watch this!

Wear red tomorrow

Debbie Rasmussen — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 21:12:06 -0400

and please go to this amazing blog for more information.

"my dad could be a woman, and my mom could be a man!"

Debbie Rasmussen — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 12:30:43 -0400

thanks to megan for the heads-up, and who's also written a very thoughtful post about gay marriage...

Humanizing animal rights

Debbie Rasmussen — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 13:47:54 -0400

Several weeks back PM Press sent a video to Bitch for review. It sat in my inbox for weeks, because I knew would break my heart. It's called Behind the Mask: The story of people who risk everything to save animals. I finally watched it, partly out of obligation, partly because I wanted to share it with others. As you can probably guess, many moments are excruciating. Watching a researcher laugh at a monkey flinch and flail as he electrocutes her, watching a researcher pummel punch a beagle in the face... There are no words.

But amidst all of that -- and fortunately taking up much more film time -- are stories of and interviews with some incredibly committed, amazing, inspiring people. For people unfamiliar with animal rights activism -- or especially for those whose minds immediately conjure up masked "terrorists" -- it offers an incredibly humanizing and touching look at why they risk their lives for the sake of animals.

More conference bitching

Debbie Rasmussen — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 17:33:03 -0400

I was back in Minneapolis this weekend for the National Conference for Media Reform, an event organized by the folks at Free Press, a nonpartisan group focused on media reform and policy.

I've had conflicted feelings about the conference since it started in 2003. Actually, back when it first started, I wasn't so much conflicted as just pissed off. A lot of us were pissed. I was living in Madison then, which was the site chosen for the first conference. Many of us were part of a vibrant and active independent/grassroots media community that included, among many other projects and efforts, a radical community newspaper, an active Indymedia center, and a long-running community radio station. What pissed us off is that although the conference was to be held in Madison, none of us local independent media creators/media justice organizers were included in the planning. Actually, we weren't even alerted that the conference organizing was taking place. It was beyond ridiculous; it was offensive. How could an event focused on media reform blatantly ignore the folks who were a critical part of that work, even if our focus was different?

What made the situation more frustrating to me is that at the time, I was in somewhat regular contact with two of the founders of Free Press – Bob McChesney and John Nichols. I'd turned to Bob for assistance in designing an independent study course on media criticism (I was taking courses at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he'd taught years earlier but was allegedly ousted for being too radical; he now teaches at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana), and he kindly provided some much-needed guidance and mentorship. He'd also allowed us at the Madison Insurgent to reprint some of his articles on media conglomeration. John had kindly assisted those of us involved in the unionizing effort at Whole Foods by writing op-eds for the local paper, and helping us get the word out about our struggles.

In other words, the founders/organizers of the conference were well aware that there were active local independent media projects, yet didn't make a single effort at reaching out to any of us. In fact some of us tried to reach out to them, but our calls and emails were not returned. It was infuriating, to put it mildly.

In response, a radical contingent of Madison independent media producers/media justice activists organized a shadow conference that, from all accounts was very successful (I was unable to make it because by the time the conference came around, I'd already moved to Oakland).

Two years later, the conference moved to St. Louis, and it was clear that efforts were at least being made to be more inclusive. For one thing, Free Press offered scholarships to those of us who otherwise wouldn't be able to attend. I was grateful for the opportunity the scholarship provided, to meet lots of folks doing great grassroots work, and reconnect with old allies/comrades. But my overwhelming reaction (and the one of countless other radical media folks I talked to) was one of frustration at the extent to which media reformers still didn't seem to notice (let alone value) those of us creating media, and/or those of us who incorporate a media justice ethic into our work. It was frightening to see how many people think policy and lobbying is the only way to effect change. It was frightening to see the absence of challenging deeply systemic power structures. It didn't feel like movement-building. It felt like a lot of disconnected policy talk, a lot of strategizing about organizing through the usual channels (without an examination of the structures that produce and replicate systems of oppression), and a painful absence of creativity and misunderstanding (or outright refusal to consider?) democracy and media justice.

So I knew what I was getting into this year, but wanted to give it another shot. And overall, I'm glad I did. Over 3,000 people attended. Again I thank Free Press for offering scholarships to those of us who otherwise wouldn't be able to attend. I met many new folks, learned about some exciting organizing going on, reconnected with people working on some incredible projects (like the Center for Media Justice, the Prometheus Radio Project, Youth Outlook, and People's Production House), and at the end of one long day, was even lucky enough to visit two of my favorite Minneapolis night spots (The Brass Rail and The Saloon), where I got some much-needed kindness by a loving contingent of Minnesota Nice homos and fags (thanks, all of you, for being as sweet as you always have been).

But. When I registered and opened this year's conference packet, I read the welcome letter, the opening line of which is, "We are here because the media's failure to inform and represent our communities poses one of the greatest threats to our democracy."

