AMC 09-thoughts- part one: discussions onsex trade

I am at the fabulous Allied Media Conference in Detroit, and are getting my brain bombarded by information, inspiration and getting a sense of all the amazing thing that people are doing around the country.

One of the workshops focused on sex trade, the history of $pread magazine and thoughts on selling sex. One of the shortcomings of the AMC is that sometimes one way of thinking about an issue become what is obviously acceptable, and any other discussion is self-censored.

nobody wants to be the asshole, of course, that says the unpopular thing, or draws negative attention to themselves. The dominant discourse I perceived during the sex trade workshop was that selling sex is a good thing, and that the media only tells stories of the “tragic prostitutes”. I felt conflicted. On one side I believe women ( and any person really) should be able to make whatever choice they feel is good for them, as long as they are not being hurtful to others.

At the same time it seems that the empowerment that happens through sex trade is one that happens within a system of disempowerment, of bodies being objectified, of one person holding a disproportionate amount of power in the sex trade relationships. saying that sex trade is good just seems too simple. even for the people that choose to sell sex, how much of it is a choice, when selling sex is pretty much the only way to make a livable wage?

People close to me throughout my life have engaged in selling sex at different points of their lives and for different reasons, but it was never simple, and for all of them, something that was hard and often left them feeling not so great. it might be just because of the stigma against trading, that i do not know. 

someone also brought up how divisive sex trading is within the feminist community, and proposed that such division is mainly a fluff story overblown by the media. It seems people have different views and feelings about selling sex, which is ok, i think. what is vital is that people that sell sex, whether because of choice of not, are not stigmatized and made to feel like shit about it. 

I still think i can be doubtful that sex trade is empowering, and absolutely respect the people that do it, accept and support their choices, and also support a society where people have more choices, and do not have to engage in sex trading as the only feasible mean to feed themselves, or pay rent, or afford medical care, or care for their kids.

scattered

i was looking for home today, in chicago. for a place that felt more familiar than all the unknown faces, or streets. so i went to little italy, which may be incredibly naive, but after visiting chinatown i had my hopes up. chinatown is bustling with chinese stores, and people, speaking chinese and english, hanging out, feeling a sense of belonging, i imagine.

so i come out of the subway train, and i am greeted by nothing. rows of houses, deserted streets. i head for as close as i can to my map’s little italy location, right under the letters, and i find 2 Italian restaurants, crowded with middle aged wealthy white couples, a snowcone store, with a long line of latino families from nearby Pilsen, and that is about it. no Italians, not even flags. a whole lot of nothing.

it made me feel so empty and homesick. for italy, for bloomington, for no place to call home. and it puzzled me that what is described as little italy is nothing more than an anonymous residential neighborhood. 

after some research i found out that there used to be a thriving italian neighborhood, prior to 1959 that is, when it was purposefully destroyed by the city of chicago and the father of the current mayor, richard daley. in 1959 the city decided to built the university of illinois where little italy is, even though there was many other options where people did not live.

florence scala, a local woman, became an activist against the city’s plan to destroy the neighborhood, but was ultimately unsuccessful. little italy was razed to the ground to make space for the university of illinois, and most of the italians that had been living there for decades were scattered throughout the city.

i feel so betrayed. how can i live to a city that was so unwelcoming and destructive towards my kin. i know minorities feel this way all the time, everywhere, and i am not wanting to play the victim. still, i am disappointed, angry. it’s hard to see all kinds of people of all kinds of nationalities having a centre, a place to meet, and being denied that.

june, 2009

i keep on going because i cannot stop. there has been so much death in my life this year, and i am not sure what to do with it. so many people that have been part of my life, or were a big part of people very close to me have died in the past few months. young people and not so young people, because they wanted to, and after fighting death for years. i cannot go to sleep tonight. 

