The Matrix

Women’s Resource Center Fall 2012

Women’s Resource Center Staff Fall 2012: Brandy Lara Jocelyn Cansino Jennifer AlejoJessica Barron Felix Quintana Asad Haider Liliana Gandarilla Juan Luevanos Corrina Wells Sheris TalaveraNandi Ortiz Amanda Saiz

The Matrix is the official newsletter of the Women”s Resource Center which is funded by the Associated Students of Humboldt State University. The views and content of The Matrix are not censored of re-viewed by the Associated Students. All correspondence regarding this publication should be addressed to: The Women’s Resource CenterThe Matrix EditorHumboldt State University1 harpst Street,Arcata, CA 95521

All responses or letters to the editor of The Matrix will be published, unedited, if requested. Copies of all correspondence should be sent in writing to: Associated Students, Humboldt State University

Thank you for picking this issue of The Matrix, I appreciate that who ever you are you are open to sharing your mind with what you will find in here. This semester’s issue doesn’t have a theme, it is just a collection of stories, poems, songs, and images that have come to me and that I have found. I have included an article I found regarding the occupation of Palestine because I feel it is a very important topic that always needs discussion. It often goes one sided when it is talked about in mainstream news. One of my favorite images in this issue and that I definitely wanted to share with everyone is the one that states “What if all you had was a slingshot to defend your life?”. The image originally had a Palestinian flag in the background but I wanted to change it to be seen as universal. Because oppression and occupation is not just going on in Palestine and people are using their resources to counteract what they are facing is happening across the world. The sling-shot is a symbol for using anything that you have access to, I feel the Matrix in a way can be seen in the same sense as a slingshot.

Where we are using our words and talent to share our views and acknowledge that is our way of fight-ing the oppression we face. I hope that we all acknowledge this is a privilege we have, where we are able to submit and publish this type of magazine. Please share this publication with all of your homies and people you feel can take something away from the submissions and images you find in here.

In solidarity,Amandaspecial thanks to everyone that made this happen image from: http://dignidadrebelde.com/story/view/107

image on cover from: http://www.favianna.com/port_prints/prints17.php

Look at those pagesOf picturesAlong the ages Telling me that my bodyDoes not fit intoTheir key hole

Pages and screensReminding meThat I was bornTo be a piece a meatWalking down the streetShielding my eyesFrom the men thatDecide that I amttheirs For that dayOr maybe just those few momentsOr maybe that secondAnd in one dayThere are so many menAnd so many momentsAnd so many seconds

And how my body Is not beautifulBut it’s still theirsNot beautifulBut still theirsAnd How my bodyIs always subjectTo their staresBut it will never be No Never ever will it be

That daring to insert my body into public spaceMakes living and breathingInto a fight for my right to live and breatheI met a woman one dayWho hissed at men that whistled at meAnd she told me she taught her daughter to do the sameShe told me she taught her daughter to wear armorBut to walk down well lit streets, to hold her longest key out like a knifeJust in case the hissing didn’t work of courseAll I could say to her wasThat it is a shameShe had to teach her daughter to be a warrior

Untitled by Julie Lovich Beautiful Father

As a human race we have always wanted to be remembered. From the pharaohs that built pyramids that seem to reach to the heavens, to the first time you rode a bike, there is some-thing to be remembered.

When I was growing up, my father would always cross his arms, stick his nose up in the air, and with all the disappointment in the world said; that people with tattoos were criminals, freak-shows, all in all, just bad. Every time he said it he made me just a little sad, because I thought it was an art form from a different dimension So beautiful as dark bold lines criss-crossed the lines of our bodies, your eyes have to give them your attention.

As I grew older the people who wore this strange body art weren’t criminals and freak-shows. They were a new species. A species trying to tell a story with their art. A story they wanted to be imprinted in our memories. It forced its uniqueness into our souls. It burned a pathway into our minds, like a forrest fire; which some people find frightening and destruc-tive, but look closer, and you will find that in the path of destruction saplings are taking root. A new generation from the old, with a new perspective rising up from the ashes.

