Dissidence, Sedition, and Radicalism... brought to you by Kate

This is my frustration:

That I dissent against a government that claims to both protect and represent me, a government purportedly "of the people, by the people, and for the people" (Gettysburg Address).

That a government which claimed from its inception to separate church and state has never truly done so, and that now, under the oligarchical and theocratic rule of the conservative Supreme Court (supreme—we wouldn't be suggesting hierarchy and inequality, would we?) the government can fund faith-based initiatives. When has Bush EVER, as he now claims to do with this decision, supported a level playing field?

That patriotism is a representation of patrilineal patriarchy systematically upheld by erect flags splattered with the blood of soldiers who believed that they were fighting for FREEDOM.

That women account for 30% of people dishonorably discharged under the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy, while they comprise only 14% of the armed forces.

That the armed forces have a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy.

That in forty states, transgender people can legally be fired on the basis of being transgender.

That same-sex marriage is not legally recognized.

That women make approximately eighty-one cents to a man's dollar.

That corporations sport enormous US flags and faith in a Christian god and talk about hard work and independence while simultaneously accepting huge government subsidies to train their employees that are not actually used to train their employees.

That racism is an epidemic in this country.

That heterosexism and homophobia are an epidemic in this country.

That people actually actively oppose immigration.

That a country which so ardently supports globalization attempts to control its borders to keep people out, when in today's economy the greater divide is not between nations, but between socio-economic classes.


That freedom is associated with independence.

That independence is associated with happiness.

That independence is considered paramount to success, and that because I support communes, collectives, and equity in trade policies, people will venemously call me a Communist.

That at my new job I will have to wear a baseball hat that advertises Coca-Cola—a uniform item about which I was not informed prior to being hired, to which I was not offered the chance to give my consent, and about which no one else seems to care.

That people could hear about any number of egregious acts committed by multi-national corporations and still patronize these corporations.

That war is patriotic.

That big business is patriotic.

That Christianity is patriotic.

That opposing immigration is patriotic.

That speaking ONLY English is patriotic.

That joining the armed forces is patriotic.

That drinking Coke is patriotic.

That eating at McDonalds is patriotic.

That social activism...
is NOT patriotic.

That patriotism is a divisive term of exclusivity.

That the Patriot Act overtly taps into people's fear (and phone and Internet records) to garner support for it while building... patriotism. It is thusly patriotic to not support our right to free speech. And now an act originally inspired by fear has been signed by the president into law, so that our government has the legal right to search our homes and businesses without our prior knowledge or permission. This has me confused as to who is the terrorist, and who the victim.

That fear is now patriotic.

That the freedoms upon which this country was supposedly based have NEVER been fully upheld, and only by challenging our system en masse have we ever had partial recognition of Constitutional rights. And the ERA? It still hasn't passed (despite being re-introduced to every Congress since 1982).

That schools can restrict students' first amendment right.

That in 2002 Joseph Frederick was suspended from his high school and went to court for holding up a banner sporting "Bong Hits 4 Jesus." And that the illegalization of cannabis, and even the popularization of the word marijuana, is based primarily upon racism against Mexican immigrants of the early twentieth century and against African-Americans, and was publicized by blatant misinformation supported by the government.

That in Utah, students may not be allowed to form Gay-Straight Alliances if they venture beyond "the boundaries of socially appropriate behavior."

That Mike Cameron got suspended from Greenbrier High School in 1998 for wearing a Pepsi tee shirt on a day when he was supposed to participate in a school-wide photograph to promote Coca-Cola.

That our government promulgates ideas of independence and work ethic while subsidizing multi-billion dollar MNC's that are belligerently anti-union, and somehow tells us that we should be responsible for our own healthcare.

That the lower classes pay a disproportionate percentage of their income in taxes.

That 51% of our country's budget goes to military spending.

That this country is increasingly becoming a theocracy—the type of government it opposes in the Middle East. I guess they're the wrong religion.

That the first time around, Bush became president despite the popular vote. And even more alarmingly, that the second time around... he had it.

And most significantly and inclusively: that being a social activist means that I must FIGHT my government rather than work with it.

