By Guest Contributor Debbie Reese, cross-posted from American Indians in Children’s Literature

In October of 2011, ABC broadcast “Children of the Plains” on its 20/20 news program. Watching the promos for it, I shook my head. Diane Sawyer gave her viewers a very narrow program that did little to portray Native youth in the fullness of their existence.

Today (December 13, 2011) I’m sharing a rebuttal to Sawyer.

Please watch More Than That, and share it with as many people as you can. Those of you who work with children’s literature in some way, keep this video in mind when you’re reviewing books. We need literature that reflects the entirety of who we are rather than an outsiders romantic or derogatory misconception.

Update: 6:15 AM, Wednesday, December 14, 2011

After posting the video yesterday, I watched some of the other videos the students have on Youtube. They do a video news broadcast at their school. That’s what the first part of the video below shows, but the second half is a series of outtakes. While More Than That… blew me away, 12-12-11 (below) made me smile. These students are terrific! Right now, the school features More Than That… on their homepage.

It ain’t no fun/if the homies can’t have none. – Snoop Dogg

You know, there are a lot of people weighing in on this Amber Cole thing. But most of the conversation is about her, as is par for the course in our culture. The boys involved are still anonymous in the eyes of the world. For me, I always wonder why there aren’t open letters to these kids? There are tons to Amber Cole – people saying they could be her father, people saying STFU with all that victim-blaming and feminist-scapegoating madness – but no one seems interested in writing letters to the boys involved.

But hey, maybe it’s just me. I guess when one of your friends – along with a person who sexually assaulted you – ends up in jail for gang rape, you start thinking about things a bit differently.

After I wrote the Not Rape Epidemic, right after I submitted the essay, but before it was actually published, I ran into an old friend at my local library. I hadn’t seen this friend in a decade – indeed, I didn’t remember her name until I left the library. Yet somehow, we both happened to be in the same library, at the same time, on the same day, after not seeing each other for ten years. We say hey, make small talk.

And then she asks me: “Did you know T got out?”

We both were silent for a second. We hadn’t talked since before the incident. She didn’t know that I had been to that trial. She didn’t know I had seen the girl. And I had forgotten she was far closer to him than I was. When T and the other kids were sentenced, we calculated they would get out when we were in our 30s or 40s. We didn’t realize how the system works, and how a lot of people end up released early. T had been incarcerated from age 14 to about age 24.

“His sister called me,” my friend continued. “She asked me if I wanted to come to his his welcome home party.” She looked at me, stared hard so I could feel the weight of her pain.

“How am I supposed to look at him after he did something like that?”

Folks have been largely silent on the role of boys and men in all this. Who, exactly, taught this young kid that the right way to treat a girl who likes him is to ask her to perform a sex act in public? (If the rumors are to be believed, she was attempting to win his affection.) Who taught the boy with the camera that they could video record sex acts and upload them to the internet without consent of the principals? Who the hell is the third kid who is just watching? Why is he hanging around while this is happening? Is anyone concerned that the things these boys learned, either explicitly from their peers or implicitly from society? That these actions got two of them arrested? Started them down the pipeline for incarceration? May have them branded as a sexual offenders for the rest of their days?

Oh, but that’s cool right?

When Jimi Izrael writes:

I am Amber Cole’s father and this should go with saying: I am angry with those boys. But I knew those boys. Those boys were my friends. I grew up with those boys, hung out with those boys.

He writes that he is the other guy. But there are no other guys. My friend didn’t have problems with gathering female attention. He didn’t seem like the type to do something like a brutal gang rape ending in sodomy. And, if what I knew about his personality wasn’t completely wrong, he probably did not participate. But he was there. He watched. He did not help this girl, being beaten bloody by one of his friends. He didn’t stop the act. Maybe he tried to intervene, maybe he didn’t – I don’t know, he had already been tried and sentenced. But he was there. And he left with the other perpetrators. That’s why they have accessory charges.

And that’s why I don’t want to think about him, and that’s why my friend didn’t want to look him in the face. Because he was there and said nothing.

Our culture teaches boys that this is okay. That it is okay to use people. That you are expected to disregard a woman’s feelings, to do what you want with her, to find women who are pliable who you can mold, who will seek your favor and happily trade a few moments on her knees for her affection. Our society teaches boys that this is ok, that this is what you do with women. The onus is on women not to be used. Men do not hear “don’t be an abuser” in the same way men don’t hear “don’t be a rapist.” The onus is always on women keeping themselves safe, on women not putting themselves in positions to be attacked or exploited. And when something does happen, when teenagers being teenagers suddenly becomes a nation newsstory, everyone wants to talk about what the girl should have done to prevent herself from being in the situation.

Once again, we aren’t talking to the boys.

So if the boys don’t know what is wrong, or why what they did was wrong, they will never know. Because we don’t talk to boys in that way. We want them to muddle through on their own, we allow them to consume messages that say the path to proving your masculinity lies in dominance, in the subjugation of women for sexual means. Because that’s all this really is. A boy, thinking he could be seen as cool, if he could get this girl to do this thing while his friends watched. A girl, thinking she could win this boy, by doing this thing, not realizing this wasn’t a game she could ever win.

We talk about the school to prison pipeline. We don’t talk about this.

We don’t tell boys what they learned is wrong. So we shouldn’t be surprised if they repeat the behavior, if that behavior becomes habit. We tell them, in our actions and words, that this was okay. Because there’s little outrage directed at these boys. So if they draw the conclusion that “she shouldn’t have let me do it” instead of “that whole situation that I orchestrated was wrong, and I hurt someone else very badly, and I hurt myself,” we shouldn’t be surprised.

And if these boys then repeat that behavior, then we shouldn’t be surprised.

Because we are too busy lecturing Amber Cole. We don’t know what’s going on with these boys. And so, it is only a matter of time before the women who know them cannot bear to look at them either.

On Saturday evening 6th of August I was gathered with friends in Peckham, South London celebrating the opportunities and doors open to us. One friend travelling to China for a year, my scholarship for a masters degree, another friend rising in influence in the community. All of us young Black people having grown up in the inner city on Estates and council properties. Graduates with narratives that disturb the monolithic perspective of Black youth identity. But not disconnected from our own context and committed to our community it was with grief, sympathy and solidarity that we turned toward Tottenham, by then, ablaze with anger and burning out brick and mortar. This morning – through the soot and smoke filter – the socio-economic barriers remained.

Numerous stories have emerged but there is no verified account of what turned a peaceful protest into a riot that would endanger lives and ruin local businesses and services. Earlier that afternoon members of the community in Tottenham gathered to demand answers from the metropolitan police, who on Thursday 4th August stopped 29 year old Mark Duggan in a Mini Cab and engaged in a shoot out that resulted in his death. Duggan, father of four, had allegedly been in possession of firearms. This is another of at least three accounts of Black men’s deaths during police operations this year alone. It has only been five months since over a thousand people gathered to protest the suspicious death of Smiley Culture whilst the police were at his home.

Last night’s riots in Tottenham come exactly twenty-five years after the infamous Broadwater Farm riots in the same part of London. Not vastly dissimilar from recent events, Cynthia Jarret died whilst the police conducted a search of her home. Just the week before that Dorothy Groce was shot by police instigating the 1985 Brixton Uprisings. When community members gathered at the police station tensions rose and the peaceful protest in Tottenham erupted into riot. The violence escalated and policeman Keith Blakelock was killed. (The intricacies of this case are harrowing and worth reading).

A quarter of a century on we are asking if police-community relations in Tottenham are any better. That is only for the residents of that area to say but it is evident that they are still not good enough when police accounts are understandably met with such distrust. As we face-off with the returned ugliness of the 80s British conservatism and increasing hostility, conditions are being set for a ‘police army state’. I was disgusted listening to a BBC Radio 5 reporter commenting ‘If you shoot at the police what else do you expect?’ I expect the police to arrest and charge their suspects. I expect individuals charged with crimes to face court and the full length of our judicial process as required. (The Guardian has since published information stating early ballistic tests show that all bullets were fired from the police – evidence of the false account used to cover police corruption.) I have not been so deceived out of my citizenship, nor convinced of the absent humanity of those of us living in the inner city, as to expect and humbly accept rising numbers of curious deaths at the hands of our police – and certainly not when they are all men of African-Caribbean descent. As Reverend Nims passionately expressed standing in Tottenham speaking to BBC News this afternoon, the Duggan family waited for hours to get answers from the police to no avail. Their anger is legitimate and their right to justice persists.