A month after my 18th birthday I showed my family my new found art. My father didn’t speak to me for the next four days. Wouldn’t even look me in the eye. But my art was a message that resinated deep within my heart. It stood for the recreation of myself, and the eternal return. Like how the ocean always came back to lick at my feet. Even if my feet didn’t always smell so sweet. And I know you will come back someday to forgive me father; for the things I have done and the things I do because I will never forget the way you held me in your arms when I was very small and plucked me out of the orphanage hall. How you, without question made a swing for me on a branch of your family tree, and how you made me the woman that I am today. So thirty years or so, from now, when you and me are on the front porch drinking ice tea, I know I will hear you say; your beautiful. Your smarts, your heart, your art is beautiful.-Tai Parker

drawn by Tyani Ortiz

image submitted by Jimmy Fisher

Helix by Julie Lovich

it came to me at night

that I wanted to shave my whole head

except for one braid

that I wove your hair

and my mother’s hair

and my sister’s hair

and my grandmother’s hair

in to mine

and it would hold all the moments of our past

things we hoped wouldn’t last

nights that broke our long bent hearts

the days we trembled singing long lost lover’s songs

or baths that we looked at our feet for too long

and cried as we washed ourselves

and dreaded getting out of the water

Smoke moves past butter teethcrawls back up throats with thumping heart beats.Whimpers of a questionheard over againthere’s no directionleft for the peoplewho know the sky is beautifulbut are still sad.and the coffee is warm but there’s neverenough sugar.

by Kyla Retzloff-Barton

Agencynot just the parts that movewith coordinated intention. My skincrackles with expression:this body moves, and shifts,and vibrateswith love. My voice cannot liveonly in my tongue (my mouth may move in order,but selfsame spastic bodieswill say love differently).I am not a mind trapped in a bodyof noncompliance to regulation:my tight heart livesin its body, and nearly levitates.I do not

speak from a prison.Yes, different bodies may movefast enough for privacy(whole hospitals have seenme naked),but my heart lives in my limbs.

The needto value speechis shoutedspokenwhisperedin my ear:witness

the creation of wrong bodies and wrong tongues.I can hardlysay I am betterbecause words pile up in my mouth

and spill out of my lips withunearned technical proficiency. No:all skin speakswhen it breathes.

I am carving lettersin the walls,but notfor some sake of ordered speech.Exhale: no one has more agencythan another person's flesh.

I love words, and sometimesI rush away from them. I lovetheir shapes in my mouth. But bodiesmake words; from sounds and grunts and moveswe are inextricable.

Can letterstell true what it means to live electric?She adores means loves uncontained.

Yes, there is gasping flesh(I am writing this to youfrom the parts beyond the pen).by Elizabeth Hassler

Wordsworth, I hardly knew thee. An ice cold slumber did my spirit sealI had no time for empty, mortal fears; She seem’d like a warm thing I could not feel.I gazed -- and gazed -- but idle thoughts concealThe touch of blades of grass and Earthly years. An ice cold slumber did my spirit seal

Did stately passions in me burn a wheel?No motion has she now, no force, no tears; She seem’d like a warm thing I could not feel.

She neither hears nor sees, there is no zeal All seasons through. Another debt? More beer. An ice cold slumber did my spirit seal

Thy course, bold lover of the sun reveal’d Although she was Nature’s favourite dower She seem’d like a warm thing I could not feel.

We meet thee, like a warm and pleasant meal The thankless Winter in the garland wears. An ice cold slumber did my spirit seal She seem’d like a warm thing I could not feel

by Michael Ray De Los Angeles

image from: http://blog.vandalog.com/2009/02/swoon-original-raffle/

Moonsoul by Julie Lovich

Once I dreamtwe were the last two people on earthand we walkedfor milesscreamingand cryingand digginghopingto find anyone elsebut amongthe windand treesand cloudsand oceanthe world was nothingbut emptinessand pretty soonyourfoot stepsfaded away and I couldonlyhearminethe last lonelytreadof the moon soul

Hate is alone pushing people awayWhere no one can find herSad and alone no one even knows she’s aliveShe’s in a ball insideShe is hate Black as the shadows at nightScared that someone will find her hiding and release her from her prisonShe has one fear, to be let free She holds ger sorrow and hate ‘til she’s pushed then she breaks

