Writing project: index

This is a post to list the words I’ve used for this project. It will be updated monthly.

2018

2019

2020

© bardofupton 2019

Reading project, week ending 18 Oct 2020

What have I read this week? Quite a few, and there are a lot of quotes, because there was a lot I found meaningful.

Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America by Ibram X. Kendi

This is a nonfiction book about the history of racist and antiracist ideas in the United States of America. I would really recommend it to anyone; I found it well-written, fascinating and I learned so much from it.

Favourite quotes:

Fooled by racist ideas, I did not fully realize that the only thing wrong with Black people is that we think something is wrong with Black people. I did not fully realize that the only thing extraordinary about White people is that they think something is extraordinary about White people.

p. 10-11

This strategy of what can be termed uplift suasion was based on the idea that White people could be persuaded away from their racist ideas if they saw Black people improving their behavior, uplifting  themselves from their low station in American society. The burden of race relations was placed squarely on the shoulders of Black Americans. Positive Black behavior, abolitionist strategists held, undermined racist ideas, and negative Black behavior confirmed them.

Uplift suasion was not conceived by the abolitionists meeting in Philadelphia in 1794. It lurked behind the craze to exhibit Phillis  Wheatley and Francis Williams and other “extraordinary” Black people. So the American Convention, raising the stakes, asked every free  Black person to serve as a Black exhibit. In every state, abolitionists publicly and privately drilled this theory into the minds of African  people as they entered the ranks of freedom in the 1790s and beyond.

This strategy to undermine racist ideas was actually based on a racist idea: “negative” Black behavior, said that idea, was partially or totally responsible for the existence and persistence of racist ideas. To believe that the negative ways of Black people were responsible for racist ideas was to believe that there was some truth in notions of Black inferiority. To believe that there was some truth in notions of Black inferiority was to hold racist ideas.

p 124-5

Quiet came in an instant as all the eyes on White faces became transfixed on the single dark face. Truth straightened her back and raised  herself to her full height—all six feet. She towered over nearby men. “Ain’t I a Woman? Look at me! Look at my arm!” Truth showed off her bulging muscles. “Ain’t I a Woman? I can outwork, outeat, outlast any  man! Ain’t I a Woman!” Sojourner Truth had shut down and shut up the male hecklers.

As she returned to her seat, Truth could not help but see the “streaming eyes, and hearts beating with gratitude” from the women,  the muddled daze from the men. Truth imparted a double blow in “Ain’t I a Woman”: an attack on the sexist ideas of the male disrupters, and an attack on the racist ideas of females trying to banish her. “Ain’t I a Woman” in all of my strength and power and tenderness and  intelligence. “Ain’t I a Woman” in all of my dark skin. Never again would anyone enfold more seamlessly the dual challenge of antiracist  feminism.

p. 192-3

Although White assimilationists and  philanthropists were taking over the racial discourse in the academy, they were customarily shutting out Black scholars as being too subjective and biased to study Black people. It was amazing that the same scholars and philanthropists who saw no problem with White scholars studying White people had all these biased complaints when it came to Black scholars studying Black people. But what would racist ideas be without contradictions.

p. 349

An antiracist America can only be  guaranteed if principled antiracists are in power, and then antiracist policies become the law of the land, and then antiracist ideas become the common sense of the people, and then the antiracist common sense of the people holds those antiracist leaders and policies accountable.

And that day is sure to come. No power lasts forever. There will come a time when Americans will realize that the only thing wrong with Black people is that they think something is wrong with Black people. There will come a time when racist ideas will no longer obstruct us from seeing the complete and utter abnormality of racial disparities. There will come a time when we will love humanity, when we will gain the courage to fight for an equitable society for our beloved humanity, knowing, intelligently, that when we fight for humanity, we are fighting for ourselves. There will come a time. Maybe, just maybe, that time is now.

p. 510-11

The Geography of Madness: Penis Thieves, Voodoo Death, and the Search for the Meaning of the World’s Strangest Syndromes by Frank Bures

This is a nonfiction book about culture, particularly culturally-specific diseases like koro, and why they occur in some cultures but not others. I found this interesting, although I didn’t feel like it came to much of a conclusion.

