Queerness is where our hope lies.
There are poets who jolt the thing alive by seeming to lift the reader’s hand and put it on the bare wire of the present.
Whenever I hear the "Women are paid $.78 for the man’s $1" I flip it around.
Men make $1.22 for every woman’s $1.
It interests me that even the most common simple measure of gender inequality is firmly based on male-as-normative …
this is an interesting point, although mathematically inaccurate: assuming the women:men, 0.78:1 ratio is correct, men make $1.28 for every woman’s $1
White people are still the ~standard so that’s not so revolutionary.
A white man makes $1.34 for every dollar that a black man makes
A white man makes $1.52 for every dollar that a latino man makes
A white man makes $1.24 for every dollar that a white woman makes
A white man makes $1.44 for every dollar that a black woman makes
A white man makes $1.67 for every dollar that a latina woman makes
That’s some bullshit right there.
If you take away anything from this website, please let it be what I bolded ^
to my former lover
in left chest cavity where
I once hoped to hold
[…] Early in my freshman year, my dad asked me if there were lots of Latinos at school. I wanted to say, “Pa, I’m one of the only Latinos in most of my classes. The other brown faces I see mostly are the landscapers’. I think of you when I see them sweating in the morning sun. I remember you were a landscaper when you first came to Illinois in the 1950s. And look, Pa! Now I’m in college!”
But I didn’t.
I just said, “No, Pa. There’s a few Latinos, mostly Puerto Rican, few Mexicans. But all the landscapers are Mexican.”
My dad responded, “¡Salúdelos, m’ijo!”
So when I walked by the Mexican men landscaping each morning, I said, “Buenos días.”
Recently, I realized what my dad really meant. I remembered learning the Mexican, or Latin American, tradition of greeting people when one enters a room. In my Mexican family, my parents taught me to be “bien educado” by greeting people who were in a room already when I entered. The tradition puts the responsibility of the person who arrives to greet those already there. If I didn’t follow the rule as a kid, my parents admonished me with a back handed slap on my back and the not-so-subtle hint: “¡Saluda!”
I caught myself tapping my 8-year-old son’s back the other day when he didn’t greet one of our friends: “Adrian! ¡Saluda!”
However, many of my white colleagues over the years followed a different tradition of ignorance. “Maleducados,” ol’ school Mexican grandmothers would call them.
But this Mexican tradition is not about the greeting—it’s about the acknowledgment. Greeting people when you enter a room is about acknowledging other people’s presence and showing them that you don’t consider yourself superior to them.
When I thought back to the conversation between my dad and me in 1990, I realized that my dad was not ordering me to greet the Mexican landscapers with a “Good morning.”
Instead, my father wanted me to acknowledge them, to always acknowledge people who work with their hands like he had done as a farm worker, a landscaper, a mechanic. My father with a 3rd grade education wanted me to work with my mind but never wanted me to think myself superior because I earned a college degree and others didn’t.
Saluden Muchachxs, saluden.
This opinion, which has never been confirmed by the facts, expresses a crude and naïve trust in the goodness of those wielding economic power and in the sacralized workings of the prevailing economic system.
Thanks to a ruling by a federal judge, this Illinois same-sex couple facing terminal illness will be allowed to marry.