This is to my reviews on epinions.
http://www.epinions.com/user-pierretascher
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
OK...... I just got through watching Raintree County and all I have to say is "what the hell?....." All in all, it was an enjoyable film and I love Liz Taylor for being so bold as to take on the part of a potentially colored woman who is not only, but who is also crazy ( I tell you the way that the color issue is so neatly resolved in this film doesnt sit well with me at all). It truly shows her spirit and shows her to be a woman made of moxy. I wonder who she was connected with in Hollywood back then to make such a film--and as I know this is not the only politically conscious film that she made at that time I do wonder as well how the studios allowed her, recruited, or permitted her to make such films given the nature of the Hollywood Studios at the time. I think she must have had some power back then, which I am sure of (but to get to choose a film, and like this one?). The million-dollar breaker definitely has left her mark on Hollywood. Cheers, Liz!
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
A snippet of conversation from gay.com......
nevitablecharm: I think thats your attitudePierre_Tascher_02: not at allPierre_Tascher_02: this placePierre_Tascher_02: iand its environmentPierre_Tascher_02: are totallyinevitablecharm: Then you should leavePierre_Tascher_02: unprogressivePierre_Tascher_02: and see....Pierre_Tascher_02: there you go lolPierre_Tascher_02: you Pierre_Tascher_02: and your whitenessPierre_Tascher_02: who deem that you can tell mePierre_Tascher_02: what I should and should not doPierre_Tascher_02: you need some liberation in your life....inevitablecharm: Yes, I can tell you, so shove off. Take your fat black ass and leave.Pierre_Tascher_02: hahaPierre_Tascher_02: you and your whiteness....Pierre_Tascher_02: and what can Purdue do for me?Pierre_Tascher_02: lord give me strengthPierre_Tascher_02: anywayPierre_Tascher_02: I recommendinevitablecharm: Nothing cause you cannot do a thing for yourselfPierre_Tascher_02: reading Alice WalkerPierre_Tascher_02: and Audre LordePierre_Tascher_02: and Pierre_Tascher_02: Adrienne RichPierre_Tascher_02: and bell hooksPierre_Tascher_02: becausePierre_Tascher_02: theyPierre_Tascher_02: can definitelyPierre_Tascher_02: change your lifePierre_Tascher_02: for the betterinevitablecharm: I assume you have posters of the black panthers above your bed?Pierre_Tascher_02: I doPierre_Tascher_02: some of them-)Pierre_Tascher_02: ;-)Pierre_Tascher_02: who is above yours?inevitablecharm: Very sad, the only reason your so bitter is because even your own race, mankind, had given up on youinevitablecharm: your hate is so deep that you are blinded by itPierre_Tascher_02: my hate?Pierre_Tascher_02: although I must say I do ..sortof...possess not a hate..but a disgustPierre_Tascher_02: I will sayPierre_Tascher_02: but alasPierre_Tascher_02: you are even inevitablecharm: I speak hate to you cause its all you understand. Even if I had spoken politely to you you wouldnt have understood itPierre_Tascher_02: out of it...there is no such thing as racePierre_Tascher_02: I must sayinevitablecharm: YES, there is a racePierre_Tascher_02: I dont hate anythingPierre_Tascher_02: hahainevitablecharm: its called HUMANSPierre_Tascher_02: "yes mr white man.....Pierre_Tascher_02: there is race"Pierre_Tascher_02: anywayPierre_Tascher_02: you need some liberationPierre_Tascher_02: so you canPierre_Tascher_02: stop being a white malePierre_Tascher_02: and learnPierre_Tascher_02: to be Humaninevitablecharm: See, you are so full of hate you dont even listenPierre_Tascher_02: ....inevitablecharm: But I dont think you hate white people or black peoplePierre_Tascher_02: there is no such thingPierre_Tascher_02: as white peoplePierre_Tascher_02: or black peopleinevitablecharm: I think you hate yourself, cause of what you look like, because of how you are and your only last string to hold onto is HATEPierre_Tascher_02: well, there are Black people...Pierre_Tascher_02: but only in the Black artsPierre_Tascher_02: expressionistPierre_Tascher_02: sensePierre_Tascher_02: of the wordPierre_Tascher_02: ok....Pierre_Tascher_02: I think I am beautiful-)Pierre_Tascher_02: I also think that you need some liberation-)
