New novel (First draft completed) 8.29.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, titled “Unravel.”

A synopsis: 

 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

 

The final chapters are the following:

Chapter 13 Click here to read.

Chapter 14 Click here to read.

Chapter 15 Click here to read.

Chapter 16 Click here to read.

Chapter 17 Click here to read.

I didn’t include excerpts this time because I think you as the reader will gain more by not knowing what’s to be expected.

Also, as I make clear in each chapter, these are very rough drafts. Unlike other chapters, Chapter 13-17 were left unedited due to life getting in the way and not finding the time or energy just yet.

Either way, the first draft of my novel is completed and I thank everyone for the encouragement and support!

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 6

Excerpt:

 

After an assignment interviewing owners of a Italian/Thai fusion restaurant, which was opened in the neighborhood closest to the Holland Tunnel where most of the newer residents lived, the ones who wore sunglasses on cloudy days as well as khakis and sandals, Naima stopped at a C-Town in Journal Square. She was on her way to the office, but feeling thirsty, hungry and her contacts were irritating her eyes. The C-Town was next to a row of apartment buildings and convenience stores, and the aisles were filled with Caribbean and Indian spices. Naima grabbed a Snapple from the freezer and was ready to pop it open on the spot. However, she stepped aside, allowing a family and their shopping cart to get through, and caught a glimpse of a face in the corner of her eye. She quickly hid behind a column of Reese’s Puffs cereal and Ramen noodles.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 7

Excerpt:

Naima rushed down the stairs, her coat flying like a cape. She jumped off the last steps and grabbed the door knob.

“What are you doing?” Subhash said.

“I’m late,” she replied, gasping for breath.

Subhash was at the top landing.

“It’s still out there,” he said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 8

Excerpt:

 

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a bright flash blinded. He collapsed. Struggling to breathe, he dug his nails into the asphalt, unable to break through. The sky was gray, clouds gliding like fumes.

Soon, the sound of tires screaming echoed. And the smell of freshly cut grass disappeared.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 9

Excerpt:

Naima snapped pictures and turned on the car. Suddenly, there was screaming and Tulsi bolted awake.

“What’s going on? Where’s Rhona?”

“Keep your head down.”

Naima picked up speed, finding the nearest entrance to the turnpike. Tulsi turned around, and Naima boomed, “Keep your head down!”

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 10

Excerpt:

“He smelled like garlic,” Grace said as she grabbed a bag of weed from a drawer and stuffed it into her bra.

After she left, Subhash tickled Naima, until they both were under the sheets, while music and voices from the other rooms reverberated.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 11

Excerpt:

Subhash rushed into the hallway, and Naima found him splashing water on his face in the kitchen sink.

“I can’t believe that fucker!”

“Lower your voice…”

“You all remember what that monster did to us right? How he made high-school a living hell!”

Naima took a step forward and Subhash’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Let’s finish the meeting.”

“I can’t.”

“Please. This is not helping.”

Subhash turned around and opened the back door that led into the parking lot. Naima paused before returning to the conference room to write notes.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 12

Excerpt:

Subhash glowered as he went to the wall. Naima was a few feet away and wasn’t allowed any closer.

“Show me I.D.” the officer said and Subhash handed it to him.

Subhash waited.

The officer asked where Subhash was going.

Click here to read more.

New novel (updated) 7.30.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, titled “Unravel.”

A synopsis: 

 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

 

Chapters 10, 11, and 12 are the latest that I’ve added and are all from Section II. The first nine chapters are Section I. Section III, which I’ll be working on soon, is the final part.

CHAPTER 10

Excerpt:

“He smelled like garlic,” Grace said as she grabbed a bag of weed from a drawer and stuffed it into her bra.

After she left, Subhash tickled Naima, until they both were under the sheets, while music and voices from the other rooms reverberated.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 11

Excerpt:

Subhash rushed into the hallway, and Naima found him splashing water on his face in the kitchen sink.

“I can’t believe that fucker!”

“Lower your voice…”

“You all remember what that monster did to us right? How he made high-school a living hell!”

Naima took a step forward and Subhash’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Let’s finish the meeting.”

“I can’t.”

“Please. This is not helping.”

Subhash turned around and opened the back door that led into the parking lot. Naima paused before returning to the conference room to write notes.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 12

Excerpt:

Subhash glowered as he went to the wall. Naima was a few feet away and wasn’t allowed any closer.

“Show me I.D.” the officer said and Subhash handed it to him.

Subhash waited.

The officer asked where Subhash was going.

Click here to read more.

 

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

 

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 6

Excerpt:

 

After an assignment interviewing owners of a Italian/Thai fusion restaurant, which was opened in the neighborhood closest to the Holland Tunnel where most of the newer residents lived, the ones who wore sunglasses on cloudy days as well as khakis and sandals, Naima stopped at a C-Town in Journal Square. She was on her way to the office, but feeling thirsty, hungry and her contacts were irritating her eyes. The C-Town was next to a row of apartment buildings and convenience stores, and the aisles were filled with Caribbean and Indian spices. Naima grabbed a Snapple from the freezer and was ready to pop it open on the spot. However, she stepped aside, allowing a family and their shopping cart to get through, and caught a glimpse of a face in the corner of her eye. She quickly hid behind a column of Reese’s Puffs cereal and Ramen noodles.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 7

Excerpt:

Naima rushed down the stairs, her coat flying like a cape. She jumped off the last steps and grabbed the door knob.

“What are you doing?” Subhash said.

“I’m late,” she replied, gasping for breath.

Subhash was at the top landing.

“It’s still out there,” he said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 8

Excerpt:

 

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a bright flash blinded. He collapsed. Struggling to breathe, he dug his nails into the asphalt, unable to break through. The sky was gray, clouds gliding like fumes.

Soon, the sound of tires screaming echoed. And the smell of freshly cut grass disappeared.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 9

Excerpt:

Naima snapped pictures and turned on the car. Suddenly, there was screaming and Tulsi bolted awake.

“What’s going on? Where’s Rhona?”

“Keep your head down.”

Naima picked up speed, finding the nearest entrance to the turnpike. Tulsi turned around, and Naima boomed, “Keep your head down!”

Click here to read more.

New novel (updated) 7.11.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, titled “Unravel.”

A synopsis: 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

Chapter 9 is the latest one that I wrote and added.

CHAPTER 9

Excerpt:

Naima snapped pictures and turned on the car. Suddenly, there was screaming and Tulsi bolted awake.

“What’s going on? Where’s Rhona?”

“Keep your head down.”

Naima picked up speed, finding the nearest entrance to the turnpike. Tulsi turned around, and Naima boomed, “Keep your head down!”

Click here to read more.

 

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

 

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 6

Excerpt:

 

After an assignment interviewing owners of a Italian/Thai fusion restaurant, which was opened in the neighborhood closest to the Holland Tunnel where most of the newer residents lived, the ones who wore sunglasses on cloudy days as well as khakis and sandals, Naima stopped at a C-Town in Journal Square. She was on her way to the office, but feeling thirsty, hungry and her contacts were irritating her eyes. The C-Town was next to a row of apartment buildings and convenience stores, and the aisles were filled with Caribbean and Indian spices. Naima grabbed a Snapple from the freezer and was ready to pop it open on the spot. However, she stepped aside, allowing a family and their shopping cart to get through, and caught a glimpse of a face in the corner of her eye. She quickly hid behind a column of Reese’s Puffs cereal and Ramen noodles.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 7

Excerpt:

Naima rushed down the stairs, her coat flying like a cape. She jumped off the last steps and grabbed the door knob.

“What are you doing?” Subhash said.

“I’m late,” she replied, gasping for breath.

Subhash was at the top landing.

“It’s still out there,” he said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 8

Excerpt:

 

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a bright flash blinded. He collapsed. Struggling to breathe, he dug his nails into the asphalt, unable to break through. The sky was gray, clouds gliding like fumes.

Soon, the sound of tires screaming echoed. And the smell of freshly cut grass disappeared.

Click here to read more.

New novel (updated)6.26.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, titled “Unravel.”

A synopsis: 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

Chapter 8 is the latest one that I wrote and added. The rest are below, if you are interested and want to check up.

 

CHAPTER 8

Excerpt:

 

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a bright flash blinded. He collapsed. Struggling to breathe, he dug his nails into the asphalt, unable to break through. The sky was gray, clouds gliding like fumes.

Soon, the sound of tires screaming echoed. And the smell of freshly cut grass disappeared.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 6

Excerpt:

 

After an assignment interviewing owners of a Italian/Thai fusion restaurant, which was opened in the neighborhood closest to the Holland Tunnel where most of the newer residents lived, the ones who wore sunglasses on cloudy days as well as khakis and sandals, Naima stopped at a C-Town in Journal Square. She was on her way to the office, but feeling thirsty, hungry and her contacts were irritating her eyes. The C-Town was next to a row of apartment buildings and convenience stores, and the aisles were filled with Caribbean and Indian spices. Naima grabbed a Snapple from the freezer and was ready to pop it open on the spot. However, she stepped aside, allowing a family and their shopping cart to get through, and caught a glimpse of a face in the corner of her eye. She quickly hid behind a column of Reese’s Puffs cereal and Ramen noodles.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 7

Excerpt:

Naima rushed down the stairs, her coat flying like a cape. She jumped off the last steps and grabbed the door knob.

