I’m reinstating my “Why Canada Should Draft Van Jones” campaign based on this video.

This is what patriotism looks like. This is the living embodiment of the honour and nobility of the public servant. Plus – pretty brown bald dude. Canada, we just can’t lose!

A hunter leaves his campsite and travels one mile due south. He then travels one mile due east, where he shoots a bear. He drags the bear back to his campsite by traveling one mile due north. What color is the bear? **

From the moment he announced his candidacy, I knew we — meaning Black Americans — were in for a wild ride. I couldn’t have anticipated that this dream, this historical moment that before only existed as a figment of Hollywood imagination would be made real, and in the United States no less.

I’m sure you know what dream I’m referring to, so I don’t even think I need to mention The Man’s name just yet. But give it time, it’ll come.

For the last two and some-odd years, we’ve watched as a relatively inexperienced first-term senator from Illinois captivated the global imagination and went on to reinforce the myth that in America, all things truly are possible. I am certain that it will go down as one of the pivotal moments in American history, and if I’m being honest with myself and others, I should say that I never thought I’d live to see this day.

Even here, above the 49th parallel, we couldn’t escape the media coverage of The Man’s meteoric rise, and his installation as The Most Powerful Leader in the Free World. Canadians love a good story (give a Newfie a chance, and they’ll spin yarn all night long), and there hasn’t been a story as inspiring, as uplifting, and with as much chance for redemption as this one.

Yet when looking through the lens of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), one might come to the conclusion that Obama’s story was one of pain, misery, injustice and victimization.

For the first time since moving to Canada, a Black person (people, if you count his family) was at the front and centre of a major developing news story, one that didn’t involve gangs, or drugs, or murder, or violence.

The CBC must’ve thought otherwise, because it seemed to me that for every profile of Obama, there was a profile of a former civil rights leader, usually male, who inevitably was asked what this moment meant to him. Women were mostly absent from the remembrances.

Amid the footage of celebrations, joy, happy tears, and yes, of racial reconciliation, CBC inserted footage of firehoses, of dogs, of silent marchers, bombed churches, and American injustice. It was as if there was no other lens through which to view a Black American story save one that involved violence and focused on Black people as victims, as the acted upon.

I’d like to take a moment to say something to anyone from the CBC who may happen upon this entry.

I am not a victim.

Oh sure, I grew up in the Southeastern United States, and yes, I am a Black woman.

But I have never been forced to ride in the back of a bus.

The only time a dog has been set loose on me was when I was picking my own dog up at the vet.

I’ve never had my head bashed in.

I’ve never been at the business end of a firehose, or a fire hydrant. My mother wouldn’t even let me play in the spray from a fire hydrant during Atlanta’s brutally long, hot summers.

And it may come as a surprise to you that I know many White Southerners who are kind, compassionate, loving people. Some of them are even my closest friends.

Resisting Representations

Barack Obama grew up in Hawaii and Indonesia, and did not move to the mainland until he entered university in 1979. I think that at some point during his early political career, Obama became acutely aware that unless he paid some sort of verbal homage to those civil rights leaders who came before him, he had no chance of making inroads in some African American communities. Yet Obama would be the first to tell you that their story is not his story.

There were no race riots in Honolulu. While the political situation in Indonesia was often unstable, I doubt that Obama had fire hoses turned on him, or ever knew how it felt to have police dogs tear into his flesh as he lay helpless on the ground.

What these representations of Barack Obama — and other Black Americans, by extension — say to me is that the CBC has absolutely no connection to Black communities in Canada, and very few connections to Black communities in the United States beyond those whose names appear on well-handled and dog-eared cards in the corporate Rolodex. Because these connections do not exist, only the vicious side of the Black American story is shown to Canadian viewers, and the only connection the producers can make to this Black American president is to remind Canadians again and again of America’s shameful racist history, and how Obama overcame…a history that he never had to live through.

As I was getting ready for work this morning, I tuned into CBC Vancouver’s morning radio show, The Early Edition. It’s the day after Obama’s visit to Canada, and the country is still basking in his warm, cafe-au-lait coloured afterglow. Host Rick Cluff was interviewing the director of the Vancouver Gospel Choir (I *know*), and commented that for him, the most arresting image from yesterday’s events was seeing President Obama come off the plane to greet Her Excellency, the Right Honourable Michaelle Jean, the Governor General of Canada. I’ve commented on Mme. Jean before, so I won’t belabor the point, but I will say that any cynicism I was feeling about this visit melted away as soon as I saw the smiles on their faces when they met for the first time.

Cluff then asked his guest what this meeting meant to him “as a Black man, from the South”. He asked the director, his voice thick with concern, to tell him what his life was like growing up in the South, and of course, the director was all to happy to oblige Cluff with stories of racial injustice and hatred.

