or that. Point well taken. I told him that it wasn't the same thing; however, to state that I like teacher so and so because she is straight. He told me that it was. What a douchebag. So I had to explain the niceties of classroom dynamics at a predominantly white heterosexual male institution (of aformentioned dominant group my colleague is a member). I stated that his privilege was invisible to him. His perspective is always taught in the classroom while the gay/lesbian perspective does not usually arise. These experiences are not honored or praised in any way. We have Western Civilization taught as the default history. Patriarchal Sexist Catholic Theology courses taught. These are part of the core of our Jesuit education. The very construction of epistemological discourse has been, well, constructed by white propertied heterosexual men on the backs of those minority groups whose voices are squelched. So yes sir, I did like my teacher because she was lesbian because she taught to my experience. She spoke of my existence in a way that is quieted in dangerous and oppressive ways in the conventional classrooms at Marquette University. I could see myself in her. I could hear the voice of the oppressed, whose existence I was left painfully unaware of until that moment. No longer bound by the immanence of patriarchal white-washed one-sided oppressive institutional frameworks dictating and canonizing what is of educational value she pulled me into transcendence. So yes, I liked my teacher because she was a lesbian you fucking asshole.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Don't be gay
I cannot take credit for this. I'm borrowing this from a friend:
Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a US radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by a US resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative.
Dear Dr. Laura:
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them.
1. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord -Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual impurity - Lev.15:19-24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offence.
4. Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexican illegals, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I buy Canadians?
5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?
6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?
7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?
8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?
9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Leviticus 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (a cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev.20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.
Your devoted disciple and adoring fan, Jacques.
hm. try, "in my never coherent, reasoned opinion."
Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a US radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by a US resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative.
Dear Dr. Laura:
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them.
1. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord -Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual impurity - Lev.15:19-24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offence.
4. Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexican illegals, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I buy Canadians?
5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?
6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?
7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?
8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?
9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Leviticus 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (a cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev.20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.
Your devoted disciple and adoring fan, Jacques.
hm. try, "in my never coherent, reasoned opinion."
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
"Gay" Food?
So after preparation for the Day of Silence, two of my friends and I had dinner. We got to talking about food (go figure, during dinner). My friends' names are Jake and Joan. They are good people.
Joan and I are both filipinos. We got to talking about how the offerings of the McCormick Hall cafeteria paled in comparison to the exotic filipino cuisine that we had become accustomed to growing up. This time we talked about rice. Minute rice from a cafeteria is not real rice. At least, it is not very good rice. I'm used to sticky, moist, sumptuous, soft, melt in your mouth, absorbant, spongy, sweet, reminiscent of the rice fields of my youth rice. That's real rice. Good rice. America = bad rice. At any rate, we broached the topic of ethnic food.
Now Jake, refusing to relegate himself to the sidelines of the coversation, blurted, "What would gay food be like?" or something to that affect. "Gay food?" I asked. Jake wanted to know what a ontologically gay cuisine would be like. How would THAT play out? I got to thinking - What would gay food be like?
Now I must concede that the gays, God love 'em, are not their own ethnicity. Thus we cannot claim a food to be our own. However, I think that it is funny to flirt with the possibilities.
Would we be cliche and eat hotdogs? Or something that resembled a vijayjay? Would the food be rainbow-colored? Would it even have colors? Would gay food be sweet? Like RAINBOW cake? or fudgcicles (they're phallic and sweet!!)? Would gay food use expensive spices and herbs, like saffron? We, as a people, are known for our expensive tastes. Would gay food be high in protein? Perhaps only meats like the argentinians. Would we claim 'spotted dick' as our own? Damn British, bunch a bloody food-stealing oppressors. Would we adorn our foods with flowers resembling the female reproductive nether region? Like orchids, or even with roses like in "Como Agua Para Chocolate." Would gay food be representative of the oppression that gay people have had to endure over the years? At times food can play that role in a culture. What sort of beverages would we serve? Perhaps cosmos will finally be claimed as the quintessential "gay" drink. In fact, all martinis will be claimed by the gays. Just some questions to ponder.
One thing I do know for sure about what gay food would be like. At least for gay men: gay food must NEVER be high in fiber. You figure it out.
Ciao for now.
Joan and I are both filipinos. We got to talking about how the offerings of the McCormick Hall cafeteria paled in comparison to the exotic filipino cuisine that we had become accustomed to growing up. This time we talked about rice. Minute rice from a cafeteria is not real rice. At least, it is not very good rice. I'm used to sticky, moist, sumptuous, soft, melt in your mouth, absorbant, spongy, sweet, reminiscent of the rice fields of my youth rice. That's real rice. Good rice. America = bad rice. At any rate, we broached the topic of ethnic food.