Our "democracy"? Call me nitpicky, but my definition of democracy means that people actually have power. Moreover, or more specific to this conference, considering the ongoing criticisms of media justice activists and media producers that they don't feel included, it seems all the more strange to use such loaded language.

I missed last year's conference in Memphis, but I talked to a number of folks who said they felt things had actually regressed this year, and they were openly questioning whether they would continue to return.

We need a media movement that's engaging and built from the ground up. We need a movement that examines power structures and seeks to destroy the status quo. This does not feel like a movement. It does not feel inclusive to many of us from marginalized identities, and/or who are fighting on the margins.

It also replicates the same cult of personality/power that we as progressives/radicals claim to resist. With all due respect, how many times do we need to put folks like Amy Goodman, Bill Moyers, Phil Donahue, and now Dan Rather on a platform? I understand the need to lure folks in, but if that's what it takes, we have more work to do, most notably in the areas of listening to other people's stories and opening up doors and spaces.

I'm still on the fence about my future involvement, but I do want to end on a positive note, because I experienced many inspiring and refueling moments over the weekend. Things like:

Interacting with folks from one of what I consider to be the most radical organizing efforts around, the Kennsington Welfare Rights Union. If you're not familiar with their work, please read about them and support them. They're a multi-racial organization by and for people who are poor and homeless.
Hearing Chris Rabb emphasize the importance of organizing across race and gender, focusing on inclusive efforts that also foreground class. I've been hearing a lot of talk lately (well, for a long time, really) about the importance of not playing oppression derby, but I still see a lot of it happening, and as long as I've been politically active, I've seen class/classism take a back seat to other identities. I have a lot more to say about this, but for now I'll just express my firm belief that until we start foregrounding class and critiquing capitalist values, efforts at effecting social change are meaningless.
Hearing Daisy Hernandez speak to the history and current work of Color Lines, and appreciating her reminder to those of us involved in grassroots publishing projects that it can be more meaningful and impactful for one person being incited to action through reading a story than to have massive numbers of subscribers.
And finally, seeing an incredible movie called Hip Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes, which examines masculinity, sexism, violence, and anti-gay sentiment (and homoeroticism) in hip-hop culture. Using interviews with hip-hop artists, cultural critics, and his own experiences and relationships to hip hop and anti-sexist work, Byron Hurt did a phenomenal job of covering the multiplicity of forces converging to make hip-hop what it is today. For anyone who thinks feminism is/should be all about women, for anyone who doesn't recognize the profound ways in which men are constrained by our oppressive cultural values, this movie is a serious wake up call. Many parts were painful to watch, but it was a powerful story and an extremely well done film. Following the screening, Byron answered questions, and emphasized, as others have recently, the importance of inclusive organizing that transcends race, class, and gender. I left hopeful knowing that there are folks out there who realize the necessity of inclusiveness in movement building.

Hope/politics of place

Debbie Rasmussen — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 11:57:45 -0400

Here in Northeast Portland is a place called In Other Words Women's Books and Resources, a nonprofit bookstore founded in 1993. I've only lived in Portland for a year, so most of what I know I've learned from talking to people and reading news articles, like this.

A few nights ago I went to a screening of a short documentary called Moving In: A nonprofit feminist bookstore and the politics of place. The documentary, created by Dawn Jones (who's on the board of Bitch; photographed below), examines the bookstore's 2006 move, which resulted from being economically displaced from their original neighborhood, to a historically African-American neighborhood. The film is fantastic; you should see it if you have the opportunity.

Following the documentary, community activist and educator Roslyn Farrington facilitated a discussion, featuring four panelists: Allyson Spencer, a longtime NE Portland resident who was involved in the Albina Arts Center (the organization that most recently inhabited the building); Sue Burns and Amara Perez, In Other Words former executive director and current program director, respectively; and Jeana Woolley, development consultant to the Albina Women’s League, the nonprofit African-American organization who still owns the space.

I'm hoping Dawn will post a link to the video of the panel discussion, but in the meantime, here's my stab at summing up the main points of each panelist and the discussion...

Allyson Spencer shared her experience of coming upon the Albina Arts Center in the 1970s. As an African-American arts organization, it was less of a place for social activism, she explained, and more about love and the creative process. She emphasized her perception that IOW revitalized the space, and preserved the energy and spirit of what was there before; she said she prefers the term revitalization over gentrification because the Albina Arts organization was at one time "vital," but it had been empty for over a decade because funding for arts programs had dried up.

Sue Burns shared the history of IOW's founding. Its previous location (SE Hawthorne, for people familiar with Portland) was at one time a site of counter-cultural resistance but, like many of these areas across the United States, has devolved into a site of hypercommercialization. While at one time they valued the experience of being a radical voice on the street, they were eventually unable to afford the ever-rising rent.