“What are you doing?” Subhash said.

“I’m late,” she replied, gasping for breath.

Subhash was at the top landing.

“It’s still out there,” he said.

Click here to read more.

New novel (updated)6.05.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, the title of which I’ve changed. Its former name was Tulsi. Now, I am calling it “Unravel.”

So far, I’ve posted the chapters I was able to complete on my other blog. But I figured to include links for you lovely people to check out as well, since this where I post my short stories and creative projects.

A synopsis: 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

New novel (updated)5.19.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, the title of which I’ve changed. Its former name was Tulsi. Now, I am calling it “Unravel.”

So far, I’ve posted the chapters I was able to complete on my other blog. But I figured to include links for you lovely people to check out as well, since this where I post my short stories and creative projects.

A synopsis: 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

New novel: TULSI

I am working on a new novel, which I tentatively titled Tulsi.

So far, I’ve posted the chapters I was able to complete on my other blog. But I figured to include links for you lovely people to check out as well, since this where I post my short stories and creative projects.

A synopsis: 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

Naima and the Return of the Radical

 

 

Ida B Wells
Ida B. Wells (Image from Google)

INTRODUCTION

Sandra Bland. Rekia Boyd. Sarah Lee Circle Bear. These are some of the victims of state violence, their bodies crushed under the patriarchal and white supremacist regime of the United States of America.

Click here to learn more about Sarah Circle Bear

Click here to learn more about Sandra Bland

Their personal stories shed light on the shameful nature of the U.S., how it continues to chew up and spit out women, and people of color. Yet, Bland, Boyd, and Bear have yet to garner major mainstream feminist or liberal reaction. Instead, they are made into moments (if lucky) for the news to dissect until moving onto discussions of Donald Trump’s hair, or perhaps for certain bleeding hearts to mention over plates of Asian fusion. Ultimately, Bland and others like her, risk being expunged from the mainstream feminist narrative altogether.

With the rise of the so-called third wave, many who consider themselves part of the feminist movement continue their search for successes anywhere they can. In the process, figures such as Carly Fiorina and Marissa Mayer are held up as examples of strong, independent women, who embody the principles of feminism. Women CEOs, women directors and writers of Hollywood, and women in seats of power, are depicted often in magazine and on TV, and are more widely accepted as norms. Even some feminists believe that the use of the term “sexism” by modern conservatives is proof “that feminism was not only far from dead but was in a state of growth.”[1] Somehow, the fact that there are more women leading corporations, and even those who are conservatives (women and men included) admitting there is sexism in our society has been a win for the movement.

I agree that feminism remains a viable force, but such examples of “enlightened” behavior by conservative women and men should not be perceived as progress nor is the acceptance of women at elite institutions and Fortune 500 companies, but should serve as a warning that feminism, at this very moment, is at risk of being co-opted by the status quo, similar to what has happened to the civil rights movement and the LGBT fight for equality. Like Bland, Boyd, and Bear, the necessary elements of feminism that are both radical and visionary are being subsumed by convenient thinking.

            THE SYMBOLIC AS INSPIRATIONAL

It was Nov. 4, 2008, when Senator Barack Obama became President of the United States. The scene took place on a stage in Chicago, where Obama and his family waved to a crowd of roaring supporters.

I was an undergrad then, my eyes focused on the TV screen in my dorm. I couldn’t believe what was happening so I called a friend, and we gushed over all the possibilities that were before us now. As two South Asian-Americans, we saw a vision of ourselves that night.

I understood how it felt to see someone who looks like you, talks like you, and even walks like you, become a success. Whenever I think back to instances when our family was called “terrorists” in broad daylight, or the times our home was vandalized, images of people like Obama steered me away from a sense of hopelessness and despair.

It is rational for feminists, especially young girls, to look up to someone. “For symbols are entwined with identity. They lead people to choose one identity over another, and they are emitted after the choice, like little radio waves, reinforcing that choice, setting the stage for others, and reaching out to influence other people, who will then change their identity…and so forth.”[2]

Just imagine a young girl growing up in New Jersey, someone who’s been teased at school for being too nerdy and who can’t connect to even members of her own family. Just picture her reading a biography of Hillary Clinton for a class project, or maybe even Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In.  Suddenly, she doesn’t feel alone. She finds meaning and a guiding light in women who are excellent at what they do.

But there are limits.

For example, I am not able to muster that same feeling of awe that I have for Obama for someone like a Bobby Jindal. They may share the same shade, but when I do a simple pro and con list in my head, it’s obvious that Jindal’s negative affects for people of color overwhelm the positives.

The same can be said of Sandberg, Fiorina, and Palin.

Therefore, does it matter if someone who is part of the corporate hierarchy and power structure uses phrases such as “feminism” and “sexism”? Or does it matter more how he or she helps to paper over the racism, sexism, and homophobia that pervades our society by being the poster-child of so-called progress?

 

THE REMAINS

            Because of feminism, women’s (and men’s) lives have vastly improved. From suffrage to improving equality under the law, it’s been women with big ideas who’ve sacrificed on the front lines for all of us.

Yet, their work is far from over.

According to the recent Global Gender Gap Report, the “global average full-time salary for a working woman currently stands at $11,102 a year, just over half of the working man’s average salary of $20,554.” The United States ranked 28th in the world in terms of equal pay.[3] Women are barely represented in the upper echelons of the corporate hierarchy. In fact, there has been focus on this lack of diversity by business leaders such as Sandberg, who’s promoted research that shows this gender-gap that seems to expand as employees are promoted from entry-level positions onto executive. [4] Oftentimes, women are simply left behind and not given the same opportunities to move up.

According to RAINN (Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network), which is an anti-sexual violence organization, 1 out of 6 U.S. women have “been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime.”[5] In fact, “27.2 percent of female college seniors reported that, since entering college, they had experienced some kind of unwanted sexual contact — anything from touching to rape — carried out by incapacitation, usually due to alcohol or drugs, or by force. Nearly half of those, 13.5 percent, had experienced penetration, attempted penetration or oral sex.”[6]

In terms of political power, the 114th Congress is 80 percent male in both the house and the senate.[7] And after the Republicans took over, fewer women were leading committees.[8]

Reproductive rights, including the access to safe abortions and birth-control, has also been a victim of what I’d like to describe as the “one-step forward, two steps back” approach that’s been a part of the American social and political climate since its founding. Yes, having an abortion s might be more accepted than decades ago, when Roe v. Wade was even decided. And of course, younger women and more men understand the importance of having more than just one abortion clinic in a state, and for health insurance to cover expenses for birth control, despite condemnation from right-leaning religious institutions. Still, abortion rights remain a contentious issue and one that is perceived by conservatives as morally wrong and which requires stringent regulation and condemnation. Men on the political right are often the ones who have led the attack on reproductive rights, from bombing abortion clinics to even murdering doctors. Conservative men in power continue to make organizations like Planned Parenthood, who provide affordable access to birth control and healthcare for lower-income women, the target of their rage (I could go Freudian on the reasons why but I resist).

Every month, there’s a hearing in Congress about how abortion equates to murder and that the women who go to clinics are tricked. When I was a reporter in D.C., I also had the dubious honor of sitting in for one of these hearings. This time, it was about Congress deciding to limit abortions in the nation’s capital. Locals were upset because A) D.C. doesn’t have any real representation and so these politicians are from outside the region, and B) D.C. is a more liberal area and access to abortion is synonymous with healthcare and dignity. I was placed in the section reserved for journalists, and jotted down notes for my article, as one by one, opinions were delivered on how awful abortion were and how risky it can be for the fetus, which to them, was alive and able to feel pain. The person in charge of the hearing was Trent Franks, a representative from Arizona. He and his colleagues were all men.[9]

Since 2010, over 280 restrictive laws on abortion were passed, reducing the number of clinics available to women who need them. In Texas, for instance, half of its abortion clinics were shut down since 2012, decreasing from 41 to only 20. [10] Even in states where abortion is legal, there are limits on the number of months or weeks when a woman can decide to have one, and places where it’s actively discouraged. [11]

 

WHO NEEDS ENEMIES WHEN YOU HAVE FRIENDS LIKE THESE

            As I’ve mentioned, it’s been mostly conservative men who’ve been obsessed over controlling women’s bodies, and who’ve always been against the so-called feminization of American culture. It’s been men who’ve controlled the national discussion, who’ve been at the locus of power when it comes to what views are seen as legitimate or not. It’s been men who’ve decided that sexual assault in the military is not a problem that merits real change in legislation. It’s been the men in corporations who’ve expanded their wealth and influence, causing communities to crumble because of their growing selfishness. And it’s been men who’ve sown divisions all across the globe, based on such things as race, class, and religion.

