Michael and the Mirror

I read the best post yet on Michael Jackson today. The best because it is full of humanity and understanding for this complex man. The writer, Carmen Van Kerckhove, looks at Jackson through her heart and through her sharply focused lens on the complexities of race and identity.

The post, which was originally posted at cnn.com is also on Van Kerckhove's Web site. I'm linking to it here with permission:

Michael Jackson on race -- and who he saw in the mirror

Be sure to read the whole post, but here are a couple of excerpts:

Race is never simple, especially when it comes to a complex artist like Michael Jackson...

...A rush to judgment accusing Michael Jackson of being a race traitor is unfair to the complexity of his life. Unless we take sufficient time to develop an understanding and empathy for his story, it’s easy to make simplistic claims or assumptions about why he wanted to change his appearance.

From what I have been able to discover, Michael was not trying to erase his race; he was trying to get comfortable with his face. He wanted, as we all do, to love the man in the mirror. Why he never did, we’ll never know...

Carmen Van Kerckhove is co-founder and president of New Demographic, a diversity education firm. She also blogs at Racialicious and Anti-Racist Parent, and you can follow her on Twitter.

Here is a 2002 video clip that shows what Michael Jackson might have looked like now without any plastic surgery. It also shows his changing face over the years and has some sympathetic commentary about the man in the mirror:

BET Awards and Racist Tweets in Twitterville

Jamie Foxx's Michael Jackson tribute -- "Beat It" on BET Awards
(video at bottom of post)

One of the things I love about Twitter is following other people's live tweets during programs I am watching on TV. It's one big conversation happening out there and good entertainment for comments on all kinds of things going on. Twitter has also become the best source for news, especially if you are following media folks and regular folk all commenting on the same stuff.

So on Sunday night, I tuned into Twitter as I tuned into the BET Awards, which promised to be a tribute to Michael Jackson. It was fun to watch and tweet. I weighed in on the good, the bad, and the ugly of the evening -- along with others I follow. I used #BET Awards (hastags allow you to follow others tweeting on a topic) to check in on what folks all across Twitterville had to say. I was pretty excited to see SO many African American folks tweeting and weighing in, and that the performers and the show itself were all trending for the night.

But the next morning, as I reviewed my BET tweets, I had a bad feeling in my stomach. While I hadn't said anything super negative about the show or performances, I had taken a few shots. Once again, as a white person who lives in a brown family, I found myself on that nebulous bridge between black and white. Taken out of the context of my life, my tweets as a whitegirl seemed out of school and borderline offensive. Examples: "My daughter and I are texting each other about the BET Awards. Jamie Foxx is acting stupid drunk." Or, "Keith Sweat is definitely not old school and he's not that good, either."

So I took them all down.

It reminded me of how different it feels to watch a Tyler Perry movie, for example, in a theater full of white people vs a theater full of black folks. The jokes FEEL different. Watching with a white audience feels like white people laughing at black people, stereotypes reinforcing their (our) misguided reality, etc. When it's black folks, it feels like people having a good time laughing together, getting the jokes on a whole different level, good fun.

And there's this: The morning after the awards, @humanitycritic, who I follow on Twitter and is funny as hell with a razor sharp mind, posted this: "I'm now convinced that this Boondocks portrayal of BET is close to reality - http://tinyurl.com/9adckx"

The clip is hilarious and captures the ongoing debate among some black folks about whether BET sucks or not. I love love the Boondocks, and I agree with the complaints about BET, but I didn't pass the clip along. Why? Watch it. First through the lens of a black person, then through the lens of a white person. My point exactly. Not my place to make the joke.

Back to Twitter and the BET Awards. After I had taken my tweets down, I learned that the BET trending topics on Twitter had spawned some very ugly, racist tweets by white folks offended that black folks were "invading" Twitter and worse.

To get a really good sense of what happened, read these two great posts:

The first, posted by Renee on Womanist Musings: OOPS The Blacks Are Chattering On Twitter

The second, posted by Carmen Dixon on Black Voices: Twitter, BET Awards and Racism

Needless to say, while my tweets were not racist, I am so glad I listened to my gut and deleted them. My opinions were valid, and mine, but on a public feed on Twitter, they were part of an ugly, slippery slope. And the last thing I ever want to do is fuel that fire.

