we are ready now

Brownfemipower, once again, speaks truth.

The Allied Media Conference is life-changing. I know because I was lucky enough to go last summer. I was able to go, in part, thanks to the generous help of a couple of you out there who thought it was important enough to help me out. The dividends of that kindness have echoed through my entire life like a shockwave of affirmation, strength, hope, and new community. I left Detroit last June with a new way of looking at the world, a new courage to engage, and new hope for the greatness and potential of letting radical love be at the center of everything.

I never got around to posting about AMC last year because I couldn't find the words. I couldn't describe what it was like to walk into a dynamic community of people who all had been willing to sacrifice in order to come together and hope--without the constraint of always, always having to go back to square one, without the exhaustion, for just a little while, of an oppressive world--who had brought their dearest families, their secret joys, their history-battered strengths in order to dedicate themselves to evolving a new way to go forward. I saw five generations holding hands and supporting each other, across differences, due to deep and mutual respect. I saw children light up with possibility and bravery and laughter. I saw teenagers, arm in arm, teaching everyone in the room what it means to learn. I saw elders in a place of honor, leading the way toward change. And rolling around Detroit, watching as a city forced to its knees by the betrayal of industry continues to provide incredible examples of growth and innovation and faith in the power of community to the rest of the world, I saw a new kind of community that I'd never had before. It was about making not what we're paid to make, not what we're told to make, but what we need, for each other.

At AMC I made connections I had never dreamed I could have--not just as an aspiring writer and media-maker (though I found those and then some) or as a radical activist (we got amazing work done and started projects that blow me away every day) but as a queer woman of color, a sister, a partner, moving through the world and trying to figure out where I fit in it. I went from quietly saying "I'm a woman of color" with my head hung awkwardly to standing up proud and saying "I'm a woman of color" in a clear voice full of certainty. It was the best reminder I could imagine of the idea that that identity is fundamentally about claiming yourself as part of a greater whole, of defining your own identity by your choice of solidarity with others. It's not a "my name is"--it's an "I belong to." It's not a "here's what I'm called"--it's a "here's who my family is." It says you've chosen to prioritize your connection to community, the shared struggle across different iterations of oppression, and the irresistible truth that together we are far more than any one of us.

The Allied Media Conference gave me new tools as a media activist, but it also reminded me where I belong, and to whom I am connected. The people I stood with, sat around a kitchen table with, traded stories and skills and dreams with, re-taught me not just how to do the work, but who I am. They gave me more to stand for, more to love, and more to value within myself. I could integrate all those identities--trans, queer, rural, brown, religious--and nobody tried to force me to take myself apart and just be parts of me. I came away more aware of myself and my context than ever before, ready to keep growing.

On the plane to Michigan, my bag lost, my flight delayed and rescheduled, sandwiched between a dental hygenist and a yuppie who wouldn't turn off his fancy phone, I told people I was on my way to a professional conference of media-makers, and that was true.
On the plane home to Oregon, weeping openly with the joy of discovery and the pangs of distance from a new world of wonders, I told people I'd been in Detroit visiting family, and that was true, too.

I'm ready for more of that. Are you?

same as the old boss

I'm sorry, you were making a point about online feminists reproducing historical patterns of marginalization and privilege?

I couldn't hear you over the deafening roar of "I'll tell you what you're going to be called, and you're going to sit down and like it."

Lesson, kids: when someone you have privilege over says, "Excuse me, but I would appreciate if you didn't use that word to describe me, it makes me really uncomfortable," what is the proper response?
A: "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I'm going to keep doing it."
B: "Some of my best friends are (insert somebody here), and they told me it was okay."
C: "I'm reclaiming that language for you, as a show of alliance. It shows I'm comfortable with your kind."
D: "You're wrong about the context of that word. It's not offensive and I didn't mean it to be."
E: "I guess I'll try to consider not saying it in front of you people in the future."
F: "Why are you so oversensitive?"
G: "Oh, okay, I didn't realize that. Sorry, I'll knock it off, because I respect your ability to know what is and is not hurtful to you."

Because only one of those is going to get me saying, "Oh, cool, I'm glad you understand, thanks. Shall we move on?" And the others? That's your greater inclusion? Let me tell you where to stick it.

(And all blogs are businesses? What about all the people who never attempt to profit from blogging, not because they can't, but because their aim isn't their own individual career success, but to build widely-accessible community connection? You know, like most of the women of color you reference?)

Seriously, as a smalltime woman of color blogger I really, really wanted to like this post and the ensuing conversation. And you just let me know that as a trans woman of color, it's okay to "colonize" me.

going around in (Venn-diagram) circles

I keep saying I'm going to write about this, and I keep not doing so.

So here's a question I've been asking myself:

Why is it that I feel much safer in women-of-color spaces that are mostly cissexual and straight than I do in queer-and-trans spaces that are mostly white?  Why is it that I've gotten so much more understanding from one than another?

I've been trying to suss this one out, because it confuses the hell out of me, and I've come at it from multiple angles.  Is it just a coincidence of which circles I run in?  Is is because the (white) queer spaces I've run in are far more clueless about white privilege and than the (straight) women-of-color spaces are about straight-and-cissexual privilege?  Why is that?  Is it because oppression-by-race is somehow a better beginning education in privilege than oppression-by-gender-or-orientation?  I'm really not sure.

I've considered, too, that even a lot of the queer spaces I've run in are cissexual-dominated, so, to wit:  I'm a trans dyke of color.  Maybe it's a matter of cissexual (white) queer spaces and cissexual (straight) WoC spaces, really, dealing with me as two kinds of Other and fitting them together in different ways.  So why is it?

I'd really like to have a discussion about these issues, because it's counter to a lot of what I was told as a baby activist--for instance, that communities of color have more of a problem with queer issues than white communities do.  In my experience, that hasn't been true.  Is it an economic-class thing, where some groups are just forced to live near the disadvantaged trans members of their group and thus have more familiarity through shared disadvantage?  Is it a cultural-imperialism thing, where those of us with roots in more trans-and-queer-inclusive cultures are at an advantage compared to those whose ancestral cultures were not so understanding?  Is it just an American thing?  

I just can't figure out what it is, and it's not only an interesting question to me, it's a matter of safety.  I've left a whole lot of primarily-white queer and even exclusively-trans spaces because they were not safe spaces for me as a woman of color or because there was simply a poor understanding of intersectional privilege and related ideas.  Too much "Is Gay The New Black?" and not enough Gloria Anzaldua.  Too many deeply transphobic LGb(t?) spaces, even ones labeled "trans-inclusive" that only really mean female-assigned genderqueer and transmasculine folks, you know?  And I've found warm shelter over and over in women-of-color spaces that were by-and-large straight and other than me exclusively cissexual, with people who surprised me by considering it their own job to do their homework, understand my situation, and make me welcome--to really acknowledge the patterns of intersectional oppression.  Why is that?  Do I just run in the wrong trans and queer circles?  Have I just been lucky in my POC circles?  I honestly don't know.

What are your experiences with these dynamics?  Are they vastly different from mine?  Why do you think things are the way you've experienced them?  I think there's something valuable to be picked out of these discrepancies, if we chip at them for a bit.