By Taylor Wheeler, 8th grade, 14 years old

Sooty Back Road

Clench your handsBurrow your nails into that lavish leather steering wheel

Keep your gaze straighton this sooty back road An immeasurable treeWhere a miniscule Mockingbird crowed

Caress the gas pedal and embrace its urgencyDon’t imagineWrenching car metal in your sideTurn your thoughts instead To the many times you’ve cried by Cheyenne Gillett

image submitted by Michael Ray de Los angeles

image submitted by Jimmy Fisher

My World

In my world, there is harmony among all humanity.This world is beautiful, pure, heavenly.This world is not an-gry.As we sleep, our dreams will create the world we see when we open our eyes.This world is our home.It’s all about perspec-tive; how you see things.see things differently, it will help you.If you’re sad, dream of happiness.if you’re angry, dream of love.If you’re crying, dream of laughter.If you don’t soar high, then you’ll be stuck on the ground.And if you don’t dream, then what are you sleeping for?

by Kelcee Leaton

I don’t even know . . . submitted anon-ymously

I ran to the red, panting and sweat-ing.You moved on.I got mad.The retirement home is my safe place now.Dogs. And trees.Old people are scary.For they show the inevitable coming.You are cumming.I am humming.Are you done yet?You pull out. Dripping and sticky.I wipe myself and get dressed.Its finally over.I didn’t finish, but its okay.It always was.You fall asleep and I sit there and watch you.I never felt this way before.Love. Anger. Insanity.All in one.It envelopes me like the condoms you never wear.Tight and restricting. I want to give myself away, with the hope of an exchange. Of love and compassion that takes troubles

away. The fear of misunderstanding puts me at a halt. Its words like “Slut”, “Whore”, & “Easy”, that tear my heart apart. There’s this energy inside of me that yearns for a mans touch. It drives me to insanity and is seriously too much. To ask you to hold me, w/out knowing what you’ll say, is like opening my heart to possible decay. I dont want a ring or that “boyfriend & girlfriend thing.” Its help that im asking and love that im lacking. A long hug or even your bed. As long as it means you get out of my head.I’m sick of hearing what they believe. Phrases like “daddy issues” show that they can’t conceive,that the results of lacking a father aint fucking easy.By Paradise Martinez

Image submitted by Michael Ray de Los Angeles http://www.croadcore.org/drawings/SP2012B.jpg

The value of a heart beating -Ariana Gonzalez On that fateful day I will never forget when I got the word and down on my knees is where I went; The breath inside my body was gone and my mind went to you where it belonged. Because you were my heart healer, my anger chiller My pain reliever, my spring fever, The one that comforted me growing up. Even though you were never around, I seem to never frown. It might be the faith that I continue to keep but I’ll admit It can bring me to weep. How can it be, was the first thing I asked; followed by why you? Wondering how it ever got so bad, So bad that I neglected to look up.

Then the tears came without any control.I know you were having a really hard time,And acknowledging that it’s not something that will go awayOvernight can be really hard sometimes.

Realizing that I was part of the problem was just a loophole.Knowing that I could have been there,that’s what hurts the most.I haven’t seen the real you in a while and it’s because I got caught in denial.And even now, you seem so far away even when you’re right next to me.You never believed me because you were trappedAround hopelessness and despairMy mixed signals and strong personality didn’t help

I’ve swallowed my pride and finally spoken.My actions never seem to state what I feel but,No longer will I try to prove I’ve changed.I realize that things in our lives are no longer the same.So now I’m seeing things through different eyes,Now I’m trying to discover how to be there for you.Because life is really a lesson to be learnedAnd going through ups & downs is just part of the burn.

image from:http://www.tallertupacamaru.com/index.php?s=11&p=2&ps=54&

Pressing

It’s in the way you press your lips,Slowly, smoothly, barely.It’s the way you loo into my eyes when speaking the truth,Fixated.it’s the way you tug my shirt when you want me closer.It’s the way you pull me in when it’s not close enough.It’s the way you hold me even when you think I’m asleep.It’s in the moment our eyes meet across a roomful of people.It’s the moment before we kiss. Awkward.It’s the echo of our moans that break our silence.It’s the rhymic motions our bodies make together.It’s the pulsating, the thrusting, the fast, and the slowing of our heart-beats.It’s the way you press your palm against your chest when something reaches your soul.It’s your realness.And this is only the beginning.

