Monthly Archives: October 2007

Crushing A Fly With A Volkswagen: Head Like A Hole Edition

Posted by Tata on

I really, really hate reading these stories. From Feministing, which credits Women of Color Blog with finding this:

School security guards in Palmdale, CA have been caught on camera assaulting a 16-year-old girl and breaking her arm after she spilled some cake during lunch and left some crumbs on the floor after cleaning it up.

The incident occurred last week at Knight High School in Palmdale and was caught on a cell phone camera by another pupil who was then also assaulted by the security guards.

Watch video of the incident here.

The girl, Pleajhai Mervin, told Fox News LA that she was bumped while queuing for lunch and dropped the cake. After being ordered to clean it up and then re-clean the spot three times, she attempted to leave the area out of embarrassment but was jumped on by security who forced her onto a table, breaking her wrist in the process.

Pleajhai also says that the security guard in the picture yelled “hold still nappy-head” at her, which at the time she did not know was a racist comment.

Watch the video. I’ll wait.

…

…

You back? Great. Kids tell you half a story – everyone knows they make shitty witnesses. But now you’re a witness. What did you see?

If that girl were Miss Sasha, no power on earth would prevent me from doing what Pleajhai’s mother did: confronting the cowering school administration.

But it gets worse. When the girl’s mother went to the school to complain and rightfully demand that this guard be arrested – she was arrested and suspended from her job with the school district.

Students at the scene captured the assault on their cell phones; one such student was also beaten.

This is a particularly eggregious example of “You Act Your Age While I Act Like A Big Baby.” I’m a peaceful person these days. You’d be visiting me on Sundays once a month.

There is just no excuse for arresting kindergarteners for bringing scissors to school or tasering eight-year-olds or asking girls about their periods. Yet, again and again we have school administrators and security guards – almost always men – treating children like armed combatants. It is inexcusable. I don’t mean, “Well, maybe there was a reason and what about this and that…” No. No hemming and hawing. No excuses. No compromise. No “It’s for their own safety” bullshit. No.

Grownups are so scared they think CHILDREN are the enemy. What happened to this girl could happen to your children. She’s not demon spawn who deserved a beating. She’s a girl, like your daughter. She’s got an arrest record for dropping cake. And there’s nothing except the slimmest grasp on common sense and vast, messy litigation preventing what happened from happening again.

I can’t wait for a time when authoritarian punk-asses will be shown the inside of a jail cell, and even more so the authoritarian punk-asses who prey on the defenseless, like children.

The Most But I’ll Take the Least

Posted by Tata on

Recently, I’ve been all over the map. For a few weeks, I was in the kind of pain that makes the eyes water and in person makes me mysterious. For instance, sometimes I lie face down on my cubicle floor, which used to induce panic in my officemates but now elicits giggles. For another, if you and I meet in the local grocery emporium and you see me holding very, very still next to the dog chow, singing along with the P.A. system at the tops of my lungs, I might be riding a wave of pain and waiting to crash on shore. Or I might be conjuring up a dog chow-based prank. We don’t know! I’m unpredictable that way. For the last month or so, the explanation for quirky behavior has most likely been startling pain that bursts forth in my brain like Roman candles.

Yes, I’ve been going to yoga and it helps. No, not as often as I could or should. Pete convinced me to drag myself to his chiropractor, who twisted my neck this way and that, which I enjoyed about as much as unplanned dental surgery. Then, to my surprise, the agony stopped. Just…stopped. I spent the next two days waiting for it to come back, then simply waited. In the course of the last week, I’ve felt ordinary aches, pains and a few twinges but no agony. I have now seen xrays of my spine, which resembles not so much a straw as a Slinky. The chiropractor looked at the films, looked at me, looked back at the films.

Doc: Did you ever fall on your head a lot?
Tata: I did gymnastics in the seventies. Sometimes we fell on mats but there was also concrete.

I have an appointment this afternoon, which is very exciting because I will enjoy the planned neck adjustment like further unplanned dental surgery, and very much look forward to pretending it’s not happening. Around 4 this afternoon, don’t be surprised if you feel a disturbance in the Force when it takes every ounce of restraint I possess to keep from punching the nice chiropractor.

Every age we attain lies between familiar territory and terrifying frontier. The little changes we see are mostly annoying but not, as a matter of course, shocking unless you have no signposts in the wilderness. People who were adopted face this because they can’t see their birthparents age and die in one of the cases where genes count; further, society as a whole is more open to discussion of changes in our bodies but that doesn’t mean we tell each other the unvarnished truth, which is that we have a whole lot less control over our bodies than we like to imagine. During August and September, I ate like it was my job, assuming the hunger was hormonal.

Tata: Mmmmph mek mek mmummphy glump.
Siobhan: Ahh, the eating. How long?
Tata: Mpppquch.
Siobhan: That’s unusual for you. Your complexion is also a touch flushed.
Tata: Givvus!
Siobhan: If you still had all your internal organs, we’d know what all this meant.
Tata: Pffffffft!
Siobhan: Right! If you still had all your internal organs you’d be lying on the floor, screaming. I forgot!

