Ronald Takaki, Rest in Peace

via hapihour.org

Ronald TakakiAccording to numerous individuals, Prof. Ron Takaki passed away this week. Share your thoughts on Ron’s legacy on Facebook. We’ve lost a giant in the Asian American community. Join with me in wishing his family and friends our condolences.

Considered the father of multicultural studies, Ron was a professor of Ethnic Studies at the University of California, Berkeley, and was a preeminent scholar on our nation’s diversity.

Over 34 years, Ron taught 20,000 students, and has written twelve books which have influenced thousands more. One of them, “A Different Mirror,” won the American Book Award, and has sold over a half million copies; it is the text for anyone interested in the history — and the future — of multicultural America.
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Happy Birthday, Yuri Kochiyama

Image by Urban Envy.

Image by Urban Envy.

Born on May 19, 1921, Yuri grew up in a white middle class suburb of San Pedro, California. Her life was irreparably changed when Pearl Harbor was bombed. She and her family were forcibly removed from their homes and interned at detention camps setup for Japanese Americans during World War II. There, Yuri connected the treatment of Japanese Americans with the history of racism in this country, where people of color are dispossessed of land, labor, and so-often freedom.

Yuri and her husband moved to Harlem in the 1960s, drawn by the burgeoning political activism of the civil rights and Black nationalist movements. She became acquainted with Malcolm X and joined his Organization of Afro-American Unity, when he departed from the Nation of Islam. She famously cradled Malcolm in her arms, when he was assassinated on February 21, 1965 at the Audubon Ballroom.

But, more than just a footnote to Malcolm, Yuri continues to fight for the liberation of people of color, both domestically and globally. I first met Yuri in 2004, during a trip to the Bay Area. A friend who was a long-time acquaintance of Yuri’s in Harlem suggested that I look her up. I found her, a small woman reliant on a walker with tennis balls stuck at the ends. What she lacked in stature, she made up with energy. She had just returned that afternoon from a visit to political prisoner Marilyn Buck in federal penitentiary in Dublin. Yet she was not tired, she was curious about the organizing I was involved with in NYC. She listened with wide-eyes at my descriptions of campaigns, asking questions, and every now and then pausing to remark “Oh Gee!
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Sociology of Board Games

Girl GamesSociological Images recently posted pictures taken at a toy store of board games targeted towards girls.  Of course, they’re pink.  The box of Scrabble spells out “f-a-s-h-i-o-n” and girls’ Monopoly comes in a pink, velvet-lined jewelry box where you can keep game pieces.

A dissertation should be written on the sociology of board games, if there hasn’t been one already.

Recently, I had to do some research on board games for a report.  I studied two games: LIFE from the 1990s and MONOPOLY, bubble economy version from 2006.  It was VERY interesting the social norms enforced in both.  LIFE assumed that your goal was to die rich and retire at Millionaire Estates, along the way you may encounter troubles like contracting Moo-shu flu, etc.
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Empire Strikes Black

“I want to join the Starfleet Academy!” I exclaimed to a colleague when leaving the theater. Watching the new Star Trek movie left me with a sense of optimism about intergalactic governance, a desire to trust and give of myself wholly to the Federation, who will school me, train me on how to kill Romulans, and then (if I’m a white man) make me captain of a starship.
Obama as Spock
But, that’s the thing: I’m not a white man. Neither are most on this planet. Then, why in Gene Rodenberry’s vision of the future, a utopia where peace reigns on earth, where nation-states no longer threaten each other with nuclear annihilation or terrorist attack, why are there so few people of color?

Okay, yes there is Uhura. There’s the Asian man who’s name I can never remember. And, there’s also the one with the thick Russian accent, proof that the Cold War is over as humans unite to conquer the dark space. But, scanning the faces of the instruments of empire, the Starfleet Academy located in the center of liberal white U.S.: San Francisco, I saw very few faces similar to my own. There was the obligatory green woman, a love slave on former episodes of the television series, the weird alien-thing, and a black man with a striking resemblance to Tavis Smiley as head of a council. Every other face is white, white, and more white.
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NAFTA Achoo!

Paula Deen promises us special Mother’s Day recipes: Bacon wrapped shrimp over pasta, sweet potato biscuit sandwiches, all served with generous helpings of Smithfield’s bacon and luncheon meats. Her teeth gleam against her skin, the color and texture of the well-preserved, smoked ham.
Paula Deen ham
The factory farm that may have produced the pork gracing Paula’s dishes is now seen as responsible for the global pandemic of influenza spreading across four continents, claiming 169 deaths in Mexico, 91 cases in the U.S., and the death of a baby in Texas. Evidence points to a meat plant owned by a Smithfield subsidiary in Veracruz, Mexico, Granjas Carroll, as the source of pollutants that led to the first known cases of swine flu.

Patient zero is Edgar Enrique Hernandez, 5, of La Gloria, a small mountain village in Veracruz, five miles upwind from the meat factory. Three months ago, Edgar came down with the flu that infected thousands of residents in his village. Two infants died, alarming the Mexican government. They sent in health workers to seal off the town in March and fumigated it with pesticides, to kill the black clouds of flies that swarmed people’s homes. Residents of La Gloria have long complained about the smell emanating from the farms and the fog of flies permanently haunting the lagoons of manure and pig carcasses left to rot on the grounds. Pollutants from the farms get blown into the village and the toxins are trapped by the mountains of La Gloria. Residents also suspect that their water and air have been contaminated.
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Tent City

“Excuse me, where’s the tent city?”Tents by electrical grids

The man with matted dreadlocks and a weathered face from the sun squinted at me. He wore a white tee shirt grey with wear and slung a tattered jean jacket over his shoulder, hot from the afternoon sun. “Why would you want to go there?”