My perspective here is more complex than ‘F@*k the police’. I understand fully that they have a job to do and that many of them are simply executers of the racism that is systemically part of the police force as an institution. It is this foundation that makes me object to Trident (who conducted Thursdays operation) despite the commentary of many explaining the danger of government plans to disband the department as part of budget cuts. Activist Lee Jasper in particular shared very thorough thoughts on his issue here. I however believe that Trident has lead to the increased criminalisation of African-Caribbean people in the eyes of this nation. Consistently reported and advertised as a department developed to tackle gun crime in the Black community our joint citizenship is undermined and we are ostracised as ‘the problem immigrants’. We are specially policed like animals. These may seem like trivial concerns when held against the real and potential work Trident do in reducing violent crime. But the above perceptions fuel racism. There is no clearer denial of our humanity by the government and larger British public than the fact that they are/were willing to invest money into specifically policing Black communities, but resist and resent at every turn investing in our education, employment, specific healthcare needs etc through policy, grants, or initiatives like affirmative action that redistribute power and create fairer playing grounds. The strategy has been to tackle crime without addressing the different types of social exclusion that create the conditions for it, and the injustice of social exclusion is on the rise in areas like Tottenham. This may be why there were many eye witness accounts, and Social Activist and Youth Campaigner Symeon Brown who had been there the whole night went on record with the BBC to express that the police had only secured the banks and police station, and observed while the rest of Tottenham burnt down.

Duggan’s death was not the cause of the rioting but a trigger that set light to legitimate anger in that community. Haringey Council implemented a 75% budget cut to youth services closing down many of the centres and resources most needed by young people especially during the holiday period. With Conservative policies creating higher unemployment, threatening our national health service and stripping our arts sector it is the people in these inner city areas that suffer most.

It is senseless and disconnected preamble to discuss the rioting as rational or strategic. It was impetuous, emotional and in some cases exploitative. But lasts nights violence stands to reason and if the history of the last 25 years is not evidence enough then Frantz Fanon one of the most important thinkers on Black experience describes it for us clearly:

At the level of individuals, violence is a cleansing force. It frees the native from his inferiority complex and from his despair and inaction; it makes him fearless and restores his self-respect. [Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth, 1963. New York Press, p93]

The rioting is tragic and regrettable and devastating. Many people in the Tottenham area woke up to the loss & destruction of their businesses and property. That always presents horror but particularly so in this economic climate. Four children have woken up this morning to confront the loss of their father. That is stifling. These are the personal stories. The macro narrative is that time is not linear but circular. There is no more appropriate scripture this Sunday evening than Solomon’s words ‘There is nothing new under the sun.’ (Ecclesiastes 1:9) The conditions were set, the violence followed, no different to what generations before us have known. So much so that it brought together the whole spectrum of multiculturalism in that area. Tottenham was destroyed last night. It is time to rebuild: “A call for engagement, empowerment, education and economic revival” says political activist Rukayah Sarumi.

Let the work begin today.

Katie Price, also known as Jordan, is a British TV personality and former model. I’m Australian, so I can’t claim to know much about her. The one solid thing I came into this piece knowing is that she is the subject of a lot of ire in the way only British tabloids can produce. Her eldest child, ten-year-old Harvey, was fathered by a former Trinidad and Tobago football player called Dwight Yorke, and is blind and autistic. You can see how this is going to go already.

In December 2010, a comedian called Frankie Boyle performed a routine on the UK’s Channel 4 poking fun at Katie Price through Harvey. It was pretty awful in a number of ways, but the bit I want to focus on is the following joke, which refers to Katie’s former relationship with Alex Reid: “I have a theory about the reason Jordan married a cage-fighter: she needed a man strong enough to stop Harvey from fucking her.”

This isn’t the first joke about Harvey, even if it is the first one calling him a sexual predator, and it certainly isn’t the first about Katie. Harvey is so much in the spotlight as part and parcel of the usual potshots at his mother, whose sexualised image is the subject of a lot of media ire. He’s also a prominent subject simply because, fat, disabled, and black as he is, Harvey is far from the kind of “celebrity baby” the tabloid public like to fuss over and photograph.

I never thought I’d link to the likes of the Daily Mail, but that’s where Katie wrote a response to this, in her 30 June piece promoting her show Katie: Standing Up for Harvey. I’m really uncomfortable with this piece on a number of levels, particularly in that it’s promoting yet another campaign “on behalf of” disabled people, run by a parent, rather than, you know, in support of the activism we disabled folks do ourselves, thanks. In any case, from the piece:

“Imagine if the reason Boyle gave for saying Harvey was capable of raping me was not because of his disability but because he is black. People would understand how discriminatory that is. It is just as discriminatory when the joke is based on someone’s disability.”

Sad to say, lots of people can and do make that kind of joke. I’m not as sure as Katie that we can entirely separate out Harvey’s disability from his blackness here. Even though the focus is on his being disabled, there’s a silent and potent message about the scary black man. This joke was made in a context in which black male sexuality is seen as inherently threatening and violent. So uncontrollably so, in fact, that one’s own mother might be subject to the sexual violence one mindlessly inflicts. That idea of mindless aggression positions a marginalised and vulnerable person as the true threat, and it’s an idea that is common to both how blackness and disability are figured. And, on top of that, he’s just a kid, and he’s being sexualised in a really horrific way. Harvey, as a young black man of nine, is being subjected to a multiple whammy here, and, while his race didn’t explicitly come up, only one referent was necessary to spark a set of associations.

There’s a lot more to that joke. Katie needs a big strong (possibly white; I’m not sure of Reid’s identity) saviour to protect her from the scary black guy? Really? More than that, Katie Price is a survivor of sexual violence, and here her relationship with one of the people she loves best in the world is being painted with that. That’s completely unacceptable. You don’t get to use the relationship between a mother and son to inflict racist, ableist, horrible rubbish on them in the name of satirising celebrity. They’re human beings.

According to Mark Sweney at The Guardian, “The Channel 4 chief executive, David Abraham, has admitted that he personally signed off” on the joke. “We obviously recognise that in that particular case a piece of humour that was contextualised in the programme late at night was then passed on in the media and out of context and did cause a reaction we had not intended,” said Abraham. I don’t think there’s a context that makes that right, buddy.

(Image Credit: The Sun)

A first grade teacher in Paterson, New Jersey was recently put on administrative leave after she took to the internet to vent her frustrations about work. According to NBC New York, the teacher was suspended for “allegedly making Facebook comments that her six-year-old students are “future criminals” and referring to herself as a “warden,” according to school officials.”

Much of the handwringing over at Jezebel concerned the fate of the poor, poor teacher who probably just had a bad day. At Jezebel, Margaret Hartmann concludes her piece by saying:

It’s horrible to hear about an adult disrespecting the children in her care, but it also casts a bad light on teachers, who for the most part, got into the profession because they want to help children succeed. But that’s not news — that’s their job, and they do it every single day.

Are teachers definitely our undersung heroes? Yes.  Do they often work long hours at thankless tasks in order to make their children’s lives better?  Oh yes.

But do all teachers treat all children the same? No, no, no.

My radar pinged when I heard the term criminals employed, so I checked the demographics of Paterson.  And my suspicions were borne out.  According to Neighborhood Scout:

Paterson is a blue-collar town, with 35.4% of people working in blue-collar occupations, while the average in America is just 24.7%. Overall, Paterson is a city of sales and office workers, service providers, and production and manufacturing workers. There are especially a lot of people living in Paterson who work in office and administrative support jobs (18.20%), sales jobs (9.45%), and building maintenance and grounds keeping (6.25%).

The population of Paterson has a very low overall level of education: only 8.19% of people over 25 hold a 4-year college degree or higher.

The per capita income in Paterson in 2000 was $13,257, which is low income relative to New Jersey and the nation. This equates to an annual income of $53,028 for a family of four.

Paterson is an extremely ethnically-diverse city. The people who call Paterson home come from a variety of different races and ancestries. People of Hispanic or Latino origin are the most prevalent group in Paterson, accounting for 50.17% of the city’s residents (people of Hispanic or Latino origin can be of any race). The most prevalent race in Paterson is White, followed by Asian. Important ancestries of people in Paterson include Italian and Jamaican.

Paterson also has a high percentage of its population that was born in another country: 32.79%.

The most common language spoken in Paterson is Spanish. Some people also speak English.

But that’s just a coincidence, right?