Michael Jackson tribute performance -- BET Awards

I love this rant about age bias and hotness -- from a young guy!

I follow @thinblackduke aka Kevin on Twitter. He blogs at Shadow of the Bridge and A Slant Truth. He's great on any topic, but I had to share this one today. Great to find an ally in a young guy! He gets what many people don't -- that when people say to me (or any other middle age/older woman), "I can't believe you are 53. No way do you look that old," it is not a compliment, even if it is well meaning. Translation: "No way are you that old because 53 is old, beat down, and decrepit looking."

People, next time you want to compliment a mature woman, just say, "You look good!" or "You look hot!" or "Damn girl, you be working those jeans!" Drop the qualifiers! Kevin says it better here:

Rant Time

Why do people say shit like “getting older, but she’s still hot”? Getting older does not preclude hotness. And why does this “getting older” standard only apply to women? No one ever comments on dudes this way. No one ever says, “well, Sean Connery is getting older, but he’s still hot.” Ever.

I know the answers, but still… shit just got on my nerves today.

Michael Jackson Playlist

Here is a Michael Jackson playlist I mixed last night. It samples my favs and classics from the Jackson Five era through Bad. Be sure to check out Track 1 (link provided) -- a young Michael doing an amazing cover of the Bill Withers classic "Ain't No Sunshine." It's haunting, soulful and beautiful, and so very poignant now that he is gone. Another gem is Track 2 (link provided) of a young Michael (again) just killing a cover of the Isley Brothers "It's Your Thing!" Amazing!

DJ Dancing Diva's Michael Jackson Mix

1. Ain't No Sunshine
2. It's Your Thing (Extended Remix)
3. P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)
4. Man In the Mirror
5. Rock With You
6. Billie Jean
7. The Way You Make Me Feel
8. Bad
9. Thriller
10. Off the Wall
11. Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'
12. The Girl Is Mine
13. Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough (Single Version)
14. Black or White
15. Dangerous
16. Shoo-Be-Doo-Be-Doo-Da-Day
17. ABC
18. I'll Be There
19. Never Can Say Goodbye

This playlist is on ITunes under this mix

Embracing my age, a whitewater adventure!

These amazing photos are from my first whitewater rafting adventure ever. We were on the Menomonie River in Wisconsin. This is a level four rapids out of a possible six. Pretty big. The idea of whitewater rafting has both terrified and intrigued me for years. So when I was invited to join a group of women to go on this adventure I took the plunge (sorry, couldn't resist). It was incredible. Lesson one: my fear of whitewater rafting was far exceeded by how exciting it was. Lesson two: You are never too old to try something new. Life is short. Have fun!

Happy 37th Birthday Title IX!

In honor of the 37th birthday of Title IX, I am posting a commentary I wrote ten years ago, on the 27th birthday of the legislation that changed the landscape of women's sports forever. A slightly different version of this was published in the Minneapolis Star Tribune in 1999.

A generation of girls who compete as a matter of course

I was a pre-Title IX female athlete. Twenty-seven years later, my 13-year-old daughter is one of the thousands of soccer-playing girls riding high after the U.S. women's soccer team World Cup victory. I can say from personal experience that the recent Republican-sponsored House resolution to pay tribute to the U.S. women’s soccer team without acknowledging Title IX and its impact on the evolution of women’s sports was grievously wrong.

In 1972-1973, I was a junior at a suburban Minneapolis high school. The coach of the boy’s varsity ski team asked me to tryout for the team. While I skied competitively for an area ski club, there was no girls varsity ski team at my high school, and thus, no opportunity for me to compete in varsity sports, at least in my sport of choice.

So I tried out for the boys’ team and made the third-pace slot. However, the Minnesota State High School League, the governing body for Minnesota high school sports, had a rule that girls could not compete on boys’ teams, even if they legitimately earned a place on the team. The League informed my school that the entire team would be disqualified if I competed in a varsity ski meet.

