Showing posts with label racism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label racism. Show all posts
Thursday, August 31, 2023
Southern Politics in State and Nation
In his classic 1949 study, Southern Politics in State and Nation, V. O. Key characterized the Byrd organization as an oligarchy in which power was maintained by a remarkably small portion of the electorate. Fewer people voted in Virginia than in any other southern state, with only 10 or 12 percent of adults casting votes during the heyday of the Byrd Organization. This meant that the organization needed the support of only 5 to 7 percent of the voting-age population to control party nominations, which nearly guaranteed election in most districts in most elections. “By contrast,” Key memorably wrote, “Mississippi is a hotbed of democracy.”
love & peace,
Heidi
see others about:
august,
August 31,
Byrd Organization,
power,
racism,
Virginia,
Virginia history,
voting

Tuesday, May 2, 2017
In the Shadow of the Hill
My first thoughts as I watched the film were that favela life was culturally rich even if it was possession- and cash-poor before the drug lords came in. As we watch the scenes unfold, it is this richness of connection and community that holds the narrative and refuses to give up, showing a resilience in the face of oppression, violence and vilification that cannot be silenced and that, eventually, overcomes injustice.
Rio de Janeiro didn’t care about how the traffickers’ hostile occupation of the favelas affected the disenfranchised residents in the impoverished favelas, despite having a thriving community. Rocinha was especially disrupted by the traffickers, but equally especially ignored by the politicians. The ‘favela problem’ wasn’t seen by the politicians until the city was awarded the honor of hosting the 2014 Olympics, and then the government saw the favelas, but saw them as a problem to be eradicated, by force if necessary. The favelas were seen as troubling not because of the disenfranchisement, racism or unrelenting poverty and poor housing conditions, but because of the need to assure the Olympic Committee and the global tourists who would soon be visiting that the city of Rio was safe and clean, two things the city government held that the favelas distinctly were not. The trafficker-controlled favelas, Rocinha the largest amongst them, stood as a direct counterpoint to the image and narrative that Brazil and Rio were showing the world.
I find it interesting that the government policy to address this undesirable element to be that of “pacification,” the overrunning of the favelas by force with guns and armor. This annexation of the favelas through martial law was an extreme response, one that reflects the government’s comfort with the use of threat and intimidation through a police state in the middle of the city. The residents are treated little better than animals. Early in the film, we see a man in a suit walking in Rocinha, heavily-armed and armor-clad officers at every turn warning him of the folly. He saunters casually through the lovely sun-drenched day, pointing out bullet holes in the murals, his nonchalance its own protest against the fear that the officers are peddling.
The rebellion of Rocinha is brutal and inspiring in equal measure. The injustices rained down upon the slum residents reflect their second class status, showing the Brazilian government’s priority of joining the global cities ranks over the safety and community of its local Rio citizens, even if they be poor or black. Power corrupts; Money corrupts; guns corrupt; the combination in Rocinha leads to an explosion of the poor against the government who would eradicate them altogether.
The protests began around a single missing man, but quickly become the voice of the power of community even in communities without power. Through creativity and organization, Rocinha citizens stand up, push back, and claim their right to live, even in a favela. They refuse to be silent despite threats of violence and vilification by the press. They engage a wider audience by taking their outrage to the internet, adding the government’s attempts to silence them to their listed complaints. Change comes, eventually, in a real and meaningful way. Michelle Lacerda says that “Twenty years ago, a black favela resident would have deserved their death in the eyes of the public, but not today.”
It is the eyes of the public, the very global perspective that Rio and by extension Brazil want to claim, that brings the justice to the community. The world stage backed the protesters, making it more than an outcry and transforming the organized resistance into real empowerment. Through exposure, their plight became real and the residents became seen. While we are all aghast at the government and its abuses, we rejoice with Lacerda when she says, “There is justice in this country. It’s slow, complicated and sometimes corrupt. But it exists.”
Rio de Janeiro didn’t care about how the traffickers’ hostile occupation of the favelas affected the disenfranchised residents in the impoverished favelas, despite having a thriving community. Rocinha was especially disrupted by the traffickers, but equally especially ignored by the politicians. The ‘favela problem’ wasn’t seen by the politicians until the city was awarded the honor of hosting the 2014 Olympics, and then the government saw the favelas, but saw them as a problem to be eradicated, by force if necessary. The favelas were seen as troubling not because of the disenfranchisement, racism or unrelenting poverty and poor housing conditions, but because of the need to assure the Olympic Committee and the global tourists who would soon be visiting that the city of Rio was safe and clean, two things the city government held that the favelas distinctly were not. The trafficker-controlled favelas, Rocinha the largest amongst them, stood as a direct counterpoint to the image and narrative that Brazil and Rio were showing the world.