Amara Perez focused her introductory remarks on what she sees as the complexities and contradictions surrounding the move, and highlighted the problem of a primarily white feminist organization moving into a historically African-American neighborhood. She explained the big picture of what happens in the process of gentrification: Increased property taxes, which result in forced displacement of low-income people (particularly of people of color); increased police surveillance, which results in increased harassment and abuse of people of color; the decreasing availability of public housing; the privatization of schools and other community and social services; the displacement of businesses run by people of color; and the overall change of the neighborhood's cultural and social character.

Jeana Woolley (pictured below) briefly explained the founding of the Albina Women's League in the early 1970s and the operation of the Albina Arts Center, which was in operation until the mid 1980s when funding dried up. She explained the idea of "disinvestment" from community, and what happens when a community has no access to capital. As an advisor to the Albina Women's League, she encouraged them to create this partnership with IOW because they're an organization with social consciousness and expressed interest in being a part of the community—creating a new community by working with the old community. She explained that because IOW commissioned a strong volunteer force willing to upgrade the building, the idea seemed even better.

After each panelist made their introductory remarks, Roslyn offered her own opinion, that gentrification exists on a continuum. She explained her belief that because IOW made the move with consciousness and intention and has continued to evolve in ways that better serve the community, the move was healthy and a model for reinvesting in a neighborhood that had suffered disinvestment.

I think it was Allyson who added the importance of viewing the situation as an opportunity and be mindful of being solution-oriented—it's happened, so what are we going to do about it? What are the guiding steps to build community? How can we utilize the assets of community members, in terms of time, expertise, energy, and art.

The discussion was engaging and provocative, but also frustrating. Partly because there was barely enough time for it to get off the ground (I realize this was inevitable, and I think Dawn will be organizing future discussions to follow up). But more importantly, the frame of the conversation was limited, which led to this idea of "good or bad," this good-intentioned-but-not-honest-and-thus-not-useful discussion. And this worries me.

For example.

Someone in the audience shared how drugs and violence were rampant in the neighborhood (he lives about a mile from IOW), explained how community members had wanted the neighborhood to change but change wasn't happening.

Following his comments, Amara took "the other side," by posing the rhetorical question, "Is gentrification is a solution to poverty?" (Of course not, but I'm not sure he was arguing that it was.)

Amara started to bring the conversation to a deeper level, to the need to eradicate and dismantle the systems that lead to poverty...

And then, unfortunately, we ran out of time...

This was only the beginning of a conversation and I obviously wasn't expecting huge movement, but I left hoping for future discussions that allow for more nuance. It's scary, it's difficult. But I also think it's necessary.

...

A few months ago, I went to another neighborhood talk about gentrification. Nathan McCall, author of Makes Me Wanna Holler: A young black man in America, read from his latest book, Them, which examines gentrification through a fictional account of a neighborhood in Atlanta.

One of the most important points I took away from his talk was the importance of recognizing that gentrification is a complicated process, and while it has many "bads," it also has many "goods," including the literal goods and services being brought into a neighborhood previously neglected.

Acknowledging this isn't saying gentrification is "good." Rather, it's a necessary part of complicating the discussion, pushing us to honestly examine what's happening in our urban areas, pushing us to a deeper level of political analysis and critique.

Because if the frame of the discussion is good/bad, how do we make a determination if people (and I'm specifically talking here about the people who are long-time members of a community undergoing gentrification) have different truths? How do we acknowledge that the number of marginalized people is growing exponentially in this country, and avoid further divisiveness? How do we make space for other truths, like the truth that independent bookstores are marginalized and disappearing quickly in this country, themselves victims of the same forces that are displacing people? For the reality that the situation is even worse for feminist and nonprofit bookstores?

I don't know what the "right" questions are, but often as I'm watching people talk about gentrification, I wonder why the conversation so rarely turns to a critique of the economic structure we live in and instead remains on the level of "good or bad."

...

But maybe I'm being impatient. Maybe the conversation needs to start here. I just worry that when it starts from a dualistic frame, it's doomed from the start.

Anyway, one of the more useful/productive questions from this most recent discussion was how do we preserve the status of the original residents of neighborhoods while encouraging diversity?

Jeana explained the process of gentrification — how the simple act of investing in a community creates opportunities for people with resources and leaves people without resources at a disadvantage. The challenge, she explained, is to be proactive about finding a balance between the new and the old, to create a community that embraces everyone. When new people are moving into a neighborhood, they should be asking themselves, "How do I move in to an area and support its history, How do I meld to the community?" not, "How do I change it to make it comfortable for myself?".

How do we spread the wealth to make sure everyone benefits? How do we create opportunities for people who were already in a community?

I think the answers are out there; I just think we need to dig a little deeper. It's also something I want to give more thought to here at Bitch, as a new member of a community with a rich history.

I'm excited at the possibility of future discussions...

** Thanks to Dawn Jones for the photos **