Between WomenI come to you in simple waysWith simple pleasuresAnd endless touch.I have no dreads,I have no dick,But I assure you I can fuck.

I will dance with you all night,Listen to your many dreams,And still cook you breakfast come morning.

My art skills are limited.Nope I cannot sing,

I get tongue tied too easily,And I cannot swim.

But I pretend the starry night is my canvas and describe to you my vision,

and I whisper excerpts of songs instead.I unwind my tongue inside you,

And give you real good head.

I know this is new for you.I’m not trying to box you in.

Just wanted to describe this attraction,Between you & me.

Authored By: C.P.

image from: http://dignidadrebelde.com/gallery/view/15#1894

:)

Not even a year old & my father was Prison;Locked behind bars only time to play was hanging out in the yard;It’s hard being a parent, even though I’m not one yet, it’s a life dream but a tuff one at that;My mom stealing my grandmas credit card;5 years later & my dads out & taking my life at bat;They always told me I was a good baby;We all know there’s those things they don’t tell me aboutBeing a middle school rebel gettin into all sorts of trouble;Getting into all sorts of time outs, not listening & making it double;Those days were waking up & your dad telling you it’s time to shave;Next day it’s that damn time where there’s stubble;Feeling so grown, you think you can live life on your own;Start doing drugs being a little pesky bug;To get caught up & being put in check to gods thrown;Even though my parents said no;Sneaking out the house with my friends to get blown;Trying to get at the little pretty lady’s at school,Chasing them like a bone, Talking to them trying to get them to like you with my FlyWords;Just to knock you down hitting you like a stone;I felt like the ugly fucking ducklingLeft out, but I ain’t sad or the littlest mad ,I’m just glad I got to see you one last time ;Dadby Flywords

Wake uptrapped, stuckinside this cagecold bars against my facecan’t move, pushed against themtry to resist but there’s no space.Food, i am hungryi eat, it tastesbland.The metal rods used,constantly poking, they hurt,inserting their oppression onto me.I feel heavy, my legs feel weakthey can no longer carry me,i fall to the ground,cold and hard beneath me,i try but do not have the energy.The others trample me, they are scaredi sense fear.My tits,they have been milkedevery last droppushed and pulledtook all there is.My child,taken away from me.Baby cries and triesbut is unable to escape.No support, i am unstablei cry, i am madmad cow.As they shove their prods onto me,they tear my skin, make me bleed,i hurt, long for rest but resist.Pushed into confined capacity,i am transferred.Hope.

There is a lot of noise,people dressed in whitewearing masks and aprons,butcher knives.and the color red…being drained,from my body.They beat me until I can no longer see.*SHOCK*It stings, i achemy throatis slashedthe warm sensation i feelscurrying against the side of my facedrops hurdle to the flooras they fall down from my chin.They begin to skin,to peel my layer of protectionto disease..to this world.My red flesh, their meatcut me uprip out my organsto wash, to deliver, to eat...to meet the needs of those who crave my tasteNakedWoundedExploitedObjectifiedCommodified

Let’s start a MOOvement,And stop the commodification of ALL beings.Everyone deserves the right to life.

Written by Jocelyn Cansinoemail: jsc69@humboldt.edu-Environmental Justice Coordinator, Women’s Resource Center

(emptiness) -submitted anonymously

I hear them in the bathroomI hear them in their roomIt takes me back to our own life, our feelings and our house.

Our breakfasts and our dinnersOur bong loads and our jointsI wish that you were here with me and summer never came

I love you as a personI love you as a friendI want to share my life with you but you don’t feel the same.

I feel ashamedI am in painI don’t know what to do

Or what to say or where to goOr how to let you know.