nevitablecharm: I think thats your attitudePierre_Tascher_02: not at allPierre_Tascher_02: this placePierre_Tascher_02: iand its environmentPierre_Tascher_02: are totallyinevitablecharm: Then you should leavePierre_Tascher_02: unprogressivePierre_Tascher_02: and see....Pierre_Tascher_02: there you go lolPierre_Tascher_02: you Pierre_Tascher_02: and your whitenessPierre_Tascher_02: who deem that you can tell mePierre_Tascher_02: what I should and should not doPierre_Tascher_02: you need some liberation in your life....inevitablecharm: Yes, I can tell you, so shove off. Take your fat black ass and leave.Pierre_Tascher_02: hahaPierre_Tascher_02: you and your whiteness....Pierre_Tascher_02: and what can Purdue do for me?Pierre_Tascher_02: lord give me strengthPierre_Tascher_02: anywayPierre_Tascher_02: I recommendinevitablecharm: Nothing cause you cannot do a thing for yourselfPierre_Tascher_02: reading Alice WalkerPierre_Tascher_02: and Audre LordePierre_Tascher_02: and Pierre_Tascher_02: Adrienne RichPierre_Tascher_02: and bell hooksPierre_Tascher_02: becausePierre_Tascher_02: theyPierre_Tascher_02: can definitelyPierre_Tascher_02: change your lifePierre_Tascher_02: for the betterinevitablecharm: I assume you have posters of the black panthers above your bed?Pierre_Tascher_02: I doPierre_Tascher_02: some of them-)Pierre_Tascher_02: ;-)Pierre_Tascher_02: who is above yours?inevitablecharm: Very sad, the only reason your so bitter is because even your own race, mankind, had given up on youinevitablecharm: your hate is so deep that you are blinded by itPierre_Tascher_02: my hate?Pierre_Tascher_02: although I must say I do ..sortof...possess not a hate..but a disgustPierre_Tascher_02: I will sayPierre_Tascher_02: but alasPierre_Tascher_02: you are even inevitablecharm: I speak hate to you cause its all you understand. Even if I had spoken politely to you you wouldnt have understood itPierre_Tascher_02: out of it...there is no such thing as racePierre_Tascher_02: I must sayinevitablecharm: YES, there is a racePierre_Tascher_02: I dont hate anythingPierre_Tascher_02: hahainevitablecharm: its called HUMANSPierre_Tascher_02: "yes mr white man.....Pierre_Tascher_02: there is race"Pierre_Tascher_02: anywayPierre_Tascher_02: you need some liberationPierre_Tascher_02: so you canPierre_Tascher_02: stop being a white malePierre_Tascher_02: and learnPierre_Tascher_02: to be Humaninevitablecharm: See, you are so full of hate you dont even listenPierre_Tascher_02: ....inevitablecharm: But I dont think you hate white people or black peoplePierre_Tascher_02: there is no such thingPierre_Tascher_02: as white peoplePierre_Tascher_02: or black peopleinevitablecharm: I think you hate yourself, cause of what you look like, because of how you are and your only last string to hold onto is HATEPierre_Tascher_02: well, there are Black people...Pierre_Tascher_02: but only in the Black artsPierre_Tascher_02: expressionistPierre_Tascher_02: sensePierre_Tascher_02: of the wordPierre_Tascher_02: ok....Pierre_Tascher_02: I think I am beautiful-)Pierre_Tascher_02: I also think that you need some liberation-)
My First Memory
My first memory of a Radical Blackness was in Headstart or in some early point during my time at Price Elementary School when they held a celebration during Black HIstory Month to commemorate the making of MLK's birthday into a federal holiday. As we endted the auditorium, I saw the emblazoned, life-sized figures of Black faces hanging on posters from the ceiling: Bill Cosby, Angela Davis, Lena Horne, and Maya Angelou are some that I remember. These were beautiful black faces, and the auditorium reverbrated as the sound of Stevie Wonder's voice bounced off the wall as he sang "Happy Birthday," his tribute to Dr. King. It was Black pride and Black assertiveness in a school where most of the children's faces were of color- either black or brown.
My Elemmentary school was a beautiful school as I remember. It seemed either grey or light green on the outside, contrasting the off white and colorful murals on the side walks with a welcoming asphald playground where I used to swing and play house in the monkey bars. I never climbed just to climb. I was different. Inside was good as were sheltered by mostly endearing black faces with an occassional white one appearing, such as Aunt Johnnie's good friend and my teacher for one year while I was there at Price, Mrs. Bull. It was especially the case for me, as my Aunt Johnnie was given care for my tutelage from the time I was three years old-- from Head Start to first grade. This has led to the wicked side of me-- my vanity and somewhat snobbishness. I did feel special during my time there at Price, and I was taken care of by my aunts and the others there around me. I felt like an exception. I loved school, and even more so I loved learning.
My childhood was shrouded in some magical cloud where I spent the considerable part of my time -- in the libraries, museums, and engaged intellectually, pondering the things of the world. There was an excited energy around my youth, from my parents involvement in and the immediacy of the Jackson and Washington campaings and my aunts and grandmother's participation in the Chicago Teacher's Union. Although they were not dyed-in - the-wool progressives, this involvement on their part allowed me a premature taste of the ideology and the vision and the urgency of Blackpride and its commitment to progressive struggle. I dont know how much of my awareness was due to their involvement and how much was just my being there in Chicago. The entire city was possessed by an energy and a zeal that was daily fed to the masses of people-- on television, through social activist networks, and through word of mouth interaction.
