The Politics of Birth

The other day I submitted an abstract for a paper to a Women's Studies conference at a small university not too far from here. I am a serial abstract submissionist who rarely gets around to ever writing the papers, but it's October (that school spirit is in the air). I'm no longer a student, but this time of year always makes me feel all intellectual and I get the overwhelming urge to contribute something to the academy.

After attending a Reproductive Justice conference this past spring, I've been thinking quite a bit about the politics of birth or more specifically - how childbirth rights are indeed reproductive rights, and moreover...how I can get involved.

So...I have a tea-time appointment next week with a interesting (sounding) doula/midwife here in DC about the prospects of my becoming a doula myself. I'm kinda really excited about this. How earth-motherly of me.

In all seriousness, birth is the literal first stage of a child development and the first interaction it will have with it's parents and the beginning of that parent/child relationship. With this in mind, how incredibly important is it to make sure this experience is safe and healthy and educational and empowering for the families involved? But, as it's probably easy to imagine, women at the margins of society (poor women, girl mothers, queer mothers, disabled mothers, incarcerated mothers, etc...) must endure birth experiences that are much less than ideal and that rife with misinformation, negligence, abuse of power, patronization, and other injustices that start these new families out on the wrong foot. Because of who they are and what they don't have, many women enter and exit the birth experience uninformed and unsupported - something that no woman should have to do. Birth is at once physically and emotionally traumatic and, life changing, and wonderful, and on and on...

While most of this discourse removed the birth process from the topic of motherhood and parenting and family relationships, I would argue that it's essential to the discussion. Therefore, in my paper I'm going to construct and argument for (1) not privileging one expression of reproductive rights over another (abortion trumping childbirth) and (2) making sure childbirth is included at the heart of the discourse. I've printed out (and have yet to read) a bunch of interesting-looking article on this subject and I'm excited to embark on this research...

Civilian scholar - or trying to be.

From Angela to Target: Mainstreamin' Natural

You can find most things in Target. It's the serious one stop shop, but haircare has always been tricky for us Black girls. While in recent years, Target (and other stores) have expanded their Black hair care options, a few months ago I was thrilled to run into an endcap displaying a variety of brands of hair products for natural, "ethnic" curly hair. Pretty spectacular.

When I began transitioning about 3 years ago, going natural was still considered a revolutionary event. For me (in the heyday of my grad school, Angela Davis, bell hooks Black feminist glory*), it was about decolonizing the self - rejecting the imposed standards of beauty that have more Black women than not slathering a concoction of unknown, probably carcinogenic chemicals onto our heads every six weeks. It just stopped making sense to keep spending money damaging and stripping layers off of my God-given hair in an effort to have my sh*t bounce around like a white girl - because well, I'm not a white girl...and I like it that way (no offense to white girls, I hope they like themselves too).

I grew out the chemicals, did the big chop and have never looked back...and I've never had to. For Black women, going natural has gone from counter-cultural to mainstream and lots of us are selling out. It's a beautiful thing.

With the help of some cool-chick celebs and some crazy good new hair care products for curly, Black girl hair (Kinky-Curly, Miss Jessie's, Hair Rules, DevaCurl), going natural is getting easier, as is should (being "natural" and all). Imagine: Black women loving ourselves and embracing our hair just the way it grows out of our scalps...(still)revolutionary indeed.

*Perhaps more of a subtle version of this self, it is still my essence...no doubt.
**I love Amel Larrieux's hair (in the pic above)...one day *sigh*

No, Lauryn...Let's not light this fire...

Lauryn Hill says she's coming back, to which I say.."DON'T!"

I lived, breathed, consumed her first (and only) solo album The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill - it saw me through my high school years, which kind of sucked. She was like the wise older sister I never had, mixed in with a dose of some old-womanish sagacity that even my grandmothers were too far removed from to impart. Her lyrics were taped all over my bedroom walls along with pictures of Maxwell and Nick Carter (much to my dad's horror...at the tape, not the words), written in journals and in notes to friends, and at that very ingenuous time in my life, they were powerful...

What you want might make you cry
What you need might pass you by
If you don't catch it,
If you don't catch it,
And what you need ironically
Will turn out what you want to be
If you just let it,

I still go back there sometimes and it's still true...

Truth also is that I need to remember her as the Lauryn in the photo above...Not the carnival-like (and I'm not talking west-Indian here folks, just the good ol'fashioned kind) creature we saw recently. Her and her music have cemented themselves as a meaningful part of a chapter in my life and have become static for lack of replication...which, in this case, is the way it is meant to be.

Please Lauryn, don't crush my soul and "come back" with incoherent silliness. Remain a legend and stay retired...No one cares that you only had one solo album, because it was legendary and we still appreciate it, we do. Stay in the burbs, raise your kids, work with a life coach...just no more music. Do it for you, do it for us.