Confusion

The blood doesn’t pour out anymorebut the scars still showwill these wounds heal or be forever sore?the memories shine a bright glow the pain still remainsthe tears still fallriver of the blood still stains my memoriesmy wall remians talla shard of glass in the my armevery cut shows painevery scar has a storywith a twisttoo many problems to explainthere is nowhere to hideno reason to tryinside I have already died

submitted by Brooklyn Martini

I wanna scream so loud for you Im so proud of you, listen upI’ma tell you what I’m about to doI’m sooo in love with youI can’t think about living without youyou took my breath away at helloForget the pastWe live in the future bay beeMe & youCan be, what everyone don’t want to see

Chorus: I wanna be with you when the sun goes downBe there when you wake upNo make up neededyou already beautiful as you could beMy heart, my heart Beat so hardThe sight of youWrapped up in my arms

I’m trying to put my heart & soul to every line in this rhymeTo see you one more timeBlinded by love It’s so hard to seeSeeing white dovesand you’d be a shooting staroh yes you are a shooting starWho is it to care on what we have togetherWe are better on whatever think they gotI know we hot & they is not but just like methey tryin’ to find that love and peaceLike excuse me miss, can I come hangout with you,maybe get that kissDon’t know your name but damn grab my hand we can do this for hoursHow I’d love to keep you here where we are, let me get that key to your heart boxpromise when you let me in I will sing and begin to prove to you that I’m something you are missingI’m that one yo don’t keep making mistakes from Your heart will beat like a drumDon’t worry I’ma take care of you, I’ma skip to my grind and show you sparks will fly

(chorus)

Have no fearTo be who you areStronger than many, please will you save meThere will be no sunlight if I lose you babyEveryday it will continue to rain, tears running from my brain to my toesLike black ice my heart froze up

You are too nice to hurt me to desert me

(Chorus)

Song by Flywords

Palestine Statement: Justice for Palestine: A Call to Action from Indigenous and Women of Color Feminists by Rabab Abdulhadi, Ayoka Chenzira, Angela Y. Davis, Gina Dent, G. Melissa Garcia, Anna Romina Guevarra, Beverly Guy-Sheftall, Premilla Nadasen, Barbara Ransby, Chandra Talpade Mohanty, Waziyatawin

Between June 14 and June 23, 2011, a delegation of 11 scholars, activists, and artists visited occupied Palestine. As indigenous and women of color feminists involved in multiple social justice struggles, we sought to affirm our association with the growing international movement for a free Palestine. We wanted to see for ourselves the conditions under which Palestinian people live and struggle against what we can now confidently name as the Israeli project of apartheid and ethnic cleansing. Each and every one of us—including those members of our del-egation who grew up in the Jim Crow South, in apartheid South Africa, and on Indian reservations in the United States—was shocked by what we saw. In this statement we describe some of our experiences and issue an urgent call to others who share our commitment to racial justice, equality, and freedom.

During our short stay in Palestine, we met with academics, students, youth, leaders of civic organizations, elected officials, trade unionists, political leaders, artists, and civil society activists, as well as residents of refugee camps and villages that have been recently attacked by Israeli soldiers and settlers. Everyone we encountered—in Nablus, Awarta, Balata, Jerusalem, Hebron, Dheisheh, Bethlehem, Birzeit, Ramallah, Um el-Fahem, and Haifa—asked us to tell the truth about life under occupation and about their unwavering commitment to a free Pales-tine. We were deeply impressed by people’s insistence on the linkages between the movement for a free Palestine and struggles for justice throughout the world; as Martin Luther King, Jr. insisted throughout his life, “Justice is indivisible. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

Traveling by bus throughout the country, we saw vast numbers of Israeli settlements ominously perched in the hills, bearing witness to the systematic confiscation of Palestinian land in flagrant violation of international law and United Nations resolutions. We met with refugees across the country whose families had been evicted from their homes by Zionist forces, their land confiscated, their villages and olive groves razed. As a consequence of this ongoing displacement, Palestinians comprise the largest refugee population in the world (over five million), the majority living within one hundred kilometers of their natal homes, villages, and farmlands. In defiance of United Nations Resolution 194, Israel has an active policy of opposing the right of Palestinian refugees to return to their ancestral homes and lands on the grounds that they are not entitled to exercise the Israeli Law of Return, which is reserved for Jews.

