It's too much work to be a liberal in the 21st century. Back in the day, one only needed to get firehosed for the occasional pesky [insert pet civil rights cause here.] But now, if your finger's not cramped up from clicking "accept" for all your Facebook event invitations to antiwar protests, anti-police violence candlelight vigils, stop global warming fundraisers, save the children of Zimbabwe campaigns, save the wolves/polar bears/meerkats (of Zimbabwe) film festivals, all of which take place during your work hours, then you're clearly a stone-hearted right wing jackboot. The addition of a black president isn't helping matters, either, especially if you didn't quit your job and default on your student loans so you could move to Iowa and pitch a tent inside an Obama campaign office.
Personally, I'm wrung out from the paroxysms of guilt I suffer whenever I delete a MoveOn.org or ColorOfChange.org email without reading it. (And no, clicking on every petition in every email they send you isn't enough to qualify you as a proper liberal.) I'm thinking I might need to move to a state where they tend to follow a don't ask, don't tell policy regarding political philosophies. After all, the amount of work it requires to live authentically as a liberal varies from location to location. In Dallas, for instance, all that's necessary to be considered a liberal is going out of your way to find a recycling bin for that bottle of Ethos water you got from Starbucks. Here in San Francisco it's about, like, six-thousand times harder than that. This is a place where Democrat is the new Republican—it's Green Party or bust, baby. Sure people might let you slide if you display the proper bumper stickers on your Prius, but if you slap that "Free Leonard Peltier" puppy on there you damned well better know who he is or consider your membership card revoked. I, for one, do not know who he is and have not twitched a pinky to find out. Nor do I drive a Prius, wear hemp instead of leather or starve if I can't find organic, vegetarian-fed, free-range, sustainably farmed, humanely slaughtered cow. (Although, I suppose I deserve to starve since meat is murder.) To top it all off, I also happen to think you ought to learn English if you move to this country and I root for the United States during the Olympics—winter and summer.
*phew* It feels good to get that off my chest, even though it's over for me now. The PC Police will be busting down my door any moment, but at least I go to my fate with a soul unburdened. I mean, I tried to be the best liberal I could be, ya' know? I went about $80,000 in debt to attend an all-girls, er, womyns private college and took a class called Third World Industrialization and Globalization. The prof managed to convince me that the WTO is bad. Doesn't that count for something? Shit! I know I'm going to get a pissy comment about taking a class with a privileged fascist term like "Third World" in the title...
Hmmm, Third World...poor...colored...Wait a damn minute. Being African American, I don't have to work that hard to prove my liberal mettle. I get a pass, because my people have been oppressed since we ran aground on this motherfucker! Hell, I'm female and queer, too! Every breath I take is a statement for liberal politics. Screw it, I'm gonna bypass all that heavy lifting. From now on, I'm just a broke, lazy black girl livin' in the ghetto—drinkin' my 40s and eatin' my beakless fried chicken from KFC—content to let the white liberal intelligentsia from Pacific Heights proxy for me at the protests then come through the BVHP and enlighten me about how oppressed I am.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The True Spirit of Christmas and Sports Collide
I thought these two amazing articles about the redemptive power of sports were appropriate considering my last two posts. Happy holidays.
"There are some games where cheering for the other side feels better than winning"
The San Quentin Giants are no ordinary baseball team
"There are some games where cheering for the other side feels better than winning"
The San Quentin Giants are no ordinary baseball team
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
We Miss Our Tribes
I need to get away from politics for a minute. Yes, I know, it's been almost a month since I last posted, but I've been mired in end-of-the-semester hell. Now I'm back and I need a break from Obama, especially because he's pissed me off again. If you don't know why, click here. Moving on...
I've finally found a legitimate sociological reason to justify my obsession with sports. It's because I miss my tribe, whatever that tribe might have been back in the day. I think all sports fans miss our tribes. People from every culture can appreciate this, because at one point we were all in tribes. For those of us who prefer sports to say, I dunno, WAR, but who do love some good healthy chest-thumping on occasion, sports fills a gap in our ancestral link. Specifically, the one where we used to suit up, paint up, armor up, dress up, drug up our best warriors and send them howling into mortal combat against the neighboring tribe's best warriors to defend turf, women, cattle, bragging rights. Just as it was back then, we cannot all be warriors, but we admire our warriors. Sports fans are wannabe, modern-day warriors. Why else would we paint our faces, don our tribal colors and throw rocks at each other in stadium parking lots? (Dodgers fans, insert "throw shanks at each other in stadium parking lots" here.) Sports brings together a whole spectrum of different types of people by the hundreds of thousands for one unified purpose: KICK THEIR FUCKING ASSES! And our warriors are kicking ass on our behalf, because in our day-to-day lives we can get arrested for kicking people's asses. Witnessing semi-authentic violence is wonderful catharsis, especially when we can imagine that, as representatives of a specific a geographical region, the players are doing it for us. Also in our day-to-day lives most of us haven't reached the highest level of, well, anything. It's a thrill to watch insanely skilled people match wits and athleticism with others of similar caliber. (This last point is the only reason I can fathom that anyone watches golf. Minus athleticism.)