I find it interesting that the government policy to address this undesirable element to be that of “pacification,” the overrunning of the favelas by force with guns and armor. This annexation of the favelas through martial law was an extreme response, one that reflects the government’s comfort with the use of threat and intimidation through a police state in the middle of the city. The residents are treated little better than animals. Early in the film, we see a man in a suit walking in Rocinha, heavily-armed and armor-clad officers at every turn warning him of the folly. He saunters casually through the lovely sun-drenched day, pointing out bullet holes in the murals, his nonchalance its own protest against the fear that the officers are peddling.
The rebellion of Rocinha is brutal and inspiring in equal measure. The injustices rained down upon the slum residents reflect their second class status, showing the Brazilian government’s priority of joining the global cities ranks over the safety and community of its local Rio citizens, even if they be poor or black. Power corrupts; Money corrupts; guns corrupt; the combination in Rocinha leads to an explosion of the poor against the government who would eradicate them altogether.
The protests began around a single missing man, but quickly become the voice of the power of community even in communities without power. Through creativity and organization, Rocinha citizens stand up, push back, and claim their right to live, even in a favela. They refuse to be silent despite threats of violence and vilification by the press. They engage a wider audience by taking their outrage to the internet, adding the government’s attempts to silence them to their listed complaints. Change comes, eventually, in a real and meaningful way. Michelle Lacerda says that “Twenty years ago, a black favela resident would have deserved their death in the eyes of the public, but not today.”
It is the eyes of the public, the very global perspective that Rio and by extension Brazil want to claim, that brings the justice to the community. The world stage backed the protesters, making it more than an outcry and transforming the organized resistance into real empowerment. Through exposure, their plight became real and the residents became seen. While we are all aghast at the government and its abuses, we rejoice with Lacerda when she says, “There is justice in this country. It’s slow, complicated and sometimes corrupt. But it exists.”
love & peace,
Heidi
Monday, July 4, 2016
Identifying Male Privilege
Male Privilege: What is it, how to recognize it at work in our daily lives, and understanding why it matters are difficult tasks at best, and, as undertakings by people who are trying to juggle grocery lists, soccer schedules and career demands, can seem out of place as well as overwhelming. As a culture and as individuals, we often want the end result but are uncertain of how to go about the process of it all, and, even when we are willing to do so, carving time into our schedules to focus on what often seems to be esoteric pursuits is difficult at best, and can be deemed selfish at worst.
When discussing the essay in Voice Male that pointed out that only 28 percent of speaking roles in the top-grossing hundred G-rated films of all time were female, my partner asked me, “Yeah, but has that actually gotten me anything?” I confess that I was a little gobstruck, both by the question and the intellectual framework it revealed.
Several weeks ago, as our family sat playing cards and eating lunch after a morning at the gym, I heard a disturbance outside that sounded distinctly like aggressive, belligerent name calling. I am a firm believer that name-calling matters a great deal, and that it is a village issue, not a matter between two arguing parties. When I stepped outside, the language became clear: “Wetback! Job thief! You don’t belong here!” A man was standing in front of his truck, yelling horrible things at my Hispanic neighbors, two doors down. I couldn’t help myself; I had to intervene -- there are children in almost all the houses on this street, and besides: it’s the right thing to do. But I had the better sense to call to my partner before skittering down the front steps to the sidewalk. Once there, I called to the man, and told him that he needed to leave, that he couldn’t say things like that here. He postured, told me he had a right to say whatever he wanted. I nodded and repeated my demand that he leave. I had, for the moment, forgotten that I have no power over him in his mind, that, in fact, he believes he has power to act with impunity not only towards immigrants, but towards women as well. He stepped towards me just as my partner came down the steps and stood, silent but firm, behind me. And then, something magical happened: The whole conversation changed. The aggressor modulated his tone to be softer, stepped back a bit toward his truck, wound down his tirade, left altogether.
Has the privilege of patriarchy gotten tall white men anything? Of course it has: just by showing up, they set the reality and the tone; they are the standard to which we must all conform, and it is without a doubt that they have unearned income and status simply by accident of birth.
Until I had my partner at my back, I was only effective in adding to the victim count of this racist rant, and was putting myself directly in the cross-hairs of active violence. I forget that I am not the same as everyone else, that I do not stand on equal footing, that by virtue of being present I am not safe in broad daylight, that I am not afforded the latitude to demand that people leave if they can’t behave well. It’s a lesson I hope I never learn, and one I want to actively keep from my daughter. White men need to understand more than ever that those of us not in the privilege zone actively require their support and their protection as well as their acceptance. We all need to understand that privilege is a tool kit that only some of us have access to but that all of us deserve, and we need to share the tools more evenly until everyone has a kit of her own. Tall white men need to show up, stand behind the movement, give weight to the voices as well as participate in conversations of their own. There is a social implication and mandate that goes along with the age old sense of nobility, and we have lost sight of the responsibility of privilege in our efforts to dismantle the patriarchy thus far.
love & peace,
Heidi
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)