See what happens when you mess with a lesser Marley...SMH.

A Calling: Practicing Reproductive Justice as a Doula

This weekend I had the privilege of attending a great conference on reproductive justice that refreshed passions and refueled interests I have always had. In trying to figure out where I fit and where I want to plug in with the reproductive justice movement, this weekend provided a wonderful "ah ha!" moment that I am grateful for.

While reproductive justice must be present in all periods of a women's reproductive life, I will be an advocate and ally for mothers that choose to give birth to babies. This is where I fit.

A couple of the workshops I went to over the weekend were about motherhood and childbirth - where great discussions took place regarding the lack of choice women have once they decide to give birth, particularly marginalized women (poor women, women of color, immigrant women, young women, disabled women, etc...). My action step: Well, I've decided to look in to doula (a childbirth companion) training so that I can work with mothers before, during and after childbirth to ensure that their rights and wishes are respected and that their experience with birth is as positive, informed and safe as possible.

For thousands of years, women have helped other women give birth. With the U.S. experiencing an increasing maternal mortality rate - particular amongst women of color - it is vital that pregnant mothers have an advocate and companion that knows childbirth and knows and fights to protect their rights as women.

My calling...or at least one of them.

25, Black and Terrified?

Oh my, if I have watch/read/listen to another piece regarding the fact that I will probably end up alone with a great job, a great Fendi handbag and a dozen cats I just might [fill in the blank].

So, Black women's marital status has always been an interesting cultural preoccupation. First, we couldn't marry (we were property), then we should marry (we were welfare queens), and now we can't find people to marry us. 42% of Black women have never been married and the percentage just keeps getting higher the more educated and successful we are. It's rough.

Everyone seems to be getting in on the discussion - most recently, Nightline.



Scarily, one of the women in the feature was only 28. At 25, I'm close on her heels, so I guess I should be getting worried. Right? Well, I refuse. In an act of defiance, I will not allow the these "revelations" get under my skin. Although I ultimately want a partner, as a feminist/womanist/humanist, I won't let myself be defined by my marital status - that's not where my value lies.

However, even as I'm not getting my VS panties in a bunch, I am willing learn from what I'm what I've (or what we all have) been observing. So, what are the lessons?

- In dealing with our "bottom-of-the-totem-pole" position in society, we have had to do a lot of self 'uptalk.' Our successful Black girl mantra has been something in the vein of us being wonderful, beautiful, valuable, virtuous, worthy individuals and that's great. And although many Black girls never internalize this (or even really hear it), those of us that have need to be careful not to take it too far into self-absorption. Asserting our worth is an important part of enacting self-esteem, but we need to be careful to remember the worth of others - particularly the worth of men. When I'm talking worth here, I'm not talking about bank accounts, 401Ks or real estate, I'm talking about that which makes that person who they are.

- Yes, we don't need a man. However, maybe we should get better at being able say that we really would like one; that perhaps our lives would be richer with someone to share it with. Being able to confidently state our desire for companionship and intimacy is as important has our declarations of independence. I'm working on this...

- There's more to a man then his credentials (and his biceps). A checklist of "dealbreakers and dealmakers" may be a good place to start, but at the end of the day, people are complicated. Not everything can be accounted for, both good and bad, and we are probably overlooking some great men while overestimating some others when we rely on rigid externally imposed standards.

- Despite the daily recitations of our mantra, are we really okay being ourselves? No, the carefully groomed exteriors...are we really okay with whatever lies underneath. The good, the bad and the quirky. If we want intimate relationships, we have to be willing to let the "perhaps unrespectable" parts of us show....yeah? I think so. Ladies, let's work on being the most genuine versions of ourselves possible.

Hmm, what else...? There's more - I'm sure of it.

What's really behind this "Experience" thing?

It's coming down consistently and there's more to come. Shop is closed today, so no work. No metro today either, at least nothing I want to contend with. I'm effectively snowed in and bored - and it's only noon 30. Ehh...

Some of my roomie's folks came over to chill with us (literally, it's cold out) and I found myself sitting a room with three smart, passionate, educated Black women - all complaining about being under or un-employed. Bottom line: It's hard out there for us colored girls.

I think our convo today is a testament to the fact that racism persists - albeit in subtle ways. We were all complaining about not getting the jobs we wanted due to a "lack of experience" but is that the bottom line? What does it take for a woman of color to get this experience? What realities have prevented us from getting what we apparently need, but are lacking? And, maybe equally important, is our rejection really all about experience? While the latter is something that we will never find out, the former provides the opportunity for some interesting and important musing.