tomorrow is the memorial for my friend libby and i can’t bring myself to go, or not to go. there is nothing i can do for her right now. going to the memorial will not lengthen her life by one minute because she has been dead for a week. maybe i can’t bring myself to go because i can’t believe it to be real, or maybe because i am scared of losing my shit.  i feel like my brain is too small for this, because it doesn’t make any sense.

it makes me want to hide under a rock. pause time. hold on tight to the nearest object. what the fuck is the point? one part of me thinks, and the rest of me is hopeful that somehow there is more to just being here and then being gone, or someone’s life’s worth being measured on popularity or monetary success. it’s surreal to see my surroundings being eaten up by a collective mourning, not for the people close to me, but for micheal jackson. walking around my neighborhood today i could hear micheal jackson songs being played in all the bars, shops and even out of open windows.  i felt exposed in my pain, and buried myself in unpacking, and being preoccupied with stupid shit like hanging curtain rods. and being unkind to those around me. unfortunately. pain makes me recede instead of reach out. i just need something to start making sense.

first days

empty rooms, unfamiliar smells and spaces. it brings back the animal in all of us. the need for stability and what is known. new city new streets and geographies, noises and routes. oona said it doesn’t feel real. home to her is bloomington, it’s what she has known as home most of her life.  i feel groundless.  and rash, and impulsive, even though i know this has been coming for over a year, i doubt if i have actually thought it through. i have left so many times. in search for something bigger, a way out, a way in. i will never know if they are mistakes. i still cannot figure out the formula for basic happiness.

for some people having loved ones around them is enough in itself, for others it’s all about public recognition, or monetary success, or the ability to leave a trace that transcends physical decay and death.

i have this gripping anxiety that pushes me to yearn for permanency, while i try to build meaningful and close relationships, and push for my surroundings to be a place where unnecessary suffering can be avoided. there is so much pain that cannot be avoided. death, break ups, sickness. why the fuck would we want to add to that? it’s insane.

i hope i am not just dragging oona and florence along. i am trying to do my best. best possible school, best possible neighborhood, best possible house. best being totally subjective, and definitely my best would not be “best” to someone else. but it does feel like a gamble, a leap. i have no idea where it will take me.

i hope it won’t feel like the stupidest thing i have ever done in a couple of months. and it’s all too easy to be nostalgic, to see this as the page i turn on my younger self, a new chapter into adulthood, leaving behind nights sneaking into pools, riding home at 5 am, drinking on the train tracks, basement shows, and first loves, but fuck that. i want this to be another exciting beginning.

the leap

it has been a pause of silence on my part because i have been stuck on moving, stuck by really trying to grasp that i am deciding to uproot myself yet again, and this time not for an emergency, or immediate survival like the first time. i am happy in Bloomington, the happiest i have ever been probably, but i am still leaving. i know i would stop being happy pretty soon if i did not leave because i am restless and my head wonders. 

today my friends threw a going away party, and i am presently paralyzed by their presence in my life. i feel like a kid, still trying to figure out how people relate to each other and how to make it all work. i was watching my nine year old daughters playing with people and routinely making the rounds, sitting on different people’s laps, or hanging on their necks, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. i could have never giving them that sense of trust, safety and dignity by myself. i could have never opened their world to so many different ideas, beliefs and ways of interacting. Oona and Florence are comfortable around adults and trusting, but without being naive or lacking assertiveness. i am full of gratitude for all the people that have been in their life for a long long time and made them into who they are now.

it’s a strange time of heightened intensity. this year more people have died that i know than ever, people from my past, my childhood and teenage years. at the same time more people than ever seem to be pregnant, not close to me necessarily, but acquaintances and folks around town. i don’t understand it. it makes my head hurt.

we make up easy explanations like citing some higher power or the circle of life, but it makes no sense to me still.

a person really close to a dear friend just died, and how he died seems like the most improbable way to go. i keep playing the story over and over in my head, and it just seems impossible. if i wholly believe death is real i can give myself a panic attack in less than 5 seconds, and i cannot seem to accept it, or to know what to do with that knowledge.