Maybe this was just a bad day for this teacher – but the problem is that bad days in public serving positions can have huge, lingering consequences.  And from what other administrators and school advocates are saying, the suspended teacher wasn’t the only one.

The New York Times provides more background information, explaining:

Irene Sterling, president of the Paterson Education Fund, a nonprofit group that supports the local school community, said parents were angry about the teacher’s comments because anyone, including her own students, could have read the negative characterizations. She said it highlighted a lack of commitment by some teachers. “It’s horrible,” she said. “And unfortunately, I don’t think she’s the only teacher in Paterson who thinks that way.”

The Paterson district, with 28,000 students and 2,425 teachers, has long been one of New Jersey’s most troubled school systems; it was taken over by the state in 1991 because of fiscal mismanagement and poor academic performance.

And NBC NY quotes the Board of Education president who makes other saddening disclosures:

Paterson Board of Education President Thomas Best said the alleged comments were “disheartening and unacceptable.”

“I think it’s extremely disappointing that we have teachers in the classroom who are responsible for ensuring that their students have a bright future not even giving those children a chance,” he said.

It’s also not the first time a teacher has made such comments about students, he said.

“Overall we have a good teaching force, but I’ve heard comments like this before,” said Best. “It’s not on Facebook, but a lot of times the kids are referred to as ‘animals.’”

If we like to believe the tales that it just takes one teacher to make a difference, one shining light acting as a beacon out of the darkness for children struggling in school and in life, then why is it so hard to apply that logic to teachers who make negative comments? That their dismissal could act like a wrecking ball? That some teachers could negatively impact the lives of their students?

When you call a six-year old a “future criminal,” you are speeding that child along a path that is tough to escape – the school to prison pipeline.  Impacting low income students of color the hardest, here’s how the pipeline manifests in different communities.

From the New York Civil Liberties Union:

The School to Prison Pipeline (STPP) is a nationwide system of local, state, and federal education and public safety policies that pushes students out of school  and into the criminal justice system. The system disproportionately targets youth of color and youth with disabilities. Inequities in areas such as school discipline, policing practices, high-stakes testing, wealth and healthcare distribution, school “grading” systems, and the prison-industrial complex all contribute to the Pipeline.

The STPP operates directly and indirectly. Directly, schools send their students into the Pipeline through zero tolerance policies, and involving the police in minor discipline incidents. All too often school rules are enforced through metal detectors, pat-downs and frisks, arrests, and referrals to the juvenile justice system. And schools pressured to raise graduation and testing numbers can sometimes artificially achieve this by pushing out low-performing students into GED programs and the juvenile justice system.

Indirectly, schools push students towards the criminal justice system by excluding them from the learning environment and isolating them from their peer groups through suspension, expulsion, ineffective retention policies, transfers, and high-stakes testing requirements. [...]

Suspensions indirectly feed the Pipeline

• A child who has been suspended is more likely to fall behind in school, be retained a grade, drop out of high school, commit a crime, and become incarcerated as an adult[3]

• The best demographic indicators of children who will be suspended are not the type or severity of the crime, but the color of their skin, their special education status, the school they go to, and whether they have been suspended before[4]

From California Rural Legal Assistance:

CRLA has identified educational disparities in our communities of service that affect Latino children and children of limited English proficiency, in particular.  When school- and district-wide statistics relating to discipline, class assignment, dropout rate, graduation and enrollment in college are tracked by race, ethnicity and language it is clear that a disproportionate number of Latinos and limited English speaking children are not succeeding in California’s rural schools.  Education experts and advocates throughout the country have acknowledged similar disparities affecting other children of color and children enrolled in special education programs and numerous studies have demonstrated a positive correlation between failure in school and a higher chance of ending up in the criminal justice system and called this trend the “school to prison pipeline.”  CRLA is committed to addressing these disparities which result, not only in an increased chance of incarceration, but limit the work and life opportunities for these children.

From the LA Progressive, reporting on “Plugging Pasedena’s School-to-Prison Pipeline“:

“A black boy born in 2001 in America has a one in three chance of going to prison,” said moderator Saudeka Shabazz. “For a Latino boy, the odds are one in six.”

The school-to-prison pipeline is a set of policies combined with failing institutions that lead young men of color to prison or violent early death, according to Shabazz, a Berkeley grad who worked in gang intervention before becoming an outreach coordinator for the Children’s Defense Fund. She cited two early factors that put children into the pipeline:

• Health and mental health access: “Low birth weigh children often have learning delays or disabilities,” she said. “And poor mothers get less prenatal care, which leads to these problems.”

• Early childhood education: Children who get early education are higher achievers later on in life, according to Shabazz. “Teachers mark children early if they can’t keep up.”

Poverty works hand-in-glove with racial discrimination to put children of color behind the eight ball long before they reach high school.

From Reclaiming Futures’ report on the Southern Poverty Law Center’s publication “”Suspended Education: Urban Middle Schools in Crisis:”

[A]fter reviewing over 30 years of data from nearly 10,000 middle schools nationwide, it concludes that suspension is over-used as a disciplinary tool, and that youth of color — black males especially — are suspended far out of proportion to their numbers.

The authors looked specifically at types of suspensions where school staff could exercise discretion — incidents of fighting, disruptive behavior, and so on. They analyzed how many youth were suspended and broke down differences by race/ethnicity, and gender. What they learned was appalling: suspension rates have nearly doubled for students of all races/ethnicities since 1973; African American, Latino, and American Indian youth were suspended at higher rates than White youth; six percent of all black students were suspended in 1973, compared with 15 percent in 2006; and a breathtaking 28.3% of black males were suspended in 2006, compared with 10% of White males.

When researchers looked at the 18 largest urban school districts, they found that most “had several schools that suspended more than 50% of a given racial/gender group.” They even found schools that suspended more than half of their White and Hispanic female students. [...]

The disparate impact on youth of color, and black youth in particular, makes this a civil rights issue, the authors say. Here’s why:

Research on student behavior, race, and discipline has found no evidence that African-American over-representation in school suspension is due to higher rates of misbehavior (McCarthy and Hoge, 1987; McFadden et al., 1992; Shaw & Braden, 1990; Wu et al., 1982). Skiba et al. (2002) reviewed racial and gender disparities in school punishments in an urban setting, and found that White students were referred to the office significantly more frequently for offenses that appear more capable of objective documentation (e.g., smoking, vandalism, leaving without permission, and obscene language). African-American students, however, were referred more often for disrespect, excessive noise, threat, and loitering - behaviors that would seem to require more subjective judgment on the part of the referring agent. In short, there is no evidence that racial disparities in school discipline can be explained through higher rates of disruption among African-American students.

And from Fairtest.org’s position paper on No Child Left Behind and The School to Prison Pipeline, released March 2011:

In the nine years since Congress reauthorized the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) as the No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB), startling growth has occurred in what is often described as the “School-to-Prison Pipeline”1 – the use of educational policies and practices that have the effect of pushing students, especially students of color and students with disabilities, out of schools and toward the juve- nile and criminal justice systems. This phenomenon has proved incredibly damaging to students, families, and communities. It has also proved tremendously costly, not only in terms of lost human potential but also in dollars, as states struggle with the soaring costs of police, courts, and incarceration amidst continuing economic difficulties. Yet far too little emphasis is being placed upon the pipeline crisis, its causes, and its consequences within most of the discussion around federal education policy and the reauthorization of the ESEA.
The swelling of the pipeline has many causes. But as Congress works to reauthorize the ESEA, it is essential to examine how NCLB itself has contributed to the pipeline phenomenon. Congress designed NCLB to hold schools accountable for student performance, correctly paying specific attention to differentials in outcomes by race, socioeconomic status, disability, and English language proficiency. However, the law focused its accountability frame- work almost exclusively on students’ standardized test performance, placed punitive sanctions on struggling schools without providing enough tools to actually improve their performance, and failed to address significant funding and resource disparities among our nation’s schools. As a result, NCLB had the effect of encouraging low-performing schools to meet benchmarks by narrowing curriculum and instruction and de-prioritizing the educational opportunities of many students. Indeed, No Child Left Behind’s “get-tough” approach to accountability has led to more students being left even further behind, thus feeding the dropout crisis and the School-to-Prison Pipeline. [...]

The sharp rise in the use of all of these practices in communities across the country over the last decade represents a prioritization of swift and severe punishment of students over the thoughtful consideration of how to better meet their educational needs, such as through academic and disciplinary interventions, counseling services, health services, special education programs, and other “wraparound” services. As a result, huge numbers of students have been put on a path to academic failure that is difficult to interrupt and often has devastating long-term consequences.

