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bridging blogs

Click here for a link to my "other blog," where I will be posting from now on...
(and to read an explanation as to why)...

so what are these bridges we keep talking about building?

"Bridges are thresholds to other realities, archetypal, primal symbols of shifting consciousness. They are passageways, conduits, and connectors that connote transitioning, crossing borders, and changing perspectives." -- Gloria Anzaldua, in her preface to "this bridge we call home"

Prior to the organizing I'm doing currently around KGIA, I never thought much about bridges.
I occasionally thought about how I prefer them to tunnels (which kind of scare me) or why it was worth raising the tolls to cross them if it meant lowering the price of public transportation...i think that was a proposition in CA a few years back.
I didn't think of them in a "political" way (except I guess that last point was about a proposition, so that's kind of political).
When I thought about building links between people and/or communities I thought about "movement building." When I thought about shifting consciousness I thought about "breaking through barriers" or "tearing down walls." But with the work around KGIA came these repeated descriptions of Debbie (the school's founding principal) as a "bridge builder."

At first, I rebelled against the term. At one point, when trying to organize other Jews to support KGIA, I literally couldn't get the words out of my mouth. Every time I tried to say that Debbie was "building bridges" I said "brilding bidges" or "bridging build...wait." It was comical. People laughed at me. I laughed at me. I just thought it sounded like one of those terms that takes all the politics out of an issue that's actually really important - sort of like "multiculturalism" or "diversity" - ideas that are actually really great, but when we hear them, we cringe in anticipation of the liberal, meaningless banter that we know is coming next. Oh yeah, and the lack of a power analysis...we cringe at that too.

But recently, I've been thinking about what it really means to "build bridges." I picked up "this bridge we call home" (for those who don't know, it's a book that follows and continues the dialogue of the anthology "This Bridge Called My Back") at Bluestockings bookstore, mostly because the "women's studies" section where the book was happens to be directly across from the table at which I was sitting to drink my coffee and attempt to write a poem that ended with a call for boycott-divestment-sanctions (I've recently been thinking about what it would look like if activist poetry actually incorporated concrete calls to action...thoughts?) Since I picked it up (and bought it, and brought it home, and stayed up late reading it...and continue to spend nights staying up late reading it...) I've been thinking a lot about Anzaldua's definition of bridges.
"shifting consciousness"
"connectors"
"transitioning"
"crossing borders"
"changing perspectives"
how much better - and how much more essential to social change- can you get?

I started to think about the people I love working with, politically. Always, they are the people who not only see the links between issues in a theoretical sense, but who want to ACT on those connections. Sometimes I think that's why I'm drawn to poetry - it allows us to make those connections- build those bridges- without having to spell out all the links - because really, isn't it obvious? Do we really need to know that it's the same company (Elbit, an israeli company, look it up) building the wall in Palestine and the wall in/ontheborderof Mexico? Isn't it enough to just recognize that in both places, communities and families are being torn apart by these walls? On land that's stolen/colonized in the first place?
...How did I end up talking about walls? I was talking about bridges...
but that's just it!
It's all connected!
And no, this abundance of exclamation points is not because I have any illusions that I'm saying anything that hasn't already been said a million times before...I'm just really enthusiastic about it right now!

Of course, Anzaldua also says "A bridge...is not just about one set of people crossing to the other side; it's also about those on the other side crossing to this side." This, I think, encompasses why I was uncomfortable with the idea of "building bridges" in the first place. So often, "building bridges" means "compromise" and so often "compromise" means the people with the power set the standards and take half a step from the position they were at in the first place, while the people without the power have to take ten giant leaps. In other words, the people without the power get stuck doing most of the building- or the compromising. And then the people with the power take most of the credit and try to portray themselves as romantically self-sacrificial. I know you know what I'm talking about.

So that, is my reflection on bridges.
Then again, if we're going to go with the metaphor...what IS so great about bridges? And why is it better to build a bridge than just swim across the ocean? Thoughts...?

