Showing posts with label Culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Culture. Show all posts

9.6.11

Ode to Dark (Skinned) Girls

From The Crunk Feminist Collective by rboylorn on 6/9/11

she waited
patiently
and in silence
never admitting
out loud
that she secretly wanted to be
light
skinned
brown but in a lighter shade
she would say it out loud
but in whispered tones
"make me white-like
damn near transparent
so that these people can see through me
instead of just past me…
make me
beautiful!"
like the color of the earth I am
but
this skin,
this house to my soul
is only almost pretty
they say
and if I weren't so dark
I might be worth
lovingwantingfuckingstayingbeing
but instead I am just
tolerated
in the dark or in secret
or worn on your shoulder
like
an unnecessary accessory
creating your celebrity
because
i
am
dark
er
than
you
teach me how to love
myself
brilliantlyBrownBlackMahoganyEbonyqueen-like
BronzedCocoaButterDreamChild
the color of fire
in the middle of its escape
skin and eyes round
and regal at once
You are beautiful
I am beautiful
the color of coffee with no cream
dark like the bittersweet chocolate of my dreams
caramel-coated coquette
honey dipped and full of vigor
full lipped and full bodied
full
dark-skinned and exquisite
majestic even
with your brown-black self!
Black is beautiful
You are beautiful
I am beautiful
We are beautiful

To read the entire blog post, click here.

31.3.11

The Codes of Gender



Communication scholar Sut Jhally applies the late sociologist Erving Goffman's groundbreaking analysis of advertising to the contemporary commercial landscape in this film about gender as a ritualized cultural performance. Jhally explores Goffman's central claim that the way the body is displayed in advertising communicates normative ideas about masculinity and femininity and is certain to inspire discussion and debate across a range of disciplines.

30.3.11

Food for Thought: Stuff No One Told Me

"Porn movies and Disney are responsible for the most frustrated human beings I know." - Alex Noriega


Also, if you get the chance, check out Cinderella Ate My Daughter by Peggy Orenstein. I just finished it, it's rather interesting.

27.3.11

The Vagina Monologues: A Review


I have finally had the chance to attend a presentation of The Vagina Monologues. This showing has been going on at the University of Florida for the last four years and truthfully, I have no good reason why I've never attended. But better late than never, right? Along with V-Day, this year's beneficiary was Peaceful Paths Domestic Abuse Network. A member of the Florida Coalition Against Domestic Violence, the organization provides services like emergency shelter and batterer's intervention programming, while serving domestic abuse victims in Alachua, Bradford, and Union counties of Florida. The Vagina Monologues is an episodic play written by playwright and feminist Eve Ensler in 1996. The play is based on interviews Ensler conducted with 200 women.  The women were of a wide age range, various multicultural background, sexual preferences, etc. The interviews covered topics like rape, masturbation, mutilation, orgasm, birth, etc.


The Introduction: Three women discussed how the play came to life as well as the different reactions of the women interviewed. The introduction of the many different names given to the vagina was both funny and interesting. I reminded me of growing up in Haiti and thinking "vagin" was a bad word or at least a word reserved only for grown women.

Hair: When I read this title in the program I thought to myself "What exactly does hair have to do with vaginas?" Well... It's actually a conversation I've had with many of my girl friends. Oh the many things society (well, mostly the porn industry actually) imposes upon us women and our vaginas. It reminded me of the scene in the first Sex and the City movie, in which Samantha is horrified by Miranda's hairy bikini line, and Samantha suggests to Miranda that this might have been one of the reasons why her husband cheated on her.

The Flood: This was based on the interview with a 72-year-old woman. This scene was both charming and extremely sad. Hearing how unaware, embarrassed, frightened, and ashamed this poor old woman was of her vagina was quite sad.  Also, the actress who portrayed this woman's story, Kim Mead, was absolutely brilliant.

The Vagina Workshop: I liked hearing how this woman was liberated and she was taught to please herself. Much like the woman in The Flood, this woman was previously unaware of the existence of her vagina as well as her clitoris. To hear that she was waiting for someone [a man] to one day come and discover her vagina and please her clitoris proved to me just how successfully women have been taught to shy away from sexual pleasure.