I remember the elation of Washington's election as mayor and I remember the intense sadness and futile loss of his death. I remmeber the power and vision of Jesse Jackson's bid for presidency and the unity felt in his political message. The beauty of that time was real and inspiring and the legacy of those people in progressive movement created the context and the background for my political development and my growth as a human being concerned with the welfare of humanity and the eradication of oppression for people across the globe.
My background is spotted with movments of progressivisim and elements that provide a backdrop for my formation as a person of consciousness. My mother and other members of my family were involved with the Frank London Brown Historical Society, which sounds like a very progressive group that met periodically to host discussions on issues of the black community, black history, and the legacy of progressive struggle, and hosted very notable figures that addressed the group and had ties to several celebrity figures that were local. Not only was my mother present in the organization, but also Aunt Johnnie, Uncle Archie, and Cousin Fannie. My mother's participation ended when the organization was raided. Government crackdowns on progressive entities brought my mother's enlightnment to a halt. I know absolutely nothing else about this organization, not even whether it is still in existence.
My Uncle Archie, who was a member of the group, was apparently a friend and neighbor of Dick Gregory's. My Uncle Donald was tied to, if not a member of, the Black Panther Party. My uncle is very a very progressive-oriented man- he gave me a copy of Langston Hughes' "I Wonder as I Wander" when I was thirteen years old. That book enlightened me in many ways and opened my eyes to the world as I learned about the Chinese and watermelons floating down the Mekong River, and Russian peasants in Tashkent sipping from a communal bowl of tea.....
My first memory of a Radical Blackness was in Headstart or in some early point during my time at Price Elementary School when they held a celebration during Black HIstory Month to commemorate the making of MLK's birthday into a federal holiday. As we endted the auditorium, I saw the emblazoned, life-sized figures of Black faces hanging on posters from the ceiling: Bill Cosby, Angela Davis, Lena Horne, and Maya Angelou are some that I remember. These were beautiful black faces, and the auditorium reverbrated as the sound of Stevie Wonder's voice bounced off the wall as he sang "Happy Birthday," his tribute to Dr. King. It was Black pride and Black assertiveness in a school where most of the children's faces were of color- either black or brown.
My Elemmentary school was a beautiful school as I remember. It seemed either grey or light green on the outside, contrasting the off white and colorful murals on the side walks with a welcoming asphald playground where I used to swing and play house in the monkey bars. I never climbed just to climb. I was different. Inside was good as were sheltered by mostly endearing black faces with an occassional white one appearing, such as Aunt Johnnie's good friend and my teacher for one year while I was there at Price, Mrs. Bull. It was especially the case for me, as my Aunt Johnnie was given care for my tutelage from the time I was three years old-- from Head Start to first grade. This has led to the wicked side of me-- my vanity and somewhat snobbishness. I did feel special during my time there at Price, and I was taken care of by my aunts and the others there around me. I felt like an exception. I loved school, and even more so I loved learning.
My childhood was shrouded in some magical cloud where I spent the considerable part of my time -- in the libraries, museums, and engaged intellectually, pondering the things of the world. There was an excited energy around my youth, from my parents involvement in and the immediacy of the Jackson and Washington campaings and my aunts and grandmother's participation in the Chicago Teacher's Union. Although they were not dyed-in - the-wool progressives, this involvement on their part allowed me a premature taste of the ideology and the vision and the urgency of Blackpride and its commitment to progressive struggle. I dont know how much of my awareness was due to their involvement and how much was just my being there in Chicago. The entire city was possessed by an energy and a zeal that was daily fed to the masses of people-- on television, through social activist networks, and through word of mouth interaction.
I remember the elation of Washington's election as mayor and I remember the intense sadness and futile loss of his death. I remmeber the power and vision of Jesse Jackson's bid for presidency and the unity felt in his political message. The beauty of that time was real and inspiring and the legacy of those people in progressive movement created the context and the background for my political development and my growth as a human being concerned with the welfare of humanity and the eradication of oppression for people across the globe.
My background is spotted with movments of progressivisim and elements that provide a backdrop for my formation as a person of consciousness. My mother and other members of my family were involved with the Frank London Brown Historical Society, which sounds like a very progressive group that met periodically to host discussions on issues of the black community, black history, and the legacy of progressive struggle, and hosted very notable figures that addressed the group and had ties to several celebrity figures that were local. Not only was my mother present in the organization, but also Aunt Johnnie, Uncle Archie, and Cousin Fannie. My mother's participation ended when the organization was raided. Government crackdowns on progressive entities brought my mother's enlightnment to a halt. I know absolutely nothing else about this organization, not even whether it is still in existence.
My Uncle Archie, who was a member of the group, was apparently a friend and neighbor of Dick Gregory's. My Uncle Donald was tied to, if not a member of, the Black Panther Party. My uncle is very a very progressive-oriented man- he gave me a copy of Langston Hughes' "I Wonder as I Wander" when I was thirteen years old. That book enlightened me in many ways and opened my eyes to the world as I learned about the Chinese and watermelons floating down the Mekong River, and Russian peasants in Tashkent sipping from a communal bowl of tea.....