My parents decided to challenge the rule and took the issue to court. The courts ruled in our favor and I was allowed to compete for my high school. Suddenly, much to my embarrassment, I was in the news as a barrier breaker. In 1972, girl athletes such as myself who trained hard, developed muscles, and thrilled to aggressive competition, were typically viewed, especially among our peers, as weird. The last thing my fragile self-esteem needed was more attention for being a jock. I just wanted to ski.

However, I am absolutely grateful that I happened to be in the right place at the right time, and thanks to Title IX, did get to ski for my high school and earn two varsity letters, something for which I am very proud.

Since then, I have thrilled at the change in both opportunity and attitude for women’s sports and athletics. 1n 1999, from the Sunday afternoon jogger to the serious athlete, girls and women now have a full array of competitive sports and fitness activities in which to participate.

My athletic daughter is coming of age at a time when sports, sweat and muscles are just a normal part of being female. She started playing soccer when she was nine at the neighborhood park because all of her friends were signing up to play. She now plays in a competitive girls’ soccer league full of other girls who love to play hard. They yell, “Be aggressive!” at the beginning of games. They are praised for being tough on the field, for teamwork, for pushing to the max.

I think the best thing about the post-Title IX world of female sports is that these young girls don’t think twice about being competitive athletes. They have no idea that 27 years ago there were far fewer athletic opportunities for girls. They have no idea that the general attitude toward female athletes was indifference at best and contempt at worst.

My daughter didn’t even watch the U.S. World Cup victory live. She had me tape it for later, when she got back from the mall. For her, it was not, as it was for me, a rearrange all your plans, historic, not to be missed event. It was a cool and important thing, but just one part of the fabric of her adolescent life. Yet, thanks to Title IX, she and millions of other girls don’t have to want to be like Mike when they imagine themselves champions. They can want to be like Brianna, Mia or Christine, and think its no big deal. Now that’s a revolution.

My Big Fat White-Privileged Life

White privilege, or at least how to blog about my take on it, has been on my mind of late.

I'll start here: This morning I was going about 75 on a freeway with a speed limit of 55. So were most of the folks around me. We were on a stretch of freeway that is a known speed trap. I was distracted and wasn't thinking. So I swore at myself when I flew by the traffic cop and saw him pull out and turn on the lights. Then I breathed a big sigh of relief when he pulled over another car and not me. I tried to look to see if the driver was black, but I couldn't tell.

The fact is that if he was black, he was much more likely to be pulled over and ticketed than me. Driving While Black (DWB) is all too real (Click on that link! It goes to "Why it Matters: The Connection of Driving While Black To Other Issues of Criminal Justice and Race," by David A. Harris).

Driving While White (DWW) is also a fact. Here are the two ways white privilege plays into this story. First, as already noted, I am less likely than a black person to be pulled over and ticketed due to my white skin. Second, I can drive around every single day with less worry about being pulled over for speeding, a broken tail light, a trinket hanging from my rear view mirror. This makes for less stress and anxiety in life, which in turn improves my over quality of life and well-being. And we wonder why diseases like high blood pressure are higher in African American communities? Come on.

True story: My daughter called me in tears a couple of months ago because a cop had pulled her over for a broken side mirror, and while she was stopped, her four year old daughter unbuckled herself from her car seat and he slapped her with another $150 fine for having a child not properly secured in the car. She's fighting that one in court. But did that happen because she is black? Or poor and in an old car with problems? Both? Yes or no. That's the crazy making. You both know and don't know. Every time.

As anyone who is a person of color knows implicitly, these driving stories are a couple of about 100,000 examples I could have pulled out about how we white people have it easier because of unearned racial privilege. But because most white people live in a place of complete unconsciousness about this privilege, we are clueless we are enjoying it each and every day.

Or if we do become aware of our privilege, our first reaction is to feel guilty, or to get really defensive, which is such a waste of energy. It is what it is. We could make so much more progress if we could just get over our guilt and stop running around trying to prove we aren't prejudiced.

When my kids were little (over 20 years ago), I flung myself passionately into "Racism 101," driven by my desire to be a good mom for my biracial children. (If you don't know what "Racism 101" means, read this great post at Racialiscious. It's also the title of a terrific book by Nikki Giovanni.) I was on a mission to become culturally competent. To not be one of "those" white parents of black children. I was over the top. I even recall tallying up the racial mix at my kids' birthday parties, making sure there was good representation. Ouch.