The U.S. itself was officially founded by men. They called it a democracy, without giving the right to vote to women. Even when the right was finally achieved in the early 1900s, not all women could enjoy it. Women were also constantly denied their full acceptance in a patriarchal society that saw them as property, as objects to maneuver. What women wanted was simple: to work outside the home, to go to college, to achieve the American Dream. Over time, such things began to be achieved. Feminism pushed forward the need for substantive reform to allow women the same access to resources as men.

Now, we live in an age where women are CEOs of major companies like Pepsi, where women are in the leading roles for TV shows and even directors of big-budget movies. We live in a society that has women running for the highest political office in both major political parties. Yet, certain voices are constantly being hidden. Certain women and their needs are marked as unnecessary.

So, here lies the problem: Feminism is being replaced with a generic, apolitical version of itself, a version that accepts women who are helping to shore up the status quo instead of encouraging radical and necessary change.

NAIMA

Here we bring back the young girl from New Jersey. For the sake of specificity (and because I hate imagining an issue without context), let’s say she grew up in East Brunswick. East Brunswick, like most suburbs in the state, especially those in central and the northern parts, is quintessentially Americana: homes that look the same, a shopping mall where to drop off your angsty teen, and random trees between intersections and roads that all seem to cross into one another. Also, in order to make this more human and less academic, we can give this young girl a name: Naima.

Now, Naima’s dad is an architect, who commutes into Manhattan for his job, and her mom works part-time as an accountant. Mostly, once Naima was born, her mother stayed home to take care of her. Their lives were like everyone else’s in the neighborhood, weekdays filled with school assignments and family dinners, and weekends mostly for shopping for groceries and perhaps an occasional outing at one of the other larger shopping malls in the area or to a park.

As mentioned, Naima felt different. She felt estranged. She had friends at school, those who liked to read as much as she did, and who enjoyed spending hours at the library. She also liked the usual things that any young person cares about, such as gaining the attention of their crush, watching movies and making jokes, and trying not to stumble in the school hallway and make an ass of herself. But even though Naima did a very good job of trying not to embarrass herself in front of her peers, she still felt distance from them.

Naima’s mom is an influence. Her mother taught Naima to be self-reliant. Her father did the same, although he forbade Naima from going on dates until she was 18. Regardless, Naima made it through high-school to attend Rutgers. At the start of her new experience of living on her own, she’s felt alone once more. While in larger crowds, she wore a smile, and tried to keep up with the conversation. But nothing seemed worthwhile. Nothing seemed real to her just yet. But that all began to change as she took political science courses and her professors assigned her books she’d never heard of. She would read them from front to back in a matter of hours. Sometimes, she kept reading even when her bus passed her stop. It didn’t matter. She was beginning to feel a connection.

She also started to pick up new words that she hadn’t previously expanded on, such as “feminist.” She already knew about Hillary Clinton. After all, she was on the debate team at her school, and knew about world issues. Yet, now, she’s reading about the former Secretary of State, and discovers other women too, who helped define their generations. It was 2015, and for every Democratic debate, Naima was in front of the TV, keeping mental notes at every word uttered by Clinton to the crowd.

The excitement was real for Naima. Her mind and body were changed. She visits home and talks about all the new stuff she’s learning to her parents. They always encouraged her to be who she was and were always proud so they listen. But of course, they sometimes don’t react the way that Naima wants. Her father, for instance, was often worried about his job, and even her mother seemed to care more about the neighbors.

“It’s terrible what’s happening to this generation,” her mother would usually say after providing another example of doomed youth.

Naima’s father would nod, and use his fork to gather the spinach.

Naima herself, however, would glare at her plate, but wouldn’t say a word.

By the end of her first semester, Naima began to volunteer at clinics that provided healthcare services to women in New Brunswick. She began to meet people unlike her, people who didn’t grow up with everything they needed. New Brunswick itself had changed, according to the many patients who’d come in. They’d talk about the gentrification that was taking place, the new hookah shops and frozen yogurt places that replaced old businesses, the sudden influx of outsiders who never suffered through the worst times but were now enjoying the city’s revival.

Naima still watched the debates when she could, but most of her time was taken up by volunteering and class. Also, it was the words of the women at the clinic which echoed in her head instead of someone like Clinton’s. Soon, Naima heard about another woman whose now in the national spotlight for what critics described as a winning performance in the latest Republican debates. That person’s name was Carly Fiorina.

Naima was never a Republican. Her parents and friends weren’t liberals either but strong Democrats. She tried to understand the appeal of Fiorina. She watched the latest Republican debate on YouTube, and paid extra attention to whatever Fiorina had to say. Admittedly, Naima felt some energy and pride seeing a woman on stage, able to hold her own against the men. But those feelings begin to fade. Fiorina derided Planned Parenthood and declared that they needed to be defunded. Naima topped the video and stared at the image of Fiorina. All Naima could think about were the women at the clinic. Naima decided to return to reading for class, but like a bit of sunlight in the early morning, her thoughts began to expand. Over the next couple of weeks, she retraced her intellectual steps. She read more about Susan B. Anthony. She learned about how early suffragists were against citizenship for black Americans. She was not startled by this. She had some clue. As a person of color (her mom was black American and her father was a child of Haitian immigrants) she knew that she was treated differently based on how she looked. Memories of her time in high-school sometimes blinded her when she’d watch a video of yet another black man or woman gunned down by the police. She remembered the other students, especially the white ones (and their Asian friends), who’d tell her she wasn’t “really black” or that she was going to have kids by the end of high-school.

Naima isn’t confused or distant like before. Instead, she asked for suggestions about what else to read by her professors, and they’d start listing names of people she heard of but never bothered to check out. One of her mentors, Professor Chatterjee, who expected everyone to call her with the full pronunciation (No Anglo shortcuts, as she would say), shared with Naima a list of books by people named Audre Lorde, and Kimberle Crenshaw. She dove into the pages, like a fish returning to the sea.

Fiorina was a fading image. So was Condoleezza Rice. So was Lena Dunham (Naima tried to watch the show but ended up switching over to an episode of Daredevil on Netflix). Naima was working more at the clinic, and as she was completing her requirements at school, she decided to also join other organizations on-campus, including those that dealt with race and class oppression.

At dinner, one night, while Naima was visiting her parents over Thanksgiving break, her mom was telling them about the new secretary at their job.

“She was dressed so oddly, just nothing she wore made sense,” her mom said, “and the way she talked was weird. No class. Absolutely none.”

Naima tried not to interrupt. She played with her beans instead. But every minute that passed by increased her level of discomfort.

Finally, she couldn’t keep it in.

“Was she black?” Naima asked.

Her mom arched an eyebrow. “Why does that matter?”

Naima explained that maybe the woman couldn’t afford better clothes, or grew up someplace where such codes of etiquette were different for her.

“Honey, your dad and I grew up in the worst parts of Brooklyn, and we always learned how to talk and act respectfully,” Naima’s mother said. “This woman is lost. She needs manners.”

“But why are you so concerned about how she’s dressed? Would you do the same if she was a man?”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say. This is someone at work. You don’t even know her.”

“Neither do you…”

“Naima,” her father exclaimed.

Naima paused.

“What’s going on?” her father asked.

“What do you mean?” Naima replied.

“Your father and I are concerned about you lately,” her mother added. “You’re always out now.”

“I’m at the clinic…”

“We know about the protests you’ve been doing.”

“Why are you changing the subject?” Naima said.

“I’m not changing anything,” her mother answered. “We’re just worried that you’re getting distracted from your main goal.”

“We don’t want you to jeopardize your chances at law school,” her father said.

Naima lowered her head, her eyes still narrowed.

“Maybe I don’t want to go to law school,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me?” her mother said.

Naima glared at her mom, and repeated what she said, causing both her parents to exchange glances over the table.

Naima’s mother took a deep breath.

“What about becoming strong and independent? Like Sandberg?” her mother said.

“Sandberg’s advice is dumb,” Naima said. “It only works for white women like her.”

“We know…but, if you work hard, anything is possible…”

“But for what? For whom? Mom…if I become a lawyer, I’ll probably end up doing corporate law to pay for the debt I’d be in and end up like everyone else…”

“Being successful? What’s wrong with that?”

“No, dad. Being another bourgeoisie parasite. The problems in our country are big. The country is the problem actually.”

“What about Hillary Clinton?”

“She’s an imperialist.”

“Wait, you love her…”

“I still…I dunno…I mean, I don’t like her like I did.”

“But what about having a career?”

“Mom…”

“You can write books, and become famous and —”

“Mom!”

The room was silent.

Her parents just stared.

Naima knew she was on thin-ice. Her parents were not used to this but neither were they immune.