Sports is social networking. Nothing else prompts us to spark up conversations with total strangers like sports. I wouldn't talk to half the straight white guys in the world if it weren't for sports. Guess what I discovered? They're not all morons! (They're also not all straight, but that's another story.) Sports helps us reconnect with our hometown roots, especially when we're living away from the city in which we grew up. I hated Philadelphia when I lived there, but don't let some nimrod in a sports bar start bashing Philly, 'cause it's on like Donkey Kong then. It warms my cockles when someone peeps my colors and runs up on me like, "Are you from Philly? I'm from Philly, too!" Then it turns out they're from some weird suburb I've never heard of 30 miles outside of Philly or like, Camden, New Jersey, but I wouldn't admit being from there, either. Whatever. You get my point. If you're from Philly and you are a Philly sports fan, you're part of my tribe. Together you and I can recreate that lost link to our ancestors that make us feel a part of a larger family unit, a common mind, and a whole lot of bragging about shit that we had absolutely nothing to do with.
Other, Non-Tribe Related Bennies of Sports:
I've finally found a legitimate sociological reason to justify my obsession with sports. It's because I miss my tribe, whatever that tribe might have been back in the day. I think all sports fans miss our tribes. People from every culture can appreciate this, because at one point we were all in tribes. For those of us who prefer sports to say, I dunno, WAR, but who do love some good healthy chest-thumping on occasion, sports fills a gap in our ancestral link. Specifically, the one where we used to suit up, paint up, armor up, dress up, drug up our best warriors and send them howling into mortal combat against the neighboring tribe's best warriors to defend turf, women, cattle, bragging rights. Just as it was back then, we cannot all be warriors, but we admire our warriors. Sports fans are wannabe, modern-day warriors. Why else would we paint our faces, don our tribal colors and throw rocks at each other in stadium parking lots? (Dodgers fans, insert "throw shanks at each other in stadium parking lots" here.) Sports brings together a whole spectrum of different types of people by the hundreds of thousands for one unified purpose: KICK THEIR FUCKING ASSES! And our warriors are kicking ass on our behalf, because in our day-to-day lives we can get arrested for kicking people's asses. Witnessing semi-authentic violence is wonderful catharsis, especially when we can imagine that, as representatives of a specific a geographical region, the players are doing it for us. Also in our day-to-day lives most of us haven't reached the highest level of, well, anything. It's a thrill to watch insanely skilled people match wits and athleticism with others of similar caliber. (This last point is the only reason I can fathom that anyone watches golf. Minus athleticism.)
Sports is social networking. Nothing else prompts us to spark up conversations with total strangers like sports. I wouldn't talk to half the straight white guys in the world if it weren't for sports. Guess what I discovered? They're not all morons! (They're also not all straight, but that's another story.) Sports helps us reconnect with our hometown roots, especially when we're living away from the city in which we grew up. I hated Philadelphia when I lived there, but don't let some nimrod in a sports bar start bashing Philly, 'cause it's on like Donkey Kong then. It warms my cockles when someone peeps my colors and runs up on me like, "Are you from Philly? I'm from Philly, too!" Then it turns out they're from some weird suburb I've never heard of 30 miles outside of Philly or like, Camden, New Jersey, but I wouldn't admit being from there, either. Whatever. You get my point. If you're from Philly and you are a Philly sports fan, you're part of my tribe. Together you and I can recreate that lost link to our ancestors that make us feel a part of a larger family unit, a common mind, and a whole lot of bragging about shit that we had absolutely nothing to do with.
Other, Non-Tribe Related Bennies of Sports:
- Sports gets us free drinks. Just ask all the lucky bastards who happened to wander into the Overtime Sports Bar the night the Phillies clinched to move into the World Series this year. That's all I'll say about that.
- Sports is the safest hot button topic. It's actually fun to argue about sports, unlike arguing politics and religion, which sucks. You can definitely get a chair broken over your dome in a sports argument, get cheap beer poured on your autographed authentic Mitchell & Ness throwback, but generally you won't get a cross burned on your lawn or labeled a baby-killer.
- That's about it.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Play the Race Card at Your Own Risk
Please pay attention to what your president-elect is doing, black people (and people of all colors who voted for him.) Now is not the time to wipe your brow and go *phew.* Just because he's black doesn't mean that you can go back to being political couch potatoes; just because he's black doesn't mean you ought to agree with all his policies, nor expect that he's always working with our best interests in mind. It does not mean we can kick back and relax, or that we are now considered full and worthy citizens in this country. And it especially does not mean you need to get your ass on your shoulders when a white person criticizes him. Dr. Cornel West, one of the most righteous brothers on the face of the earth, expressed this sentiment quite succinctly: he is both one of Obama's biggest supporters and his one of his biggest critics. All of us who cast our votes for him would be very wise to take a similar tact.
