I don't like the word radical. It reminds me of mastectomies that entirely removed women's breasts. I don't like the word militant. It reminds me of military installations worldwide that rob entire communities of their God-given souls. I have been called one or both in my lifetime and neither fit well enough for me to use to describe myself. I am not progressive, or liberal. I am not a feminist, or a dyke. I have been called all of these things as well.

At some point labels stop identifying characteristics and become endowed with meanings not originally intended. In a post-modern society, we have already worn our labels down to meaningless slings and arrows useful only for injury and spite. I give up.

I used to think that labels were useful, but not anymore. I will no longer define myself by a word that already exists. I prefer to speak of my selfness in parables so that the listener has to derive meaning according to their ability. I want to be understood, not deconstructed.

But hey, have fun applying labels, and movements, and baggage to my selfness. I ain't playing that game. As for me, I'll take actions that reflect my core beliefs and the best parts of my mind and soul. I will align myself with those whose actions reflect similarities in intention. I will not accept partial justice or segregated progress. Call it what you will. I have work to do.

Be Inspired, Be Strong!

Sucka MC's better call me Sire!

Seriously, I am not a feminist blogger. I am too old to pretend that a white woman's movement has anything at all to do with me. I have made peace with the idea. I actually feel sorry for them on some level when I think of all they are missing by minimizing and marginalizing WOC. I am unashamedly of the childish opinion, "More for me."

So bfp if you still read my mostly vacant blog, I have a word for you: Elvis.

And I want you to recall that no matter how famous Elvis became, he never *became* Chuck Berry.

Where we fight.

There's an automatic caveat to improving things that may not seem so apparent. In order to make improvements, we have to approach a problem and focus our attention on the problem. That focus automatically imposes the problem on our person. We become the problem. As a result, our esteem suffers and our ability to be objective suffers as well. We have to question, then, how effective we can be at eliminating the problem that is now attached to our being. Frankly, we cannot solve the problem at the level of the problem.

There is another way. We may have to completely objectify the problem by studying its origins, its impact, and the systems the problem arises from. What I know for sure is that unhealthy systems produce significant problems. Generally, one problem begets another, and another. If we examine just one problem, we ignore the system it arises from and the system uses our distraction to its advantage. An unhealthy system thrives on production and what it produces is more problems. By relating or reacting to the system, we are eaten by the system and become powerless to fight it.

I'll leave it to you to determine where your fight begins. For me, I can no longer deal with the distractions a system produces. My fight is with the system itself. As a black woman in America, the system of colonization is what looms large in my life and the lives of my contemporaries. We can all work to decolonize. Don't you think it is time to begin? We pick apart the excrement while the monster continues to devour us and relieve himself of our by-products. Let's stop wallowing in shit.

Stranger in a strange land.

It all boils down to a lack of political will.

There's no desire on the part of local politicians to see all the natives of New Orleans exercise their Right of Return.
There's no end to the type of networking that encourages cronyism and the corruption attendant to that fact.
There's no investigative journalism that holds politicians accountable to the people they supposedly serve.
There's no recognition of how a colonialist attitude has prevailed in predominately black enclaves all over America and how that manner of political posturing has affected the entire population of those enclaves.
There is willful ignorance and race-baiting and profiteering and crafty minimizing of political impact on the rebuilding process of exclusion.
There are nods to expected protocols which fail from lack of political will and demonization of the expected beneficiaries.
There is plenty of money that makes it into the hands of colonizers and never reaches the hands of those most invested in restoring New Orleans and its people. The colonizers want to replace New Orleanians. They need new people like they need new frontiers to conquer. Those volunteering for the conquering have no idea that they are merely playthings to these power-brokers and they will be exploited too.

I am deeply saddened by the reality of things on the ground. I am inspired by those who resist. I am wondering why those who lack the political will to do what is simply right are not even trying to be better than they are. Is that all there is?

What I'm really mad about is all the activity that is taking place in the absence of more than half the local population that impedes their ability to ever come home. Opportunism at its worst. Apparently we don't lack the political will to pretend we are rebuilding New Orleans for everybody but New Orleanians. I wonder what will become of all the new people when they realize they have willfully destroyed the jewel of the South? I fear they won't even know the difference. The problem is I will know the difference and I don't know where I'm supposed to go to be okay if they succeed.

I registered to vote.

When I was young, it struck me that the sacrifices made to obtain the vote for someone in my demographic group were significant and should be honored by me and my ilk. I voted in every election. However, being an informed voter in Louisiana has its drawbacks: there's the widespread and accepted corruption, the ignorant majority, and the fact of voter disenfranchisement to contend with. I voted anyway, even though I knew my informed choice would never be electable. I voted for my ancestors.