Why indeed. Like many, I followed the flood of news coverage of the tent cities supposedly popping up across the country, according to the New York Times, as the recession devastated the hardworking, middle class home owners of this country. Leaving in its wake, jobless professionals evicted or foreclosed on their homes. My curiosity piqued by Oprah and other stories , I headed to Sacramento to see the tent city with my own eyes.

I spent the two-hour drive with my partner discussing our ambivalence about being voyeurs of other peoples’ misery. We strategized about how to approach residents respectfully. Nothing could prepare us for the landscape that greeted us: Miles of wasteland bisected by train tracks, concrete levee walls, and a tangle of electrical power grids alongside the American River. The skyline of downtown Sacramento was barely visible in the distant horizon. The lack of trees magnified the afternoon heat and the sun beat down on the assorted tents and tarps arranged in clusters, some around campfires.
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Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

From my perch here on the thirteenth floor in downtown San Francisco, I can catch a sliver of the Bay.  There’s often a boat, usually cargo, floating in the water with a backdrop of a mountain range and sometimes at sunset a fantastic explosion of color streaking the sky: pinks, blues, violets, and then black.

One of the very first jobs of my adult life was in a massive building in Tribeca before Robert DeNiro made it trendy.  Leaving the subway, I would have to square my shoulders against the winds to walk to work.  What a dismal neighborhood.  My feet unused to new leather heels slipped often on the cobblestoned streets.  My window there overlooked the Hudson and every afternoon, I saw a lone kayaker crossing the river, possibly to go home.  How romantic, I thought, I envied his commute.

Boats are an endless source of daydreaming for me.  I often stared out wistfully at the boats docked at the 79th Street Marina and now at the ones berthed near Berkeley’s Cesar Chavez Park.  I love the noise of a boatyard: the bell sounding at intervals, the seagulls cackling at some inside joke, and the sound of the waves lapping at the sides of the boat.  Doesn’t everyone, who works a desk job and looks out onto the water, wish they were instead on the boat planning a trip to the south?  There’s also an outlaw culture surrounding boats, you have no permanent address, you are not tethered to a house and mortgage those on the land are.  You are free, 71% of the earth is accessible to you.

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Hope from People

An open letter to those seeking to build a world from below, in which many worlds are possible
Celebrate People's History & Build Popular Power Bloc
We call on all anarchists, horizontalists, autonomists, anti-capitalists, anti-authoritarians, and others organizing a world from below to bring our best creative spirits to the project of a “Celebrate People’s History and Build Popular Power” bloc on January 20, 2009, in Washington, DC—or in your hometown, if you can’t make it.

As people striving toward a nonhierarchical society, yes, we can—and should—be rigorously critical of Barack Obama. It goes without saying that we want a world without presidents; we want worlds of our own constituting via directly democratic structures, not states. But not all heads of state are alike, and if we fail to recognize both the historical meaning and power of this particular moment, we will ensure our own irrelevance.

We can—and should—also be in critical solidarity with people who have been violently marginalized, who see in the Obama campaign the possibility of their own agency. The inauguration affords a unique space for us to stand with a diverse group of activists inspired by Obama, many new to political organizing, even as we maintain our views on the limits of change from above.
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Missing Brad

I miss Brad.
Brad Will
I was so sad to hear recently that the Mexican government bungled the investigation, not a surprise, and took out further reprisals against APPO.

Being in a new city, I feel so disconnected from remembering Brad and what he represents to me.  Brad for me is so wrapped up with the energy and the emotions of NYC, I say this although we were both in Miami for the FTAA protests.  But, he’s connected for me with the hopes and the dreams of the revolutionary and autonomist left.  A generation of dreamers that lived and breathed for a better world in NYC in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Read More »

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The Great Rehearsal

The Great Rehearsal:
A symposium and week of events
on the World Revolution of ‘68 and its legacies
September 17-25
www.greatrehearsal.org

1968 was a world revolution.  From Mexico City to Tokyo, Paris to Prague, Columbia University to Berkeley, it was a revolutionary event that at once failed and transformed the world. The process it put into place continues today.  1968, the long ‘68, altered fundamental balances of power and set the stage for today’s new movements.  ‘68 was a great rehearsal.  For what, it is up to us to decide.

The Global Commons Foundation, PM Press, and Historians Against the War invite you to a week of discussions and events on the worldwide events of 1968 and their legacies.
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  • About

    Yvonne lives in Berkeley, California with her partner and their four-legged family. During the day, she works at a racial justice think tank, crunching numbers to eradicate white supremacy. At night and sometimes weekends, she sits at her computer, trying to make sense of the world.

    These are the fruits of her attempts. Apologies in advance if they are sometimes sour, not always sweet, unripe or not fully ready to launch. Yvonne is working on her craft of writing and playing with using all five senses.

    Yvonne tweets, shares what she reads, makes friends, takes pictures, and watches video. Occasionally, she chats and talks on the phone. She loves hearing from you at yvonnegrapher at gmail dot com.