Now Jake, refusing to relegate himself to the sidelines of the coversation, blurted, "What would gay food be like?" or something to that affect. "Gay food?" I asked. Jake wanted to know what a ontologically gay cuisine would be like. How would THAT play out? I got to thinking - What would gay food be like?
Now I must concede that the gays, God love 'em, are not their own ethnicity. Thus we cannot claim a food to be our own. However, I think that it is funny to flirt with the possibilities.
Would we be cliche and eat hotdogs? Or something that resembled a vijayjay? Would the food be rainbow-colored? Would it even have colors? Would gay food be sweet? Like RAINBOW cake? or fudgcicles (they're phallic and sweet!!)? Would gay food use expensive spices and herbs, like saffron? We, as a people, are known for our expensive tastes. Would gay food be high in protein? Perhaps only meats like the argentinians. Would we claim 'spotted dick' as our own? Damn British, bunch a bloody food-stealing oppressors. Would we adorn our foods with flowers resembling the female reproductive nether region? Like orchids, or even with roses like in "Como Agua Para Chocolate." Would gay food be representative of the oppression that gay people have had to endure over the years? At times food can play that role in a culture. What sort of beverages would we serve? Perhaps cosmos will finally be claimed as the quintessential "gay" drink. In fact, all martinis will be claimed by the gays. Just some questions to ponder.
One thing I do know for sure about what gay food would be like. At least for gay men: gay food must NEVER be high in fiber. You figure it out.
Ciao for now.
Be a Voice for the Voiceless
Today, Wednesday, April 18th, a group of Marquette students are staging a silent protest. This is a national event meant to protest anti-lgbtqa violence. This is difficult, to silence one's voice is to silence one's humanity. The voice is inextricably linked to one's humanity. It is locus of one's expression. The focal point of one's identity. Language is the medium through which we can have epistemilogical discourse and can know the world. My delibrate silence echoes the silence imposed upon the LGBTQA community, caused by harassment, prejudice, discrimination and flagrant violence. Think about the voices you are not hearing today. Then think about the voices that you never hear.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Vagina Monologues
On April 14th, 2007 (the same day as my conference), I had the distinct honor and privilege to perform in the Vagina Monologues. Now some of you may be wondering: "But Josue, aren't you a guy?!" For those of you that may not know, the Vagina Monologues are only allowed to be performed by women because they are women's experiences.
Let's take a step back and I'll explain what the Monologues are about. In a nutshell the Vagina Monologues are a series of monologues from the experiences of one or several women coalated/ edited/ written by Eve Ensler. The themes range from menstruation to sexual violence. These experiences were gathered and put to paper following extensive interviews - 200 to be precise. These women were as diverse as the monologues themselves. There is a monologue from a sex worker (nice word for prostitute) and one from a 75-year old woman. Varying experiences from a wide pool of women. The monologues are an important and necessary statement, no declaration, for the liberation of women. Although, I am no woman, based on the experiences of women who have seen the show, performed in the show and based on the monologues themselves it IS a liberating experience. Firstly, because society doesn't give license to speak of a women's nether regions. Secondly, because one of the central themes of the monologues is sexual violence against women. Such a theme is prudent to discuss due to the overwhelmingly disproportionate incidences of violence against women as opposed to men.
Okay, so now you know what they are. I was given the opportunity to perform in the Monologues. For those of you that might be confused due to the gender restriction of who can perform the monologues let me explain. You see, the performance itself was clandestine. It was allowed by Marquette University to be performed on campus but it was under the aegis of an academic symposium. Marquette has some strange restrictions on freedom of speech since it is a private institution and would not allow a performance of the Vagina Monologues the previous year. Alumni, faculty, even students were up in arms at even the thought that women would be on stage talking about their "vaginas." People are stupid. People are close-minded. People are uncomfortable and ignorant of the true message of the monologues and the patriarchal society that would squelch feminine voices from mainstream discourse.
With that said, under the protection of academic freedom the monologues would now be performed on campus. However, it was not a traditional performance. Actually, it wasn't even considered a performance. It was an academic symposium on Catholicism and Sexual Violence FEATURING, yes FEATURING a READING of the Vagina Monologues. So, it was a reading. But it was the performance in its entirety. A strange tangled web Catholic Private Conservative Right-Wing Idiocy weaves. But there you have it.