She composed herself, and told them, “Do you know what it’s like growing up here for me? Do you know what’s it’s like to be in a classroom and people are making watermelon jokes or that the only time you get to read about people who look like you is when you learn about slavery? Do you know what that’s like? To be stuck there.”

Her parents had no reaction. Naima got up, apologized, and went up to her room, where she was surrounded by posters of Hillary Clinton smiling on a stage.

 

YOUR WORLD IS ENDING

            Ultimately, nothing in the U.S. changes unless enough people are willing to sacrifice. Women wouldn’t have gained the right to vote, unless they stood up in front of crowds of angry men and demanded to be heard. Black Americans wouldn’t have earned chances at freedom if it weren’t for all those who put themselves between their communities and the police. LGBT community wouldn’t have reached its level of current mainstream acceptance unless for the bricks thrown at Stonewall. People took political stances. They weren’t just interested in fighting for tolerance or acceptance. They were fighting for their existence.

The civil rights movement, for example, was an ongoing struggle since the day black men and women were made to work in the fields. They weren’t slaves from Africa. They were Africans turned into slaves. It was a political project, one that sought to condition them to become instruments of labor. But even then, there were always revolts. Political awakenings took place, where black men and women understood that the way they were living wasn’t just painful and traumatic, but wrong, and unjustified.

The movement for civil and political rights would have moments in the spotlight, and it would experience lulls as well. But there was never a time when no one was speaking out or trying to raise the consciousness. Most importantly, as certainly more black Americans found jobs in the industrialized north and parts in the west, they formed coalitions. Labor groups that were once against allowing black men to join began to change their strategy, and view black Americans as allies. Most importantly, leading American thinkers, such as W.E.B. Dubois, Langston Hughes, and Richard Wright, articulated the compounding effects of class, race, and U.S. imperialism abroad (Hughes even wrote poems in support of Indian independence from the British).

What soon became the Black Popular Front formed: “a powerful social movement sparked by the alchemy of laborites, civil rights activists, progressive New Dealers, and black and white radicals, some of whom were associated with the Communist party.”[12] The Popular Front even “encouraged labor feminism, a multiclass, union-oriented strand within the women’s movement in which black women played a central role. Women joined the labor movement in record numbers in the 1940s, and by the end of the decade they had moved into leadership positions.”[13] Similar to the revolts that happened earlier, black and brown people weren’t satisfied with adapting themselves for a system that was built to devalue who they really were.      As opposed to how we’re taught in school about the civil rights era, there was much organizing that happened before mainstream acceptance and radical thought and belief that maintained its momentum through the darkest times. Even Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was a proponent of taking care of the poor, and educated those who’d listen about the hypocrisy of a nation that stole land from Native Americans and handed it over to its white immigrants. Dr. King and his contemporaries were against the war in Vietnam, and in favor of government providing housing, food, and healthcare for its people. Ending discrimination didn’t just mean putting a stop to racial threat but also lifting up the black consciousness and increasing political power.

As Jacquelyn Dowd Hall writes in her seminal work, “The Long Civil Rights Movement and the Political Uses of the Past,” which traces the radical origins of the movement and how it was mollified by powerful liberal and conservative forces: “There was, moreover, nothing minimalist about dismantling Jim Crow, a system built as much on economic exploitation as on de jure and de factor spatial separation. In the minds of movement activists, integration was never about ‘racial mingling’ or ‘merely sitting next to whites in school,’ as it is sometimes caricatured now. Nor did it imply assimilation into static white-defined institutions, however, much whites assumed it did. True integration was and is an expansive and radical goal, not an ending or abolition of something that once was—the legal separation of bodies by race—but a process of transforming institutions and building an equitable, democratic, multiracial, and multiethnic society.”[14]

Eventually, the Cold War paranoia took over the American mainstream. Powerful men such as J. Edgar Hoover utilized that fear over Soviet espionage. Suddenly, civil rights figures were tapped, and socialist and leftist organizations were driven underground through intimidation and divide and conquer tactics. Those who simply criticized the American systems of capitalism, racism, and overall, discrimination were portrayed as anti-patriotic. They were condemned by the public, and often, forced into exile.

Paradoxically, the same conservatives, the Buckleys of the political class, who were against the civil rights movement and supported segregation, were now professing their love for a colorblind society. After Dr. King was assassinated, after Fred Hampton was murdered by the police, after the Black Panthers were torn apart by COINTELPRO, and other people of color who were activists experienced more repression, the conservatives who were in power all along, proclaimed the U.S. was post-race. To them, the fall of Jim Crow, the ability for some black Americans to win elections, for more to vote and become part of everyday mainstream life, was proof that all was well, and the good guys won. Bull Connor was now a villain for kids to learn, like the bogeyman, and Dr. King and others like him were watching down from heaven with wide smiling faces at this sudden utopia.

Phrases like “color-blind” were now used by the conservative and even the liberal mainstream to condemn programs such as affirmative action as reverse racism. The common explanation for this would be: It’s racist to take race/ethnicity into consideration. Everyone should be judged by their merits[15]. By the 80s, Ronald Reagan became President, and championed the delusion that the U.S. was a land of plenty for all. While saying welfare queens from one corner of his mouth, he encouraged Americans to think of themselves as members of the greatest country on earth.[16] Whites picked up these cues and believed the Republicans as the party for them while the Democrats were seen as representing the interests of black Americans.[17] All this while the American establishment felt it matured past the problems of race.

A post-racial society was brought up again after Barack Obama was elected. Those who believed this held up examples of people of color who were now business owners, hedge fund managers, and who were part of the upper class who could send their kids to the best private schools and Ivy League institutions, who’ve made it to the promised land of the upwardly. Any reform was more or less about diversity, about more people of color in boardrooms, about more people of color in positions of power, about more people of color leading the army, managing the U.S. system of governance and control. Immigrants of color also arrived for what they deemed a better life in the U.S. South Asians, East Asians, Arabs, and Persians. They all flocked to the so-called city on the hill for their own chance at a house and a middle class life. Growing up in a South Asian American household, I was taught that what mattered most was becoming a success, which often meant financial. My parents were different. They were the only ones who encouraged me to be a writer and to do what I wanted. Yet, everyone else in our community guided their sons and daughters to keep their head down, to not question how things are.

Up until the recent student protests and the uprisings in Ferguson and Baltimore, the conversation on racial justice was centered on the apolitical ends of diversifying seats of power and not necessarily questioning the system we would be helping to promote and maintain. Similar things have happened to the LGBT movement. Although Stonewall is credited for being the spark for what would become the modern LGBT struggle, much of its real history has been wiped out from public consciousness. Instead of learning about the trans women, and those of color who threw the first bricks at police in response to their abuse and intimidation, we are left with the Human Rights Campaign and GLAAD putting forth image after image of happy and smiling gay men and women, most of whom are white. All they want is access to the American Dream.

Before moving forward, I want to make it abundantly clear: I am not trying to be the next Adolph Reed. I am not interested in punching down and claiming that “identity politics” has ruined us, that somehow the lesbian woman who wants to have her narrative included in the political narrative is somehow at fault for why some social movements and communities haven’t achieved real material change in their everyday lives. First of all, I know that identity politics is just codeword for detractors to use when they really want to say, “those pesky black and brown and gay people who want us to reconsider that maybe Marxism isn’t always the answer.” Second, I do not believe that groups that have been marginalized suddenly have all the power in terms of deciding what’s crucial for the Left to focus on or not. That is ludicrous and plays into the hands of the white elite that control our national and academic discourse. Those who are quick to condemn “identity politics” for allowing groups of people to feel satisfied with marginal representation and gains should worry more about why they feel so viscerally against anyone who disagrees with them, and remind themselves that for someone who hasn’t had much, even owning a TV to view their President, means the world, and that too must be respected. As the great Gloria Anzaldua said: “Many women and men of color do not want to have any dealings with white people. It takes too much time and energy to explain to the downwardly mobile, white middle-class women that it’s okay for us to want to own ‘possessions,’ never had any nice furniture on our dirt floors or ‘luxuries’ like washing machines.” [18]

As much as we can say that class and material gains need to be seen and felt by the people outside our own intellectual bubbles, the dominant narrative and conservative thought are the real problem. This is a discussion meant for those of us who want to see more people of color, more women from all backgrounds, and those with different sexual orientations and religious faiths to steer us back into what can improve all our lives, not appease the white conservative discourse that threatens to consume us. This is for those of us who want to witness the old world dead and new one born in its place.

 

WOMEN WHO CURSE WHILE IN POLITE COMPANY

            Feminism, like civil rights and the LGBT struggle for freedom, is at its heart a political enterprise that threatens the U.S. system of unjust power. The term “feminism” wasn’t always around but women fighting to be heard were. Since the day the U.S. was founded, women of all types, fought against their erasure and control by men and right-wing policies. For instance, it was women like Ida B. Wells who documented the lynchings that took place in the Deep South. It was Emma Goldman who organized laborers against the ruling elite. It was women like Sojourner Truth who challenged the audience at a woman’s conference with the perennial question, “Ain’t I a woman?”