Why Diversity in the Media Matters

This line of questioning was sadly predictable, but no less frustrating. Cecil Foster, a noted Canadian journalist and author, believes that this perspective exists not only because of last-minute, shoddy journalism, but because Canadian news media are incapable of telling a news story from any other perspective than a White perspective. In his book A Place Called Heaven: The Meaning of Being Black in Canada Foster relates his experience with the Canadian press as they scrambled to find available Black bodies to offer perspectives on The Million Man March, an event the press largely ignored. “Planning for the march wasn’t a part of their society,” Foster wrote, “therefore the news media needed only to inform Whites of what Blacks were doing.” He goes on to say:

This news was only important if it fitted in with the Whites’ perception of their world; that is, only if the news alerted them to any threats to their way of life posed by Blacks who tend to show up in mainstream news mainly as dangerous stereotypes.

The only experience many Canadians of any (non-Black) background have with Black Canadians or Americans is that which is beamed into their homes, cars, and computers. When the major Black American story involves our persecution, one can almost understand why so many in the Canadian media can only tell Barack Obama’s victorious story in contrast to that bleak and amoral time in American history.

Cutbacks in news organizations are very real, and many news organizations are cutting their research departments drastically in an effort to save money. Yet the producers, writers, and hosts of CBC television and CBC radio have had more than two years — they have had more than forty years — to learn to tell stories about Black Americans in which we are the actors.

President Obama’s story will open eyes across the globe. As he succeeds, and as he fails, as he inspires us, and as he angers us, the world will gain a perspective on a Black American story quite unlike any they’ve ever witnessed before. Perhaps we won’t be the “nation of cowards” any longer; maybe we will begin to foster those connections that make it easier to tell, fairly and simply, Black people’s stories of victory, of triumph, and of our day to day realities as citizens of the world.

When you ask people what they remember about pivotal moments in history, almost everyone will have something to say. Those who are lucky enough to have a way with words may make statements both wise and insightful, while others who lack that particular gift may fall back on plainly spoken exclamations of joy. At the moment Barack Obama was named President-elect of the United States, I found myself in the latter category.
Days have passed and I still haven’t been able to find the words to express how I feel about the election results, so I spent some time trying to understand my reaction. I didn’t shed any tears that were heavy with the weight of history; instead, I cheered quietly, clapped my hands, and went on with the rest of my evening. I felt bad about not crying, as if I was somehow letting Black people down, or that I was letting myself down. I felt absolutely no personal connection to the moment, and for me, the queen of emotional responses, that seemed rather odd.
The whole night I felt like I was watching the events unfold from a great emotional distance. Maybe it was the Jack Daniels and diet Cokes I was downing all evening long, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the cause. For whatever reason, I didn’t think I had any right to claim ownership of or participation in this victory, regardless of my ethnic heritage, country of my birth, or the money I donated to the Obama campaign. I think the feeling might be a by-product of living in a different country. It’s like they say, I felt in the moment, but not of it.
What I didn’t expect to feel was a new appreciation for the country I now call home. It hit me that being able to believe that the United States might be able to elect a Black president didn’t come when Barack Obama won Iowa. Instead, it was Michaelle Jean’s appointment to the office of Governor General of Canada that first gave me the power to believe:




I suppose I could chalk this up as evidence of a broadening world view. I could say that if I wanted to put a positive spin on events (and I do). Still, part of me is quite sad that I wasn’t filled with the sense of promise, the scope of possibility, and the new-found spirit of responsibility that many of my friends and family expressed.
I’m holding out hope that I’ll be more properly moved on Inauguration Day.

Find out more about the film at upeople-themovie.com. While you’re there, check out their podcast. Hanifah and Olive are really fun to watch (and are a cute couple, to boot).

Worth watching: this interview with Dr. Maya Angelou that aired on tonight’s CBC News Sunday. A few key quotes:
When asked how she was able to make the distinction between race and gender in politics (which she thinks is irrelevant):

“I’m an intelligent person. I don’t have to follow what is done by other people. I have intelligence, and so I act intelligently.”

When asked whether Oprah Winfrey had asked her why she chose to support Hillary Clinton’s candidacy:

“She knows me. She knows I have a reason.”

When asked whether Oprah had asked her to justify her own political choice:

“Of course not. She knows I have a reason.”

When asked how she would answer critics who claimed she was betraying the African American community by choosing to support Clinton:

“I’m going to do what I think is right. I will do it because I have the courage to do so. Without courage, you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.”

She ends the interview by reciting an excerpt from “Still I Rise.”
(I still think Evan Solomon’s a twerp, but for the most part he did well in this interview.)