How To Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi

This is a nonfiction book about anti-racism. I found it really interesting and easy to read, and it made me think a lot. I would definitely recommend it.

Favourite quotes:

The history of the racialized world is a three-way fight between assimilationists, segregationists, and antiracists. Antiracist ideas are based in the truth that racial groups are equals in all the ways they are different, assimilationist ideas are rooted in the notion that certain racial groups are culturally or behaviorally inferior, and segregationist ideas spring from a belief in genetic racial distinction and fixed hierarchy.

Ch. 2

History duels: the undeniable history of antiracist progress, the undeniable history of racist progress. Before and after the Civil War, before and after civil rights, before and after the first Black presidency, the White consciousness duels. The White body defines the American body. The White body segregates the Black body from the American body. The White body instructs the Black body to assimilate into the American body. The White body rejects the Black body assimilating into the American body—and history and consciousness duel anew.


The Black body in turn experiences the same duel. The Black body is instructed to become an American body. The American body is the White body. The Black body strives to assimilate into the American body. The American body rejects the Black body. The Black body separates from the American body. The Black body is instructed to assimilate into the American body—and history and consciousness duel anew.


But there is a way to get free. To be antiracist is to emancipate oneself from the dueling consciousness. To be antiracist is to conquer the assimilationist consciousness and the segregationist consciousness. The White body no longer presents itself as the American body; the Black body no longer strives to be the American body, knowing there is no such thing as the American body, only American bodies, racialized by power.

Ch. 2

But for all of that life-shaping power, race is a mirage, which doesn’t lessen its force. We are what we see ourselves as, whether what we see exists or not. We are what people see us as, whether what they see exists or not. What people see in themselves and others has meaning and manifests itself in ideas and actions and policies, even if what they are seeing is an illusion. Race is a mirage but one that we do well to see, while never forgetting it is a mirage, never forgetting that it’s the powerful light of racist power that makes the mirage.

Ch. 3

Race is a mirage but one that humanity has organized itself around in very real ways. Imagining away the existence of races in a racist world is as conserving and harmful as imagining away classes in a capitalistic world—it allows the ruling races and classes to keep on ruling.

Ch. 4

One of racism’s harms is the way it falls on the unexceptional Black person who is asked to be extraordinary just to survive—and, even worse, the Black screwup who faces the abyss after one error, while the White screwup is handed second chances and empathy. This shouldn’t be surprising: One of the fundamental values of racism to White people is that it makes success attainable for even unexceptional Whites, while success, even moderate success, is usually reserved for extraordinary Black people.

Ch. 8

To love capitalism is to end up loving racism. To love racism is to end up loving capitalism. The conjoined twins are two sides of the same destructive body. The idea that capitalism is merely free markets, competition, free trade, supplying and demanding, and private ownership of the means of production operating for a profit is as whimsical and ahistorical as the White-supremacist idea that calling something racist is the primary form of racism. Popular definitions of capitalism, like popular racist ideas, do not live in historical or material reality. Capitalism is essentially racist; racism is essentially capitalist. They were birthed together from the same unnatural causes, and they shall one day die together from unnatural causes. Or racial capitalism will live into another epoch of theft and rapacious inequity, especially if activists naïvely fight the conjoined twins independently, as if they are not the same.

Ch. 12
© bardofupton 2020

Writing project, September 2020

This month’s word is lunch, meaning “a light midday meal between breakfast and dinner“.

Sorry this is so late.

————–

It was an odd meal. Should’ve been straightforward, this lunch with my new partner (and by partner I mean business partner; I don’t do romance), but it was anything but. I hadn’t met them before; everything had been online or through an intermediary. I’d never even spoken to them. All I really knew about them was that they had money, they were interested in my business, and their initials: H.J.S. I thought the S might have been Smith, but I wasn’t sure.

First thing was, I could not find the place. I followed the instructions on my phone, but there was no restaurant there, no shops, just a warehouse. And it was locked. I knocked on the door, rattled the doorknob, double- and triple-checked the location on my phone. After five minutes of pointless knocking and looking up and down the street I was ready to leave.

“Can I help you, per?” It was an unexpected interruption. I had no idea where this individual had come from, but there they were, bowing and offering assistance.