But all that effort was, in the end, a good thing. I obsessed my way, slowly, into real cultural competence. I get racism and privilege in a way that most white people don't (but almost not at all in comparison to a person of color, who lives with that oppression).

My life over the last 30 years has slid from a mostly white world and worldview to a place somewhere on a bridge between black and white. When a friend who is black tells me, "You're really just one of us now," I take it for the huge compliment that it is meant to be but I also cringe.

Privilege, at its core, is about power and choice. The truth is, I could choose at any time to walk away from the life I've made and disappear back into the great wide world of white people (not that I would do this, but the choice is there).

Which brings me to this: Having privilege of any kind feels good, even if we don't want it to. It is benefiting us even as we work to dismantle it or at least to put it to good use. Think of what could happen if we would just 'fess up about that truth and get on with it.

The racist right gets this of course, and it's why they are is so terrified of Obama -- he symbolizes a threat to their privilege. Our privilege.

I will end with a nod to the comedian Louis CK. Please take another few minutes and watch this video of his bit on why it feels so great to be a white male -- the first funny thing I've ever seen a white person do on white privilege. He speaks the truth and it's funny as hell.

Oh the Exes We Know

This is a poem I wrote and performed about a year after meeting my spouse Susan. I had been on a run of passionate serial monogamy for more than a decade that was both thrilling and devastating. This poem was my swan song to that time, and to "all the girls I'd loved before, who traveled in and out my door..."

Oh the Exes We Know
(with apologies to Dr. Suess)

Oh the places we’ll go
For women to meet
We’ll search high and search low
For the lovers we seek.

Look at her! Look at her!
I’m in for a treat!”

But then, OH NO!
It’s over it ends!

But with brains in our heads and hearts on our sleeves
We pick ourselves up and onward we go!
We can find true love, this we do know.

And our ex list? Well…
It just grows and it grows.

Yes indeed, oh the exes we know.

Take me for example
My story is not at all boring you’ll see.

With brains in my head
And my heart on my sleeve
I’ve steered myself in any direction I please.

I’ve looked down the streets, looked ‘em over with care.
But then that voice in my head says
Oh please don’t go there!

But oh the adventure!
Ignoring that voice I went to those places
I did yes I did!
So many places and so many faces

Now I’m swimming in exes
Drowning in exes

X marks the spot!!

Look at ‘em all!

All those exes I know!!

Why I’d be a hub on the L-Word chart
With reckless abandon I’ve dated them all

Free spirits, control freaks, and cheaters (galore)
Rebounders, questioners, transitioners, and more
Why I’ve even dated a psycho girl… or four.

You too?

But wait! Stop! Stop this poem!
Stop it right now!

Let’s look in the mirror
What do we see?
If we’ve dated problem girls,
Could the problem be we?

So lets quit calling names.
Our exes aren’t evil! Our exes aren’t bad!
They’re just special people we’ve loved and we’ve had.
Please don’t stay mad.

They’re still in our hearts
A part of our past
They’re with us forever.
Love does really last.

Why without naming names
What a treat, what a joy,
There are exes of mine right here in this place.
I see you, I see you, your cute little faces!

Oh thank you! I love you! It was fun while it lasted!
I’m glad we got through it!
I’m glad we got past it!

Yes its true, everybody,
With brains in our heads
And hearts on our sleeves
We’ve steered ourselves through
All those people we choose.

So whatever your fate
Keep your heart open wide
Go out on that date!
It’s worth it all right!

Go find those wild places
With dances and chances
For big new romances (or whatever your wish is)

Bring all the ex memories you’ve lodged in your heart
It’s not too much baggage
Really it’s not
Because as you know
In the end…
Every last ex just helped us to grow.

2005

A loving kind of day, or is it?

June 12, 2009. Today we note two anniversaries, both that are indelible marks in our country's civil rights struggle.

