Tag Archives: Decolonize

Pray For [Blank]: Climate Disasters & The Narrative of Place

I can hear the water trickling back up through the pipes. It’s been off all day, probably ‘cause it rained like a motherfucker last night. They don’t call it a rain forest for nothing. We generally don’t realize how precious water is until our access to it gets interrupted, which brings me to today’s topic. My essay, A Country Within A Country: Climate Change, Privilege, and Disaster Survival was published in Bitch Magazine last year but I’m only now just getting around to sharing it with y’all, and, unfortunately, it’s relevance hasn’t waned in the slightest.  This Sunday will mark the one year anniversary of the major earthquake that devastated Ecuador last year, the event that sparked this series in the first place. It brought me to write this:

The disastrous effects of Hurricane Katrina and its mismanagement were broadcast across international media for all to see, and while the hurricane took many lives and will impact the Gulf region for generations to come, the media spectacle showing the hurricane’s effects didn’t translate into solidarity. New Orleanians were abandoned, almost as an example for what we, the underprivileged in the most privileged place on the planet, have to look forward to.

With #45 and a bunch of dudes who get rich off of shit like this in office, I think it’s safe to say that we’ve got a lot more Katrinas on the way. But the focus of this piece is how the narrative of climate disasters (and tragedies in general) shift based on where they happen and who they happen to, and particularly how this plays out on social and mainstream media. For example:

“If you turned down the sound on your television, if you didn’t know where you were, you might think it was Haiti or maybe one of those African countries.” – Soledad O’Brien’s reaction to Katrina on CNN. Then there’s Nancy Gibbs in Time magazine: “These things happened in Haiti, but not here.”

If Katrina taught us anything, it’s that those things do, in fact, happen here. They continue to happen and they will not stop. So can we retire this awful tendency of comparing tragedies on US soil to ones in “those African countries”? And what do they reveal to us about the myth of American exceptionalism? I turned to author Edwidge Danticat’s incredible essay, Another Country, to try to answer this. From her work:

“It’s hard for those of us from places like Freetown or Port-au-Prince, and those of us who are immigrants who still have relatives living in places like Freetown or Port-au-Prince, not to wonder why the so-called developed world needs so desperately to distance itself from us, especially at times when an unimaginable disaster shows us exactly how much alike we are.” Let’s be real: This kind of rhetoric is a coded way of saying, “We deserve better. They don’t.”

Nope, the US isn’t disaster-proof, and being shocked that it isn’t operates from a flawed understanding of how shit works here. Because those folks in New Orleans probably have more in common with people in “those African countries” than they might with the wealthy hotel owners downtown in the French Quarter. Did we really believe that the resources the US has looted from the rest of the world, a primary driver of climate change, were equally distributed among the people of the US? That Tio Samuel is really gonna have our backs when disaster strikes?

I don’t think people like O’Brien or Gibbs consciously believe this, though. I think this is the message the United States sends to the rest of the world on a daily basis, from the events and ideals at its foundation, to its current foreign policies, to the way it treats migrants of all kinds right here in the god-blessed U.S. of A. I think people like O’Brien and Gibbs represent so many in the American public who feel the need to help craft a revisionist fairy tale about their country to boost its self-esteem and to swallow the reality that one in eight households here live in hunger (or “food insecurity”) according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture. They treat the Story of America like a child crying home to his parents because the kids at school called him racist. The revisionist consoles the child, saying, “Now now, son, tell them you aren’t racist, you’re alt-right.”

Nothing will bring you back to your senses like a climate disaster. They lay bare the ugly reality of how things work here, and since we’re going to be seeing a lot more of these, we have to be real about who’s going to be hit the hardest, and why. (Hint: it’s race.) We’ll need more than Facebook filters that are usually reserved for majority-white victims of tragedies, more than a fake story about a shitty dream to unite us; more than a flag. Because what use is all of that when you don’t even have water?

Read the full essay here.

Advertisements

Going Beyond the Binary

Hey folks,

A few months ago an essay of mine, Beyond Binary, was published in Archer Magazine’s THEY/THEIRS issue dedicated to non-binary gender identities. It’s the first time my travel photography has been published in a print magazine, and an internationally-circulated Australian one, at that!

IMG_1016
Archer Magazine Issue #7

It is when I’m moving in between places that I feel the most pressure to be pinned down. As a travel writer and diasporic person of color I spend a lot of time in transit, and it’s this condition that reveals to me time and time again that places, like identities, are always in flux, and that borders aren’t as binary as they’re made out to be. Borders, like the gender binary, cut right through me, through so many of us. They attempt to neatly and quietly delineate difference no matter how much it continues to overlap, intersect and blur. It is between the constructed binaries of place, language and gender that I feel the most at home and most under attack, for it is these in-between spaces that are the most heavily policed.

Screenshot 2016-12-10 at 15.28.21

Get your copy of the magazine here or see where it’s stocked around you here.

Getting Real About Decolonizing Travel Culture

Hey denizens of everywhere,

I wrote an essay on decolonizing travel culture as the introduction to Muchacha Fanzine’s Decolonize Travel issue and just published it on Medium. Give it a read, print it out and fold it into your passport books, critique and analyze it, share or shade it, or comment below. A slice:

How we move through the world, whether it’s how we or our ancestors came to be where we are now; a trip to the bodega as a visibly trans woman of color at night, or to countries we have no connections to but are guests in, varies phenomenally from person to person, but those journeys are all informed in some way by capitalist imperialist cishetpatriarchal white supremacy.