About a week ago, the eating also just…stopped. I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus – in reverse. Yes, I’ve been un-hit by a bus. Let’s see if I can walk that off.

You Worry Or Hesitate

Posted by Tata on

Let’s define our terms, but let’s try something novel and consult a basic online dictionary. Merriam-Webster:

fascism
Main Entry: fas·cism
Pronunciation: ‘fa-“shi-z&m also ‘fa-“si-
Function: noun
Etymology: Italian fascismo, from fascio bundle, fasces, group, from Latin fascis bundle & fasces fasces
1 often capitalized : a political philosophy, movement, or regime (as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition
2 : a tendency toward or actual exercise of strong autocratic or dictatorial control
– fas·cist /-shist also -sist/ noun or adjective, often capitalized
– fas·cis·tic /fa-‘shis-tik also -‘sis-/ adjective, often capitalized
– fas·cis·ti·cal·ly /-ti-k(&-)lE/ adverb, often capitalized

Nazi
Main Entry: Na·zi
Pronunciation: ‘nät-sE, ‘nat-
Function: noun
Etymology: German, by shortening & alteration from Nationalsozialist, from national national + Sozialist socialist
1 : a member of a German fascist party controlling Germany from 1933 to 1945 under Adolf Hitler
2 often not capitalized a : one who espouses the beliefs and policies of the German Nazis : FASCIST b : one who is likened to a German Nazi : a harshly domineering, dictatorial, or intolerant person
– nazi adjective, often capitalized
– na·zi·fi·ca·tion /”nät-si-f&-‘kA-sh&n, “nat-/ noun, often capitalized
– na·zi·fy /’nät-si-“fI, ‘nat-/ transitive verb, often capitalized

racist
Main Entry: rac·ism
Pronunciation: ‘rA-“si-z&m also -“shi-
Function: noun
1 : a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race
2 : racial prejudice or discrimination
– rac·ist /-sist also -shist/ noun or adjective

Ta notes: racism also includes unequal power and economic dynamics. For instance, white people can be racist and black people can be prejudiced, but it doesn’t follow that black people can be racist. Yes, I know I said we were working with dictionary definitions. A more sophisticated dictionary would mention the dynamics but I don’t subscribe to the OED. And just because:

prejudice
Main Entry: 1prej·u·dice
Pronunciation: ‘pre-j&-d&s
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin praejudicium previous judgment, damage, from prae- + judicium judgment — more at JUDICIAL
1 : injury or damage resulting from some judgment or action of another in disregard of one’s rights; especially : detriment to one’s legal rights or claims
2 a (1) : preconceived judgment or opinion (2) : an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge b : an instance of such judgment or opinion c : an irrational attitude of hostility directed against an individual, a group, a race, or their supposed characteristics
synonym see PREDILECTION

Got that? Fascism = severe economic and social regimentation and forcible repression of opposition. Nazi = a harshly domineering, dictatorial, or intolerant person. Now read this, which starts here. It is particularly important to read these words by Bryan Suits carefully:

Does the fact that only Barak Obama is – well, the only presidential candidate that will appear on Oprah’s show, does that make her a Nazi racist? Is it mutually exclusive that a black woman can be a also a Nazi? I don’t think so. I frankly think she is a Nazi.

… I think she has a right to do what she is going to do, I think it makes her a racist though. And I’m not goin’ use any kind of coded language or whatever. Anyone can be a racist, we all understand that right? Anyone can be prejudiced and I think she’s prejudiced.

Listen, I’m not a genius, and I’m no fan of Oprah’s. I have huge and utterly insignificant differences of opinion with Oprah, but this is beyond ridiculous. The FCC has rules about candidates and equal time that Oprah will obey. Anyone cannot be a racist. Oprah cannot be a Nazi. Think the people primarily concerned with the purity of the Aryan race would let a black woman join them for a bier and a putsch?

Anyone can be prejudiced. Almost everyone is prejudiced, to some extent. Two incidents from Sunday, within fifteen minutes.

1. I was driving through the tiny town in which I live when I saw five police cars with flashing lights surrounding one car on the street. I drove by slowly because the police have a carved-in-stone reputation for harassing people Driving While Black. Or Brown. Or Beige. Everyone knows it. When I dated black men I had to drive the car so no one concluded I was being kidnapped. So I expected to see a whole lot of young black men in handcuffs and to call my sister in half an hour to find out what’d happened. Instead, there were four young black men leaning against the car, laughing, and the police were laughing, and everyone looked happy, and except for the flashing lights it all looked so normal I almost crashed my car.

2. In the grocery store, I heard the piercing voice of a four-year-old.
Girl: Mommy, who was that brown lady?
Mom: (mumbled)
Girl: Mommy, who was that brown lady?
Mom: That was Luz.
Girl: But who was she?
Mom: She sometimes watches the other children and (mumbled.)
Girl: Is she your friend?
Mom: (mumbled.)
Girl: Mommy, is the brown lady your friend?
I came around the corner. The woman was putting groceries onto the checkout conveyor and not looking at the little girl – or, for that matter, the cashier or the other customers, many of whom were a lot less caucasian than she was.