:D

:D!

if i were to say that...

if i were to say that
today is:

...beautiful

then that is my prerogative

i will follow beauty
across the arcing day
in the wake
of Apollo's chariot,
borrowing expired light
to guide my pedaled wandering

and if the smell of asphalt
thickly snakes up
from the smooth-paved blackness
of unfamiliar streets
and fills my nose
with humid memories
of easier days

then i will let it


but as Night drifts westward
in the high-domed twilight,
baring scattered stars
and a luminous moon
I am
Woman
once more

born into the fullness of the moon
and throbbing with the pulse of Artemis,
i curve my naked feet
to match the roundness
of the deepblack Earth
and call her
Mother

if i were to fly...

if i were to fly
i would sprout supple wings
of warmly melting wax
and the fallen feathers
of flighty fluttering birds
floating on the waves of the wind,
and freeing myself
from this land-locked life
i would swim in the pale-blue iris
of the arch-backed sky
and bathe in the halo
of that day-time star
and fall with the Night
through the dilating pupil
of a deepening sea

My dad eats cake with a spoon.

Interesting.

tryingtospeaktryingtospeaktryingtospeak the pain

Sometimes, I hate being queer.

((Harriet there was always somebody calling us crazy
or mean or stuck-up or evil or black
or black))

I hate that we must first prove our existence before we can petition for rights, and that we've yet to prove our existence.

((and we were))

I hate that we must first accept that others do not accept us before they will begin to accept us.

((nappy girls quick as cuttlefish
scurrying for cover))

I hate that our parents tell us that they did not raise us to be gay, that conservatives tell us that it is an abnormal abomination, and that society tells us that it is a crime.

((trying to speak trying to speak
trying to speak
the pain in each other's mouths))

I hate that people are killed for being gay, lesbian, transgender, transsexual, intersex, or a member of any prescribed category of Other, and that there will be protestors at their funeral.

((until we learned
on the edge of a lash
or a tongue
on the edge of the other's betrayal))

I hate that sixty percent of teen suicides are by queer people.

((that respect
meant keeping our distance
in silence))

I hate that when someone finds out that I'm gay, and then leaves shortly thereafter, I wonder if it is because I am gay.

((averting our eyes
from each other's face in the street))

I hate that I am expected to be proud of people who support my existence, to appreciate their awareness of my sexuality.

((from the beautiful dark mouth
and cautious familiar eyes
passing alone.))

I hate that, when I am honest about who I am, people tell me that they would be okay with homosexuals if only we wouldn't make such a big deal out of it. In the meantime, I am consistently bombarded with the icons and idols of heterosexuality.

((I remember you Harriet))

I hate that when I attend a reunion for veterans to support my grandpa, even though I practice a different set of values, the veterans will speak for three consecutive days about the freedom of this country but make gay jokes about fairies and closets as if they have the right to degrade us, as if patronizing us is their territory. I hate that I silence myself for their comfort with a scathing awareness that if they knew that I am gay, they would not speak to me.

((before we were broken apart))

I hate the blithe advice I receive on marriage, when it is not in fact an option for me.

((we dreamed the crossed swords
of warrior queens))

I hate the way that some men will stare at me, as if I exist for their enjoyment, as if I might submissively participate in whatever sexual fantasy they have concocted.

((while we avoided each other's eyes))

I hate that my friends are afraid to acknowledge their sexual identities to the point that they deny it even to themselves, because it is just too hard to be gay.

((and we learned to know lonely
as the earth learns to know dead))

I hate the information management that I experience every time I meet someone or talk with someone—the anxiety of indecision: to reveal or not to reveal? To correct someone asking about all of my suitors, or to smilingly let it slide in the demure fashion typical of my socialized gender role?

((Harriet Harriet))

I hate that I feel a surge of relief when my ex-boyfriend writes to me to tell me that he wants to meet my "girl," and that every time I have a message on facebook from someone with whom I don't usually speak, I worry that they are writing to ask if I'm gay (yes, it happens).

((what name shall we call our selves now
our mother is gone?))

I hate that when I talk about my friends, people will ask me if these friends are gay or straight (already assuming both a gender binary and dichotomized sexuality), but that they do not ask this of my heterosexual peers.




An ethical query emerges in light of such an analysis: how might we encounter the difference that calls our grids of intelligibility into question without trying to foreclose the challenge that the difference delivers? What might it mean to learn to live in the anxiety of that challenge, to feel the surety of one's epistemological and ontological anchor go, but to be willing, in the name of the human, to allow the human to become something other than what it is traditionally assumed to be? This means that we must learn to live and to embrace the destruction and rearticulation of the human in the name of a more capacious and, finally, less violent world, not knowing in advance what precise form our humanness does and will take.

--Judith Butler, from Undoing Gender