1. On this day in 1963, Medger Evers, a champion for civil rights, was assassinated outside his home in Jackson, Mississippi by Byron De La Beckwith, a white supremacist and card carrying member of the KKK. Beckwith was not convicted until 1994. Medger Evers is a hero for our time and a martyr in our struggle for racial justice.

2. On this day in 1967, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled, in Loving v. Virginia, that the state of Virginia's anti-miscegenation law (miscegenation laws banned interracial marriages) was unconstitutional, and thereby ended all race-based marriage restrictions in the country.

Two vastly different events, one tragic, the other celebratory, both linked forever in time by their shared anniversary and role in moving our country closer to racial justice and civil rights for all.

We've come along way in the last half a century, the most obvious symbol of our progress being the election of Barack Obama as president -- a Black man who is biracial (and whose parents' marriage would have been illegal in some states when he was born).

At the same time, these anniversaries give me pause given current events of this day and week:

An 88-year old white supremacist man who openly harbored hatred for Jewish people (and also believed Obama caused the Holocaust), opens fire at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, killing a guard, Stephen Tyrone Johns, who was African American and father of an 11 year old son).

And then there is the daily racism, like this: A friend twitters today that he's on a plane and notices, once again, the flight attendant greets the people in front of and behind him (who I presume were white), but ignores him -- a dreadlocked, dark skinned black man.

And what about the reverse-racist nonsense regarding Sonia Sotomayor, President Obama's nominee to the Supreme Court? It is such raw evidence of the ignorance of white people about our own privileged world view. (Watch for a post dedicated entirely to white privilege. In the mean time, check out this post on Cinna.mn: Facing Race Ambassador Awards with Peggy McIntosh.)

So now let's add DOMA and the Obama Adminstration's defense of it to this stew. For a nice round up of this news and response to it, head over to the ever sharp Pam's House Blend.

While I don't agree with those who feel Obama needs to put gay marriage at the top of his agenda, I am disappointed that his administration is defending DOMA, which is a hateful piece of legislation. Repealing it is as necessary as was the repeal of miscegenation laws 50 years ago. Dismantling DOMA is Loving v Virginia for the 21st century.

It all comes to this -- those who believe that Obama's post racial America means that racism, hatred, and oppression are over are terribly naive (and likely white). The struggle for racial justice continues, as do acts of racism, each and every day. Racial disparities are greater than ever.

But make no mistake, the fight for marriage equality is on. It is part of -- not separate from -- our fight for civil rights.

The blogger Dana Rudolph notes in a post that in 2007, Mildred Loving said, "I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry." (Read a great account of the story of Mildred and Richard Loving here: Never Mind the Race Haters, Remember Loving Day, by John Ridley. His post also helps explain how this rambling post ties together)

Perhaps some day in the not-too-distant-future we will have a new anniversary to observe -- the day the Supreme Court (because that is where it will land) will overturn some state's law prohibiting gay marriage (or DOMA itself) and the U.S. will be one step closer to equal rights under the law for all.

(OK, I know I've done about three posts on this topic, but the news just keeps bringing it around again and again!)

Why did Dove's pro-age campaign fail?

I loved that commercial! When Dove launched it's Pro Age campaign in 2007, I wept (for real!) when I first saw some of the ads. I was so used to commercials hawking "anti-aging" miracles, I hadn't realized how vast the void was, how hungry I was for anything "pro age." So I wrote them and told them so and bought all the products in the line -- just to support the campaign. Within a year I had to search to find the stuff. Today, the products are all but gone from the shelves and the campaign is but a whisper on Dove's Web site.

What gives? Did women shy away from embracing their age? Are we so conditioned to do everything we can to "look and feel younger" that we can't love the age we're in?

At least there's this: My 23-year-old daughter caught on to my excitement over the campaign and bought shampoo and lotion for me as gifts. When it got hard to find, she'd still buy it for me when she saw it (and she is broke as in no extra cash at all). Maybe, just maybe, the "pro age" positive message is now embedded somewhere in her soul, so that as she ages, she'll define her beauty by where she is at 40, 50, 60 and on, not by a day gone by.

Thank you Dove, for the positive campaign. I miss it.