This business of turning the language inside out to suit one’s political purposes cheapens the public discourse and makes the ill-spoken person look stupid. Bryan Suits looks stupid and as if there’s some violent disconnect between his thinking process and his frothing mouth. Here’s the thing: if you’re a public figure, everything you say, everything you do is now recorded digitally and there’s no escaping what you’ve said and done anymore. Then: since Oprah is not a nazi or a Nazi and cannot be either, Bryan Suits is on record as a liar and a slanderer. What he said wasn’t brave or iconclastic or witty. Nope. It was brutal and stupid, and he’s tied to it for what may be the rest of his brief career in media.

I hope Suits gets a really quiet day job where a black person isn’t head of Human Resources and tries really hard not to eat where black people cook or live where black people might walk their frou-frou purse dogs across his Bostonians – not because black people are prejudiced against white people but because black people have every right to be pissed about what one racist white guy says.

Ask Don Imus.

However Do You Need Me

Posted by Tata on

From then and there to here and now.

Sometimes, I will be with you. Sometimes, you will turn around and not find me. I cannot help this. I can’t anticipate what anyone else will do. I don’t have the strength to fight everywhere at once, and you, too.

If you do not tell me what you need I cannot give it to you. Punishing me later serves no purpose but to alienate one who has made common cause with you.

You’re In Tokyo But I’m Not

Posted by Tata on

Pete and I have a project. We’re canning. See: when Dad died, the garage was full of about 10,000 bottles and jars – many very beautiful – that no one knew what to do with. I went home in April, thinking I’d love to do canning as individual art pieces, which I now know was thinking above my pay grade. In July, it turned out Pete was interested in canning and in me. We bought a book. We studied up. We brought back from Virginia cases of Dad’s jars. Those free minutes we have together? We blanche something!

I will talk a lot more about this as we get further into this project, which is canning with Dad’s jars and using Dad’s ingredients. One interesting aspect to our current story is that though Pete and I have been acquainted more or less since I was this many (holding up five fingers), we have not really known one another at all until now.

Tata: While you were at work, I went shopping! It was exhausting!
Pete: I saw all kinds of things in my kitchen. What did you do?
Tata: First, I went to Michael’s, where I thought I might find Ball Jar labels, but no! Then, while I was there, I looked for a book stand for your cookbooks, but no! The only ones they had were fake icky wrought iron with chickens, and I like a chicken-free decor.
Pete: No country kitchen, thank you.
Tata: So I found a good brand of yarn on sale for $1 a skein and you will pretend not to notice my yarn fixation.
Pete: Pretending…go.
Tata: So from there I went to Barnes and Noble for your book stand but in between I passed a well-dressed man shilling for the D.A.R.E. program and he started his patter on me. I said, “Actually, I think kids should be doing more drugs,” and kept walking. He made a noise like he was leaking steam.
Pete: You really said that?
Tata: Of course! Barnes and Noble was packed to the rafters, with only one cashier. You have no idea how surly bibliophiles become when unable to purchase the latest John Grisham.
Pete: Did ya riot?
Tata: I considered it, but there were New Yorkers on line, complaining out loud that the cashier ought to practice oogenesis and become four fully functional cashiers. That plan had many flaws so I smiled sweetly and pretended to be Lithuanian.
Pete: It was very nice of you to buy me the book stand.
Tata: No, it wasn’t. You weren’t there when the $45 cookbook was soaked and I borrowed the blowdrier from your housemate’s timid girlfriend, and I can assure you they were extremely naked and mortified. They would have loaned me car keys to get me to bug off.
Pete: Did you find labels?
Tata: Nope. Next, I went to Office Depot, where I walked around and around in circles, trying to guess which labels would fit on the jars. The staff suggested one of those P-Touch gadgets you type stuff into and out comes the label but it was an investment so I told them I’d consult with my esteemed colleague on the matter.
Pete: Do the labels come in different sizes?
Tata: Yep. I don’t know what to make of it. Then I went to Home Depot and by this time I’d perfected staring into space as an art form. I picked up a clamp for the dryer vent and lovely black duct tape. Chic, oui?
Pete: Black?
Tata: Black. Stealthy! I will repair unseen! Then I dragged myself into a Hallmark store and asked them about labels. No luck there, either, and by then I was thinking how much I hated packaging engineers. Damn their eyes! Since I was I shopped for wine and groceries and by the time I got to the checkout I couldn’t count how many fingers I was holding up, so I dropped things off at your house and came home to nap. How was your day? Did you filet any waiters?
Pete: Not yet. But it’s just a matter of time.

It dawned on me in the grocery store, as cognitive ability was deserting me, that the label problem was solved by Dad and Darla by abandoning Ball Jar labels and going full metal household printer on the job. I don’t have a printer. What would you do?