Last year authorities arrested expectant mother Miriam Mendiola-Martinez, an undocumented immigrant, and charged her with using someone else's identity to work. After the incarcerated Mendiola-Martinez delivered a baby boy Dec. 21 via C-section at Maricopa Medical Center in Arizona, she was shackled for two days to her hospital bed and not allowed to nurse her baby, New America Media (NAM) reports. Moreover, when guards escorted her out of the hospital in shackles, no one told her the whereabouts of her son.
This weekend, the New York Times Magazine—a publication I admittedly adore—asked what I consider to be a very simple question: "Is There An Ecological Unconscious?" Should we be thankful when these issues are covered by mainstream media or annoyed that our work has once again been relegated to the margins of the larger movement?
Metal is a misunderstood genre; traditionally the domain of alienated pubescent males, angry dude-bros and broody Lord of the Rings fans, while women were relegated to groupie status only. Fortunately, metal has come a long way since "The Hairy 80s", and there quite a few metal bands around now that feature women in way more face-melting roles.
Just 14 years ago, the Rev. Jesse Jackson called for a boycott of the Academy Awards due to the dearth of African American entertainers nominated for Oscars. In the new millennium, however, the Academy Awards have consistently nominated blacks for Oscars. Denzel Washington, Halle Berry, Jen Hudson and Forest Whitaker have all nabbed Academy Awards in recent years. And Sophie Okonedo, Will Smith and Don Cheadle are among the blacks to receive nominations in the 2000s.
Writing history is a radical act. I'm going to say it again. Writing history is a radical act. The process by which historians choose to deify, demonize, or emulate individuals and events is a malleable and contentious undertaking. As I'm sure you savvy readers out there know—with this retelling comes power. Sure, narratives can be retold, historical 'facts' reformulated, and legacies reclaimed. But whose voices get heard? Which versions get told? Who gets remembered and why? (For far too long 'our' Nation's history consisted overwhelmingly of the male, pale, and stale variety.)
If you're reading the Bitch blog, chances are you've decided that you aren't too terribly offended by the b-word. But what about the c-word? In contemplating the state of modern environmental issues and food politics, I'm thinking that it might be time to reclaim the big C—cow.
It's hard to make an argument for paying attention to the Miss America pageant because the pageant hasn't really made a compelling argument for its continued existence. Why hype up a competition that has so little ultimately at stake?
From the outset of the Haitian earthquake, I was a bit turned off by the coverage of white American families adopting Haitian children. It's not that I object to transracial/international adoption. It's just that major news networks seemed to devote more time to white Americans trying to adopt Haitian children than Haitians in America seeking information about the well-being of their loved ones on the island-nation. It seemed that networks deemed that they had to place white Americans front and center of this tragedy for fear that the general public couldn't emotionally connect to the plight of Haitian Americans and Haitians at large.
Moreover, in recent days, the adoption community has expressed its concerns about Americans clamoring to adopt Haitian children following the quake.
You asked for it (well, one person asked for it): a pop punk edition of BitchTapes! Punk pop, power pop, bubblegum punk - call it what you will, as long as you pogo your butt off and sing along in your brattiest sneer. Warning: pop punk is contagious.