Tonight I am stoned.... I swear. For the first time in my life... but on some hookah stuff. Anyway,
I love josh, he is like a brother to me. Maybe I haven't known him long enough or whatever, but he is very dear to me. Other than that, all I have to say is Lafayette is evil....and I rarely use that word-- and its not in the good sense of the word either. [I am editing this. I generally don't tamper with the archive, but I am moved to. I sound too much like a white boy and it is frightening-- instead of "wierd" I have inserted "evil." A word, perhaps, I use too much.]
I love josh, he is like a brother to me. Maybe I haven't known him long enough or whatever, but he is very dear to me. Other than that, all I have to say is Lafayette is evil....and I rarely use that word-- and its not in the good sense of the word either. [I am editing this. I generally don't tamper with the archive, but I am moved to. I sound too much like a white boy and it is frightening-- instead of "wierd" I have inserted "evil." A word, perhaps, I use too much.]
Monday, February 28, 2005
One of thefirst things I want to talk about is to establish a definition of the boundaries that I see that exist between this dichotomy (false though it may be) between the "White" and the "Other" (primarily black) that exists in this country, especially in the social fabric that has been woven within the steel frameworks of American polity and economy. I think that which separates those that exist within this dominant structure (reason why they should get out of it) is the manner of how they exist and operate. In my interactions with so called white people, I find that one thing that separates the ultimate connection between cultures, if you will, is the expression of grief, the expression of pain, and the overall way in which we bond amongst ourselves and express our love, our joy, our sorrow, our deepest and truest emotions. Power structures breed coldness and encourage those that exist within it to operate accordingly. They provide "rules" by which people are supposed to live...and especially those who are brought up in the light of the system are taught to act and conduct themselves according to the "rules" established by this structure. This is not to say that Nonwhite cultures don't have rules, but alas, outside of the white world and the eyesight of the power structure people do possess the ability to scream and express themselves and to cry and to love passionately and to hate and to bitch and moan to their hearts content. This is not the answer to the world's riddle, but it is something that helps us not go crazy or to run ourselves over from the inside.
I am pretty naive sometimes and I do look at people and think "oh how perfect their lives are...aren't they beautiful?" But more and more I have come to notice the flaws within them and that which constantly keeps them on the point of crashing...which is a lesson for this (un)civilized culture. I have not seen more "beautiful people" abusing drugs, alcohol, themselves, others, or other addictions, or simply being out of touch with their humanity and the humanity of others. That said, American culture is on its way towards an ultimate and violent end as not only does it fail to respect the humanity of others, but within its own systemic way of living, the hostility within it is growing within it to such gargantuan levels that their will surely be chaos at the end of this viscious cycle of cutthroat competitiveness. There is something to be learned from studying those cultures that have outlasted the "great" civilizations throughout history.....
I am pretty naive sometimes and I do look at people and think "oh how perfect their lives are...aren't they beautiful?" But more and more I have come to notice the flaws within them and that which constantly keeps them on the point of crashing...which is a lesson for this (un)civilized culture. I have not seen more "beautiful people" abusing drugs, alcohol, themselves, others, or other addictions, or simply being out of touch with their humanity and the humanity of others. That said, American culture is on its way towards an ultimate and violent end as not only does it fail to respect the humanity of others, but within its own systemic way of living, the hostility within it is growing within it to such gargantuan levels that their will surely be chaos at the end of this viscious cycle of cutthroat competitiveness. There is something to be learned from studying those cultures that have outlasted the "great" civilizations throughout history.....
Tonight I am reinvigorating this blog. As I hear doors slam and people chattering around me I am focusing in to reinstate this blog to be sort of my manifesto, my sounding board, the place where I will lay down my thoughts for all others to see as they fall out of my head. I reintroduce myself again tonight as a passionate, creative, feminist,queer,imaginative spirit who only thrives and wishes to be free in the midst of a hounding patriarchy that seeks to confine and to bind everyone into the murderous wheel that they call progress.......