Blogging for LGBT Families Day -- Filling with Joy

I came out in my thirties -- a fierce act of courage to live my life in truth. I had been in a decent marriage of many years and had two grade school-aged kids. For some time I couldn't imagine disrupting their lives and causing them hurt for the sake of my happiness. Then, at some point, I couldn't NOT let my messy life tumble out into the full light of day. My prayer and hope then was that the example I gave of insisting on being true to yourself would outweigh the hurt for my kids (and their dad) of their family being torn in two.

Today we are not torn, we are all still a family, rearranged but together nonetheless. My ex-husband and I are both remarried to great spouses in better, happier marriages, and my kids are now young adult parents making their way with the support of more people, not less, who love them and claim them as family.

Below are excerpts from a longer piece that is my coming out story -- from the time just before and just after I made that big leap.

From "Filling with Joy," 1993

1991

We call it the best and the worst. It is our family's favorite dinner-time ritual. We begin by deciding who goes first, second, third and last. Usually its a free-for all. "I go first!" says Miles, who is eight. "Me second!" says Alyssa, who's five. Robert and I take the remaining spots. Once the order is decided, each of us tells what was the best thing and the worst thing about our day.

My best is this nice dinner we're having.

My worst is that Alyssa is making too much noise.

My best is that when we were on the bus, well Izzy was sitting next to me and these two boys tried to take her hat, so we told the bus driver and they had to sit in the front of the bus and the driver wrote them up and me and Izzy got to eat candy all the way to school.

My worst is that in school Ben kept disturbing the whole class and being really bad and the teacher had to send him to the principal and call his mom. He really annoys me.

My best is sitting here with my family.

My worst is that I have a lot of laundry to fold tonight.

My best was snuggling with Alyssa this morning. My other best was playing Monopoly Junior with Miles after school.

My worst is that I had too much to do at work today.

When we do this telling of the best and worst, over spaghetti and apple juice or pork chops and mashed potatoes, at a kitchen table sticky with breakfast leftovers, we are circling in, circling around each other, belonging to each other, kissing ourselves with our stories, except for this:

My secret worst — My life feels like a lie.

1992

We have a tradition of story telling among our friends. We get together once a month at each other's homes. We patiently smile as the little kids read their boring, beginning books out loud. The adults tell stories, share their writing, or read passages from favorite books. Lately, a few of the pre-adolescent girls have been reading stories about struggling with loneliness, feeling different and out of step. The stories make me cry.

Tonight, one family is telling of how they came out to their new community, a small, liberal, college town about an hour from the city. The two moms laugh easily, happily volleying the details of the story back and forth. Their kids, aged three and four, are each snuggled up on a lap. One of the moms was asked to share her recipe for chicken and pesto sauce in the community newspaper. They decided to have the photographer take a family photo for the story. So there they are, lesbian and interracial, in the "favorite recipes" corner of the paper, an all-American family. They are smiling broadly to the world.

I walk to the edge of the chasm of my split life. I brace myself for change.

1993

I can't believe I'm here. I'm thirty-seven years old, in the middle of the dance floor at this bar, surrounded by lesbians and am completely happy. I'm dancing exactly on beat, something I thought I was incapable of doing. Not only am I dancing on beat, I'm looking hot —I'm too sexy for myself / I'm too sexy for my shirt/out on the catwalk — the music throbs and I cannot get enough. In the bathroom I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cannot believe how great I look — I 'm not used to perceiving myself as good looking. I'm attracted to at least half of the women packing the bar. I remember how much I love making out. I start wearing make-up again, and tank tops, to show off my muscled arms. I do flips off the diving board with my kids at the pool. I prepare to leave my marriage. I recover my sense of humor. I buy some silky lacy underwear, new boots and tight jeans to celebrate. I practice saying dyke. I practice saying I am a dyke. I practice saying I am a thirty-seven year old baby dyke and blush routinely. I fill with joy.

~~~

Update: OK, I didn't know what "Blogging for LGBT Families Day 2009" was. I just saw it on a post at Up Popped A Fox's blog (well, first Facebook) and thought, "Cool! I want to do that!" So now I have realized it is a whole big deal and there is a huge list of blogs you can peruse at Mombian: Susatance for Lesbian Moms. Check it out!