Teachers are often unjustly blamed for the failures of an overburdened and underfunded system.  However, let’s not pretend that all students are on a level and equal playing field, or that racism and perception of a student’s background can’t play a role in how we describe, view, or treat these kids.  First graders are six years old.  Six. Years. Old. No one’s life is set in stone at any age, much less the tender childhood years.  So let’s take a second to think of the children before immediately jumping to the teacher’s defense.

(Image Credit: The Youth Justice Coalition via Suspension Stories)

“But in the terms of the power discussion, what if, in fact, you are power? What if in fact you are powerful, in that you feel like you make the decisions about the man that you’re going to sleep with, and whether you’re going to use a condom with him or not? What if you’ve got the power in deciding? But we know this is not the case for so many of our young women, and yet we’ve grown up with prevention that presumes and assumes, and that incorporates the idea of giving women power. We’re asking — we’re needing — power over primarily an organ that we don’t even have attached to our body.

“The other piece of the discussion, of course, that’s always been missing, long been missing, is: AIDS, Inc., does not know what to do with heterosexually identified men….AIDS, Inc., does not know what to do with sexually active men who are not exclusively gay — let me put it like that. Unless you are exclusively gay, out, or even a little bit kind of halfway what society labels as “down low,” AIDS, Inc. doesn’t know what to do with black men’s sexuality. It just doesn’t. We don’t have the right studies for it. We don’t have the right access for it. We don’t have any idea, except prison — which is my whole other issue — of where you can have an opportunity to engage men around health literacy, right? Sexuality addiction that plays into factors; sex that happens with men that does not mean, or does not reflect, an orientation. We don’t have the places to have those discussions. The good thing about what we’re doing with the girls is that we’re able to have those venues to have that discussion.

“But as long as we’re able to access health care, mostly around our reproductive organs, and men don’t have a similar place where they even ever have to come into care, unless they’re coming into care for prostate cancer — and that’s a sure sign that they’ve come too late — we’ve been doing one-hand clapping for a long time. So it’s not even about what works, or what doesn’t work; we’re still trying to figure it out.”

~~Tracie Gardner, Founder and Coordinator of the Women’s Initiative to Stop HIV/AIDS NY at the Legal Action Center

Read the rest of the interview here.

Image Credit: News One

What is the tipping point for a revolution?

Normally, there are many different things brewing – a political climate, social unrest, gross inequality that all contribute to turn a nation inside out. Yet many reports want to trace a revolution back to a single, definitive event. Crispus Attucks is considered the first martyr of the American Revolution, Rosa Parks is widely considered the catalyst of the US civil rights movement, her actions sparking the Montgomery Bus Boycott, and Mohamed Bouaziz is the name behind the sudden surge in interest in self-immolation.

Bouaziz’s last protest made its way to cameras, which then spread the news that Tunisia was on the cusp of a revolt. Al Jazeera frames the story:

In a country where officials have little concern for the rights of citizens, there was nothing extraordinary about humiliating a young man trying to sell fruit and vegetables to support his family.

Yet when Mohamed Bouazizi poured inflammable liquid over his body and set himself alight outside the local municipal office, his act of protest cemented a revolt that would ultimately end President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali’s 23-year-rule.

Local police officers had been picking on Bouazizi for years, ever since he was a child. For his family, there is some comfort that their personal loss has had such stunning political consequences.

“I don’t want Mohamed’s death to be wasted,” Menobia Bouazizi, his mother, said. “Mohamed was the key to this revolt.”

And yet later, it is revealed that Bouazizi was one of many who had started to sound the alarm – an alarm suppressed by government officials and widely ignored by media under governmental control:

Mohamed Bouazizi was not the first Tunisian to set himself alight in an act of public protest.

Abdesslem Trimech, to name one of many cases occurred without any significant media attention, set himself ablaze in the town of Monastir on March 3 after facing bureaucratic hindrance in his own work as a street vendor.

Neither was it evident that the protests that begin in Sidi Bouzid would spread to other towns. There had been similar clashes between police and protesters in the town of Ben Guerdane, near the border with Libya, in August.

The key difference in Sidi Bouzid was that locals fought to get news of what was happening out, and succeeded.

“We could protest for two years here, but without videos no one would take any notice of us,” Horchani said.

I often wonder what ignites a protest and what does not. I specifically think of Lee Kyoung Hae, who stabbed himself in protest of the World Trade Organization’s policies toward South Korean farmers and their agricultural policy at large. I was in high school when the Battle in Seattle occurred – I’ve been fascinated by the World Trade Organization ever since. But while Lee did not die in vain, his protest did not lead to the type of uprising that could topple the WTO. Why? Why do some protests galvanize into movements, and others fade into time?

There are no clear answers to these questions, and yet the world keeps moving. Egypt, hot on the heels of Tunisia, also underwent a revolution, one that garnered a bit more attention from media outlets here.

Reader Lara tipped us to this amazing piece by Sarah Ghabrial, which delivers some much needed context:

As much as Egyptians may have surprised themselves and their neighbours, no one seems more caught off guard by this recent turn of events than members of western mainstream media and political officials. The western media appear bewildered, their commentary halting and unsure. Perhaps this is because, for so long, news agencies have stacked their rolodexes with analysts on the Middle East whose area of expertise lay primarily in terrorism and religious fundamentalism. They now seem ill prepared to comprehend this past week’s events, which have been so free of religious rhetoric, much less offer any insight on what the world may expect to come next. More than one commentator has remarked on the possibility of an Islamist take-over in Egypt and elsewhere, as though for lack of anything else worthwhile to say. Some appeared at a loss as they reported that protesters were not shouting “Death to America.”

The response to civil unrest in Egypt has been strangely unlike the response to the Iranian would-be “Green Revolution” of 2009. Because Iranians were standing up to a long-hated Islamist regime, their struggle was immediately embraced in the west across the political spectrum.

By contrast, western observers in the cultural mainstream have been hesitant about the Days of Anger, as they lack a clear and ready-made approach for identifying and understanding Arab discontent. This is probably due in part to the ostensible “secularism” of these regimes, and because instability in the Middle East is seen as a breeding ground for terrorism. Ironically, most terrorists out of Egypt are largely a product of the Mubarak school of stability — imprisonment, repression, and torture. But apparently the alternative is more horrifying: a scenario in which Egyptians may choose their own government. One can picture the Egyptians who populate the imagination of policymakers and journalists: a pious and incorrigible bunch, impelled in the direction of fanaticism as though by gravity. (Read the rest…)

And Larbi Sadiki pinpoints the real catalyst - and why so many news outlets missed the signs:

Regimes in countries like Tunisia and Algeria have been arming and training security apparatuses to fight Osama bin Laden. But they were caught unawares by the ‘bin Laden within’: the terror of marginalisation for the millions of educated youth who make up a large portion of the region’s population.

The winds of uncertainty blowing in the Arab west – the Maghreb – threaten to blow eastwards towards the Levant as the marginalised issue the fatalistic scream of despair to be given freedom and bread or death. [...]

From Tunisia and Algeria in the Maghreb to Jordan and Egypt in the Arab east, the real terror that eats at self-worth, sabotages community and communal rites of passage, including marriage, is the terror of socio-economic marginalisation.

The armies of ‘khobzistes’ (the unemployed of the Maghreb) – now marching for bread in the streets and slums of Algiers and Kasserine and who tomorrow may be in Amman, Rabat, San’aa, Ramallah, Cairo and southern Beirut – are not fighting the terror of unemployment with ideology. They do not need one. Unemployment is their ideology. The periphery is their geography. And for now, spontaneous peaceful protest and self-harm is their weaponry. They are ‘les misérables’ of the modern world.

Already, discussion of a domino effect looms large – and while some pundits are wondering which country is next, the larger question is what will these changes symbolize in the world within the next decade?

If you’ve already seen the original British version of the teen drama Skins, you can comfortably skip the American one.  Despite placing the reboot in an unnamed city decimated by the post-industrial slump (this was originally Baltimore, but they scrapped the idea) and earning the rare chance to discuss American class and race politics, last night’s premiere was just a toothless re-enactment of the original.

As full disclosure, I had never seen Skins before last night’s premiere, and wasn’t familiar with the story line.  So, as I watched, I tried to figure out where in iconic American teen programing this would fit.  There isn’t a precedent for Skins, really -  My So Called Life probably comes the closest, as the first teen drama that didn’t present neatly packaged solutions to common teen problems.  But Angela Chase was big on thought, nor action – and the kids from Skins are too busy living their lives to be overly self-reflective.