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Today was really interesting. I missed the last bus back to Willowbrook, so I spent a couple of hours on the phone trying to find a ride back home, and finally ended up getting Sheila to take me home. The MHN callout was very interesting. Carlos seemed very disturbed or emotional when he began speaking about what Marxist-Humanism was and how it fit onto Purdue's campus. I am sure he sensed or was unsure of the political inclination of his audience.....which I sensed was more conservative than either he or I- especially considering the answers they were calling out to his provocations. I was really suprised, but shouldnt have been I suppose when JC showed up. He is quite cute and I definitely have taken a liking to him....but I take a liking to any man that I can talk to for more than two minutes these days. I may have let on...or been obvious aobut it tonight as well. I usually am. I hope he comes over for dinner sometime. I had a four hour lunch with Dr. Dorsey today, it was great and I of course love Dr. Dorsey to death. He is my cornerstone here at Purdue. he has definitely been that--he along with Dr. Williams- that has kept me sane and grounded for three semesters. I met Jorge today, he is interesting, very cute, and intriguing. I would love to chat with him more. I sent him an email. Dr. Dorsey's conversation was very enlightening and shed some light to me about the goings on of academia. I wonder what he has to say about Angela Davis...... There are two little white girls behind me (college students) who are having a private conversation...and what I hear definitely sounds like what they are....little white girls. I was thinking today about my experiences at Huntingdon. Huntingdon College was defintiely a blessing in disguise for me. We did have such great people there guiding us, modling us, and who left their indelible mark upon me ( and Rebecca, but Ill let her speak for herself. I am of the utmost debt to Greg Salyer, Chella Courington, Cecile Gray, Dr. Deal, Maureen Murphy, Jane Williams, mmmm., Kim Szpiech, and a couple of others who worked effortlessly, and tirelessly to create an intellectually stimulating, growth stimulating, warm, and loving environment. Greg and Chella were the rocks I stood on. My memories of Huntingdon College were fond and fabulous. It was definitely a progressive environment ( at least in our little web) and one that I will always and forever cherish. To think back on it now, I cant believe, and it is amazing that I was introduced in my freshmem year of college to Feminist theory...to Helene Cixous and Julie Kristeva...god....I am so greatful to Chella. I gained my intellectual bearings at Huntingdon College. Greg Salyer challenged me, accepted me, tolerated my tendencies, yet forced me to be more open than I was and am. I am forever greatful for those lessons. Dr. Deal provided stimulation, structure, and guidance....a father figure. Jane Williams was our mother hen..taking us out to lunch and dinner always....and providing us with a wonderful love and tenderness. Susan Koppelman has also been a wonderful mentor to me....even vicariously. I look forward to meeting her. I am the grateful beneficiary of her wisdom, advise, goading, and chastisement. I am surrounded and connected to the most wonderful, established, and giant figures that I can imagine. Susan, ....... who taught the first Women's Studies Course in the country, Mab- who paid me the greatest compliment I have ever recieved....she told me that I reminded her most of herself while she was at Huntingdon College. Chella.....Greg...... My cousin Betty, the pulitzer prize nominated Journalist who interacted with my Uncle Lawrence.
I am more than
I am more than
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Friday was a beautiful day for me in two ways. Firstly, I heard the Brown sisters speak, they were powerful, they were poetic, and they spoke the truth. In Cheryl Brown Henderson, I found a feww soul sister, a warrior for the cause of justice who is bold, beautiful, and unafraid (or perhaps afraid not) to speak the truth to power and imagine a new world where there is equality and justice for people of color and all other oppressed as well. I neded to hear her speak that night. Her words were like salve to my soul and were a reaffirmation of the fact that what I was doing was right. I care about people and about justice and I care about seeing the basic needs of each and every member of a society are meet. I would like to live my life accordingly to this. The second reason why Friday was such a good day was because I happened upon a man again hat I had very much attracted to. I had happened upon him three times, all three b y accident. Thie first time we meet, we were at the bust depot waiting for the bus, and I spotted him and we started chatting, primarily about what I was studying and what I was interested in, and soon the conversation moved to my proposed topic of study, Double Consciousness. We talked for a long while. I gave him my number and he promised to call or look me up, as he had no phone. The second time was the other day while I was tabling he passed and then stopped by on his way to the library,and then the third time was that evening when he popped into the compuer ab that I was using there in the Union. H e was fabulous, and I had known that he had been in a bad situation, as he had lost his place to live, had no phone and no job at all- all of this after having graduated from Purdue. He was really sweet
and really beautiful, and that night, after we had watched the Brown sisters speak in Fowler Hall, he made me admit to him that I was into him. He was beautiful, and we spoke and had great conversation after that, yet he refused to tell me whether he liked me as well or whether he was gay or not. We did talk a long time, yet he never let on to whether he dug me or not, and wouldnt either refuse or accept my offer to kiss him while riding the bus. He promised to contact me, however he didnt know when because he had been evicted and was being forced to move the next day(god what a horrid system).When he lifted his hat and placed it back on his head and turned to walk the forty minutes it took him to get downtown and then to his home, I was at peace and new that I had been touched that day and that what he had given me was worth more than most anything I could possibly have, even if I never saw him again.
and really beautiful, and that night, after we had watched the Brown sisters speak in Fowler Hall, he made me admit to him that I was into him. He was beautiful, and we spoke and had great conversation after that, yet he refused to tell me whether he liked me as well or whether he was gay or not. We did talk a long time, yet he never let on to whether he dug me or not, and wouldnt either refuse or accept my offer to kiss him while riding the bus. He promised to contact me, however he didnt know when because he had been evicted and was being forced to move the next day(god what a horrid system).When he lifted his hat and placed it back on his head and turned to walk the forty minutes it took him to get downtown and then to his home, I was at peace and new that I had been touched that day and that what he had given me was worth more than most anything I could possibly have, even if I never saw him again.