Most importantly, the fight for women’s rights was always linked within multiple struggles. There wasn’t this separation of women from race, from class, and sexuality. Even at Seneca Falls, there were white middle-class women who sought solidarity with black men and women, both free and enslaved. There were black women who were socialist, Communist, and certainly, thinking radically about revolution. There were black men, and Natives who coalesced and fought side-by-side. Frederick Douglas, not only concerned with the freedom of people who looked like him, advocated for Asian immigrants who were being mistreated and killed by xenophobic mobs.[19] Sojourner Truth herself understood that being free meant being outside the domination of white or black men. “There is a great stir,” she once said, “about colored men getting their rights, but not a word about the colored woman; and if colored men get their rights, and not colored women theirs, you see the colored men will be masters over the women, and it will be just as bad as it was before.”[20]

We should be proud of how more women and people of color are being represented in the halls of power, in media, in movies, and entertainment. We should feel pride when a woman becomes CEO, or when a person of color lands a job in a prestigious institution, such as Yale. But whenever there is more representation, there should also be a constant questioning of the dominant narrative, and power structure. There should also be an awareness that such a person, like a Carly Fiorina, can perhaps make it easier for other women to run as a Republican in the future, but without her standing up for reproductive rights or for working women to earn a minimum wage, or honestly, understanding that women of color get paid much, much less than white men or men of any ethnicity, then, what we have in the end, is an apolitical joke, a delusion, an oasis made of sand. We are living in an age of “choice feminism.”

 

THE DOMINANT NARRATIVE

            “Choice feminism” as Michaele L. Ferguson describes, is the belief that anything can be considered feminist “so long as it is accompanied by ‘a political consciousness.’”[21] This can cover almost anything, such as women who want to stay at home after marriage, women who go abroad to fight in the military, and women who even participate in Miss America contests. Choice feminism is apolitical, and to some, is watered down. After all, a woman who is anti-choice can simply code themselves as someone who believes that she is acting on her agency to speak out against the so-called evils of abortion. She might even connect herself to many suffragists of the past, who too thought of alcohol as immoral. She is not wrong. She definitely might care for other women. But in the end, she should not be seen as an example for others to follow. Instead, she’s another version of the apolitical path mainstream feminism is heading down towards.

Choice feminism, and even parts of the third-wave, can be myopic, even though ironically, they claim to be more open than women in the past. “The main criticisms that have so far been levied against choice feminism attack its focus on individual choice. This focus divorces choice from the broader institutional, political, historical, and social contexts in which choices take place. This means that choice feminism obscures how our choices are shaped for us.”[22]

Choice feminism rears its head when we talk about problematic figures such as Sheryl Sandberg, and Marissa Mayer. Granted, Sandberg is a very determined, smart, and open about her belief in the power of feminism. She doesn’t hold back, and should be credited it for that. Again, when Naima learned about Sandberg, she became interested in bigger issues as well. It prompted Naima to research more on feminist thinkers, and what the word actually meant instead of hearing it from other men and women who trafficked in misconceptions and biases. However, Naima read Lean In, and the articles associated with Sandberg. She understood the message, but realized that her experiences were very different from Sandberg’s. As a young black woman who grew up in a town dominated by Asian-Americans and white Americans, she remembered the instances she’d speak up, even during debate class, and have the teacher tell her to calm down, or for the other men, and some women, to nickname her Cookie from Empire. At first, Naima did think it was a compliment that people thought of her as confident and challenging them, since at home and with friends, she more or less, was seen as soft spoken and sometimes, ignored during conversation. Over time, though, she began to feel that even when opening her mouth, people giggled and told her that she was acting like Cookie and moved on.

After the discussion with her parents, Naima decided to make her major officially political science. She’d take more classes that were less about U.S. law and more about African, Asian, and the Latino diaspora. She took more classes with Professor Chatterjee, who continued to introduce new reading material to her. Naima spent hours in her room, highlighting lines by Brittany Cooper, Angela Davis, and Gayatri Spivak.

The dominant narrative, she understood, was one constructed by white men, by right-wing ideologues, and those in the status quo. For the longest time, people believed that America was best for everyone. That it benefited anyone willing to work. Of course, Naima knew this was a lie, even before college. Daily life taught her the truth, and so did what she read about the Trail of Tears, and slavery, and mass genocide perpetrated by the colonists against anyone who resisted or looked differently than them. The dominant narrative was and is a political project. The belief that the U.S. isn’t necessarily perfect but begun with pure ideas, was a political construct, engineered to keep others in their place, and to explain away those who didn’t fit in as just “moochers,” as the lazy underclass. Naima knew that to combat this dominant narrative, which trapped many women, and people of color, one had to actively challenge it.

According to the dominant narrative, the U.S. gave rights to its women through the 19th Amendment, another shining example of its vision as a leading democracy in the world. Second wave was similar, in that they were radical, but reduced issues to “women”, as if all women are the same. The dominant narrative, through its ignoring of women of color and working-class women, is able to provide the mainstream public with a sanitized version of women’s rights. The purging of radicals and those who wanted more than just a seat at the proverbial table are relegated to mere footnotes in essays read by professors and students who have the time and privilege to care.

Naima invited her mother to a teach-in she organized at the Asian-American Cultural Center on Livingston Campus. The students were excited and Naima did a good job of explaining why it was important to see the totality of the big picture. After the seminar, her mother approached her with a smile, and told Naima she was very well-spoken, and after Naima thanked her mom for coming, her mother asked, “But why be against everyone…?” Naima smiled and explained, “I’m not against everything. Not at all. That would be too much. In fact, I’m pro-anything that can free us. I’m not against women in power. I’m against the structure they are in. Marissa Mayer might be a strong woman to emulate, but she’s also someone who doesn’t allow other women and men to have the same rights as she does, while she enjoys her class privileges.[23][24] She is against working families, including many women. I am for them. I am for the removal of the capitalist state. I am for the removal of the racist system we endure. I am for more than what is being offered. Mom, I know it sounds like it’s just me complaining but trust me, I believe in what I am saying. We are neglecting the bigger picture, and reducing our intellectual base and our understanding and our choices and- – -”

Naima’s mother placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re so smart,” her mother said. “A lot of what you say is beyond me.”

Naima nodded and apologized.

Her mother replied, “But you should write it down.”

Naima said she would. Her mother returned home to be there when her father would come home from work.

Naima didn’t forget what her mother said. She did eventually write down her thoughts, hoping to maybe connect them into a speech, or presentation for Professor’s Chatterjee’s class:

Third-wave feminism is not the main issue. Unfortunately, there are strands of it that are being negatively affected by the dominant narrative in the U.S. The dominant forces in the U.S. know that they cannot force back women’s issues back into the bottle. Similar to what they did with the civil rights movement, they will simply try and determine the narrative of what happened as much as they can to lessen the blow. So, any mention of Dr. King as a person who did talk of redistribution of wealth, is gone from the history books. Any mention of Dr. King as someone who was against oppression in the north as well, leading marches through the streets of Chicago, where he’d be spat on, are also missing from our mainstream pages. Instead, what we are left is an image of Dr. King as someone who just hugged everyone, and believed in non-violence. This is important because whenever we do have someone nowadays trying to change the system of racial oppression, they are immediately compared to Dr. King’s image that was manufactured by the system. They are most likely condemned by the mainstream as radical, since they do not understand that people like Dr. King achieved what they achieved without being “divisive.” It is a tool used by the powers that be, from the media to officials to corporate leaders, to contain any real criticism of the way things are. Shun the person who claims that the U.S. system is one built on slavery and should be called out for its crimes. Make that person look like a joke. Remind everyone of Dr. King and contain the narrative.

            Similarly, women should be happy that Kathryn Bigelow wins the Oscar for best director, or Sarah Palin is revered. Anyone who points out that these women are white, privileged women, are pushed to the fringe. Women should not ask bigger questions of why is it we have such inequality in our society when we are so wealthy, or why is it that we, as a country, bomb others without hesitation. What about capitalism? What about those women who cannot afford daycare and must work two and three jobs to keep afloat in this American nightmare? Yes, it is imperative that women and men can choose what to do, which wasn’t always possible in the past. But that cannot be the end of our discussion, and exalting bourgeoisie success covers up the necessary changes we need in our society. “A feminism informed by conservative political philosophy might include conservatism’s emphasis on the idea that ought implies can. As a result, such a feminism might adopt a conservative anti-utopian principle. That principle says that a recommendation for social change must be based on confidence that change can be made, and that it would be good for people, as they are, for it to be made. […] This feminism would emphasize the limits to our normative horizons, and recommend gradual, piecemeal change.”[25]

            Nancy J. Hirschmann explains: “Politics should not be about who we are; it should be about what we do. But of course what we do—the choices we make—occurs within a structure that is blatantly sexist.”[26]

            Hirschmann does say it’s sexist and wrong to support men, even Left leaning men, to call Palin the c-word or more, but in the end, she too understands that sort of sympathy should not lead to no criticism at all of who Palin is and the privileges people and women like her enjoy. Hirschmann also acknowledges that women shouldn’t be jeered for making choices like staying at home to take care of the children, but the choices that are available to women should still be criticized and understood as limited. [27]

            “It makes sense in such a situation for women to choose to stay at home,” she writes, “We all want our work to be worth something, and in our society take-home pay is an indication of that. None of us wants to work twice as hard and end up worse off economically; that was key theme of the feminist reaction to welfare reform. But such a decision comes from and reflects sexist structures that women inadvertently support by and through their choices.”[28]

            After all, when I see Palin, I don’t see a role model. I see someone who scapegoats Muslim Americans (including Muslim American women), who said our black President was friends with terrorists, and that women should not have the ability to have access to abortions, which ultimately, affects lower-income women who have to rely on clinics for their healthcare needs. Palin, like Mayer, Sandberg, Bachman, and Fiorina, are false idols, designed to cover up the major flaws in our society.