Then David Duke ran for Governor of Louisiana against Edwin Edwards. I had a choice between the Grand Dragon of the KKK and a known crook who profited from turning Louisiana into Cancer Alley. I had a choice between two white men who would rather see me and my kind dead; one of whom would have me pay for the privilege. All of a sudden, it seemed as if I was insulting my ancestors by making this choice. I did it anyway and felt filthy and compromised as a result.

Shortly after that, President Bush stole the election and took the White House. That fiasco exposed how much our votes really counted and how easily they can be taken away with the right determination from the wrong people. I stopped voting then, It seemed pointless. In the time I quit voting, I became an even more informed electorate. I found no reason to cast a vote because in a representative government, there is no such thing as me. No one is my choice because no one speaks to my concerns or the issues that affect my day to day life.

But!!!! I do love language. I also love an intelligent political discourse that is not mired in mudslinging, name-calling or any other bullying tactic one can find on any schoolyard in America. I have found a candidate who represents some of the things that are important to me. I am not naive enough to think that he can change America in the significant ways that the Bush administration has changed it. The current status quo is devastating but powerful. I am not sure he can even repair the damage that the Bush legacy will bequeath us. I do know that the language of hope and change are important in these times. I also know that the shrill timbre of bully-pulpit politics is bruising even our ability to hear messages that inspire rather than degrade us. He may not be able to fix the world, but he surely can begin the conversation that is long overdue about the mess we're in. I'm voting to give us all a chance to hear it.

Even if they steal this election and the hope it inspires in people across the country; I will cast my vote to express that we had a voice resisting despair and hopelessness. I can get behind that any day of the week. That voice honors my ancestors and I'm glad to finally get a chance to honor them in a way that doesn't leave me feeling filthy or compromised.

Thank you Barack Obama.

I'm home, and all I see are carpet baggers.

I have said more than once, that New Orleans does not need to be rebuilt by those who seek to replace us. Even those who have come with altruistic ideals, do not know us or our ways. They do not know our history or our culture.Their perceptions of us are tainted by a distinctly Americanized view of what is proper that is foreign to us. New Orleans is urban in many ways. It is also Third World and Classically European. We do not want to be another American city. We want to be the uniquely multicultural city that we were.

For instance, the builders who are qualified to rebuild New Orleans, who are from the city, learned their trade in an apprenticeship that was the legacy of their fore-bearers. Someone came along after Hurricane Betsy and decided that in order to be a builder, one must have licenses and certifications that qualify you to do the work. Even though the apprentice legacy continued, the opportunity to do the work dwindled. The man who learned to build houses from his Daddy is not likely to think to get qualified by a "suit" who never built anything. So the work goes to those easily exploited by the "suits" who give them entree into our world. The suits have the licenses and the certifications. More than that, they have the money to purchase these things without ever having the experience of building a house. Meanwhile, the actual builders are left to the American wilderness that did not train them and does not value the experience they do have.

Now that New Orleans is being gentrified in ways no one could have imagined, even our world famous musicians are give short shrift. Mardi Gras Indians have to pay to get the right to show their treasure to the world. Brass bands who play at funerals (second lines) are being arrested for disturbing the peace as they memorialize their fallen brethren. The white folks who moved into the trendy neighborhoods don't like the noise. It is an outrage.

Even more, the non-profits that have formed in the wake of Katrina, that receive the bulk of the money intended for relieving the city's destitute from their desperate plights are mostly populated by people who are not from New Orleans. They concentrate on crime and poverty as if that's all New Orleans is or ever can be. The mistake they make is in assuming the worst about our people and pandering to the lowest common denominator. This is a facile convenience that allows them to exploit our most unfortunate for their personal gain. They make money talking about how pathetic we are. My question is, "How effective have you been at alleviating the systemic problems that contribute to our crime rate and our poverty?" From what I can see, the answer is clear: they are not alleviating the problems, they are profiting from the fact that the problems exist. Our murder rate is on the increase while hourly wages are decreased. The irony is that so little of the money that was intended to help New Orleanians rarely makes it to the hands of New Orleanians.

I grew up in one of the best cities in the world. It is certainly one of the most unique cities in America. I want my city back. I want my people back. I want our neighborhoods restored with the neighbors who were invested in the community and who contributed to the unique cultural traditions New Orleans is world famous for. I want children playing pretty music; boys and girls learning how to make a pretty house or a pretty Indian suit, or a pretty meal or a pretty party. I have a dream, ya'll. I want New Orleans for New Orleanians. And no disrespect, I want for all the do-gooding carpet baggers to go back home and let us live the way we do the way we like.