I havent worked on this blog much in the past year. I could say that a lot has been going on, especially when it really hasnt. I have been going to school , (even though that doesnt occupy more than half of my time or a third of my energy) or I could say that I am not technologically inclined and for some reason as well I have been mistrustful of placing my feelings and thoughts into the written record , I dont know why but something has prevented me from doing that and I need to shop this force from undertaking me. i need to get back into the writing mode, I need to free my dried up creative juices and explore the world newly invigorated.
Friday, June 27, 2003
Isn't it quite an irony that Strom Thurmond, the worst son of a bitch in thie history of mankind, died on the same day that the Supreme Court struck down sodomy laws? I think that God may be laughing down on us right about now. Perhaps he was a closet homosexual? He certainly had something to say about it all the time. He probably was black as well...He was southern and a racist....the perfect makeup of person passing for white......
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
I sit and ponder what is the purpose, what it means, and why we are supposed to be here. I do not wish to have power, yet power is exactly that which creates and destroys throughout the world. Is there something else? I don't wish to have power, I seek to eradicate it. Yet, some believe that that too is an erroneous goal? Should we sit back and allow evil and oppression take place with out actively seeking to stop it? These are questions which I want answered. My belief is that one must work actively to eradicate oppression and that one must constantly criticize and deny the authority of oppression wherever it veers its head. I wonder how much I am able to do. I write, I attend protests sometimes, yet this does not seem to be enough. I look at the examples of Angela Davis, Huey P. Newton, and Malcolm X and am encouraged, wondering what advice they would have for me in my search for my place in the world. Turning now to a bit of news, more soldiers have been killed in Iraq. Somehow I see that as justly deserved. I want to know the answer. I want to know the solution. I want to know why-I already know why- but how to stop the flow of minorities and the poor into the military with promises of education and stability in return for service- if they make it back alive...it is an awful system and no one should be apart of it. I often ask myself.where is is there integrity? I know that these people are poor and for them the military is the only option....but there are simply some things which are a matter of conscience. I cannot feel any sympathy for them. They are footsoldiers of the white male power structure -neither forced or goaded. They have been tricked by a brutal bully.
Sunday, June 15, 2003
I started running today. As one who has never run before, is asthmatic, and is not in the best of shape I think I did pretty well. I am now going to start working on this blog regularly to comment on things that I find intriguiging personally and politically. I strongly believe that the personal is political. I will use this venue to comment on issues that I find important.
Friday, February 14, 2003
September, 2002
911 Commemorative
When I think of progress, I think of Quakers risking their lives to transport slaves across to freedom, I think of union organizers in the first decades of the Twentieth Century who risked physical harm and political persecution by going down into the backwoods of the South and Appalachian country to organize workers, I think of the teachers who risked loss of employment and jail terms to participate in the Civil Rights marches of the 1960s- people who defied the social order in order to make life better for their fellow human beings.
It seems in times of crisis, there are always those who are moved by the energy caused by the frenzy to do good. These are the elements that I find necessary to progress. In recent years, it has been hard to keep faith in progress, with a multitude of shouts for war and the growing boldness and arrogance with which the current administration is trampling over our rights. It seems that any real meaning of progress has gone into hibernation and left us to the wolves.
As the one year anniversary of September 11th approaches, I think back to that day which I remember with great clarity. I was beginning my junior year of college and I had wakened early so that I could make it to my eight o’clock class, Biology-- a class that I dreaded, but survived because the teacher was a delight to be around. I also wanted to be fresh for my second class of the day, Milton-- a class that I enjoyed , but approached tepidly, as it was the one class in which I was confronted two times a week with my dying pangs of lovesickness as I came face to face with the pale faced boy with black curls that I had been infatuated with for the two previous semesters, but for whom those feelings were no longer there.
As I grudgingly began to climb the three flights of stairs that would take me to the classroom in which my Milton seminar was taught, I was stopped by the frantic wailing of one of my classmates who was descending the staircase as I began to go up, who explained to me gravely, tears staining her cheeks and dampening the auburn curls that fell in her face, “Our nation is under attack.” Thinking the girl ludicrous- this couldn’t possibly be right, the poor child’s gone berserk- I, relieved temporarily at least of the burden of climbing the stairs to the third floor, turned and started walking towards the front entrance.
It was then that I saw my professor, who was also the Dean of Students, walking towards me without book or briefcase, at which point I asked him, “ Dr. ____ are we having class today?” Having answered in the negative, I gleefully left the building and returned to my single, private room on the other side of campus where I immediately turned on my television which confirmed what my distraught classmate had said; that two hijacked planes had demolished the twin towers of the World Trade Center and a third had taken out part of the Pentagon.