My Angry Vagina: This was possibly my favorite scene of the bunch. This monologue basically gave a voice to vaginas everywhere. Here's video of the monologue:



The Vagina Monologues has been criticized for its negative portrayals of male-female sexual relationships. I found that Because He Liked to Look At It did a good job of including a man in the vagina conversation. It has also been criticized because of the representation of brutal sexual encounters. I thought these representations (My Vagina Was My Village and Crooked Braid) were necessary due to the very high statistics of violence against women worldwide. I thought it was a fair representation. In my opinion, it was not making the case that all men are violent and hate women, but rather that there are many women who have suffered violence from the hands of males. On the other hand, I agree with the criticism that The Little Coochi Snorcher That Could represents a bias. The inclusion of a monologue, which describes an instance of female-female statutory rape, in a play that speaks out so loudly against violence against women, makes no sense to me.

Overall, I enjoyed the play. I appreciated what it was meant to achieve and the fact that so many people have benefited from it. It is definitely something I will see again and next time I am definitely bringing a few friends along.

17.11.10

Putain de Temps: On Missing Home (Haiti)

Dear God, this is a miss poem.

I miss childhood. I miss my imagination. The worlds I created with well... I don't quite remember and that's what is so damn heartbreaking. I miss my imaginary friend, Jelhane, who I don't remember either but of whom my mom was so fond. I miss the hot Caribbean sun. The hustle and bustle of downtown Port-au-Prince, its saleswomen and dirty, half-naked boys selling everything under the sun. I miss waiting for a ride to school every morning. The conversations I had with the saleswomen. The smell of coffee in the morning, the men who bought the coffee but always spilled some for the departed. The saleswomen selling bananas, hard-boiled eggs, with pikliz. I miss "pate ze" with hot dogs and pikliz or "pate aranso."  I miss Christmastime. Running around in the dark with firecrackers. Wishing random strangers "jwaye nwel e bon ane." I miss childhood.

I miss the hot summer days spent at the spring. Eating mangoes and tamarind til tummies hurt. I miss climbing trees, running, falling. I miss dominoes and cards. Skipping ropes and dolls. Fritay and dancing. Oh how I miss dancing. I used to dance. All the time, I used to dance. I miss dancing. I don't dance anymore. I miss hot afternoon suns, singing in the back of a pick-up truck, tennis lessons after school. Art classes and piano lessons. Saturdays of leisure, Sunday morning masses and afternoons with Grand'Nana. I miss my great grandmother and her loving smile. Her coffee and the many ways she spoiled me. I miss the way her yellow skin wrinkled, her long and beautiful black hair, which she always insisted on dyeing, and the many people she fed. I miss her comforting presence, the way her eyes lit up when she saw me. I miss her love. Her unconditional love. I miss my Grand'Nana.

I childhood innocence. Without a care in the world. The many friends I played with. The boy who declared himself my boyfriend, followed me around like a lost puppy and gave me my first kiss. How beautiful he was. God I hope he is still alive. I miss dark starry nights. Moonlight stories and my mom yelling at me to come home. I miss the potential everyone saw in me. The pride they took in me. The many people who always wanted to please me. I miss la Riviere de l'Estere and Fete St Jerome in late Septembers. Mardi Gras and three days of Carnaval. I miss being on stage, being one of the smartest students in my classes. And living in the moment, never really caring if there was a tomorrow. I miss coloring and painting, writing songs, and making up dances. I miss Steve and the many fights we fought. I miss Nadege and how she loved me. How patient she was with me. I miss Chachou. My Oncle Ilitch and his paintings. I miss never really fitting in. Oncle Yves and his stories. Oncle Jean and his books. Tante Tete and her secrets. Visiting my grandfather and the many books he gave me.

I miss my childhood. I miss my home. I miss Haiti. Mwen Sonje Lakay.

I miss the part of me that will never again be. I miss not knowing better. Putain the temps. I miss me.