In Sheikh Jarrah, a neighborhood in eastern occupied Jerusalem, we met an 88-year-old woman who was forc-ibly evicted in the middle of the night; she watched as the Israeli military moved settlers into her house a mere two hours later. Now living in the small back rooms of what was once her large family residence, she defiantly asserted that neither Israel’s courts nor its military could ever force her from her home. In the city of Hebron, we were stunned by the conspicuous presence of Israeli soldiers, who maintain veritable conditions of apartheid for the city’s Palestinian population of almost 200 thousand as against its 700 Jewish settlers. We crossed several Israeli checkpoints designed to control Palestinian movement on West Bank roads and along the Green Line. Throughout our stay, we met Palestinians who, because of Israel’s annexation of Jerusalem and plans to remove its native population, have been denied entry to the Holy City. We spoke to a man who lives ten minutes away from Jerusalem but who has not been able to enter the city for twenty-seven years. The Israeli government thus continues to wage a demographic war for Jewish dominance over the Palestinian population.

We were never able to escape the jarring sight of the ubiquitous apartheid wall, which stands in contempt of international law and human rights principles. Constructed of 25-foot-high concrete slabs, electrified cyclone fencing, and winding razor wire, it almost completely encloses the West Bank and extends well east of the Green Line marking Israel’s pre-1967 borders. It snakes its way through ancient olive groves, destroying the beauty of the landscape, dividing communities and families, severing farmers from their fields and depriving them of their livelihood. In Abu Dis, the wall cuts across the campus of Al Quds University through the soccer field.

In Qalqiliya, we saw massive gates built to control the entry and access of Palestinians to their lands and homes, including a gated corridor through which Palestinians with increasingly rare Israeli-issued permits are processed as they enter Israel for work, sustaining the very state that has displaced them. Palestinian children are forced through similar corridors, lining-up for hours twice each day to attend school. As one Palestinian colleague put it, “Occupied Palestine is the largest prison in the world.”

An extensive prison system bolsters the occupation and suppresses resistance. Everywhere we went we met peo-ple who had either been imprisoned themselves or had relatives who had been incarcerated. Twenty thousand Palestinians are locked inside Israeli prisons, at least eight thousand of them are political prisoners and more than three hundred are children. In Jerusalem, we met with members of the Palestinian Legislative Council who are being protected from arrest by the International Committee of the Red Cross. In Um el-Fahem, we met with an Islamist leader just after his release from prison and heard a riveting account of his experience on the Mavi Marmara and the 2010 Gaza Flotilla. The criminalization of their political activity, and that of the many Palestin-ians we met, was a constant and harrowing theme.

We also came to understand how overt repression is buttressed by deceptive representations of the state of Israel as the most developed social democracy in the region. As feminists, we deplore the Israeli practice of “pink-washing,” the state’s use of ostensible support for gender and sexual equality to dress-up its occupation. In Pal-estine, we consistently found evidence and analyses of a more substantive approach to an indivisible justice. We met the president and the leadership of the Arab Feminist Union and several other women’s groups in Nablus who spoke about the role and struggles of Palestinian women on several fronts. We visited one of the oldest women’s empowerment centers in Palestine, In’ash al-Usra, and learned about various income-generating cul-tural projects. We also spoke with Palestinian Queers for Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS), young or-ganizers who frame the struggle for gender and sexual justice as part and parcel of a comprehensive framework for self-determination and liberation. Feminist colleagues at Birzeit University, An-Najah University, and Mada al-Carmel spoke to us about the organic linkage of anti-colonial resistance with gender and sexual equality, as well as about the transformative role Palestinian institutions of higher education play in these struggles.

We were continually inspired by the deep and abiding spirit of resistance in the stories people told us, in the murals inside buildings such as Ibdaa Center in Dheisheh Refugee Camp, in slogans painted on the apartheid wall in Qalqiliya, Bethlehem, and Abu Dis, in the education of young children, and in the commitment to eman-cipatory knowledge production. At our meeting with the Boycott National Committee—an umbrella alliance of over two hundred Palestinian civil society organizations, including the General Union of Palestinian Women, the General Union of Palestinian Workers, the Palestinian Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel (PACBI), and the Palestinian Network of NGOs—we were humbled by their appeal: “We are not asking you for heroic action or to form freedom brigades. We are simply asking you not to be complicit in perpetuating the crimes of the Israeli state.”

Therefore, we unequivocally endorse the BDS Campaign. The purpose of this campaign is to pressure Israeli state-sponsored institutions to adhere to international law, basic human rights, and democratic principles as a condition for just and equitable social relations. We reject the argument that to criticize the State of Israel is anti-Semitic. We stand with Palestinians, an increasing number of Jews, and other human rights activists all over the world in condemning the flagrant injustices of the Israeli occupation.