Thus, the girls on the team were running the show. Since we were already breaking the rules bringing the monologues to campus why not break a few more. I asked if I could read and was subsequently given permission to perform alongside my sisters, in solidarity. Although I cannot understand the struggles of a woman in the world we live, I can be sensitive to those struggles. I read what was called the "Spotlight" monologues with two others: a woman named Caleen and another man named Greg.
This is a copy of what I read, (just know that these are not my words but they are an excerpt from the Vagina Monologues):
"We make decisions all the time. Decisions about Them. Them is always different than us. Them has no face. Them is a little bit deserving of all the bad that happens to them. Them is used to violence – it’s in their blood. There are rules about them. We keep them over there, out of sight, conceptual. We do not get close enough to touch or smell or know them. We do not want to see how easily we could become them -- how quickly violence arrives, how swiftly people turn, embracing racist hate. We do not want to know or touch the parts of ourselves that are capable of behaving like them. Sometimes, if we are lucky, an image, a poem, an invitation to a foreign place pierces our perception. We suddenly stare down at a photograph on the cover of Newsday -- six young Bosnian girls just returned from a rape camp. Their faces are beautiful and young and destroyed. We see their utter incomprehension and terror. We feel their shame. We are compelled. We go and meet these women – young, old, Muslim, Croatian, Serbian, Haitian, Rwandan, Afghan, Chechen, Lebanese. We sit in dusty barracks, makeshift refugee camps, peeling centers. We hold the strong earthbound hands of the farm women longing for their land, we walk through beet fields with the woman with strawberry stains as she describes the execution of her parents, we sit in a hot room in a crowded refugee hotel with a mother and six children – one of her sons lies suspended in a bed, mute from three months in a concentration camp. We watch woman after woman shake, pace, smoke, choke, weep as they describe the gang rapes, the public rapes, the rapes of mothers, sisters, and grandmothers. We see how they have lost their homes and identities. That they do not eat or can't stop eating. We hear how they did not expect this or want this. Our secure usness, our little usness begins to unravel. It is dangerous. When we think of war, we think of it as something that happens to men in fields or jungles. We think of hand grenades and scud missiles. We think of the moment of violence-the blast, the explosion. But war is really a consequence – the effects of which are not known or felt for months, years, generations. And because consequences are usually not televised – by then the war is no longer sexy because the ratings are gone – the consequences remain invisible. As long as they are bombing Iraq for example, it is seen 24 hours a day on television. It is the bombing, the explosions in the dark that keep us watching. As long as there are snipers outside of Sarejevo, Sarejevo exists.
But after the bombing, after the sniper, that's when the real war begins.
It is found in the broken down fabric of community, in the death of trust, in the destruction of the every day patterns of living. In trauma and depression, poverty and homelessness and starvation. In the emasculation and rage of the victim. In the new violence: the traumatized soldier beating his wife, the teenage boys already plotting revenge, the ongoing panic of the children.
When we think of war, we do not think of women. Because the work of survival, of restoration, is not glamorous work. Like most women's work, it is undervalued, underpaid and impossible. After war, men are often shattered, unable to function. Women not only work, but they create peace networks, find ways to bring about healing. They teach in home schools when the school buildings are destroyed. Build gardens in the middle of abandoned railroad tracks. They pick up the pieces although they usually haven't fired a gun. How do you make war matter? How do you make destruction matter? How do you make people's suffering thousands of miles away matter? How do you make this world, this life, in all its mystery and injustice, matter? This is where theater comes in. Theater insists that we inhabit the present tense – not the virtual tense or the politically correct tense. Theater demands that we truly be where we are. By being there together, we are able to confront the seemingly impossible, we are able to feel that which we fear might destroy us – and we are educated and transformed by that act.
This year V-Day is focusing on women in conflict zones. We are focusing on women in the midst of war or in the aftermath of it. We are drawing the connection between family violence and state violence. We are exposing the fact that if a government supports the use of force, weapons, violence as a method of control and dominance, this gives license to the same kind of behavior at home.
This year we are Reclaiming Peace. We are taking back the word, the concept, the possibility. We are saying that making Peace must be the first option. Communication, respect, dialogue, compassion, kindness, generosity are the hard work of Peace – the necessary work and the priority. We are asking you to join in this discourse. To ask what happened to Peace. To ask what Peace is.
There is a new way, a way that is not forced or exploded open with bombs and guns and machetes. Instead it is melted open. It is invited in through strategy, wisdom, care and a deep regard for the future of life. We stand with our sisters from Beirut to Baghdad, Kandahar to Darfur. We know their suffering is our suffering.