it scares me to give up the close relationships i feel with my amazing friends, and for what? a chance at making more art? living the cosmopolitan life? i hope this move isn’t another burned bridge, the last sentence of a chapter, but that i can find some continuation between all the pieces of my life that at times feel so scattered.

invasive and pervasive

a couple of days ago i went to oona and florence’s 3rd grade music performance of “how does the garden grow?”, expecting some awkward cuteness and cheesy music, and instead got some not so subtle racist doctrine.

the story began with a song about a thriving flower garden, sang by  (white) girls dressed like flowers. then the weeds (all boys) took over, with their “rap” song about being tough, invasive, rough and less refined.  and how can then the gardener get rid of the rapping weeds? by singing a hoedown. for real. so they sang their hoedown, and the first time it did not work, but when they sang it again they finally got rid of the invasive weeds.

bloomington is a mostly white town in indiana, a state with a brutal history of racism, and i just can’t dismiss the fact that such a plot is only perpetuating a certain narrative, and specific stereotypes about blacks. most kids in this town have no african american friends, and get their sense of people of color mainly from the media. it saddens me that such prejudices are put forth by the school system too.

i am so sick of just letting things go, and believing nothing is a big deal, because this shit keeps on going on if it is mostly overlooked.

i wrote to their music teacher the following email:

Ms. Nesbitt,

I really appreciated your efforts in putting together the recital for
Ms.Krothe’s class and all the time spent practicing. However, being in
the audience tonight i could not help but to be deeply uncomfortable
about the dynamics of the story.

I felt that the story had a blatant racialization of characters, and
followed stereotypes about people of color, especially considering the
lack of diversity in Bloomington and at Templeton. The story tells of
a thriving garden that is taken over by weeds. The weeds happen to
rap, which is a traditional form of African American expression, and
sing about being tough, about taking over, and being invasive, which
has been historically an accusation made by whites about blacks.
Indiana has a long history of racism, segregation, and “sundown”
counties and towns, which were and are places where ethnic groups, and
especially African Americans, were driven out by violence or not
allowed to reside. The justification that whites made for such
violence was precisely that blacks were invasive, aggressive, and
“less than”.

In the story the rapping weeds are then driven out by a hoedown, which
is undeniably a very white form of expression. Again with the history
of Indiana, and the U.S., it is appalling to me that such references
are not recognized and discouraged. Yes, the kids are young and might
not be aware of the violent history of racism of this country, but it
does not help to perpetuate stereotypes that lead to more
discrimination, and definitely do not challenge the existing
misconceptions about people of different ethnic backgrounds.

her response?

“Interesting view.”

that is it. wow!

seeing in color

i have been thinking about race and history almost non stop for the past month, and feeling increasingly frustrated and confused. i have been in the united states for 7 years now, and i am still at the beginning of understanding and learning about the history of race in the U.S., and its impact on contemporary society.

coming from a monocultural country, one that has been monocultural and mono racial for centuries, i came to an understanding of race slowly. In italy there is a clear sense of being at the bottom of the food chain, a feeling of inferiority and insecurity pervading society, and prompting many to claim of being from neighboring switzerland when traveling abroad. from a young age it became a game to spot other italians in foreign counties and to try not to look “italian”. when i was in England the first time, at age 12, i distinctly recall being very proud when a native failed to recognize me as “other”, and asked me for directions in the streets of London. i was brought up ashamed of my country, and bombarded with anglophile messages.