“I’m looking for The Restaurant“, I told them, thinking once again what an unhelpful name that was for an eating establishment.

“Of course, per. This way.”

They gestured towards a door that had definitely not been visible a minute ago, and we entered the place. My first impression was that it was deserted. There were a few booths scattered around, but I couldn’t see anyone through the dim lighting.

“Is per meeting someone?”

“Yes, I’m meeting H.J.S.”

“Ah, of course. This way, per.”

They led me over to one of the booths.

“Has per attended one of our establishments before?”

I shook my head.

“No, first time.”

“Well, it’s very simple, per. You order your food via this tablet, and the person you’re meeting will dial in to that screen opposite you.”

I stared at them.

“Dial in?”

“Oh yes, per. This is a socially distant establishment. Only one person per booth.”

I blinked in disbelief. I’d heard of these kinds of places, of course, but I’d never expected to be in one.

“Uh, thanks.”

“If per needs any help from myself, please press the red button in the centre of the table.”

“Th… Thanks, thanks,” I stuttered, feeling extremely out of my depth.

They bowed again and drifted gracefully away. I stared after them for a moment, then began to explore the menu on the tablet. I didn’t really understand why my partner had picked this of all places, given that the point of this lunch – I thought – was for us to meet each other, but my confusion was no reason to go hungry.

I ordered something from the mid-price section, not wanting to appear either cheap or greedy. Just after my drink appeared on the table, delivered in some mysterious fashion (I swear nobody approached me), there was a ping! and an avatar appeared on the screen in front of me. I knew it was an avatar, because it was a pink-and-purple-striped cat-faced flying horse.

I must have been staring blankly because it cleared its throat and spoke to me.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, yes,” I stammered. “I just thought… I thought I’d be meeting you in person, or at least seeing your face.”

“Oh, no no no,” it said. “I value my privacy.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Really I just want to see you eat.”

I stared at the avatar suspiciously.

“Is this a sex thing? Because I’m not up for that.”

“No, not at all,” it interjected smoothly. “I merely enjoy watching others eat good food.”

At some point during this conversation, my food had arrived. It smelled delicious, but I was now a little wary of eating.

“Please do eat,” it said. “It would be a shame for your food to get cold.”

I stared at it, then at the food – which looked as amazing as it smelled – and sighed.

“Fine, I’ll eat,” I said, taking my first forkful and closing my eyes to better savour the wonderful blend of taste and texture.

I swallowed.

“So are we going to discuss business?” I enquired.

“No, I’m just going to watch you eat. You can learn a lot about a person from that, you know.”

“If you say so.” I shrugged, unconvinced, and continued eating.

It was possibly the most awkward meal I’ve ever had, even more so than the time my sibling accidentally invited both the people they were dating to family dinner, and it turned out neither knew of the other’s existence. That at least had been fun to watch, on a trainwreck kind of way. This was just… weird.

It was slightly compensated by it also being the best meal I’d ever eaten.

When I was done, the avatar thanked me for my time, and then disappeared. A notification appeared on the tablet to say the meal had been paid for, and I got up to leave.

The person who’d shown me in reappeared to show me out.

“Did per enjoy per’s meal?”

“Yes, thank you. It was the most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten.”

They bowed.

“I shall pass your compliments to the chef.”

“Please do.”

I stepped outside and stopped dead as they shut the door behind me. I was now in a totally different part of town, one much closer to my home. I turned around to see that the door to The Restaurant was now the door to a chicken shop. Just to be certain, I opened the door and stepped in. Yes, definitely a chicken shop.

I stepped back outside and began walking back to my flat. I wondered if I’d get another lunch invitation from H.J.S. It might be worth the weirdness to eat that food again. Maybe. Probably.

Oh, who was I kidding? I’d undergo any amount of awkwardness to eat like that again.

© bardofupton 2020

Reading project, week ending 4 Oct 2020

What have I read this week?