We know that if the human species is to survive, the time of war must end.
We ask you to be bolder this year and kinder, more careful--to bring the energy of peace to every aspect of your life. We ask you to speak out, stand up for an end to violence."
As you can see, the focus this year was women in conflict zones. Women have the burden of rebuilding what men destroy - including their own bodies, minds, hearts. Now if you are a man reading this, I do not think that the monologues were written to make men feel guilty. Don't be so selfish!! Be sensitive and understanding of women and their struggles. These are real women's real-life experiences. And listen, always listen to what women have to say. Violence persists because men don't listen. Men want to feel powerful, in control. We need to live in solidarity and treat each other with kindness. That's what I learned from this experience. I have learned to appreciate women more; for their intelligence, their beauty, their kindness, their sensitivity, their thoughts, their contributions to society and yes, I have even learned to appreciate their vaginas. Not in a sexual way though (being that I am in fact gay). Vagina for me is representative of a part of women not spoken of. Not anatomically but rather abstractly. It is the violence and patriarchal bullshit shoveled all over vaginas (great visual, I know) that are not talked about. So keep on talking, keep on listening, integrate peace into every aspect of your life. That's the point. Stand with your sisters and be affirming, violence against women starts with men and can end with us.
Let's take a step back and I'll explain what the Monologues are about. In a nutshell the Vagina Monologues are a series of monologues from the experiences of one or several women coalated/ edited/ written by Eve Ensler. The themes range from menstruation to sexual violence. These experiences were gathered and put to paper following extensive interviews - 200 to be precise. These women were as diverse as the monologues themselves. There is a monologue from a sex worker (nice word for prostitute) and one from a 75-year old woman. Varying experiences from a wide pool of women. The monologues are an important and necessary statement, no declaration, for the liberation of women. Although, I am no woman, based on the experiences of women who have seen the show, performed in the show and based on the monologues themselves it IS a liberating experience. Firstly, because society doesn't give license to speak of a women's nether regions. Secondly, because one of the central themes of the monologues is sexual violence against women. Such a theme is prudent to discuss due to the overwhelmingly disproportionate incidences of violence against women as opposed to men.
Okay, so now you know what they are. I was given the opportunity to perform in the Monologues. For those of you that might be confused due to the gender restriction of who can perform the monologues let me explain. You see, the performance itself was clandestine. It was allowed by Marquette University to be performed on campus but it was under the aegis of an academic symposium. Marquette has some strange restrictions on freedom of speech since it is a private institution and would not allow a performance of the Vagina Monologues the previous year. Alumni, faculty, even students were up in arms at even the thought that women would be on stage talking about their "vaginas." People are stupid. People are close-minded. People are uncomfortable and ignorant of the true message of the monologues and the patriarchal society that would squelch feminine voices from mainstream discourse.
With that said, under the protection of academic freedom the monologues would now be performed on campus. However, it was not a traditional performance. Actually, it wasn't even considered a performance. It was an academic symposium on Catholicism and Sexual Violence FEATURING, yes FEATURING a READING of the Vagina Monologues. So, it was a reading. But it was the performance in its entirety. A strange tangled web Catholic Private Conservative Right-Wing Idiocy weaves. But there you have it.
Thus, the girls on the team were running the show. Since we were already breaking the rules bringing the monologues to campus why not break a few more. I asked if I could read and was subsequently given permission to perform alongside my sisters, in solidarity. Although I cannot understand the struggles of a woman in the world we live, I can be sensitive to those struggles. I read what was called the "Spotlight" monologues with two others: a woman named Caleen and another man named Greg.