The American version of Skins revolves around Tony and his crew. Tony is the central character, though Skins loosely follows the story lines of one teen per episode. MTV’s summary explains:

We’ll meet TONY; good looking, witty, manipulative – he wants everything, and usually gets it. Then there’s his girlfriend MICHELLE; gorgeous and clever, just not clever enough to realize Tony may not be the right one for her. And maybe the right one is actually Tony’s best friend, STANLEY. He’s everything Tony isn’t, and that might end up being a good thing. Of course, Stanley is stuck in a pretend relationship with CADIE, possibly the most dysfunctional girl ever to attend a high school… or maybe that’s all just another thing she’s faking. You’ll love CHRIS because, well, everyone does. No drug is too obscure for him to try, and no sexual mountain too high for him to climb. Complicating everyone’s life is the infamous TEA. She likes girls. And girls like her. What more is there to figure out… right? And let’s not forget ABBUD, the not so devout Moslem and DAISY, the responsible one of the group who is just itching to break some rules of her own.

Be it sex, drugs, the breadth of friendships or the depth of heartbreaks, Skins is an emotional mosh-pit that slams through the insanity of teenage years. They’ll crush hearts and burn brain cells, while fearlessly confronting every obstacle head on…or slightly off.

But the interesting bit is how the summary illuminates exactly what is missing.

The largest change to skins is the swapping of Tea and Maxxie. In the UK version, Maxxie is gay and male, but still considered “one of the lads.” There is a plot point, midway through the first season of the UK version that would have been considered too hot for American television – the producers appear to have dealt with that issue by erasing Maxxie’s character and inserting Tea. This is disappointing, but gives the writers a lot more leeway in terms of creating a wholly new character who identifies as a lesbian. So far, it appears that Tea is somewhat similar to the Shane-achetype, bed ‘em and leave ‘em. So this could go either way. After Ellen certainly seems cheerful about it in their recap.

In other news, Jal has been swapped for Daisy. More on that when Daisy’s character gets more than five lines. Cadie, who was in the UK Cassie, is now possibly black, possibly mixed race. Hopefully, we will learn a bit more about her character later on.

The other big missed opportunity in the reboot? Class commentary. The British version is crawling with it, but the American version does a little conversation towards the end. The original Skins was set in Bristol, and contained a lot of references to the kids being lower class or working class. In the US version, most of that dynamic is erased, with a slight nod once the kids go to a party thrown by a wealthy acquaintance of Tony’s, Tabitha. Heather Hogan, of AfterEllen, captures the scene:

At her party, Tabitha introduces her friends thus: “Tony, meet Shannon, Zeek, Zach, Chad, Summer, Shannon, Summer, Chad, Brad, Randy, Candy, Brandy, Sandy, Mandy, Summer, Zach and Chad.” I don’t know who this actress is, but she’s masterful. The party is already better than Gossip Girl and no one has even gotten murdered or framed for murder or returned from the dead or had a parent return from the dead, and not one single social-climber has shown up as a doppelganger trying to impersonate Serena van der Woodsen. Tabitha’s friends aren’t feeling the weed. I mean, look at the ragamuffins trying to sell it to them. For all they know, it could be laced with poverty.

Later, after a fight breaks out, a distraught Tabitha cries the party is getting “too urban!” It’s a code word, of course, but the American version isn’t likely to take the idea too much farther – American television is notoriously bad at discussing class differences. Outside of shows like Sons of Anarchy, King of Queens, and the George Lopez show (now in syndication), the assumed norm is upper middle class. If Skins had stayed in Baltimore, this dynamic may have been more prominent – but as of now, we have to rely on the characters to tell us, not show us, that the show is about lower to lower middle class teens.

So far, the show has managed to shock American censors and enticed the interest of advertisers looking to crack the teen demographic – but much remains to be seen.

To Whom it May Concern,

Hi. You may not know me – at least, not very well. You probably are not familiar with my experience, qualifications, or accomplishments. Which is ironic, to say the least, because I have worked for your organization for many years. What’s more ironic is that – at this point – a large portion of our policies, systems, and even curriculum have been created by me, and all the kids we work for know me by name; and yet – we have likely never even exchanged names or a handshake.

So you wouldn’t know that I’ve been working with youth professionally since I was a youth (over 15 years, to be more precise). That I have over six years of formal classroom teaching experience. That I train and mentor other teachers and youth workers (most importantly – your organization’s staff). That I have coordinated programs and workshops for groups ranging from 10 to 500 youth, covering topics from Identity, Culture, and Diversity to Conflict Resolution. That I have taught art, music, math, psychology, public speaking, English and many other subjects (with curriculum of my own design) to middle school and high school students. That I have been a case manager and family contact and support specialist. That I was managing a middle-school arts after-school program in my early twenties. That mentoring youth is just what I do.

Oh – and that I have dedicated myself to your organization for almost seven years.

All that said, though – you still don’t know me. And so it will be hard for you to know where I’m coming from with what I’m about to say. You don’t know how seriously I take my work, and how I’ve dedicated my life to doing it better. That I am willing to get over myself on any number of levels if it means better serving the youth I work for.

And that I speak to you now out of full respect for who you are and the good intentions I believe we all share.

But you don’t know these things, because you’re not involved at my level (nor I at yours). We do not interact. Your role on the board is not your main priority, as you hold other full-time positions. You just make some decisions from time to time about where the money goes, what programs we should be running, things like that. I get it. You’re not in the thick of it – you’ve got a lot of other things going on – so you just haven’t had the time to meet me, officially. That actually all makes sense to me. It does.

But this is where my problem lies – you have veto power over me and my peers. When it comes to the big decisions, you have final say. And that makes so little sense, it kind of blows my mind.

Again – I say that with full respect, but let’s just think about it a moment: What if I came to your place of work – the businesses and organizations that your expertise have brought to very high, very profitable places – and told you that some decision you were about to make was a bad one?

Most likely, you would laugh me out of your office, asking me who the Hell was I to question your decisions? Had I been running your type of business/agency for over a decade? Did I have a track-record of making tons of money through sound strategic planning? Did I have any experience? And part-time dabbling on the side wouldn’t really count, right?

It would be a joke. A mildly offensive joke. To come in there, thinking that – just because I was smart and capable in my field – I could possibly know better than you in your element.

But can you see where I’m going with this?

This is exactly what you have been doing to me and my peers (whether you realize how direct it is or not) for the past six or seven years (or more). You have over-ridden our decisions for years. Or – worse yet – you have made a million organization-specific decisions (that I haven’t been a part of) without ever questioning your own expertise and the sense in you doing that.

Because I ask you, with all due respect – who are you to be making any of these decisions? Who are you to have the right to fire me – from a job and line of work that I have dedicated myself to, that you have not – over my gall to question you on this matter? Who are you?

Respectfully (yet bluntly) – you are not educators. You are not youth workers, case managers, social workers, counselors, or mentors. You’re just . . . well . . . rich. Money well-earned, perhaps, with your prowess in a completely unrelated field, but that has no bearing on your prowess in this field. And it’s so very insulting to me and all my co-workers to suggest otherwise. To perpetuate this myth that being a good professional youth worker or teacher doesn’t take incredible skill, dedication, hard work, and years of experience.

If I was to suggest the same thing about your success – that it wasn’t well-earned through skill, dedication, hard work and years of experience – you would be appalled and offended. It would be a completely dismissive insult.

So I ask you one more time – and please look me in the eyes when you answer me – who are you to have power over me and my decisions (or those of my qualified peers) in this field of work?

Right now, you are either silent out of a growing realization of how right I am . . .

Or else you’re simmering with rage and indignation over the thought that I think I have the right to be questioning your abilities . . .

If it’s the latter, then that’s actually kind of a good thing. Because then that means you have a little taste of what it is for me and my peers to have worked so hard for this organization for the last many years, and to constantly have to bite our tongues and put up with terrible mistakes that hurt our kids because you were always questioning our abilities by thinking you could make better decisions with no real experience or knowledge of the youth we’re working with and for. That bitter, hurtful feeling in your gut? I’ve felt that every day on the job for this organization. Seriously – every day.

So why would I (and my peers) keep doing it? Because we love this work we do with the kids. These kids are so amazing – and do such amazing things in spite of our own mistakes and short-comings (and I include myself in that one). How could I not keep coming back? Me quitting wouldn’t do anything but hurt the kids.