Maybe the financial restraints on many of us pursuing higher ed? In short, unlike many of our more affluent (white) counterparts, I would confidently assert that most of us have had to work jobs that actually pay - as opposed to experience building internships - in order to complete school.

Perhaps not having the same connections in regard to internships, first jobs, etc..., puts us in a position where 'experience' matters more.

What else would you add to the list?

On Kindness...

This afternoon I was emailed an article from the Washington Post on single Black women in DC. Sooo much to say about this one, really...it was a hot mess. But what it really got me thinking about was the seemingly simple concept of kindness.

What is it? What does it mean? Why do we employ it? Why don't we? Does it need to be genuine? And most importantly...WHAT'S UP WITH BLACK WOMEN WHO THINK IT'S OPTIONAL? Not okay.

Kindness makes us human. It's the logical progression and natural expression of human compassion, sympathy, empathy. It is NAMASTE, Ubutu...recognizing and deferring to the humanity in another. So, without it...we become less than human. We become machines.

Isn't kindness the foundation of any kind of healthy relationship? Yes, Black women have had to put up with a lot of shit - but in the end, losing one's ability to be kind, compassionate, and selfless pretty much bankrupts the possibility of finding or having fulfilling relationships.

I think many have forgotten that Black women's strength lies not in our ability to play "Super Bitch" or to bust balls, but in how we've overcome so much and managed to keep our humanity in-tact.

Night Women

I was never assigned Toni Morrison's "Tar Baby" in school...ever. But because Morrison's work has always left me both emotionally and intellectually spinning, I decided a month or so ago to read what I had missed. In doing so, I've stumbled on what has been for me, her most compelling piece.

Unlike "Beloved" or "The Bluest Eye," "Tar Baby" is distinctly subtle. The images that Morrison uses to tell this story are violent in a different way...they depict a internal, intimate violence that lies deeper and more pervasive in the (Black) human psyche - and then again, perhaps within us all. As a Black women, the novel hit a particularly contemplative note with its dealing with the relationship between the two central characters and then, their relationships to the novel's other actors and their representations.

However, most striking were the images of the night women that Jadine (our protagonist #1) conjures up in opposition to her own identity - a collective representation of women or feminine identity that challenges her own constructed sense of self.

Jadine is a model and learned woman of the world who has been educated abroad and who is, at the outset of the novel, relishing the new seal skin coat given to her by her White lover. She is the orphan daughter of poor Black parents and the niece of Black domestic servants who have loved her enough to convinced their employer to become her patron (and now to whom they are seemingly indebted), but her self-identity is wrapped up in who wants to relate herself to, not to who she is actually related to (via blood or history).

The night women represent all that Jadine opposes; they represent the backward, the rural, the uneducated, the laboring, the hairless, the toothless of women that Jadine views as her adversaries. She imagines that the night women are judging her, her lifestyle, her decisions, and her sexuality as incongruent with the collective history of Black women and perhaps she is right. In living her life and in constructing her identity, she has forgotten the sweat, blood and tears shed by the Black women that came before her. She has forgotten to incorporate their pain and has thus, has created a polarity that need not and should not exist.

The novel ends with an old local Black Caribbean women telling Jadine's lover (our protagonist #2, who is in search of her) to forget her, because she has forgotten her 'ancient properties' - she has forgotten her essence. Without too many plot details, the lover mentioned represents Blackness or the essence of Black identity. He is the tar baby set to snare Jadine and pull her back into...[complexity still to be determined].

In my mind, this last paragraph the novel begs both a question and a position. The question: Have we as modern, educated, middle class Black women forgotten our ancient properties? Are we fighting our own night women that we should be embracing? The position: I (because I can only speak for myself) will not forget the night women, I will embrace them and remember my ancient properties.

But who are our night women? They are the baby's momma's in the welfare offices. The video vixens on BET. The homeless Black woman begging for change on the sidewalk. They are those women that society deems undesirable or even generally unassimilated into dominant culture. Those women that remain too close to the historical realities of Black womanhood (albeit not the only reality) for most Black women. In the quest to show ourselves worthy recipients of our degrees, our positions, our material gains, and in general, our status as "respectable Black folk," are we willing to throw other Black women under the bus - creating ghostly night women of our own?

It is a theme, is it not? Black women are notorious for their hostility and vicious competition with each other. My offering is that Toni Morrision has a lot to teach us in 'Tar Baby' about the complexity of the Black feminine identity, both in relation to other Black women and in relation to Black men. Like tar, her message is thick and her prose laded with the intense truth of our denials/betrayals of our own. I am learning. I am remembering (think of rememory). I am acknowledging the night women as an inextricable part of myself - my identity as a Black woman in tangled up in theirs/ours...