I stop here to consider the significance of these acts and the ways in which they have been interpreted. I thought, and think now of the significance of 19 men- not diplomats, or dignitaries, or government officials, but plain, ordinary men trained and indoctrinated in the teachings of the Al-Queda network, boarding three different planes and proceeding to wreck the daily prominence and supreme authority of the largest economic power in the world. Wow. It transcends the scope of the imagination that these men could cause the stock market to plunge with no relief in sight, record unemployment, and a schizophrenic government that issued almost daily terror alerts in the face of unknown enemies and anthrax scares which brought psychic turmoil in this country back to levels reached during the darkest days of the Cold War. Wow. And to think that these ordinary men could penetrate the United States’ protective shield to commit these acts, to indeed attack the Pentagon itself- the core of US military operation and one of the most vital symbols of US imperialistic might. Wow.
Now, I am not here to either glorify or condemn these men- I will leave their fates to judgment of history, although it is my prediction that their names will be forgotten in light of the larger scope of things. Yet, the significance of their actions is quite real and puts things into a clearer perspective; namely that the United States is not invincible. Neither are the inhabitants of this country. Especially considering that the Justice Department, with John Ashcroft at the helm, has fashioned itself in the style of its years under J. Edgar Hoover, with secret wiretaps and illegal surveillances, as well as infringements on the protections guaranteed under the Bill of Rights. Not to mention the rights of the political prisoners held by the US government which are being violated flagrantly in a total lack of respect for international law.
This leaves the ordinary citizens of the United States vulnerable to the repression and terror imposed by the U.S. government- the threat of overturning Posse Commitatus, the virtual eradication of our basic rights, our loss of privacy, and who knows, we may face another mass disenfranchisement as seen in the last presidential election. Not only that, but we may once more have to pay with our own lives for the crimes of the government that we support and that represents us. And we are culpable. Yet we do have a chance for redemption.
History and scientific knowledge teach us that everything that rises must fall. In relation to empires, the terrorization of three quarters of the globe and the alienation of international sentiment can hasten that process. This is the course on which I see the United States headed; and it is a fate that is reserved for the most dazzling, yet the most indiscreet of empires. The Roman empire comes to mind.
The media, the government, and the public at large are quick to throw around the word terrorist, damning the men who acted on 9/11 and those who support them in sure and quick measures. Yet, was it not terror and the long-suffering caused by the United States that forms the groundswell of support for the organizations that carry out such acts? It was my sincere hope after September 11th that the United States would stop and learn from this tragedy. That it would learn how to walk a better path through the world, one of inspiring dignity, integrity, and hope. I was disappointed. Alas, the United States also fails to take a lesson from history. Did not the Romans fall to a band of barbarians who were generally looked upon as terrorists as well?
I would hope that this country would learn that it is better to walk with a sense of humility and a sincere respect for the broader range of humanity, not just for Americans. And that means relieving the people of Southeast Asia who slave away in your textile industries for less than a dollar a day. That means stop supporting imperialistic monsters like Israel (modeled in the shape of its benefactor) by providing the weapons and money that oppress and deny the humanity of Palestinians. That means funding no more wars in Central and South America. That means ceasing to imprison, disenfranchise, and commit genocide in minority communities within your own borders.
My hopes are still alive. It takes a crisis to turn the wheels of progress. Needless to say, on that fateful day which brought about such grief and devastation, I felt hope.
J.G.
911 Commemorative
When I think of progress, I think of Quakers risking their lives to transport slaves across to freedom, I think of union organizers in the first decades of the Twentieth Century who risked physical harm and political persecution by going down into the backwoods of the South and Appalachian country to organize workers, I think of the teachers who risked loss of employment and jail terms to participate in the Civil Rights marches of the 1960s- people who defied the social order in order to make life better for their fellow human beings.
It seems in times of crisis, there are always those who are moved by the energy caused by the frenzy to do good. These are the elements that I find necessary to progress. In recent years, it has been hard to keep faith in progress, with a multitude of shouts for war and the growing boldness and arrogance with which the current administration is trampling over our rights. It seems that any real meaning of progress has gone into hibernation and left us to the wolves.
As the one year anniversary of September 11th approaches, I think back to that day which I remember with great clarity. I was beginning my junior year of college and I had wakened early so that I could make it to my eight o’clock class, Biology-- a class that I dreaded, but survived because the teacher was a delight to be around. I also wanted to be fresh for my second class of the day, Milton-- a class that I enjoyed , but approached tepidly, as it was the one class in which I was confronted two times a week with my dying pangs of lovesickness as I came face to face with the pale faced boy with black curls that I had been infatuated with for the two previous semesters, but for whom those feelings were no longer there.
As I grudgingly began to climb the three flights of stairs that would take me to the classroom in which my Milton seminar was taught, I was stopped by the frantic wailing of one of my classmates who was descending the staircase as I began to go up, who explained to me gravely, tears staining her cheeks and dampening the auburn curls that fell in her face, “Our nation is under attack.” Thinking the girl ludicrous- this couldn’t possibly be right, the poor child’s gone berserk- I, relieved temporarily at least of the burden of climbing the stairs to the third floor, turned and started walking towards the front entrance.