So that’s why I’m writing/saying this to you today. Because I’m not a quitter. Because I am dedicated to this work, and I promised myself that I would always do it with the highest level of integrity. Because the kids deserve that.

And I truly, honestly believe that you feel the same way, too. That you are not veto-ing me and my peers and making your decisions out of anything other than good intentions. You want the kids to thrive, as well.

The problem with the system today is that people like me never do what I’m doing – talking in this fashion to people in your position. Because we’re afraid for our jobs. Because you just “can’t do that.” And so, instead, we uphold a system that is broken – that isn’t working. We pretend that we either don’t have the right, or the safety- to speak to you as human beings, one to the other.

As a result, in the name of what “can” or “can’t” be done . . . in the name of “how things are” . . . we never stand up and try something completely out of the box and different. We try to get clever and work our way up to a higher position through politics and compromise and carefully-chosen words until we forget what our original intentions were, and what we wanted things to actually look like.

Today, I refuse to do that. You and I – we’re on the same side here. We are. We’re coming from different angles, but I truly believe the intention is the same. To do something to account for an unjust, imbalanced world.

This is why I’m talking to you. And just directly addressing something that pervades this system that is only hurting the kids: the fact that the most-qualified, most-experienced people are not making the big decisions.

Is that anybody’s direct fault? Not really – as long as we ignore it and have no open discussions about it. But from here on out – now that it’s finally on the table? Well . . .

So I challenge you all to think about this work we do in the same light that you would think of the work you do (or did) for a living – as a legitimate profession. Where professional, highly-skilled, highly-experienced individuals need to be recruited and retained to run things and make the best decisions for the organization as a whole – in order to best serve the kids.

Any other considerations are secondary. Any personal reactions, pride, etc. come at the direct cost of the kids. And I’m not willing to pretend that that isn’t the case, anymore. I’m not willing to keep my mouth shut and pretend that that is how it must be – not while it keeps these youths exactly where we pretend that we don’t want them to be: Hurting. And oppressed.

It is not acceptable. And it does not “have to be this way.” You and I – we can change this, right now. Today. If we stop bastardizing education and youth work, we can start repairing this system.

And so I ask you one final question – what are you willing to do about it? Are you willing to do what it takes to change what doesn’t work – for the betterment of the kids? Or are you going to pay lip-service to that ideal and keep things exactly as they are?

Thank you for your time.

by Latoya Peterson

Last week, the internet was in a tizzy over Aliya S. King’s article for Vibe. The piece, titled the Mean Girls of Morehouse, explored how Morehouse’s change in dress code was really a reaction to a small group of genderqueer students on campus.  The article dove into the lives of these students on campus.  Vibe and King were both blasted for attacking Morehouse, a bastion of the black community, and a video was quickly uploaded to the internet showing a spirited discussion at Morehouse around the content of the article, exploring everything from lack of queer perspective to the representation of Morehouse.

However, through this whole debate, two things have stood out to me:

1. We aren’t hearing very much from those profiled.
2. Most of the conversation has swirled around representation – but what about solidarity? Particularly among groups of color?

The lengthy article alludes to this issue, but doesn’t delve deeply into the issue of solidarity and support. King speaks to other members of the Morehouse gay community:

Of course the Plastics are only a part of Morehouse’s openly gay community. What about those men who don’t wear heels and makeup?

Gathered in a two-bedroom, off-campus apartment are several members of Safe Space, an organization dedicated to supporting the gay community at Morehouse, whether or not the flout the appropriate attire policy.

Michael J. Brewer, 24, is a 2009 graduate of Morehouse who currently works in the office of Georgia State Representative Alisha Thomas Morgan. The former president of Safe Space, he still serves in an advisory capacity. There’s not a swishy bone in Brewer’s body. If he doesn’t tell you he’s gay, you wouldn’t know. In his off-campus apartment, he’s joined by Kevin Webb and Daniel Edwards, the current co-presidents of Safe Space. “In any culture, there will be divisions,” explains Brewer, choosing his words with care as he describes attitudes toward the Plastics. “Yes, there is some dissonance against the more eccentric, ostentatious and flamboyant members of the gay community.”

Kevin chimes in. “In some ways, it’s like it’s okay to be gay. But not that gay. Or it’s okay to be queer. But not that queer,” he says. “There is homophobia even within the gay community—which is something we have to deal with if Morehouse is going to progress.”

Brewer insists that Morehouse’s future hinges on its ability to deal with students like the Plastics and finding a place for them. “My hope is that Morehouse can step into the space of the most progressive colleges in the nation. Morehouse can be a beacon of light. Morehouse can find a place for the LGBT community. Even the ones transitioning to the opposite gender,” says Brewer. “If a student comes to Morehouse as a man and plans to transition to a woman, yes, there should still be a space for that student. It may sound radical. But that’s what Morehouse has always stood for—radical change in the face of injustice.”

But Brian “Bri” Alston has his doubts about whether Morehouse will ever achieve that level of enlightenment. “We know our lives aren’t really reflective of the Morehouse gay black experience,” says Brian. “And Morehouse has enough issues dealing with just the gay community. They don’t know what to do with us.”

While this was the most interesting section of the piece, the narrative around the article has been consumed with more on the reputation of Morehouse and gender identity and a lot less on what we owe each other as members of marginalized communities. In 2008, Jafari Sinclaire Allen wrote a piece for us that begins with “Congratulations, Michael Brewer.” In the piece, he is speaking to an out and proud Morehouse man, one who was able to reconcile his identity with Morehouse’s ideals. But Allen notes:

In return for the “crown,” which we are told Morehouse holds over the head of its sons who endeavor to grow tall enough to wear it, we are asked to buy a bill of goods that include fidelity to image and representation. But what—and whom– does this respectability betray?

Who pays the price for this shoddy mimicry- the picture in which the Black man takes up his “rightful” place at the head of a family with a dutiful longsuffering well-educated but decidedly under-employed light-skinned wife, and children with good hair?

[To each, her and his own, of course. My point here is not to point a finger, but to shine a light.]

How do these images and longings for certain types of lives, mates and relationships get shaped? To whom do we look for examples and for approval? My point here is that Black angst over appearing freaky, weird, less-than, or too Black shape our decisions and the ways we treat each other. Perhaps—the logic goes—if I speak, act and embody the White middle class heterosexual standard, or at least closely approximate it, I will finally be accepted as levelly human, as worthy, employable and loved.

But what violence takes place outside the picture’s pose, in order to frame this ‘just so’ story, in which Black men get to borrow the crumbling crown of the White patriarch? We rarely call into question the concept of “leadership,” or the assumption that an elite college education and middle class status qualify us to take the reins of a community putatively deemed “out of control.” And where do we turn, but to places like Morehouse, where suited and well-spoken men stand poised to do so? [...]

Today, it seems the news at the Atlanta University Center these days is hopeful. As the newly inaugurated President of Morehouse College, Robert Michael Franklin, begins his second year, his support of the “No More ‘No Homo’” campaign is inspiring. There is reason to be cautiously optimistic that the self-appointed makers of Black leaders will finally take up its work of producing 21st Century Black men with open and affirming gender and sexual politics.

There simply is no excuse not to do so.

Now is no time to turn our backs on the work left to do.

And yet, here we are.

Allen’s call to action wasn’t just intended for the Morehouse community – it should be heard by all of us who care about social justice. These are members of our community, who are often suffering in silence, afraid of our judgment and our backlash.

My friend Kavitha posted a link to a depressing article in Mother Jones, aptly titled “Queer and Loathing: Does the Foster Care System Bully Gay Kids?” Considering the plight of many young people caught in the understaffed and overtaxed foster care system, the additional hurdle that young queer kids of color have to go through is gut wrenching. Jason Cherkis reports:

Nothing frightened Kenneth Jones more than the prospect of his first real date. He prepped for it like a court appearance, saving up for a black button-down shirt and for a salon treatment to tame his spiky locks and paint his nails with intricate black-and-gray swirls. He still remembers those last anxious teenage moments. “A lot of mirror time,” he recalls. “Tons of mirror time.”

He needed this to go well. As a gay foster child in Washington, DC, Kenneth spent most of his weekends alone. By the summer of 2009, the isolation had gotten so bad that he’d started calling his cell-phone carrier’s help line with imaginary complaints, just so he could vent to somebody about something. He would even text himself encouraging messages, like “Good job,” or “Damn you so strong.”