we will not be silent

For Communities in Support of KGIA, and for the performers, speakers, volunteers, and guests, "Seeking Justice, Speaking Truth" was an evening of inspiration, hope, and movement building. It was educational as well as inspirational, as people heard for the first time about what's going on inside the school- a message that speakers repeatedly tied - - overtly and specifically - - to the cause of these problems: a lack of DOE support for the school, and, more specifically, the forced resignation of founding principal Debbie Almontaser, the school's visionary. As teachers spoke out, members of the audience literally slid to the edges of their seats, waiting in anticipation for the details about to be revealed. We listened to teachers speak about the DOE's refusal to provide needed resources to the school- everything from walls to special education services to adequate leadership- but even more powerfully, we listened to stories about fear. Anyone can be targetted, simply for speaking, defining, or explaining a word in Arabic. In the wide-open eyes of the audience, I watched a conflict of emotion: the reality was painful but the vision was beautiful. Finally, we were truly living up to the theme of the evening: "We will not be silent." And what is better for overcoming fear, than raising our voices and truly "speaking truth"? Together, through poetry, speeches, action, and simply being together, we were recalling the original vision of KGIA and manifesting that vision together. We were talking about how to move forward, we were building community, and we were celebrating culture. Ultimately, I watched the collective joy overpower the collective pain, the sparkle of tears turn to that of inspiration and hope. Pain, after all, cannot be overcome by turning away from the reality that needs to change. That reality needs to be faced, spoken, challenged, and, ultimately, transformed. Unfortunately, the media doesn't like complex or positive messages. The only piece of the evening that made it outside of the Park Slope United Methodist Church (the location of the event) was that about the negative realities inside KGIA - the lack of resources (illogically blamed by the media on the school's Arabic-language and culture focus, rather than on those who are supposed to be responsible for providing resources to new schools- New Visions and the Department of Education!), and the word "chaotic" (without context). Perhaps our next event should be one in which we attempt to manifest a media that tells the whole story; a media that sees the power of bringing together groups as diverse as El Puente, Desis Rising Up & Moving, Urban Word and all of the CISKGIA sponsoring organizations; and a media that understands that putting one word in quotation marks and then putting it in a context completely different from the one it was in originally is not honest journalism or accurate reporting. In spite of their efforts, however, I know we won't let the right-wing pundits take control of our message. Their voices may be amplified by the media, but ours are amplified louder, by our commitment to the cause, our dedication to the movement, and our drive to see our shared vision become a reality. We will not be silent. Apparently neither will they. So we're just going to have to speak louder, more powerfully, more beautifully, and drown their messages of racism, hate, and destruction in our own messages of hope, community, culture, and justice. Exactly like we did last night.

bzzzz....busy

Sorry I haven't been writing much lately...
I've been extremely busy, and most of my writing has gone towards press releases, organizing emails, etc...

But click here to see videos of the most recent press conference!

And also...
I am coming to the Bay 12/1! That's less than two weeks away!
So I will see most of you soon, at which point I can update you in person!

GUPS Palestinian Cultural Mural Inauguration

San Francisco State University's General Union of Palestine Students bring you...



Palestinian Mural Banner

Palestinian Cultural Mural
Honoring Dr. Edward Said
Inauguration November 2, 2007
10:30am Complimentary Brunch featuring Georges Lammam, violinist, Jack Adams Hall
12 pm Mural Inauguration Ceremony, North Plaza
featuring: Native American Dancers, Al-Juthoor Debka Troupe, poetry by Dina Omar, Professor of History from Birzeit University Sonia Nimr, Professor of Near Eastern and Ethnic Studies at UC Berkeley Hatem Bazian, Arab American hip-hop, and live classical Arabic Oud Instramental
2 pm Reception, Jack Adams Hall featuring Georges Lammam Ensemble
6 pm Social Hour, Knuth Hall Creative Arts Building
7 pm We Speak For Ourselves: Arab Voices, Knuth Hall Creative Arts Building
with Elmaz Abinader, Tony Khalifa, Fady Joudah, Deema Shehabi, Omar Khorsheed and Zaid Shlah
$10 for students - $20 non-students • Presale available, call ACCC for ticket purchases at (415) 664-2200 x15 • No one turned away for lack of funds

a semi-short fable about foundation funding. and the things we have to do to get it.

Today, I became a human slapstick metaphor for the fact that the revolution will NOT, in fact, be funded.

Yes, I am re-reading that book, including the essays I never read in the first place because they were too academic for college-student-me to handle in addition to my already large load of academic reading.
(The same book, which, by the way, fairly obviously deserves credit for inspiring the title of my blog)

So today:

I had to deliver a grant proposal to some foundation in another neighborhood in brooklyn (for those of you who are not NYers- Brooklyn is BIG. not small. its only small compared to Manhattan. its actually one of the biggest cities in the world (i'm not sure how many biggest cities there are, i just know bk is one of em).
So, I'm hand delivering the proposal, because it wasn't finished until the absolute deadline.
Also today- it was POURING rain. Think San Francisco winter-style pouring rain, but with a LOT more wind, so that umbrellas not only become useless because the rain is coming at you sideways from various directions, they also flip over so you have to get one arm completely soaked holding the umbrella in its umrella position.

So there's me...walking to the subway under my umbrella (okay and now i'm sure i've put that catchy rihanna song in all of your heads) with the grant proposal in my bag, ironically resting next to my book- the revolution will not be funded. and i am ironically excited that this unusual task of hand delivering a grant proposal means that i get to get out of the office for a second and even get to read my book on the subway! at this point, it's raining more of a San Francisco late-fall style (i.e. less) with less wind. I get on the subway. I read about the problematic aspects of foundations.