We call upon all of our academic and activist colleagues in the United States and elsewhere to join us by endors-ing the BDS campaign and by working to end U.S. financial support, at $8.2 million daily, for the Israeli state and its occupation. We call upon all people of conscience to engage in serious dialogue about Palestine and to acknowledge connections between the Palestinian cause and other struggles for justice. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.Published in Transforming Anthropology: Journal of the Association of Black Anthropologists, April 2012

Colorful-Genderless-Light.Rolling oceans de Amor, ebb and flow with Grace;a beauteous resolution is sprouted with a single seed.Hold us close dear Sac Re Cur, we want to feel your breath,as we interconnect like the neo-dreamers of zion.Between moments of silence that are filled with joy and harmony,Our voice is as loud as burning butterfly wings

We sing, we sing, we sing.With the strength of a hurricane we sing:From Humboldt California to the lower 9th of Nau-lins,“I am strength, wisdom and courage.We are power, integrity and compassion.”

At this moment, I see the divine lines of spirits con-necting--yes intersecting--And finding common ground in the urban beat.Our streets, paved with concrete, will be deconstruct-ed--Brick by brick if we must.We Chalk for those we Love.

Yes, it is up to us to build trust and see new horizons.We are the children of Zionand greatness is what we be.So I am going to breathemindful of the trees, birds, and the azurite sea.Che-che-checking in with the Angels of Glory; we are the new story,The breath of inspiration is in our lungs like argon.

Beyond the world of Maya and Utnapishtim are new beginnings and the truth is that the greatest Earthians have not yet been born--The colorful, genderless children with rainbow eyesare sitting amongst the stars, laughing in the moon-light,waiting for the days of free flight.

So let us pave the bridge across the ocean,And build a road that extends beyond the sea.Embrace with open heart, body and mind. Be Love and take the time for one another.Listen to the wind, it is our voice.Be fearless, courageous and loving.Inspire integrity.

My Brothas’ and Sistahs, we are a community.

by Michael Ray de Los Angeles

http://thecryptonline.com/v4/shepard-fairey-x-trayvon-martin-x-ebony-magazine/

Lao Tzu is widely considered as one of the earliest anarchist philosophers. His deeply spiritual anarchism taught that the only law which should govern humankind is that of the natural universe. With quotes such as “Let go of fixed plans and concepts, and the world will govern itself ” (Tao Te Ching: Verse 57), it is clear that Lao Tzu advocated a society free of state control.

However, many social/political activists hesitate to sponsor Lao Tzu and Taoism’s ideas in general, mainly due to the teaching of “Wuwei”, or action through non-action. How could such an oppressive and un-equal world be cured by passiveness, when history has shown us that it takes great and tireless action to improve the conditions suffered by our society? Those who spend countless time and energy toward social activism seemingly could never advocate non-action as a solution to the world’s problems.

I believe that the philosophy of Wuwei has been grossly misunderstood and misrepresented. In my opin-ion, Wuwei does not suggest that, in the midst of a disparate society plagued by privilege and oppression, one should remain passive and let the “magical powers of Nature” take care of all of our problems.

It is my belief, that Wuwei implies that, from the starting point of civilization, from the point in society before any state or institution has been established, the leaders of a community need not control and repress its members in order to maintain stability within that society.

Since the human civilizations which have been institutionalized on our planet obviously have not and do not follow this belief, it is up to certain “enlightened” individuals to work endlessly to bring our society back to a point in which we can live peacefully and freely in harmony with Nature. This means that these people must actively fight against the repressive and inharmonious social order to be able to elevate our culture to a state in which Wuwei can be practiced by the human race, uncontested by the worldly op-pressions of racism, sexism, heterosexism, ableism, capitalism, colonialism, imperialism, and so on.

Therefore, I believe Wuwei cannot accurately be portrayed as “Action Through Non-Action”, but rather, as “Non-Action Through Action”.