He needn’t have worried. Kenneth and his date took an afternoon swim, made out during G.I. Joe, and finished the evening at Chipotle. More dates followed. After a few weeks, taking his new boyfriend home seemed like the natural next step. And so it was that James, Kenneth’s foster father, returned to the apartment one night to find the boys talking and laughing in the front room. The introductions immediately turned into what Kenneth calls a “life-or-death situation.” [...]

Across the nation, social workers and children’s advocates have their own Kenneth stories—the gay youth in Jacksonville, Florida, who tore through 48 placements in four years; the lesbian teen in Connecticut who made a pinky promise with her social worker to “not be gay.” The changes in mainstream attitudes that have made life easier for gay adults in recent years have also made it easier for gay teens to come out of the closet. But that doesn’t mean foster parents and child-welfare agencies have kept pace with the times. Kids “question their sexual orientation more” nowadays, says Cindy Watson, who directs a center for gay youth in Jacksonville. “That’s a dangerous place to be. And the system is not a safe place.”

According to the American Bar Association’s 2008 guidebook (PDF) for child-welfare lawyers and judges, virtually all lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning kids in group homes had reported verbal harassment; 70 percent had been subjected to violence; and 78 percent had either run away or been removed from a foster placement for reasons related to their sexuality. “They are the one population thrown out of their home because of who they are,” says Gerald P. Mallon, a professor at New York’s Hunter College School of Social Work.

There is so much pain. There is so much hurt. And this is coming from our people, members of our communities.

We have to work harder to bridge these gaps.

Dan Savage’s “It Gets Better” Campaign has made its way around the internet and the mainstream media a few weeks ago, pulling together a wide range of people to assure queer kids that life does get better – if they live long enough to see it out.  One video, Kristel Yoneda from Honolulu, HI, really struck me for her openness in reminiscing about that period in her life:

Kristel said:

I remember as a junior, one day I got called into the office in the middle of class. I thought maybe my mom had left me a message at the office or something, but it turns out the counselor wanted to speak with me. So we sit down, and we make small talk for a little while and she says “You know, there are these rumors going around that you’re gay. You’re not gay, are you?” And I remember it wasn’t with that tone where it was like “ok, you’re gay, it’s ok, this is a safe environment,” it was that tone that tells you, “You better not be gay, don’t tell me that you’re gay.” And I was shocked. Before I could even process the question properly, before I could really even answer, I remember denying it. Flat-out denying it, which was a lie of course. And she asked me again, “Are you gay, are you gay? Are you gay with your friend? I heard she’s gay too. So here I was, denying it. I’m not gay, my friend’s not gay, we’re not together, none of us are gay.

And I remembered she just looked at me and said “Well, I heard she’s a slut.”

And I didn’t know what to say, you know? Had this conversation happened now, it would have gone so much differently, you know? I would have stood up for myself. I would have stood up for my friend. But the truth is, you know, I was fifteen years old. And I was speaking to someone who was supposed to be someone I could confide in. They were an authority figure I was supposed to feel safe with, and in that moment she shattered all my faith in that system.

Some folks have criticized Savage’s campaign, saying that we should not ask gay teens to stand by and accept their own bullying. I can understand that criticism, but at the same time, I can hear the message Savage is trying to convey. Adolescence is a strange, awkward period of time for most of us – we are in the process of discovering who we are, and we are still learning to navigate our peers and parents/guardians. We are starting to learn some of life’s harshest lessons, and beginning the journey toward adulthood. For those of us who have left this phase in our development, we can say that it does get better. It isn’t guaranteed to do so, but most adults have one thing teens lack: control over their lives. At some point, the decisions you make become those you determine. And that kind of control and autonomy does make a world of difference.

But still, as adults, as those who’ve been through it (or similar rough situations) we can always do more.

Last week, reader Tomee Sojourner sent in a video campaign to promote an alternative campaign, saying:

In light of recent mainstream LGBTQ response to LGBT/Queer youth suicides in US and other parts of the world, the Embracing Intersectional Diversity Project (EID Project) wanted to shine a spotlight on how homophobic/transphobic and racist violence manifests itself in our communities. In particular, how racialized and intersectional identities need to be visible in how narratives are shared, mourned, and calls to action are made. The EID Project team feels that the lack of discussion about the affect/impact of racism on how bullying and homophobia take shape, is not only dismissive, it is in fact irresponsible.

The Embracing Intersectional Diversity Project is a not-for-profit organization based in Montreal, QC. Our team decided to generate a call to action and campaign, ‘I AM PROOF THAT IT GETS BETTER’ to get folks to situate racialized and intersectional identities in the discussions, debates, dialogues, and movement building around challenging homophobic bullying, violence, and empowering queer youth.

The EID Project campaign places race, gender expression, and the lived experiences of queer folks of colour and two-spirited folks at the centre rather than on the periphery. The project asks folks to step up to do MORE and ACT.

As Director of the Embracing Intersectional Diversity Project, I created a brief youtube clip in response to the EID Project’s call to action.  On a personal note, Ihave had enough of the erasure of racialized, gendered, and intersectional violence and forms of oppression that queer folks of colour and two-spirited folks face on a daily basis. I have also moved in too many spaces where folks feel that they have very little option but to no longer exist. As a Black, masculine-identified queer woman, Social Justice Activist, Artist, Social Entrepreneur, former College Professor, Auntie, Femtor, and Partner, I move in this world with intersectional identities. In addition, I have experienced intersectional violence.

This campaign will generate spaces where folks can share knowledge, ideas, skills, and engage in difficult dialogues for the purpose of growing progressive, sustainable social change, one connection at a time.

To non activists, this just sounds like a mouthful.  But all Tomee is really asking for is for us to ensure that we are examining what is going on in the lives of others.

So please. Do something. Reach out. Read queer writing, theory, poetry. Add some queer POC blogs to your feed reader or rotation.

We can’t afford to leave so many members of our community out in the cold.

I guess if anyone had to offer a corrective to the Black (Women’s) Hair Debate™, it had to be Sesame Street.

And if the YouTube comments (as if my submitting this) are any indication, quite a few people really appreciate what the PBS show did, with some lament of wishing this was on for them when they were little.

“I felt really warm & fuzzy after seeing this.”

“I love this video! It is so cute, and so many young girls need to see this video. Definitely didn’t have anything like this when I was younger.”

“<3 SESAME STREET you are so awesome! Thank you so much for this! <3″

“This is the most revolutionary thing i’ve seen in a looong time. And it feels sooo good too!”

“I WANT TO CRY! I could have used this back when I was little…and it’s still motivating being that I still watch Sesame Street as an adult.”

“I love this song! Sesame Street is on point with this one. I’m showing this in my class tomorrow! Love it!”

“I just watched this video for the first time and loved it I am so glad that sesame street has this! I think its great because itll boost the confidence of little black girls to accept their natural hair as they can relate to this and know that they are still beautiful just like anyone else with any other grain of hair!

i love it ”

“am so glad that a show like Sesame Street is reiterating such a message. It helps not only young black children, but children of all races — acknowledging, embracing, and celebrating aspects of each other. That is fantastic!!! Thank you Sesame Street!! ALL CHILDREN’S TV SHOWS NEED TO TAKE NOTE!!!”

“As a father of Two Girls , one Mixed Race and one Black . They have to deal with this issue A lot. Their non-black peers , some tend to make fun of their curly hair , some parents even told them about using relaxer (that made me angry). I have decided even before this NO MORE Relaxer in my Daughters Hair. I love their hair too!”

“THANK YOU SESAME STREET!! I AM NATURAL, MY SISTERS, MY MUM AND I AM GOING TO SHOW THIS TO MY NIECES TOO!

PLEASE SHOW YOUR DAUGHTERS THIS VIDEO WHATEVER YOUR HAIR IS CURLY, WAVE, AFRO., AND WHATEVER RACE YOU ARE TOO!

LOVE YOURSELF WHAT GOD GIVE YOU.”

“I’m Hawaiian, with really curly “hula hair” (my family’s term for it- lol!), and I grew up in Illinois with lots of caucasian children. So everyone around me had long straight hair, little noses, etc., and I got teased a lot for looking different and having a “fro”, because I didn’t look like anyone else. I wish Sesame Street did this one when I was a kid! Bravo, Sesame Street!!!”

A critique or two:

“I LOOOOOOOOVE this! This means that people are starting to accept african/african american hair, and that it’s becoming main stream….I am really LOVE this…I almost cried but um…natural hair people dont go to salons?? I mean I know she meant that she dont have to get it straighten, but still lol….um yeah Sesame Street, we gonna let yall slide w/ that one ha.”