Racism Without Racists: Color-blind racism and the persistence of racial inequality in America by Eduardo Bonilla-Silva

This is a nonfiction book about modern (post civil rights era) racism in the United States of America, and the structures that help to keep it intact. It looks at a collection of interview and survey data, and draws conclusions about Black and white Americans’ views on race and discrimination. I found it a little hard going at first but then I really got into it and it was fascinating and also horrifying to see how simple and how effectively these structures work to keep Blacks subordinate and to stop whites from questioning the status quo. I would definitely recommend it, though

© bardofupton 2020

Reading project, week ending 27 Sep 2020

What have I read this week?

Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire by Akala

This is a nonfiction book about the history of race, specifically blackness and whiteness, including the author’s experience growing up black in Britain. I found this really interesting and I definitely learned a lot from it. I would definitely read more books by this author.

Favourite quotes:

The most dramatic example of the revolutionary human capacities of black nationalism comes very early in its history in Haiti where, after the only successful slave revolution in human history, the independent black government made the white Polish and Germans who aided the revolution legally ‘black’ in 1804.18 The revolutionary and oppositional nature of black identity is also part of why so many millions of people racialised as white are inspired by the black culture, music and art in spite of all racist propaganda that they have been exposed to asserting that these people – and thus their culture – are inferior. It’s why John Lennon – great as he was – can never be a symbol of freedom for black people in the way that Bob Marley, Nina Simone or Muhammad Ali are for so many white people.

Back in 2005, future prime minister Gordon Brown let the world know that ‘the days of Britain having to apologise for its colonial history are over’ – leaving us all wondering when those days of apology were. In a 2014 YouGov survey, 59 per cent of Brits declared that they were proud of the empire. The historian Niall Ferguson gloated approvingly on his Twitter, ‘I won’. I’d love to see a similar survey done with only British citizens whose families come from non-white former colonies, and of course the not-quite-whites of Ireland. Wouldn’t the true measure of the British Empire’s supposed benevolence surely be attained by asking the billions of humans that descend from the people it ruled if they remember it so favourably?

A Is For Arsenic: The Poisons of Agatha Christie by Kathryn Harkup

This is a nonfiction book about some of the poisons used in the novels of Agatha Christie: it discusses the symptoms and how the poison interacts with the body (i.e. how it actually kills), the history of its discovery and use in real crimes, and how accurate Christie is in her use of it. I found it absolutely fascinating, and would read more by this author..
© bardofupton 2020

Writing project, August 2020

This month’s word is colourful, meaning “having intense colour or richly varied colours” or “vivid, rich, or distinctive in character”.

This one is late again, sorry!

————–

Everything’s so bright. I don’t remember it being so bright before. So… vibrant. Mostly what I remember before is a sort of muddy darkness, shades of brown, black and grey. This… colour is new, to me, anyway. I wonder what they’ve done to me this time.

As usual, I can’t move, just see and hear. I have a vague feeling that I used to be able to meet be, not a memory exactly, just a niggling thought that says “it used to be different”.

I wait, because that’s my only option. I try reaching out mentally, but there’s nothing there. I try speaking, but nothing happens. It’s just so much colour, and a low buzzing sound in my ears. Or at least I assume it’s in my ears. I can’t feel anything, but I can see and hear, so I must have eyes and ears, right?

I think I should feel panicked, should struggle to move, should be panting or gasping for breath, but instead there’s nothing but the colours and the noise.

After a long time I hear a voice.

“Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”

I shout yes but no sound emerges.

A second voice speaks.

“It’s no use, I told you. There’s nothing left. Just switch it off.”

“But what if…”

“It’s just a hybrid anyway. It’s already had two lives, if you can call this one living.”

“But what if I could repair it?”

“It’s not worth the effort. There are more important things to spend your time on. Just switch it off.”

I’m screaming and screaming but still not making a sound. And then click! The buzzing goes away, the colours go away, the voices go away, and it’s just me, screaming and screaming, all alone in the silent dark.

© bardofupton 2020

Reading project, week ending 6 Sep 2020

What have I read this week?

I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing Brown

This is a nonfiction book, the story of the author growing up and living and working as a black woman in the United States. I found it really interesting, and sad, and somewhat empowering. I didn’t really resonate with the author’s faith, as I’m not myself a believer, but the book was passionate and inspiring, and I would definitely read more by this author.

© bardofupton 2020