This is a perfect case of be careful what you wish for. We've got ourselves a black president. The historical significance of this can never be diluted or disputed. But I exhort you to keep this in mind: we have ourselves a president (who's black.) He was elected President of the United States of America, not President of the United States of Black People. He's not going to decide on signing this policy or enacting that law like, "Hmmmm, will black people like this?" Forget about it. PAY ATTENTION, but pay attention with a critical mind. He will get raked over the coals by people who want to see him fail because he's black. There's a whole bunch of folks lining up to say I told you so. You cannot allow this to cloud your judgment. Watch out for them. Call them on their shit because it's foul. But if you get mad and play the race card just because a non-black criticizes him (like Al Sharpton does every time someone sneezes in a black person's direction) you will be doing so at your own risk. You are risking being reactionary, risking acting like the victim, risking missing the opportunity to critique what might really be going on. Ask yourself, why is Whitey jumping all up in Barack's face? Then ask yourself, why is Whitey jumping all up in Barack's face? Maybe he's doing dirt. Because he will, you know. Some think he already is. For instance, he's electing people to his Cabinet, like Bush's defense secretary Robert Gates, who have a history of supporting the wars in Iraq and Afganistan, when part of his campaign hype was promising to end these horrendous, unjust wars. Was he talking out of his neck to get elected? Maybe, maybe not. These are the type of issues that require further investigation. While Barack's Cabinet candidates so far are both Democrat and Republican, none of them are especially progressive.
Conversely, let us also resist the urge to sling around that tired-ass epithet "Uncle Tom" as soon as we perceive Barack as "selling out" to Whitey. First of all, read the book, because you're ignorant for using that term if you don't know where it comes from or understand its historical context. Secondly, if he does something you don't like, it's way too easy to call him a sell-out. That is not critical thinking. Lack of critical thought creates such things as bigots, Sarah Palin, bricks, and other undesirables we don't want participating in our political processes. If Barack pisses you off, that's good—it means you're paying attention. It means you're not just drinking the doped up Kool Aid. Get involved in activism. Write him a letter. Start a blog. Do something. Sitting there calling him names will not make him accountable, nor will it improve your status in this society.
Let the man do his job and remember always what his job is: President of the United States. I don't know about you, but I really hate it when one famous black person speaks and the rest of the world thinks he or she is speaking for all of us. Last I checked, we weren't the Borg. Barack is not our spokesperson. Be aware of bigoted critics, but also be aware of following him like a blind dog. Whether you like it or not, there are other issues on the table besides us and him. He knows it. So should you.
This is a perfect case of be careful what you wish for. We've got ourselves a black president. The historical significance of this can never be diluted or disputed. But I exhort you to keep this in mind: we have ourselves a president (who's black.) He was elected President of the United States of America, not President of the United States of Black People. He's not going to decide on signing this policy or enacting that law like, "Hmmmm, will black people like this?" Forget about it. PAY ATTENTION, but pay attention with a critical mind. He will get raked over the coals by people who want to see him fail because he's black. There's a whole bunch of folks lining up to say I told you so. You cannot allow this to cloud your judgment. Watch out for them. Call them on their shit because it's foul. But if you get mad and play the race card just because a non-black criticizes him (like Al Sharpton does every time someone sneezes in a black person's direction) you will be doing so at your own risk. You are risking being reactionary, risking acting like the victim, risking missing the opportunity to critique what might really be going on. Ask yourself, why is Whitey jumping all up in Barack's face? Then ask yourself, why is Whitey jumping all up in Barack's face? Maybe he's doing dirt. Because he will, you know. Some think he already is. For instance, he's electing people to his Cabinet, like Bush's defense secretary Robert Gates, who have a history of supporting the wars in Iraq and Afganistan, when part of his campaign hype was promising to end these horrendous, unjust wars. Was he talking out of his neck to get elected? Maybe, maybe not. These are the type of issues that require further investigation. While Barack's Cabinet candidates so far are both Democrat and Republican, none of them are especially progressive.
Conversely, let us also resist the urge to sling around that tired-ass epithet "Uncle Tom" as soon as we perceive Barack as "selling out" to Whitey. First of all, read the book, because you're ignorant for using that term if you don't know where it comes from or understand its historical context. Secondly, if he does something you don't like, it's way too easy to call him a sell-out. That is not critical thinking. Lack of critical thought creates such things as bigots, Sarah Palin, bricks, and other undesirables we don't want participating in our political processes. If Barack pisses you off, that's good—it means you're paying attention. It means you're not just drinking the doped up Kool Aid. Get involved in activism. Write him a letter. Start a blog. Do something. Sitting there calling him names will not make him accountable, nor will it improve your status in this society.
Let the man do his job and remember always what his job is: President of the United States. I don't know about you, but I really hate it when one famous black person speaks and the rest of the world thinks he or she is speaking for all of us. Last I checked, we weren't the Borg. Barack is not our spokesperson. Be aware of bigoted critics, but also be aware of following him like a blind dog. Whether you like it or not, there are other issues on the table besides us and him. He knows it. So should you.
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