Sometimes I think it is as real as all this when it comes to African American Obama supporters

(Graphic by The Dark Wraith, originally spotted at Pam’s House Blend)
Maybe it’s this real for non-Black supporters too, but in the interest of fairness I don’t claim to speak for them.
At this stage in the game, Obama is not my candidate of choice. If he wins the nomination, I will of course support him, but I have to tell you I spend more time worrying about his safety and whether he’ll live to grow up to see his daughters (with all that hair) grow into women.
Maybe this says more about my own (not completely unfounded) ideas on the levels people have gone to in the past to make sure that influential Black voices are silenced. Those in power rarely ever concede that power willingly or peacefully. This isn’t about whether non-Black people will vote for Obama; after all, he’s a Senator from Illinois — the entire state, not just the Southside of Chicago — and he came in first during the Iowa caucuses. He’s electable and likable (thanks, Hil!) and while it’s still too early to call, he seems to have tapped into a particular cultural moment where we not only desire change, but hunger for a symbol that is the antithesis of the American image crafted by Rove, Bush, &Co.
I get that, I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been able to erase the image of Senator Obama in an assassin’s crosshairs since he announced his candidacy.
Maybe the graphic is gallows humor. But you know there’s a small subset of American society for whom violent protest is the only answer to injustice. It may well be tongue in cheek, but there’s a part of me that thinks not only is it true, but that I might end up enaging in a little civil disobedience myself should the unspeakable happen to Senator – or President – Obama.

An oldie but a goodie from 2003.

From Wellman, B. Salaff, J. Dimitrova, D., Garton, L. , Gulia, M. and Haythornthwaite, C. (1996). “Computer Networks as Social Networks: Collaborative Work, Telework and Virtual Community”. Annual Review of Sociology, 22, 213-238.

Although contemporary people in the western world may know 1000 others, they actively maintain only about 20 community ties (Kochen 1989). Easy access to distribution lists and computerized conferences should enable participants to maintain more ties, including more strong ties. Communication also comes unsolicited through distribution lists, newsgroups, and forwarded messages from friends. These provide indirect contact between previously disconnected people, allowing them to establish direct contact. Newsgroups and distribution lists also provide permeable, shifting sets of members, with more intense relationships continued by private e-mail. The resulting relaxation of constraints on the size and proximity of one’s personal community can increase the diversity of people encountered (Lea & Spears 1995). Thus the Net facilitates forming new connections between people and virtual communities.
The relative lack of social presence on-line fosters relationships with Net members who have more diverse social characteristics than are normally encountered in person. It also gives participants more control over the timing and content of their self-disclosures (Walther 1995). This allows relationships to develop on the basis of shared interests rather than to be stunted at the onset by differences in social status (Coate 1994, Hiltz & Turoff 1993, Jones 1995, Kollock & Smith 1996a). This is a technologically supported continuation of a longterm shift to communities organized by shared interests rather than by shared neighborhoods or kinship groups (Fischer 1975, Wellman 1979, 1994). When their shared interests are important to them, those involved in the same virtual community may have more in common than those who live in the same building or block (Rheingold 1993). Indeed, people have strong commitments to their on-line groups when they perceive them to be long-lasting (Walther 1994). There is a danger, though, that virtual communities may develop homogeneous interests (Lea & Spears 1992). Furthermore, the similarity of social characteristics of most current Net participants also fosters cultural homogeneity.
This emphasis on shared interests rather than social characteristics can be empowering for members of lower-status and disenfranchised social categories (Mele 1996). Yet although social characteristics have become less apparent on CSSNs (computer supported social networks), they still affect interactions. Women often receive special attention from males (Shade 1994, Herring 1993, O’Brien 1996). In part, this is a function of the high ratio of men to women on-line. “Reveal your gender on the Net and you’re toast” claims one (fictional) female participant (Coupland 1995:334).

Although this piece predates blogging (as we now know it) by at least three years, I find that it offers an extraordinarily prescient analyisis of how text-based computer supported social networks (CSSNs) influence and shape digital communities. Despite the authors’ failure to specifically tailor their analysis to racially and ethnically homogenous virtual communities, the idea that CSSNs can provide an avenue for creating strong personal communal ties is especially interesting to me when one considers the role of black bloggers in the blogosphere.

First, a bit of history: I’ve maintained an online presence in some form since 1993, when I created my very first “homepage” on GSU’s servers. I bought my first domain name in 1996, and at some time after that, I became a member of the Digital Divas (are they even still around?). When I posted some of my earlier diadactical writings online, I never expected to reach an audience; I mainly used it as a way to teach myself how to write HTML. Yet in the back of my mind, I believed that women’s voices — especially the voices of black, feminist, queer-identified women — were not being heard (or aired) in the vast amount of communication happening online. So while I didn’t really expect an audience, I felt a sense of duty to join the fray.

In 1996 or 1997, a young woman from North Carolina e-mailed me and told me how much she enjoyed my writing. Little did I know that this woman would later drive for hours just to attend my wedding in 2001 — even though she and I had never met before. Other black women reached out, providing me with my first real sense of a loosely-organized network of black women whose lives were somehow connected through wires, circuitry, and a desire to say to the world — just like Miss Celie did — that I’m here.