            Women are being provided their own versions of a sanitized Dr. King in images of Susan B Anthony and Stanton. We avoid learning the bigger heroes such as Truth and Lucretia Mott and therefore, avoid asking the bigger questions too. We learn about Anthony and Stanton and thus, we are led to believe that reform is enough and that peaceful change is always possible. That women are just women and all they ever wanted was the vote and nothing more. But when we learn about Mott, for instance, we also learn that the movement for women’s rights was a movement for human rights, that Mott and her colleagues weren’t just white women who one day woke up with a consciousness. No, they were more than that. They were women aware of their positions in society and very much cognizant of all the injustices around them. Mott’s closest allies were women who were very Left, even probably more radical than women we see now in movies and in Congress. Mott understood the power of revolution. She didn’t restrict herself to her own access to power.[29] She understood that the structure that consumed her did the same to others. And unlike anti-identity politics types we see nowadays (who behave as if their ideas are so new and noteworthy and they are the prophets of the past Gods of revolutions), Mott didn’t say, “Okay, let’s just focus on class now since that affects us.” She honored differences in experiences because she knew that changing the country in one swoop wouldn’t distribute justice equally to everyone. She learned from the Native Americans in her area what worked and what didn’t work. She created bonds with the abolitionist movement as well, and refused to think that once women gained the vote that al l work was over and women could be content. She again understood that context mattered, that if she won the vote, a black woman, even someone who was perhaps as upwardly mobile as she was in the North, could not enjoy the same rights as she. Just imagine a whole classroom of young girls learning about someone like Mott, their eyes seeing and their minds thinking about all the issues Mott and others like her raised, even back then. Just imagine the kind of social awakening entire segments of the population would experience as opposed to the kind of mollification we accept when we simply view women like Anthony and Fiorina as role models.

            Naima stopped typing. She looked down at the page. Her ideas were scattered. She had so much to say, so much that’d been bottled inside for years. The body and the mind were trying to settle and find each other within her words. Naima tried to edit but she feels tired. Classes are wearing her down, given all the discussions and the time spent organizing as well. Like waking up from a coma, Naima’s arms and limbs were heavy. Even her friends, including those she went to rallies with, are saying she needed rest. They make plans to watch The Suffragette. But even then, Naima can’t help but notice that the movie left out Princess Sophia, the Indian British suffragette who played a major role in earning women the right to vote in the U.K. [30]

Naima now knows the history of feminism, and women’s rights. She’s armed herself with that knowledge. She appreciates the radical concerns second-wavers brought up, including Butler. But she doesn’t understand why they didn’t do enough to see that there is no one woman body.       Even the third-wave has errors in perception, and not just in the proliferation of “choice feminism.” Naima doesn’t feel comfortable with how certain third-wave feminists seem to be so proud of being inclusive and yet, implicitly assume women of color and intersectionality were suddenly invented in the late 80s.[31] It was true that the term was coined then, but no one should be so dense as to believe that black women, and Chicana women, and women who didn’t fall into the same race or class, suddenly realized in the 1980s that they weren’t white, or rich, or privileged. “As each text locates an originary moment, debt, or inheritance for third-wave feminism in the racial intervention into the second wave, these texts imply that the third wave has both grown out of (as in sprung forth from) and grown out of (as in matured beyond or progressed past) a historical expansion of racial diversity in feminism,” Rebecca L. Clark Mane writes, “Rather than an affirmation and incorporation of women-of-color theorizing, the framing of race-based critique as historical, and thus not a current site of debate, assists in the deflection and containment of contemporary racial critique […] To truly integrate women-of-color and antiracist scholarship into third-wave feminism, there needs to be a more transformative interaction than a nod to some exceptional canonical writers of history.”[32]

Essentially, it’s like placing that lone black woman in the room, along with everyone else discussing how to move forward with feminist critique of the dominant narrative. It’s basically them window dressing the movement.  “When investigating our anthologies and texts, we need to ask, who has the access and authority to represent third-wave feminism? Who has the access to the books contracts, editorships, and academic positions that support publication and research?” asks Rebecca L. Clark Mane.[33]

Thoughts were swirling through Naima’s head. She decided to take a break. She watches movies that she once liked and re-reads her favorite novels. She even goes out on a couple of dates which she hadn’t done since the start of freshman year. She meets with men she knows from the groups she’s allied with, so most of them are men of color, and college students like her.

The first man she goes on a date with is black American. Both his parents were born and raised in Jersey City, New Jersey. He himself was born and raised in Montclair, in a home, where his parents still live. He too majored in political science, and spoke at several meetings about change and how the U.S. system needs to be overhauled. He joked about how he once was a Marxist but saw the light.

“I know now that race is a big issue,” he said. “I used to think class would solve it but now I know that it can but not in the same way as we expect.”

Naima listened, as they ate their sandwiches at Mamoun’s on Easton Avenue.

“We cannot stay silent anymore,” he said. “We cannot just accept the way things are. I like Obama but to be honest, he talks down to us as well. Like Eldridge Cleaver once said…”

Naima arched an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

“Eldridge Cleaver was a sexist.”

“He was?”

“He believed that black women should be subordinate to black men.”

“Oh. That.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, he and others were just saying that the black man has been brutalized and his psyche ruined. Our family lives were taken and destroyed through slavery. We need to reclaim our masculinity. That’s all. Our domain needs to be restored.”

“I understand that. And I agree that our experiences are different from others. Yet, you’re only focused on what black men went through. What about black women and their experiences? Don’t we also deserve a chance to explore and express who we really are?”

“Come on, let’s just go and get some dessert somewhere else,” he said.

But Naima asked him if he ever read about Audre Lorde.

There was no immediate answer, so Naima stood up from the table, and the young man looked up at her.

She waited.

“No, I haven’t,” he said.

“And why not?” she asked.

And after another pause, he finally sighed and answered, “Why should I? It’s not about me.”

Naima grabbed her coat, and paid for her meal at the counter, before walking past him and down the avenue.

The next person she went out with wasn’t any better. He too was a person of color but South Asian-American, specifically Bengali-Indian-American. He was also a member of several activist groups on-campus and was thinking of applying for PhD programs in Political Science. He grew up in the surrounding areas, and was a year older, and therefore, took a few more classes than Naima, although the books and material was mentioning to her were the same ones she read on her own. Still, she sipped her juice, and took bites, as he went on and on and on.

“See, the thing is, we people of color have to stand up, you know? We have to unite and stand up. Because racism and classicism and sexism is dividing us, and slowly taking away our agency. Have you read killing rage by bell hooks? She talks about the intersection of race, class, and gender for black women. I think you should read it. I’m assuming you did. It opened my eyes. It made me realize how our black sisters are suffering, you know? We forget them while we focus on other issues. We forget them and in the end, we forget ourselves, you know? We are so anti-black and so divisive that we fail to see how amazing black women are, how strong they are, how enduring they are, how amazing they are.” At this point, the young man paused, and grinned at Naima, who was sipping on her straw. The man reached over and placed a hand on hers. “You are a Nubian Queen,” he said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Naima stared, the straw in her mouth.

The man continued to grin.

Naima slowly put down the drink, and slowly removed her hand from under his.

The man watched her as she walked away.

The final man she met was Jewish-American. They met at a rally for Planned Parenthood on the Brower steps.

“It’s always essential to know that when we stand up for Planned Parenthood, we are standing up for women’s rights overall,” the man said, while at Efes.

“It’s essential and necessary,” Naima added. “I was at an anti-occupation rally the other day and – – -”

“Anti-occupation?” the man said. “Are you talking about Palestine?”

“Uh, yea, the one this past weekend about the attacks that are taking place against Palestinians,” Naima said.

“Wait, what does occupation have to do with feminism?”

“Everything. I mean, I care about women globally, and there are many Palestinian women who are also affected by the occupation.”

“What about Jewish women?”