When i came to the U.S. as an exchange student everything was laid out on the continuum between black and white, in a way that i still cannot navigate.  i am an ethnic other, but still passing into whiteness at times. Here in Bloomington you don’t have to think about race. it’s a white town, where people display “bloomington values diversity” signs, even though it’s 80% white.  it’s easy to feel post-racial and integrated when “otherness” is absent..

the upcoming move to chicago has forced me to look at the face of american racial history, of thinking hard about where i want to position myself, or even if i have a choice in the matter at all. Everything in the city seems to be about race. how people talk about neighbourhoods, or schools, or safety. i found an animated map of the city detailing the racial changes from 1910 to 2000, and it blew my mind that chicago in 1910 was 90% white.

i have to come to terms with my own prejudice, and with the reality of growing up in a society where it was completely normal to distinguish between civilized and primitive,  or where non-western meant inferior, or at best exotic, without a doubt, or a dissenting voice. i can tell myself it did not affect me at all, that the people closest to me are not caucasian, or whatever other bullshit, but there is no way. there is no way that the ideas about people that i was given to understand the world as a child are not impacting me now.

i feel that the only way of creating a less divided and tense world is to stop being paralyzed by fear, of saying something fucked up, or misunderstanding someone’s thoughts and refuse to be segregated. to stay in a completely artificial color bubble.

i am reading “sundown towns”, a book about all the places, town, and neighborhoods where whiteness was enforced violently.  the author challenges every reader to explore the history of wherever they live, and to realize that if a town, or even neighborhood is mostly white it’s no accident, and more likely than not the product of a history of official and unofficial regulations to drive out non-whites. he argues that divisions are only worsening prejudice and stereotyping , as most people will only have a mythical, media induced sense of otherness, without being able to relate a lived experience to it, whatever it is.

still, i am struggling to figure out how to position myself, to come to terms with the privilege of a lighter shade of skin, or to truly understand my fellow humans, without being a cultural tourist, or intruding in someone else’s space…

perpetuating rape myths, one child at the time

doing violence prevention work in middle and high school for over a year now, I have seen many scary, inaccurate stereotypes about sexual violence going around, but never like today I realized to what extent the schools are perpetuating false information about rape as part of the educational curriculum. During a break between two classes today I was looking at one of the Health class book for the 7^th grade and stumbled upon the chapter on sexual violence. I took pictures, but I am transcribing it for clarity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Protecting Yourself from Rape

Rape is any kind of sexual intercourse against a person’s will. Over half of rape victims know their attackers. Whenever a person is forced to have sex, whether with someone he or she knows or with a stranger, a rape has occurred. Rape is always an act of violence, and it is illegal. To protect yourself from rape, you need to recognize and avoid situations that might increase the risk of an attack, here are some suggestions.,

 

• if you go out alone with someone, make it clear that you are not interested in any sexual activity.
• Avoid secluded places
• Don’t drink alcohol or use other drugs or date people who do.
• Always carry money so you can call home or tae a cab or bus if you feel unsafe.

 

PREVENTING VIOLENCE

 

People across the nation are making an effort to reduce and prevent violence. here are some of the actions they have taken

• Holding stop violence rallies
• Supporting stronger gun laws
• Installing lighting in parks and playgrounds
• Breaking up gang control of public parks
• Starting neighborhood watch programs
• Supporting teen curfew
• Teaching non violent resolution
• Assigning more police to street patrols  

      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HOME

• Lock doors and windows when you are alone
• open the door only to people you know well
• do not give personal information over the telephone or computer
• never agree to meet alone with a person you met online
• if someone comes to the door or window and you are frightened, call 911 or the police
• never shoot firearms or pick them up, even if they are unloaded
• when you come home, have your key ready before you reach the door. Do not enter if the door is ajar or appears to have been tampered with
• never tell a stranger that you are home alone. Instead, say that your parents are busy and can’t come to the door or the phone.

OUTDOORS

• do not walk alone at night

• avoid poorly lit streets
• if you think someone is following you, get into a store or other public place
• never hitchhike or accept rides from strangers
• do not look like an easy target. Stand tall and walk with confidence
•  if someone wants your money or possessions, give them up
•  if you are attacked, scream and get away any way you can
•  do not carry a firearm or other weapon.

 

I underlined some the parts I found most appalling, even though much of the premise of the idea of prevention in the book is at best inaccurate, and at worst just plain fucked up. Prevention is only seen as a potential’s victim responsibility, where each person must recognize and avoid danger. No talk of accountability or responsibility on the perpetrator’s part is even mentioned.