This is a copy of what I read, (just know that these are not my words but they are an excerpt from the Vagina Monologues):
"We make decisions all the time. Decisions about Them. Them is always different than us. Them has no face. Them is a little bit deserving of all the bad that happens to them. Them is used to violence – it’s in their blood. There are rules about them. We keep them over there, out of sight, conceptual. We do not get close enough to touch or smell or know them. We do not want to see how easily we could become them -- how quickly violence arrives, how swiftly people turn, embracing racist hate. We do not want to know or touch the parts of ourselves that are capable of behaving like them. Sometimes, if we are lucky, an image, a poem, an invitation to a foreign place pierces our perception. We suddenly stare down at a photograph on the cover of Newsday -- six young Bosnian girls just returned from a rape camp. Their faces are beautiful and young and destroyed. We see their utter incomprehension and terror. We feel their shame. We are compelled. We go and meet these women – young, old, Muslim, Croatian, Serbian, Haitian, Rwandan, Afghan, Chechen, Lebanese. We sit in dusty barracks, makeshift refugee camps, peeling centers. We hold the strong earthbound hands of the farm women longing for their land, we walk through beet fields with the woman with strawberry stains as she describes the execution of her parents, we sit in a hot room in a crowded refugee hotel with a mother and six children – one of her sons lies suspended in a bed, mute from three months in a concentration camp. We watch woman after woman shake, pace, smoke, choke, weep as they describe the gang rapes, the public rapes, the rapes of mothers, sisters, and grandmothers. We see how they have lost their homes and identities. That they do not eat or can't stop eating. We hear how they did not expect this or want this. Our secure usness, our little usness begins to unravel. It is dangerous. When we think of war, we think of it as something that happens to men in fields or jungles. We think of hand grenades and scud missiles. We think of the moment of violence-the blast, the explosion. But war is really a consequence – the effects of which are not known or felt for months, years, generations. And because consequences are usually not televised – by then the war is no longer sexy because the ratings are gone – the consequences remain invisible. As long as they are bombing Iraq for example, it is seen 24 hours a day on television. It is the bombing, the explosions in the dark that keep us watching. As long as there are snipers outside of Sarejevo, Sarejevo exists.
But after the bombing, after the sniper, that's when the real war begins.
It is found in the broken down fabric of community, in the death of trust, in the destruction of the every day patterns of living. In trauma and depression, poverty and homelessness and starvation. In the emasculation and rage of the victim. In the new violence: the traumatized soldier beating his wife, the teenage boys already plotting revenge, the ongoing panic of the children.
When we think of war, we do not think of women. Because the work of survival, of restoration, is not glamorous work. Like most women's work, it is undervalued, underpaid and impossible. After war, men are often shattered, unable to function. Women not only work, but they create peace networks, find ways to bring about healing. They teach in home schools when the school buildings are destroyed. Build gardens in the middle of abandoned railroad tracks. They pick up the pieces although they usually haven't fired a gun. How do you make war matter? How do you make destruction matter? How do you make people's suffering thousands of miles away matter? How do you make this world, this life, in all its mystery and injustice, matter? This is where theater comes in. Theater insists that we inhabit the present tense – not the virtual tense or the politically correct tense. Theater demands that we truly be where we are. By being there together, we are able to confront the seemingly impossible, we are able to feel that which we fear might destroy us – and we are educated and transformed by that act.
This year V-Day is focusing on women in conflict zones. We are focusing on women in the midst of war or in the aftermath of it. We are drawing the connection between family violence and state violence. We are exposing the fact that if a government supports the use of force, weapons, violence as a method of control and dominance, this gives license to the same kind of behavior at home.
This year we are Reclaiming Peace. We are taking back the word, the concept, the possibility. We are saying that making Peace must be the first option. Communication, respect, dialogue, compassion, kindness, generosity are the hard work of Peace – the necessary work and the priority. We are asking you to join in this discourse. To ask what happened to Peace. To ask what Peace is.
There is a new way, a way that is not forced or exploded open with bombs and guns and machetes. Instead it is melted open. It is invited in through strategy, wisdom, care and a deep regard for the future of life. We stand with our sisters from Beirut to Baghdad, Kandahar to Darfur. We know their suffering is our suffering.
We know that if the human species is to survive, the time of war must end.
We ask you to be bolder this year and kinder, more careful--to bring the energy of peace to every aspect of your life. We ask you to speak out, stand up for an end to violence."
As you can see, the focus this year was women in conflict zones. Women have the burden of rebuilding what men destroy - including their own bodies, minds, hearts. Now if you are a man reading this, I do not think that the monologues were written to make men feel guilty. Don't be so selfish!! Be sensitive and understanding of women and their struggles. These are real women's real-life experiences. And listen, always listen to what women have to say. Violence persists because men don't listen. Men want to feel powerful, in control. We need to live in solidarity and treat each other with kindness. That's what I learned from this experience. I have learned to appreciate women more; for their intelligence, their beauty, their kindness, their sensitivity, their thoughts, their contributions to society and yes, I have even learned to appreciate their vaginas. Not in a sexual way though (being that I am in fact gay). Vagina for me is representative of a part of women not spoken of. Not anatomically but rather abstractly. It is the violence and patriarchal bullshit shoveled all over vaginas (great visual, I know) that are not talked about. So keep on talking, keep on listening, integrate peace into every aspect of your life. That's the point. Stand with your sisters and be affirming, violence against women starts with men and can end with us.
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