“Them too. But I’d like for the media to also care about Palestinian women the same way.”

The man asked Naima what she thought about Hamas.

“Hamas would kill you,” he told  her.

“I know they will,” she replied. “They are right-wing. I am against them. But the Israeli government is right-wing too…”

“Terrorism is deadly.”

“I agree though. And terrorism perpetrated by people, like the ones against Planned Parenthood, and the ones perpetrated by the state matter. I mean, did you know that it’s Asian American women who are also being adversely affected by these abortion laws?”

Naima paused and waited for a response.

But the man, this time, said he wanted to talk more about the occupation. Naima does discuss, but it was getting dark, and so she thanked him for the meal and left.

Naima finished the rest of the week at the clinic. She enjoyed talking with the patients and hearing from them about what’s going on in their community, in places she’d never been. One evening, working late, an elderly Mexican-American woman stops by. Naima led her to one of the rooms, and got her situated. The woman spent her entire life in New Brunswick, where she currently lived with her grandkids too. Naima told the woman that the doctor would see her soon, but the woman explained that she was nervous. Naima stayed in the room.

While waiting, Naima asked the woman about her background.

The woman was retired but once worked at a factory making parts, and when it shut down, she was a store clerk. She earned enough but now, everyone at home except her has to keep working.

“I try to keep active but my body won’t let me,” she said and chuckled, her brown skin glazed. “I haven’t been to a doctor in years cause I was always busy, and now I’m worried.”

“Don’t be,” Naima said. “The doctors here are really great. They will take good care of you.”

The woman said she was glad Naima was there, and asked her about her own life. Naima told the woman she was a student at Rutgers.

“Oh! That’s fantastic!” the woman exclaimed. “Are you studying to be a doctor?”

“No, I’m actually doing political science.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

“It’s basically studying how society and politics works. Like it deals with race and identity and how those are formed, and constructed.”

“Wow. That sounds like a lot.”

“It is. But it’s important.”

“Sounds like it. What do you do?”

“We talk about the problems in the world. Like why our society is the way it is. How it’s important to change it. Like increase wages for people. Like make sure everyone has a chance at dignity.”

“Oh, that sounds nice.”

“It is. Have you heard of Angela Davis or Audre Lorde?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“How about Kimberle Crenshaw or Spivak maybe?”

“No…”

“What about…?”

“Honey,” the woman politely interrupted and smiled. “I never went to college. All I know is about putting food on the table.”

The woman smiled. The doctor soon arrived and Naima left the room.

She stood in the waiting room, ready to call for the next patient, but before doing so, she looked at the women staring back at her. Women she would only meet in a place like this. Women she would theorize about and write about in papers for class. She went back home, and deleted what she wrote. She went back to the clinic and worked.

 

BRIGHT LIGHT AHEAD: MOVING FORWARD

black lives matter feminist pic
(Image from Google)

There is no greater struggle than being heard. To feel like your life matters. To actually look up at the American flag and know that those colors represent your needs as well. But that sort of determination to not just be recognized or tolerated, or even accepted, but heard, and respected, is one that’s been passed down generations.

This country was founded on pain and suffering. The blood is thick on the ground. And the repercussions of past evils reverberate until today. Tanisha Anderson. Rekia Boyd. Sarah Lee Circle Bear. Purvi Patel. Sandra Bland. These are the names of women, of human beings, cut down by the evils of capitalism, sexism, and prejudice. It can be easy to lose hope, and to give up. It is understandable to find solace, to find some deeper meaning and peace. Yet, the easy route is oftentimes the route that the status quo wants us to take. And in the past, there have always been similarly dark times, and even then, there were people standing up, connecting the dots.

Ida B. Wells-Barnett, born into slavery, ended up becoming “not only the single most important campaigner against lynching in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: she was also a black woman radical who grappled with one core idea of American thought of the period: the nature of the black body and the subhumanness of the African American.”[34] Ida B. Wells, through her work documenting lynchings in the south, understood the connections between black men being murdered by mobs and the rape black women also experienced. Instead of simply perceiving these crimes as egregious, she knew that this was how the U.S. was made to exist. The murder of black men and women, the control of black bodies, wasn’t an aberration, but deeply engrained in the fabric of the nation. This thought would of course echo much later in the work of Derrick Bell, who felt that the U.S. system and culture was made to victimize black Americans and people of color. In his work, Faces at the bottom of the Well, he writes, “Racism is more than a group of bad white folks whose discriminatory predilections can be controlled by well-formed laws, vigorously enforced.” [35] But Ida B. Wells sought to challenge the very nature of “white male civilization” at its core. [36]

Women of color and black women in particular, have always been at the core of every major movement that sought to establish a system based on justice and liberation. Even when their specific interests were not being met, such as in the early fight for the women vote in the U.S., black women stayed on, striving for better representation.[37] Black women were ultimately betrayed by white women allies. Yet, black women “had been more than willing to contribute those ‘clear powers of observation and judgment’ toward the creation of a multi-racial movement for women’s political rights.”[38] That spirit of defiance is alive and well today.

Probably why certain feminists are quick to consider the Palins and Sandbergs as examples of feminism’s influence is because the perspective remains skewed. This happens to every revolutionary movement, where people’s vision narrows and they actually fail to see what’s around them. In this case, many in the feminist and Leftist struggles continue to ignore what’s before them: that the spirit of radical feminism is being represented in the form of the Black Lives Matter movement and workers fighting for an increase in the minimum wage.

Black Lives Matter was officially started by three women of color, Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi. The hashtag #BlackLivesMatter took off after the acquittal of George Zimmerman for the shooting death of Trayvon  Martin but since then, has evolved into a “a grass-roots organization with 26 chapters.”[39] The movement is responsible for raising awareness of major issues, like police brutality. Most of all, the movement has inspired protests and rallies across the country, from people participating in what are known as “die-ins” to even forcing political candidates, including Democrats like Sanders and Clinton, to respond to needs and interests of black and brown Americans. The Million March which took place last year in December when the officer responsible for choking and killing Eric Garner was set free, filled the streets of Manhattan, lasting “more than five hours and, at its peak, stretched across 19 city blocks. Estimates of the turnout range as high as 50,000—more than Al Sharpton’s DC-based Justice for All March that took place on the same day.”[40]

The main founders highlight the importance of keeping the movement intersectional, and to not restrict it to men of color. “Black women are actually more prone to be abused by a police officer than by anybody else,” Garza explained to a reporter.[41] It was also Black Lives Matter than made sure enough people understood the crimes committed by police officer in Oklahoma City against black women.  On their own website, they include a history of their group, and maintain an awareness of their influences. “And, to keep it real–it is appropriate and necessary to have strategy and action centered around Blackness without other non-Black communities of color, or White folks for that matter, needing to find a place and a way to center themselves within it,” they state, “It is appropriate and necessary for us to acknowledge the critical role that Black lives and struggles for Black liberation have played in inspiring and anchoring, through practice and theory, social movements for the liberation of all people.  The women’s movement, the Chicano liberation movement, queer movements, and many more have adopted the strategies, tactics and theory of the Black liberation movement.  And if we are committed to a world where all lives matter, we are called to support the very movement that inspired and activated so many more.  That means supporting and acknowledging Black lives.”[42]

When asked about why having an intersectional movement was important, Cullors connected that need to the overall history of black women struggling for freedom in the U.S.:

“Black women hold it down all the time and we have been the architects of the movement — not just this current one, but previous ones — since the beginning. So we decided very early on that we weren’t going to allow our stories and the stories of black women to be erased.”[43]

Similarly, Tometi expressed the importance of connecting the dots and paying homage:     “I often think of Audre Lorde and her saying that we don’t live and we don’t fight for one specific struggle. We live intersectional lives and so I think that this movement has to reflect that. All of who we are, all of our dignity, and all of our brilliance.”[44]

These women aren’t avoiding feminism, or radical politics. They are embracing it and promoting it at every chance they get. Are they perfect? No, of course not. But at least, they are doing something about what’s happening in the U.S. At least, they’re out there, sharing their experiences and inspiring others to do the same.

The organizers for an increase in the minimum wage probably won’t describe themselves as feminists or attach themselves to the legacy of Audre Lorde and others, which makes them different from Black Lives matter, but their battle is one that involves many working-class women. The median hourly wage for a fast-food worker is a paltry $8.94.[45] That’s barely enough for anyone to live on, let alone someone raising a family in a major city. But instead of giving up, the workers have united, fighting to increase the wage to $15. “This is a labor movement that is structured largely around the needs articulated by the working mothers in it, women who, with or without a partner, are often trying to raise families on minimum wage jobs. Women make up two-thirds of the fast food work force, and a quarter of workers are raising children.”[46] This movement includes women of color, and immigrants as well, women like “Sonia Acuña” who is “a 43-year-old kitchen worker in Chicago” and “cobbles together a living by combining shifts at two different McDonald’s branches, adding up to less than $9 an hour. She says her non-stop workday is made even longer by a bullying manager who sometimes denies bathroom breaks. Her pay supports a 5-year-old daughter—whom she typically has time to see only two hours a day—and her other children still living in Mexico, from whom she is separated indefinitely. In this industry, she says, ‘there’s a lot of women suffering, a lot of women making sacrifices for their families.’”[47] Women like Garza and Acuna represent the path feminism and revolutionary politics can and should take if it’s still interested in changing the system.