I get out of the subway. Still raining. Still not yet pouring. I walk to the address of the foundation. I arrive. Hmm...no foundation! Where is it? In its place is a HUGE dug-out hole in the ground which looks like it's going to be the foundation for a building (not the right kind of foundation to deliver grant proposals to)- There are all these bright blue thin wood walls semi-attached to the ground around this giant hole. With some big sign about development.
I start to think maybe this is some kind of symbolic dream. But it isn't
I go to the nearby store and ask them where #352 is. "It's gone. They tore it down." I ask if they know where the foundation went. They do, but they lost the paper they had it written down on. I call my office and they look it up on the internet (apparently no thought to do this beforehand?) and tell me where to go. It's an 18 minute walk, but the rain is temporarily lighter and the walk will be quicker than walking to the subway, waiting for the subway, and then walking from the subway to the place. They suggest that I walk. I agree to walk.

The light rain= totally an illusion. Within minutes, it is POURING. I am drenched. I run beneath the small tent cover of a food stand in a park and ask them for a plastic bag (so I can put the proposal in it and it won't get completely soaked)- they give me the plastic bag, and I reflect on the fact that this interaction, running for shelter from the rain and asking for what I needed, and recieving it just because people are occasionally nice, was much much much more human than the larger interaction that was taking place between my organization (not to mention my self) and this foundation.

I keep walking. About a block later, my umbrella (which is not actually mine, but someone else's from my office...shhh) flips completely upside down. The rain starts coming at me like someone might as well be pointing a large amount of hoses at me, totally horizontally, directly in front of me, as well as vertically, from up above. Soon the puddles that form on the ground mean it's basically coming from below as well- and in NY, that is GROSS because this city has a lotta grit on the ground.
At this point- specifically, the moment the umbrella flips over- I start laughing out loud. I'm sure I looked crazy because people in NY do NOT laugh out loud when they're alone. But I couldn't help it. I had spent the last couple nights up late reading about how much non-profits bend over backwards and waste their time and compromise themselves to get foundation funding and then here I am, walking down the street in the pouring rain, 18 minutes (but actually longer b/c of the rain and lack of accurate directions) from the wrong location to the right location, my umbrella flipping over, my clothes and my bag completely soaking wet with only the grant proposal protected from the rain because the plastic bag is too small for me to put ALL my stuff in, my directions in my hand and falling apart because the paper is so wet, all for the sake of this grant.
And it's a weird 18 minutes too because the foundation turns out to be located almost directly under a bunch of bridges. totally totally surreal. again, for the sf parallel- imagine the soma district under about three bridges- and of course pouring rain. and a really loud subway underground that doesn't seem to have any entrances or exits anywhere nearby.

Finally, I get there. At this point, my pants are extremely heavy because they are soaked in water and grit from the brooklyn sidewalks and streets. I find it- I go in, afraid they are going to turn me away from the building and I'll never get the the office I need to go to, but they don't. They let me in, dripping wet, and a mess. I take the elevator. Knock on the door. "I'm here to deliver a grant proposal." They take it. They do not acknowledge that I am soaking wet. They do not acknowledge much at all. They also don't seem to be in any sort of rush, or bombarded with proposals, so I wonder about this supposed deadline...
I leave. Going to the subway, I'm no longer laughing because I'm too tired. My shoes are soaked through and I can feel the water on my toes, so I give up on jumping over puddles and just walk through them. On the subway I notice that the water has my hat sticking to my head so I take it off. Of course I end up forgetting my hat on the subway. I go into my office. And still no acknowledgement. Now I KNOW I am soaking wet- I know that I am literally dripping and my sneakers are squeaking LOUD. Their question "So did you get it there?"
Deep breaths, self. Deep breaths.
"Yes, but I lost my hat in the process and I'm literally soaking wet."
The development director apologizes profusely of course.
I look expectantly at my ED until she says I can go home. I mean seriously, she HAD to at least let me go home and change- but it took so long to deliver the proposal that I'd only have been able to come back for about 15 minutes before leaving again. Of course she still got to feel very benevolent about letting me go home an hour early.
How sweet.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I became a walking slapstick style metaphor (I wish I could capture on film that moment where my umbrella first flipped upside down and I hovered around the grant proposal and its plastic bag making sure IT didn't get wet, regardless of how wet I was getting)for the absurd measures non-profits go to get foundation funding, the ineffectiveness of these measures, the extreme amount of energy they drain us of, and the fact that the revolution will NOT, in fact, be funded.

The end.