 

But besides the theoretical framing of the issue, the chapter is just spreading false information. I have worked as a gender violence advocate since 2005, and I have listened to countless stories of sexual violence, besides being a survivor myself. Most people are assaulted by someone they know, not half like the book says, but more like 70% to 80%. Most times it is a date, or an intimate person that you trust, not a stranger in a dark alley.

 

None of the information provided will be helpful to avoid sexual assault, it will just make the kids (and mostly girls, who feel rape is their problem) scared, and limit their freedom and mobility. How can anyone not look like an easy target? We know that people that are young, or disables, or homeless, are at a higher risk of being assaulted. Are they telling 12 year olds that they should stop looking like themselves? Or that as a disabled person, I should magically rid of my disability?

 

The whole chapter sets up people to feel guilty and responsible for the assault, because they should have seen it coming, or they should have been able to protect themselves. And then there is a subtle (or maybe not so subtle) racist message in the whole bit about gangs and public parks! What are they even talking about?  Yes, gang rape does happen, but it is a much rarer occurrence than people being pressured into sex by who they are dating, or being assaulted by an acquaintance or even a family member.

 

There is no prevention, besides the decision taken by someone to not assault, to choose consensual sex, and to strive for healthy relationships. And better street lights or more cops will not cut it.

the move – part two: a place to call home

I spent the weekend in san Francisco, really trying to figure out if it could be a place to call home. I walked around for hours, spending time in different neighborhoods, trying to get clues about who the people inside each house could be, if they would be persons that I’d have any affinity with, what their beliefs and histories are, their aspirations. I had a somewhat inflated idea of San Francisco as a place where racial and class segregation were less pronounced than in other U.S. cities, but I was met by a different scene. Many of the neighborhoods where charter schools and “better” public schools are, are mostly white, obviously affluent, and a complete bubble. The middle class and working class neighborhoods are asian and latino. And that is that. Then there is the mission, which is just getting violently gentrified and feels tense and awkward. Obviously it’s impossible for me to get a sense of the city in a few days, but still it is disorienting. I want to be able to be around people that have a variety of histories, a variety of views on the world and cultural references. Otherwise how can anything change? If we are all scared of each other, understanding the world by stereotypes, and in the worst cases, being able to dehumanize people that don’t talk, look like, or act exactly like us. Fuck that. So I am pretty frustrated and also trying to answer the more fundamental question of what is a place to call home? Where do I feel like I can belong? Sometimes I wonder if the only place that feels like home is italy, but it doesn’t. it is familiar, and i can recognize myself in the shapes of faces, and skin tones, but it’s still very alienating to be in a constant ideological battle with a homophobic, racist, macho society. And it bums me out to believe that each of us is inexorably bound to where we were born, never able to create out own sense of home elsewhere. But it is very difficult to just chose where to move, hoping it will feel right, investing myself in it, leaving 7 yr old friendships behind, without any certainty in the outcome. I don’t want to drift forever. I am waiting for some enlightenment, a sign.

kicked out

i kicked out someone of the classroom today for the first time ever.  i have always hated when teachers did that. it’s such a cope out. and here i am.

i wish i had more time to address his reaction, his discomfort, his prejudice, but i did not. i had 45 minutes to try to explain the complexities of sexual violence, and crack the hard shell of streotypes and myth surrounding the issue.

he just couldn’t get over the fact that gay people do not rape. that men that rape men do it to humiliate, hurt and a overpower, not for sexual pleasure. they are straight men. they have girlfriends and wives. they are not attracted to other men. but none of that was being received. he would not even let me finish a sentence. all that was coming out of his mouth was “then they are gay, if they want to rape guys then they are fags”.  then he got up, started disturbing other kids, and throwing pencils.and i told him to leave, but it was throughly unsatisfying. he left that classroom with the same homophobic ideas than when he entered it, and i failed.