With a dig or two at BET

“it is so sad that BET can’t do anything like this.”

“BET is too busy ruining the way we see ourselves, to do stuff like this.”

And this:

“I love this video! But to the people saying “I wish something like this had been on TV when I was growing up” do you really think that would have made you NOT get a relaxer (if you got one) or stopped anyone else? It’s up to parents to teach their children to love themselves how they are and what they have, not television programs.”

I’m not going to lie:  I think this is pretty darn cute, too.  Even with the adorable, my quibble is that the video assumes 1) there’s only one natural state  of Black hair (curly), when there are many (though the video caught a few), 2) it assumes, as one of the commenters stated above, that only Black people can naturally grow ‘fros, which isn’t true, 3) that the only ones who need such affirmation are cis girls, not cis boys or any child who’s trans or gender non-conforming who has similar hair.  Also, what about us baldies, regardless of our gender?

Then again, I have to check my own assumption: though the muppet is brown, I’m assuming the muppet’s phenotype–based on seeing the ‘fro, the twists/locs, the braids, the pigtails in succession–is Black because the only group I see rocking those varieties of looks are women of African descent.  So, my bad on that faulty line of thinking.

That’s where I’m at so far with this video. What do you think about this Sesame Street segment?

ETA: Here are the lyrics:

Don’t need a trip to the beauty shop,
’cause I love what I got on top.
It’s curly and it’s brown and it’s right up there!
You know what I love? That’s right, my hair!
I really love my hair.
I love my hair. I love my hair.
There’s nothing else that can compare with my hair.
I love my hair, so I must declare:
I really, really, really love my hair.
Wear a clippy or in a bow
Or let it sit in an afro
My hair looks good in a cornrow
It does so many things you know, that’s why I let it grow
I love my hair, I love my hair
I love it and I have to share
I love my hair, I love my hair!
I want to make the world aware I love my hair.
I wear it up. I wear down. I wear it twisted all around.
I wear braids and pigtails too.
I love all the things my hair can do.
In barrettes or flying free, ever perfect tresses you’ll see
My hair is part of me, an awesome part of me
I really love my hair!

Queer youth suicides have started to receive a lot of media attention, but still, far too many members of our community swallow their pain in silence.

Over on blackpublicmedia.org, fledgling filmmaker John Dargan explores what life after Marlon Riggs’ seminal 1989 film Tongues Untied, and the shifting landscape for those on their own journeys nearly a decade later.

There is no transcript available, but here is the summary:

Inspired by the work of Marlon Riggs young filmmaker John Dargan decides to make a homage to Rigg’s critically acclaimed “Tongues Untied.” Dargan explores the contemporary face of voguing; the power behind identity and self-expression, the connection between safe spaces and the true robustness of spirit that comes to these young men with the beat of every up tempo mix they vogue to. In “Tongues Untied: Still In Vogue” we explore current young African American gay youth and their passions and personal struggles in society similar to Riggs original intention in his 1989 documentary.

You simply cannot train for a marathon without hearing about hitting the dreaded “wall”. The marathon wall is a commonly used term to describe the ultimate running fatigue that typically happens around the 20th mile of an endurance run such as the marathon (26.2 miles). Muscles grow heavy with fatigue and one’s pace slows down considerably. The body literally hits the wall and it can feel almost impossible to keep moving forward.

The first marathon I ever ran was in New York City. I was lucky enough to connect with the New York Road Runners Club and I had some amazing coaches, not to mention a host of running partners to keep me motivated. I remember attending a running clinic that was geared specifically towards first time marathoners and the panel talked about the wall. I left that auditorium determined that I would not be another one of its victims.

I gave myself a full year to train for the marathon. Single and ready to conquer the world, I had nothing but time and excess energy to invest into my overall training. Marathon wall be damned! Maybe I was too young or inexperienced to believe that I could train enough to avoid any pitfalls during the race, but it was the fear of that cursed wall that pushed me to train above and beyond what my already rigorous training program required.

I hope this doesn’t across as too arrogant, but I honestly found the marathon to be one long, fun and dare I say, easy run. Mile 20 came and went. Same with mile 21. Mile 22 came around and I felt stronger than ever with random bursts of extra energy. The last four miles of the race ended up being my fastest mile splits ever. I was high on the intensity and enthusiasm of the crowd as well as buoyed by the many, many hours of training I had put in over the past year (oh and I’m sure that little thing called adrenaline didn’t hurt, either). Granted, my time of 4 hours and 20 minutes was nothing to write home about, but I had accomplished a personal goal and had a blast doing it in the best city in the world (my .02!) – all while avoiding that cursed wall.

There are no shortages of examples written by those who believe that the marathon is a metaphor for life. Certainly I can reflect back on the 3 different marathons that I’ve completed and draw parallels to how my own life has played out. My last marathon was run with minimal training, an attitude that bordered on sheer apathy and a lack of respect that a marathon calls for and rightfully deserves. Not only did I hit the wall, but I incurred a rather serious injury that forced me to walk almost the last 5 miles of the race. I contend that the biggest difference between my first marathon (enjoyable and fun) and my third marathon (miserable at best) was all in the training and preparation.

As a person of color, I think of how many times I have hit the wall in my life as I navigate through this racially charged world in which we live. Our families, our school communities, our neighborhoods, our places of work and beyond unfortunately offer plenty of opportunities for some rather damaging walls. Sometimes that wall is a self-imposed one, due to a lack of courage or energy to speak up and speak out when I know I should. Many times the wall is an obstruction comprised of a person’s unwillingness to think before they speak or to remain comfortably seated in ignorance or safe and secure in their shroud of privilege. Whatever the reason, the wall that threatens to impede my progress is not unlike that of the marathon wall: muscles grow heavy and deep fatigue sets in.

I think about the walls that threatened to thwart my growth when I was younger and how completely ill-prepared I was to handle them. If I’m being completely honest with myself, I realize that perhaps I’ve been far too generous in assessing how well equipped I was to deal with the very real walls of racism, prejudice and discrimination throughout my life. I have no doubt that my parents love and concern imparted upon me the knowledge that they were always there for me – and yes, that is huge in it’s own right – but as an Asian girl/adolescent/young adult, I recognize now just how unprepared I was in terms of not having the right language or effective strategies to be my own best advocate in my racially isolated world.

Our son starts Kindergarten next week and his older sister will be in 3rd grade. As children of color, each has already been hit with varying degrees of walls and I know there are many, many more to come. When it comes to race and race consciousness, I have tried to be as mindful and as strategic as possible to do whatever is in my power to prepare them as they face each new barrier. For me and my family this has been an on-going process for the past several years. Preparing my kids means a lot of role playing, frequent and relevant conversations addressing topics like racism, stereotypes and prejudices. It requires me to have the dirty but necessary job to share and explain certain racial slurs that might be thrown at them or someone else in hopes that my kids’ knowledge will help alleviate the power of those words. It also includes each member of my family examining our own biases and acknowledging our own privilege in various capacities. It involves me teaching and modeling what listening to your gut looks and feels like and then having honest conversations around said events so that we have a chance to process it all together. It requires me to have honest and direct conversations with my children’s teachers and administrators to share with them the kinds of discussions I’ve been having with my son and daughter over the past 3 and 5 years, respectively, in hopes that they can be better allies to all of their students in the school. It means forging alliances and building genuine relationships with other families in our school community. It means speaking up and out against injustices in our own backyard, even if it makes us all uncomfortable.

Lest anyone think I’m the epitome of a pessimist who looks for the worst in every possible human encounter, I like to look at it this way: You insist that your child wear his seat belt anytime he gets into the car. Why? It’s the same for me and my family when it comes to race. The chances of one of them being involved in a “crash” are actually pretty high, so I try to give them every added piece of protection that I can. I harbor no illusions that I’ve done things so perfectly as to avoid any impact or pain, but just like in driving, I know that I can’t fully rely on the other drivers to be looking out for the best interest of me or my family, so I do what I think is necessary to keep them as safe as possible.

The mom in me wants to be able to learn from the child I used to be – the child who fought so hard to keep moving forward when others tried to devalue my humanity and my spirit just because of who I was. Unfortunately, there will never be a shortage of walls to overcome. I just want my kids to be confident enough in the preparation they’ve had to know that no wall is too powerful to keep them from taking that next step forward and most importantly – that they don’t have to do it alone.