- Ankush

Feminazi

My sister calls me a Feminazi. She spits it out like rancid meat. She thinks its the worst thing she can call me, because equality is apparently akin to genocide in her book. When she utters that word, my mind creates these images of a large buff gang of ladies dressed as Rambo, making weasel faced politicians squeal for even considering taking their rights away. When she calls me a Feminazi, I am proud. I don’t consider that an insult, more of a calling card for change.Intersectional feminism is my best friend.I think of the powers in the world that perpetuate this rape culture, this patriarchy, this oppression and the people just trying to survive it all. My feminism is not your mothers feminism,or your grandmothers feminism.

My feminism doesn’t put up with shit and realizes when to shut up and listen.My sister says that feminists are obsolete.That since we have the right to vote there isn’t anything left to do. Slut shaming, victim blaming, domestic abuse, racism,sexism,classism,ableism,transphobia,ageism.

All these ism are giving me a lisp but with out addressing these issues my feminism would be incomplete.When my sister says we don’t need feminism in the world,I wish it was true.

by Hannah Looney

image from: http://dignidadrebelde.com/gallery/view/13#1107 image from: www.croadcore.org/drawings/partytyping.jpg

The Difference When People see me,

sometimes I wonder what they think of me. Most can’t rely on my natural attitudes to give them a sense of “where I came from”

As though acting or reacting like a “certain type” will get them to understand.Just because I dress, talk, walk, eat, and live different than you,

Doesn’t mean that I didn’t come from the same place you might have.That doesn’t mean that I might not have lived through similar events.

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t go through similar struggles.Instead of seeing me as a threat,

Instead of seeing me as a complete threat,Because I do what I go to do,

And I’m simply who I am;Why don’t you treat me like a friend.

Although Sometimes I have a certain look when I walk,Doesn’t mean that I don’t want to talk.

So,Before you judge me again,

look back on your life and maybe you’ll find me there,stuck between those commonalities.

I’m human just like you;Living, breathing, touching, feeling, hoping.

I’ve got problems just like you. We keep retracting back into the past, Where survival of the fittest was meant to last, But once again that’s a thing of the past. See me as your Ali, not as someone you’re constantly battling. See me as your sister, Always willing to listen. Instead see me as a reflection of yourself Because in the end we’re one unit. One unit of life. If that unit allows for jealousy, greed, corruption, hate to overpower like it is, then, we must learn to be just. Just us reacting only to the positive of the world,

While ignoring all that prevents us from reaching our full potential as people.Once we get past this,Once WE, get past this,

I hope, dream, wish, BELIEVE all will be LOVE.That’s right; all will be love;

You, me, he, she, them, they, those, US, WE.

image and poem by Rubi Benitez

by Gabby Mills

drawn by Mariah Bruce

If I died tomorrow,Would you stay alive just to save our memories?Would you smile whenever you heard my name?Or would forget it all because of the pain it could bring?I just hope you knowThat beyond Heaven’s gates, I would waitWith a halo above my headWhite wings of an angel and a smile across my face.I would welcome you to Heaven’s gates.Til then my wish for you,Is to be happy upon Earth’s ground <3

Safe?I checked outFrom under their bodiesHid in the dustBetween the floor and the dresserAfter 14 yearsI flowedInto my carI traveled northLanding on this misty beach.Winter was always my safetyBetween book stacks and thick coats,Densities that reflected my inside fog.2/3 of my entire family lives in the house where I was inprisioned, raped, enslaved to my own thoughts. Can I ever go home? and feel okay again?By : (I masqueraded as pikachu in October) selfinevolution(.tumblr.com)

image from www.tallertupacamaru.com/

T a r o t s

My hand won’t stop shakingThey wont stop talkingWhite noiseDrunk againLate for classYet againWhiskeyBroke my keyNow my family is bannedHooray for hierarchy !Getting higher is the keyAnarchyBlah blah blahTeacher’s lateAnd I’m behindI wish id find the balls I lostOh so long agoApologyEmergencyMissed assignmentYet againPair by pairBanana for an appleAnd a month old blueberryFilm timeKill meDidn’t readDrinking meadSike I’m VEGANDrinking whiskeyRepetition..

image from Estria.nethttp://www.croadcore.org/medusa.htm

submitted by Kylee Gaitan

The Women’s Resource CenterHumboldt State University1 Harpst StreetArcata, ca 95521