In “getting real” about this topic, I wanted to reiterate some points that I see getting lost in posts and such about “decolonizing travel” that are necessary to the discourse. I don’t want this to be some sort of trend or shorthand for “diversity.” Central to this is…

If communities don’t have sovereignty or the self-determination to shape how they want their cultures to be consumed or communicated, their economies to be governed and their environments to be treated, then tourism and travel culture are only a continuation of imperialist practices.

Read the essay in full here.

Article 71: From Ecuador to Standing Rock, Water is Life

(Image of Nélida Ayay Chilón via Vimeo)

“Drop by drop, the world is ending.” While Indigenous water protectors were being attacked in Standing Rock Sioux territory from Spring into Winter, fighting to keep the Dakota Access Pipeline from being built through their lands, the folks at Apogee Journal were curating a folio of literary and visual artwork in solidarity and resistance. The result is a staggering compilation of over 20 voices (including mine) entitled #NoDAPL #StillHere: Native and Anti-Colonial Craft Against Dispossession. It is a must-read, a must-see and a must-share! And it is more timely than ever. An excerpt from my contribution, Article 71, on page 1:

I was hunched over a cup of instant coffee, half-awake after pulling a night shift at the hotel, when I saw half the street in front of the breakfast spot fill with protesters marching, mostly elder campesinxs, Pachakutik flags in hand. Most foreigners confuse them with gay pride flags, since they both weave together the colors of the rainbow, but they’re the flag of the left-wing political party that many Indigenous Ecuadorians see as sellouts, though they can still be seen waving triumphantly across the country. Perhaps this is an ode to the time Pachakutik rallied to change the constitution in 1998, making Ecuador the first country in the world to recognize the Rights of Nature, or Pachamama, amongst other progressive wins. Being queer and mestizx, the Pachakutik flag hangs in my room as a testament to my both-and-neitherness.

Article 71 focuses on Indigenous water struggles in Ecuador and throughout the Andes, my personal experiences with water and some film critique on the issue. Apogee gave me the freedom to transgress genre a bit and I’m honored to have the piece included among so much vital and powerful work, mostly by Indigenous artists. Know that the struggle at Standing Rock is not over. Know that water is life, and must be protected at all costs.

New Year, Who Dis? Updates, Round-Up & POC Travel Book Club!

People, I’m glad we could all put our differences aside for a moment to collectively say FUCK YOU to 2016. If only we had that kind of consensus on actual shit and not a 12-month span of time, but I digress. Before I go into a quick round-up of Shit That Did Not Suck For Me in 2016, I wanna announce January’s POC Travel Book Club pick, Meeting Faith: The Forest Journals of A Black Buddhist Nun by Faith Adiele.  We’ll be discussing it on Sunday, February 5th at 1pm EST over Google Hangout. Sign up here if you haven’t already. Read or die! Now for a few things I accomplished in 2016:

otxy_cover_ig-1
Click to purchase
  • Having work published in Bitch Magazine, Apogee Journal and Archer Magazine
  • Speaking on panels at the Queens Book Festival, Comic Con NYC and reading at the Asian-American Writer’s Workshop
  • Meeting Edwidge Fucking Danticat, Jamaica Fucking Kincaid, and Dr. Sam Waymon, musician, composer, activist and Nina Simone’s brother
  • Being invited as a faculty assistant for VONA’s travel writing workshop for people of color and other travels

Here’s to a less shitty 2017!

The Least Convenient Truth: White Supremacy and Climate Change

If we’re going to protect the sacred and prepare for the worst, we must look at the environmental effects of white supremacy.

Real talk: it’s been a fucked up month in a fucked up year and I, like many of you, am afraid. Since November, I’ve been hibernating, maybe because I feel safe inside, also because the cold weather is racist, and have tripled down on reading and writing. A lot of that writing was published this week, notably my series on climate change and oppression for Bitch Magazine that accompanies my feature on “natural” disasters in their latest Chaos issue. I’ll be releasing one essay per week, starting with everyone’s favorite topics, white supremacy and climate change. Just some light holiday reading.

“Poor places experience forest-cover loss because they are exploited by wealthy places.” Historical context for current crises demands accountability from those wealthy places, and this is key if what we’re fighting for is environmental justice.

I lay out a brief history of the deforestation of Haiti by colonial and imperial powers that took place way before the current (white, Western) environmental narrative decided it was an issue. The takeaway here is that these wealthy countries have been using the climate to punish Haiti for resisting white supremacy ever since they dared to overthrow their slavers.

I get capitalism, but if your goal is long-term domination, wouldn’t you be in favor of environmental sustainability? Turns out: Nah. Because they knew in the end, people of color would be the ones paying the highest price for the environmental consequences of settler colonialism.

I blame the creation of the settler state, which is predicated upon the genocide of Indigenous people and the enslavement of people of African descent, for being a major contributor to our current climate crisis, and the settler colonialist framework many environmental groups rely on that stalls progress. I think it’s detrimental that people of color remain stewards of the land, because we historically know how to take care of it best.

Read the essay in its entirety here.

Thoughts? Cries for help? Totally panicking? Share your feels below.