5. So what happens next?

I had a random thought today, as I sat at my favourite spot at the Starbucks downtown. My seat is at a bar in front of the window that faces the street, allowing me to observe those strolling by, and them me. I’m sure that to those who don’t know me very well (or at all) would think me a hipster of sorts; one of those pseudo bohemian starbucks book-readers who wear thick framed glasses and talk about Albert Camus. I suppose I fit that description in a sense, but sometimes I feel like that just because a young person likes reading at a coffee shop, they’re immediately a ‘pseudo bohemian intellectual poser’. It’s the ‘cool’ and ‘hip’(ster) thing to do.

However, that’s not really the gripe I’m looking to address.

I’ll start by mentioning how much I love Savannah. It’s significantly more diverse than Orange County (duh). You can go downtown and walk through the squares and Foresyth park and see just as many blacks as you do whites, Hispanics, etc.  The one thing that is the same is the type of black people you find in LA as well as Savannah. Popular Hip Hop culture, like influenza or any other disgusting traveling disease, is so deeply imbued in African American culture that not only is it generally the same all over the country but if you’re black and you don’t follow hip hop culture then there’s ‘something wrong with you’.

All of this I thought about while sitting at Starbucks listening to Spoon on my iPod and watching all of these different colors, sizes, genders, and sexualities walk by.

What I wanted to explore is where I fall in the mix of everything. I’m so comfortably opinionated and somewhat outspoken about the things that I believe in: womens rights, animal rights, environmentalism…why am I not a progressive african american activist? Why do I not belong to a black organization? Why am I a Peta member, and not an NAACP member? Is it because I went to a prodominantly white school? Well…no, because I love my heritage and I’m proud to be african. It’s why I refuse to straighten my hair, among other things.

And, for the sake of playing devils advocate with myself, why should I be expected to be a black activist, just because I’m black? Part of me feels like true progression in the black community begins with shredding the ‘i’m just a black person’ mentality, and becoming active in OTHER things. Active black people inspire me, but you rarely see black people taking truly liberal stands toward major issues that don’t immediately relate to the inner city. Womens rights in the workplace and having the ERA finally passed…actually pursuading the government to pass legislation to cut our carbon footprint and incoorporate more reusable energy…instituting more humane farming practices for the chicken and beef that we all consume thousands of pounds worth per year… children in non-african countries dying of starvation and AIDS. Black activists spend their time focused on the progression of black people and positive portrayal of us in the media…wouldn’t it be a remarkable portrayal of blacks in the media if there were more black people actively working toward solving global warming, even if that means forming non-profits? Wouldn’t it be a remarkable portrayal of blacks in the media if there were a black organization whose sole purpose it was to supply children in Indonesia with food and water?  Why is it that white people are the ones who are typically more involved in these issues?

And the first thing I think of when I ask myself that question, is this answer: White people typically do not have the same sorts of hardships that the general population of blacks do, and blacks do not have time to stress over global warming when they have no way to pay their rent next month. Of course that is a stark generalization, but I absolutely understand that. To me, however it is not an excuse. I’ve lived with immobilizing financial fear for much longer than I would like to admit, and yet I’m absolutely concerned with animal cruelty issues. I worry about global warming flushing the west coast down the toilet. How could you not worry about those things? I care about all of it, as well as where my family will get their next meal.

I was approached at the bus stop today by a woman (without introducing herself to me or even attempting to build rapport) who wanted to know if I’ve thought about being ‘saved’.

I honestly have not. I do not believe that Jesus Christ is the savior. If you are black, and you have a picture of a blonde haired blue eyed Jesus Christ, then to me you are simply a mindless sheep and you’re wasting the oxygen and space that other free-thinkers could be utilizing more efficiently. That sounds so rough, but my mother taught me to think and ask questions. I read the bible, and there is not one reference of Dinosaurs, yet we all know they existed. How does your creationism-endorsing pastor explain dinosaurs?? I read about Charles Darwin, and he tells me about organisms that have evolved from the ocean. I read the bible, and it tells me that if two boys fall in love with eachother, then they are both going to hell because it is a sin. The bible tells me that the love that two boys share is not equal to the love between a man and a woman. The bible tells me this. However, I witness with my own two eyes a love that is so profound that it absolutely has no gender. I prayed that I would find love like that. I also witness the divorce rate of heterosexual marriages and wonder why christian hetero’s consider themselves so damned high and mighty that they can defile this ‘sacred’ union by getting themselves wrapped up in a marriage/divorce rollercoaster. I study history and patriarcal power and see that the Bible has been so tampered with over thousands of years that everything read in it has to be accepted with ‘faith’. I look at how time progresses, and I realize that the way humans function now is absolutely different from the way humans functioned during the time of Christ, therefore a lot of the teachings in the Bible should be rendered obscolete.  I ask questions and combine my personal resolutions together to come up with my own personal theory that Jesus Christ is not our ‘savior’, but instead a wise and brilliant man who like Buddha should be honored and respected. And because I choose to not attend ‘Christian’ churches, then there’s ‘something wrong with me’.

And when I tell the name-less woman at the bus stop “No”, she proceeds to spout off a memorized monologue about how Jesus loves me, and the only way to heaven is through him.