 

THE BEGINNING

Naima was in her room back at her parent’s house. It was snowing outside and she stayed in, watching videos online.

Her mother entered, asking if she was hungry.

Naima said no, and continued watching the videos on her laptop.

“What are you watching?” her mother asked.

“An interview this woman did,” Naima answered.

“Who is she?”

“She’s an organizer of Native Lives Matter,” Naima said.

“Oh…is that like Black Lives Matter?”

Naima nodded.

Her mother kept standing.

Naima realized this, and although a part of her was unsure, she looked up at her mom and said she could sit down and watch with her if she’d like.

“Wow, really?” her mother said, and Naima smiled, and got another chair.

She placed it next to her and her mother sat down.

They watched the screen, as the video played.

 

[1] Linda Nicholson, “Feminism in ‘Waves’: Useful Metaphor or Not?” Feminist Theory Reader: Local and Global Perspectives. ed. Carole R. McCann and Seung-kyung Kim. (New York: Routledge, 2013), 52.

[2] Jane Mansbridge, “Symbolic Feminism,” Salmagundi 81 (Winter 1989): 201.

[3] Nicole Spector, “Gender Pay Gap Will Be Erased, But It Will Take 118 Years: Report,” NBC News, Nov. 19 2015, accessed Nov. 27, 2015, http://www.nbcnews.com/business/economy/gender-pay-gap-will-be-erased-it-will-take-118-n466631.

[4] “Women in the Workplace,” The Wall Street Journal, accessed Nov. 27, 2015, http://graphics.wsj.com/women-in-the-workplace/.

[5] “Who are the Victims?” RAINN, accessed Nov. 27, 2015, https://rainn.org/get-information/statistics/sexual-assault-victims.

[6] Richard Perez-Pena, “1 in 4 Women Experience Sex Assault on Campus,” The New York Times, Sept. 21 2015, accessed Nov. 27, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/22/us/a-third-of-college-women-experience-unwanted-sexual-contact-study-finds.html?_r=0.

[7] Philip Bump, “The new Congress is 80 percent white, 80 percent male and 92 percent Christian,” The Washington Post, Jan. 5 2015, accessed Nov. 27, 2015, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2015/01/05/the-new-congress-is-80-percent-white-80-percent-male-and-92-percent-christian/.

[8] Sheryl Gay Stolberg, “More Women Than Ever in Congress, but With Less Power Than Before,” The New York Times, Feb. 2 2015, accessed Nov. 27 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/03/us/politics/republican-takeover-of-senate-pushes-women-out-of-powerful-committee-posts.html.

[9] Sudip Bhattacharya, “Trent Franks on Abortion Bill: ‘D.C. is Not the Issue,’” The Washington City Paper, May 18, 2012 accessed Nov. 27, 2015, http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/citydesk/2012/05/18/trent-franks-on-abortion-bill-d-c-is-not-the-issue/.

[10] The Editorial Board, “States’ abortion limits erode right to choose: Our View.” USA Today, Sept. 7, 2015, accessed Nov. 27, 2015, http://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2015/09/07/abortion-texas-supreme-court-editorials-debates/71415468/.

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[12] Jacquelyn Dowd Hall, “The Long Civil Rights Movement and the Political Uses of the Past,” The Journal of American History 91, No. 4 (March 2005): 1245.

[13] Hall, “The Long Civil Rights Movement and the Political Uses of the Past,” 1247.

[14] Hall, 1251-1252.

[15] Michael Omi and Howard Winant, Racial Formation in the United States: From the 1960s to the 1990s (New York: Routledge, 1994).

[16] Ian Haney Lopez, Dog Whistle Politics: How Coded Racial Appeal Have Reinvented Racism & Wrecked the Middle Class (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), ebscohost.

[17] Paul Frymer, Uneasy Alliance: Race and Party Competition in America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999).

[18] Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza (San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute Book Company, 1987),85.

[19] Roger Daniels, Guarding The Golden Door: American Immigration Policy And Immigrants Since 1882 (New York: Hill And Wang,2004), 16.

[20] bell hooks, Ain’t I A Woman: black women and feminism (Boston: South End Press, 1981).

[21] Michaele L. Ferguson, “Choice Feminism and the Fear of Politics,” Perspectives on Politics 8, No.1 (March 2010): 247-253.

[22] Ferguson: 250.

[23] Maggie Lange, “Yahoo CEO Marissa Mayer installed a nursery in her office,” Gawker, Feb. 26, 2013, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://gawker.com/5987043/yahoo-ceo-marissa-mayer-installed-a-nursery-in-her-office.

[24] Nicholas Carlson, “Marissa Mayer, who just banned working from home, paid to have a nursery built at her office,” Business Insider, Feb. 25, 2013, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://www.businessinsider.com/marissa-mayer-who-just-banned-working-from-home-paid-to-have-a-nursery-built-at-her-office-2013-2.

[25] Amy R. Baehr, “Conservatism, Feminism, and Elizabeth Fox-Genovese,” Hypatia 24, No. 2 (Spring 2009): 119.

[26] Nancy J. Hirschmann, “Choosing Betrayal,” Perspectives on Politics 8, No. 1 (March 2010).

[27] Hirschmann, “Choosing Betrayal.”

[28] Hirschmann: 276.

[29] Nancy A. Hewitt, “From Seneca Falls to Suffrage? Reimagining a ‘Master’ Narrative in U.S. Women’s History,” in No Permanent Waves: Recasting Histories of U.S. Feminism, ed. Nancy Hewitt (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2010), 15-33.

[30] John Kampfner, “Sophia: Princess, Suffragette, Revolutionary review—a radical Indian royal in the heart of empire,” The Guardian, Jan. 11, 2015, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/11/sophia-princess-suffragette-revolutionary-anita-anand-review-radical-indian-royal.

[31] Rebecca L. Clark Mane, “Transmuting Grammars of Whiteness in Third-Wave Feminism: Interrogating Postrace Histories, Postmodern Abstraction, and the Proliferation of Difference in Third-Wave Texts,” Signs 38, No.1 (Autumn 2012): 71-98.

[32] Mane, “Transmuting Grammars of Whiteness,”: 78.

[33] Rebecca L. Clark Mane, “Transmuting Grammars of Whiteness in Third-Wave Feminism.”

[34] Anthony Bogues, Black Heretics, Black Prophets: Radical Political Intellectuals (New York: Routledge, 2003), 48.

[35] Derrick Bell, Faces at the Bottom of the Well: The Permanence of Racism (New York: Basic Books, 1992), 55.

[36] Bogues, 60.

[37] Angela Davis, Women, Race & Class (New York: Random House: 1981),135-148.

[38] Angela Davis, 148.

[39] Courtland Milloy, “Black women’s lives matter, too, say the women behind the iconic hashtag,” The Washington Post, May 19, 2015, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/black-womens-lives-matter-too-say-the-women-behind-the-iconic-hashtag/2015/05/19/61d57798-fe4c-11e4-8b6c-0dcce21e223d_story.html.

[40] Kendra Pierre-Louis, “The Women Behind Black Lives Matter: The ‘leaderless’ movement is being propelled by the efforts of women of color,” In These Times, Jan. 22, 2015, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://inthesetimes.com/article/17551/the_women_behind_blacklivesmatter.

[41] Milloy, “Black women’s lives matter, too, say the women behind the iconic hashtag.”

[42] Alicia Garza, “A HerStory of the #BlackLivesMatter Movement,” Black Lives Matter, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://blacklivesmatter.com/herstory/.

[43] Judith Ohikuare, “Meet the Women Who Created #BlackLivesMatter,” Cosmopolitan, Oct. 17, 2015, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/a47842/the-women-behind-blacklivesmatter/.

[44] Judith Ohikuare, “Meet the Women Who Created #BlackLivesMatter.”

[45] Dave Gilson, Jaeah Lee, Ben Breedlove, and Mikela Clemmons, “Charts: Why Fast-Food Workers Are Going on Strike,” Mother Jones, Dec. 4, 2013, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/12/fast-food-strike-minimum-wage.

[46] Amanda Marcotte, “Who’s Behind the Fast Food Strikes? Working Women,” Slate, Sept. 2, 2014, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2013/09/02/fast_food_strikes_low_wage_female_workers_are_driving_this_labor_movement.html.

[47] Michelle Chen, “Fed Up: Women Fast-Food Workers Fight Back,” Ms. Magazine, March 28, 2015, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, http://msmagazine.com/blog/2015/03/28/fed-up-women-fast-food-workers-fight-back/.