Skipping ahead a few years, it was quite a long time before I became aware of any brother bloggers. I wasn’t sure if it was just that I didn’t know any black men who had the same compulsion/desire/ambition/sense of obligation that the sisters did, or if brothers, being brothers, believed that they had to affect the same cool pose online as they do in real life. Then G. showed up in my inbox, and, well, we all know how much he’s changed not only my life, but how he’s touched countless others. After G. broke down that fourth wall, brothers started coming out of the woodwork, stopped in, said hello, and extended a “soul-dap” of comraderie. They’re here, too.

We’ve clearly arrived — just look at the link lists of any black blogger, and you’ll see a number of other black bloggers linked. Still, the question remains: what exactly is the role of the black blogger? In my mind, the role is as difficult to classify as we are but I believe that the one motivating factor that ties most of us — if not all of us — together is a desire to put an end to the notion that cyberspace is colourblind. Regardless of our politics, sexual orientations, and personal motivations, our very presence adds — if you’ll forgive me — a dash of colour to the normalized “whiteness” that exists online. For some of us, our racial identity is paramount. Others may prefer to live a somewhat deracialized existence, and offer few if any clues that indicate any sort of racial or ethnic allegiance. Yet we’ve somehow created this rather loosely organized network where we link to (mostly) the same people, and read (mostly) the same weblogs. Individually we decided upon the degree to which we’d disclose the details of our personal lives. We create relationships online and off, and by and large, we’re a convivial group of geographically, sexually, politically and ideologically diverse individuals who share not only melanin, but a desire to see (ourselves) and be seen (by ourselves and others).

The degree to which we interact with each other varies widely. In that sense, it may be absurd to think of black bloggers as a virtual social network in the way that we may view MetaFilter, Television Without Pity, or Rate Your Music members. Those communities are organized in a central location and based on a common interest. In my mind, community takes different forms, and in a healthy community, people have the option to participate to the degree that they’re most comfortable, even if that means that they don’t participate at all. Whether you’re on the margins (by choice or by chance), or right there in the middle of things, your very presence makes you a part of this community. G. said once that his definition of “black” is anything that is done by a black person – an explanation that leaves room for a plethora of interpretations. One must first ask “What is a black person?” In our post-Tiger Woods “cablinasian” multi-culti reality, how can we begin to make sense of what it means to be black in this millennium? If we can’t come to a consensus on what or who is a “black” person, how can we even hope to give significance to the term “black blogger”?

Where some might see a challenge, or a confusing mish-mash of identity politics, I see hope. What is different about this community is that our community standard is very loosely organized, so loose in fact, that one might say that the only ticket of entry is the one drop rule. The freedom that comes from online interaction has enabled this community of black bloggers to take steps away from essentialist notions of blackness that can be at once stifling and nurturing. Blackness is whatever the individual says it is, and if we don’t come up with an acceptable answer that conforms to “community” standards, well then, that’s okay.

Discuss: what does it mean to be a black blogger?

And Cornel for Veep!

Riffing on one of my favorite childhood books/animated films:
Isn’t it great
That I articulate?
Isn’t it grand
That you can understand?
I don’t grunt, I don’t oink
I don’t even squeak or squawk
When I wanna say a something
I open up and talk!
Joe Biden’s recent gaffe is not as innocent or poorly thought out as some people may believe. In fact, calling a person of African descent “articulate” is probably one of the most damning and limiting critiques you can level at a person. It is an incredibly racialized comment, and while some folks of the Caucasian persuasion may think that it is an innocent and well-meant compliment, their continued use of the term to describe (highly) educated African Americans clearly reveals their low expectations and not-quite hidden prejudices.
As someone who has been told that she reminds white folks of Oprah Winfrey, Condoleezza Rice, Patti LaBelle, and Carole Moseley Braun, I can’t convey just how weary these comparisons make me. It is as if for these people, my rhetorical and verbal skills make me a rare breed. I’m that ‘one in a million’ black woman who can get her point across clearly — I can “articulate”, in other words — and this quality delights white people so, that they simply must remark on my talents.
If you’re confused about whether you should use this word to describe a Black person, Lynette Clemetson offers these handy tips for you to consider before you open your mouth and insert your well-shod foot:

Do not use it as the primary attribute of note for a black person if you would not use it for a similarly talented, skilled or eloquent white person. Do not make it an outsized distinction for Brown University’s president, Ruth Simmons, if you would not for the University of Michigan’s president, Mary Sue Coleman. Do not make it the sole basis for your praise of the actor Forest Whitaker if it would never cross your mind to utter it about the expressive Peter O’Toole.

Well said, indeed.