I believe in God because I believe in coming to my own conclusions based on my own experiences. I’ve been hours away from eviction, and God has pulled it together for me. When my mother was in the hospital, I turned to God and asked Her to give me strength to get through everything. She did. I laid in bed after one of the worst binging and purging sessions I’d ever had in my life, and I asked God to help me. She sent me to Georgia and now I have a stomache full of food and I feel healthy. I believe in the God that I hold to be true to me. I do not believe in a vengeful angry wrathful God. I believe in the Mother Earth God. I believe in a Woman very much like my mother. She lets me touch the stove once, so I know not to touch it again. She allows me to play in the backyard and get scratched up and bruised. She allows me to bleed while I’m experiencing everything she provided for me; the sun, the earth, trees, flowers, water, grass. She shows me that although I just got a giant bloody cut on my elbow, I will have a pretty cool scar to show my friends later on. And at the end of the day, She will cradle me in her arms and remind me that no matter what happened that day or the next, Her love for me will never falter. With this knowledge, I feel safe. I feel loved. Most of all, I feel empowered. That’s the God I believe in (no matter how many times i watch Dogma, I still can’t accept Alanis Morrisette as God lol. I think she’s more like Maya Angelou. Or maybe she doesnt have a specific face. She’s every mother and grandmother that ever lived and will live).

It feels like everything about the African American culture is about only listening to Hip Hop or R&B oldies, eating a lot of meat, spending money beyond your means, and not really caring about much else besides going to church every single sunday and making money during the week.

And now I feel like I’m giving off the vibe that I think I’m better than other black people. I promise I don’t. I feel like I’m just on another page. I don’t think I’m on this page alone, either. There are so many truly progressive black people like myself…but there aren’t enough.

This is me simply recognizing, observing, and questioning my own opinions and ideas. I don’t actually have a conclusion for any of these thoughts. Hopefully I’ll figure it all out someday.

3. Skirt! Magazine!

I was having a nice little stroll downtown friday morning on my way to –insert major coffee chain here– to sit and do some light reading. I passed a magazine kiosk, and briefly noticed the local paper (which I already had a copy of at home). For a split second…literally half of a second…i caught a glimpse of another newspaper underneath it; something with brighter colors and a drawing of some sort on the cover. I was at full speed, doing that “i’m a woman downtown and I have someplace to be” sort of walk, and this magazine literally made me stop in my tracks, and take two steps back. I’m nearsighted, so when something grabs my ‘eye’ it’s kind of a big deal.
Now, I’m a self proclaimed feminist. I’ve read “The Hungry Heart” probably 10 times, and my favourite book of all time will always be “Cunt” by Inga Muscio (i urge you to go there, click on ‘womanifesto’ and submit your own. I intend to do so sometime soon, I’m just working on developing my own so that it’s solid and chalk-full of that ‘wisdom stuff’ that I haven’t quite acquired yet…).
You can imagine how quickly my heart skipped a beat when I saw the word “SKIRT!” Printed at the top. I immediately said to myself “Women wear skirts! Please let this be a kick ass women’s magazine…”  I’m really big on the Universe showing me little signs, which she does all the time. The image on the front of this magazine is chalk full of signs:

1. I was wearing a hat almost identical to the one this figure is wearing.
2. I was on my way to –insert major coffee chain here– to get a coffee much like the one she’s drinking.
3. lately, the sparrow has been my spirit animal, so when I see its images, i know the universe is telling me something.

I know that sounds extremely cheesy, but the universe has not once steered me wrong.

At any rate, I grabbed the magazine thinking “Alright universe. what do you want?” and made my way to starb…I mean –major coffee chain–After about 5 mins of sifting through this magazine, I was sold. I even decided that I was going to get my hands on an edition every single month. I’m broke right now, so that literally means remembering every month, and finding a copy downtown somewhere until I can afford a subscription (a broke artist? how cleche).
The featured artist is amazing. Her name is Caroline Hwang. Her website is a lot of fun. She’s one of those creative types that even other creative people (like myself) look at her work and say “How in the flying hell did you come up with that?” It instantly makes me want to run home and “MAKE STUFF!” and then I get frustrated that my box of art supplies hasn’t been shipped from California yet, so all I can really do is sketch. I wish I lived in Brooklyn, because she’s looking for an intern and I would love to make coffee runs to –major coffee chain– for her. I am head-over-heels in love with her use of fabrics and stitching and TEXTURE (i freaking love texture) in her work. I’ve been nursing the concept of stitching fabric onto canvas myself, but again…broke artist cleche.
The content of this article is just as super kick ass as the artwork. I love the random manifesto pages, where instead of ads it simply reads things like “Wear your ♥ on your sleeve: it looks good on you” or “Don’t be afraid of a change of ♥ it opens your mind” and other little sayings. It literally made stop and look out of that Starbucks (eh, fuck it. We both know what coffee shop I’ve been referring to) window onto the street outside and smile to myself.
There are a handful of very well written and thought provoking articles. My favourite one is called “Can We Claim Our True Selves?” by Megan Seely. This article provoked me the most because it touches on the core reason why I consider myself a feminist, completely unabashed. In this article, she explores the exponential exploitation of women over time, and she attempts to answer the daunting question,  how do we begin to truly empower ourselves? She writes,

We have a nation with increasingly limited access to reproductive health services, especially for young and impoverished women. We are embattled in a National fight over marriage equality and the absurd debate about whose love is legitimate. Given all this, it is no wonder that women struggle to find acceptance.

Megan Seely is the author of Fight like a girl: How to be a Fearless Feminist which you can find and order on her website. She is a Woman’s Studies and Sociology professor at Sierra College, and lives in Northern California with her daughter and her partner.

There are so many other articles that made my heart skip. Instead of gushing about them each, one after the other and preventing you from your own skirt! experience, I’ll post a link to their website. Hopefully if you are in the Savannah, Beaufort, Fluffton, or Hilton Head Island areas of Georgia, then you can pick up a copy.

-Ariana