It was then that I saw my professor, who was also the Dean of Students, walking towards me without book or briefcase, at which point I asked him, “ Dr. ____ are we having class today?” Having answered in the negative, I gleefully left the building and returned to my single, private room on the other side of campus where I immediately turned on my television which confirmed what my distraught classmate had said; that two hijacked planes had demolished the twin towers of the World Trade Center and a third had taken out part of the Pentagon.
I stop here to consider the significance of these acts and the ways in which they have been interpreted. I thought, and think now of the significance of 19 men- not diplomats, or dignitaries, or government officials, but plain, ordinary men trained and indoctrinated in the teachings of the Al-Queda network, boarding three different planes and proceeding to wreck the daily prominence and supreme authority of the largest economic power in the world. Wow. It transcends the scope of the imagination that these men could cause the stock market to plunge with no relief in sight, record unemployment, and a schizophrenic government that issued almost daily terror alerts in the face of unknown enemies and anthrax scares which brought psychic turmoil in this country back to levels reached during the darkest days of the Cold War. Wow. And to think that these ordinary men could penetrate the United States’ protective shield to commit these acts, to indeed attack the Pentagon itself- the core of US military operation and one of the most vital symbols of US imperialistic might. Wow.
Now, I am not here to either glorify or condemn these men- I will leave their fates to judgment of history, although it is my prediction that their names will be forgotten in light of the larger scope of things. Yet, the significance of their actions is quite real and puts things into a clearer perspective; namely that the United States is not invincible. Neither are the inhabitants of this country. Especially considering that the Justice Department, with John Ashcroft at the helm, has fashioned itself in the style of its years under J. Edgar Hoover, with secret wiretaps and illegal surveillances, as well as infringements on the protections guaranteed under the Bill of Rights. Not to mention the rights of the political prisoners held by the US government which are being violated flagrantly in a total lack of respect for international law.
This leaves the ordinary citizens of the United States vulnerable to the repression and terror imposed by the U.S. government- the threat of overturning Posse Commitatus, the virtual eradication of our basic rights, our loss of privacy, and who knows, we may face another mass disenfranchisement as seen in the last presidential election. Not only that, but we may once more have to pay with our own lives for the crimes of the government that we support and that represents us. And we are culpable. Yet we do have a chance for redemption.
History and scientific knowledge teach us that everything that rises must fall. In relation to empires, the terrorization of three quarters of the globe and the alienation of international sentiment can hasten that process. This is the course on which I see the United States headed; and it is a fate that is reserved for the most dazzling, yet the most indiscreet of empires. The Roman empire comes to mind.
The media, the government, and the public at large are quick to throw around the word terrorist, damning the men who acted on 9/11 and those who support them in sure and quick measures. Yet, was it not terror and the long-suffering caused by the United States that forms the groundswell of support for the organizations that carry out such acts? It was my sincere hope after September 11th that the United States would stop and learn from this tragedy. That it would learn how to walk a better path through the world, one of inspiring dignity, integrity, and hope. I was disappointed. Alas, the United States also fails to take a lesson from history. Did not the Romans fall to a band of barbarians who were generally looked upon as terrorists as well?
I would hope that this country would learn that it is better to walk with a sense of humility and a sincere respect for the broader range of humanity, not just for Americans. And that means relieving the people of Southeast Asia who slave away in your textile industries for less than a dollar a day. That means stop supporting imperialistic monsters like Israel (modeled in the shape of its benefactor) by providing the weapons and money that oppress and deny the humanity of Palestinians. That means funding no more wars in Central and South America. That means ceasing to imprison, disenfranchise, and commit genocide in minority communities within your own borders.
My hopes are still alive. It takes a crisis to turn the wheels of progress. Needless to say, on that fateful day which brought about such grief and devastation, I felt hope.
J.G.
Thursday, February 13, 2003
This is the first attempt at blogging by Julius Gray. The purpose of this blog is to allow me a forum in which I can voice and publish my opinions about the world, life in general, and whatever cultural, historical, or political topics that I may wish to comment on. I will start now by introducing myself. I am a 22-year-old writer, historian, recent college graduate possessing of a great intellectual curiosity, a deep penchant and understanding of the political. I am ideologically a socialist, a student of W.E.B. DuBois, and I thrive on creativity and imagination. I am currently awaiting replies from graduate schools, hoping to enter a graduate program in Ethnic studies (or Comparative Lit) within the next few months. I am a devoted Barbra Streisand fan, and hold among the people I admire and wish to emulate such figures as Angela Davis, Jane Fonda, Cornel West, Howard Zinn, Alice Walker, among others. As I add to this page, I hope that the commentary and the insights that I bring to light will be inspiring and will spark conversation and thought.
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