words from a sister.

This was written by my sister, a mother, teacher, and community activist, in the hours before Troy Davis was scheduled for execution:

i have been against the death penalty since i was 16 years old. this heightened awareness of the unjust and ineffectual nature of capital punishment was born through my participation in an Alternatives to Violence course taught by journalist and activist, Coleman McCarthy, at Woodrow Wilson Senior High School in Washington, DC back in 1990.  i am thankful for the time he took to open us up and strengthen our foundation in an inherent love for humanity – a love we all share when we are small; one that gets chipped away as we age, walking through this culture of violence and retribution.

 

however, it wasn’t until i had to face the intense fall out of the criminal justice system within my own family that i really understood the dire and varied consequences of our system of (in)justice. my wake up call arrived strong as a knife wound to my heart back in 2003, when the father of my children went to jail.  i won’t detail the how and why, except to say that he was one of many of our brothers and sisters who, having less than adequate resources to heal their wounds, find themselves seeking community and affirmation in all the wrong places. he lost his own freedom to the ravenous american dream that calls out to many and eats folk alive when they can’t get well fast enough. the prison system is where many land. rehabilitation from the dis-ease that places folk in prison comes on a wing and a prayer. countless people fall off that wing; an abyss awaits.

 

my youngest daughter suffered acutely from this loss.  she was only 3 years old, and the trauma was more than her young mind could understand. it was my job to heal her, as i was healing myself. in that process, she began acting out in school. she became a student labeled as a problem, and each time she rebelled against the teachers, frustrated when they could not understand her pain, she lashed out. the teachers became afraid of her. she was suspended repeatedly. i became fearful and consented to having her tested. she was diagnosed as an emotionally disturbed child with a dangerous lack of respect for authority. an independent educational plan was developed for her, one that included occupational therapy and special time for her to be removed from the general population of the classroom. the goal was for her to get right and become a happy girl child, one without scar tissue and scowl.  but the independent education plan did not work. she could not be trained out of her trauma, at least not fast enough for school authorities. her suspensions (at ages 3-4) continued, and eventually, the school counselor called me in and told me that she needed to be removed from the school, placed in a special school for special children, and MEDICATED – a prison for her mind and body awaited.

 

having grown up in a family accustomed to mental illness and the slippery road of western science’s cure for it all, i resisted the counselor’s advice with the quickness.  i knew that when my child was loved unconditionally, when she was not feared, when she was given the space to translate her trauma in creative ways (ways that took more patience and understanding than her teachers could afford), she was able to rise and excel.  i immediately withdrew her from the school, placed her in a school staffed by elder black women who better understood her language, and had her re-evaluated.  this time, no issue was found.  and i realized that she simply needed a different type of educational institution and support system in order to thrive.

 

how many of our children have not been so lucky?  how many of them have gone from being innocent children with troubles to students labeled as potential criminals, medicated and/or funneled into an early culture of discipline that creates a predisposition toward joining the multitudes of youth and adults fueling the prison industrial complex?

 

at 13 years old, she holds a 98.7 cumulative average in school.  she has taught herself to play the piano. she is one of the most emotionally mature people i know, displaying empathy and compassion for people in ways that adults have trouble harnessing.  together, we healed from the trauma of losing a family member to the criminal justice system.

 

though her father did make it out, the truth of how the system can break folk down, creating losses that fall like dominoes, became a truth i knew too well. her father did not succumb to the death penalty. but just the sting of the justice system’s less than rehabilitative culture was enough to keep me focused on promoting awareness and action against the prison industrial complex in my daily walk as an educator, artist, and mother.

 

in 2006, i was invited to attend Harry Belafonte’s gathering for justice at the Onondaga reservation in up state new york by a dear childhood friend and activist, Luis Cardona (i will always be thankful to Luis for this; it helped to heal me from the stigma).  during that gathering, we dedicated ourselves further to fighting the pipeline from schools to prison and the prison industrial complex.  i was struck by the numbers of people dedicated to the fight; i was in awe of the deep sense of love, humanity, and communal responsibility ripe and over-flowing in that space.  i took that collective energy back home with me, working its mission into my writing and curricula for the students i was then teaching at Howard University. i was repeatedly saddened when i realized how many people did not have the language to understand what was happening to our brothers and sisters and families as a result of the war against drugs and the criminal justice system’s plague unleashed on our communities.  though most of us have been touched by the prison industrial complex in some way, many feel that we have no right to resist its existence. the powers that be wear such heavy boots that calls for change and abolition seem pointless and naive. but when spaces for dialogue are created, so many gain the courage, awareness and energy to consider new possibilities.

 

in the face of the pending execution of brother Troy Davis, i return to these thoughts. and though i am deeply saddened by the system’s failure to stay his execution, i am encouraged by the masses of people who have signed petitions, protested, and placed phone calls on his behalf. such an outpouring of love and solidarity gives me hope. this crisis has also helped to educate many people about the global fight against the culture of violence, of which the death penalty, the prison industrial complex, and the pipe line from schools to prison are insidious parts of a deathly whole.

 

i pray that we continue mobilizing, organizing, and educating around these issues.  i pray that a radical love ethic gains greater sustainability through us all.  i pray that we remain awake and resilient. and i send light to Troy Davis and his family, the many families caught up in the culture of violence here and abroad. may we all walk forward with greater strength and purpose.

 

carry on.  carry light.

 

with love,

nina

What Kind of Jawn Are You? …A Passing Thought.

 

Jawn.  Jont.  Jant.  Jawny McJont Jant.

If you don’t think you are or have been a “jawn” at any point in time, you’re sadly mistaken.  …Oh, but wait, what is a jawn?

A jawn is a person, place, or thing that hasn’t yet commanded an identity. Jawns are temporary without intent of becoming permanent (jawns may end up becoming more permanent/important than intended, but that wasn’t the primary goal), so there’s really no point in giving them an identity or title when referring to them in conversation.  For example, if someone refers to their job as, “The work jawn,” they don’t really care one way or the other about it and don’t plan on staying long.  …It’s also possible that they may refer to a colleague they’re tying to hookup with as, “the work jawn,”  and they don’t really care one way or the other about that either.

See, jawndom is characterized by indifference.  Also, if the person, place, or thing can be described with a single identifier… it’s definitely a jawn (ie.  cashier jawn, New York jawn, big booty jawn, suburban jawn, special needs jawn, etc.).

…So when do you leave jawndom?  When you become a proper noun and it’s impossible to describe you with one phrase.    I mean, Whole Foods is never “the store jawn.”

In closing: remember that jawndom isn’t necessarily a bad place… as long as you make it a temporary stay.

I’m a jawn, he’s a jawn, she’s a jawn, we’re all jawns, hey! To the tune of:

If You’re Special and You Know It, EXFOLIATE!

So, this is kind of embarrassing, but it’s not like it’s a huge secret or anything:  I’ve been engaged in a lifelong battle with my skin.  …And when I say “lifelong battle,” I mean, we’ve been through it all.

Like most kids, when I hit about 12 or 13, my face hit me with the, “oh you think you cute, huh?  Well, I got somethin for you SUCKA!” and threw landmines all over it.  Unlike most kids, however, I didn’t grow out of it.  You see, I have oily skin, more commonly referred to as “problem skin,” as it’s more prone to break out.  And until now, I made the mistake of treating my skin like a problem to be solved, conquered, stomped out, scrubbed and medicated to within an inch of its life.  …What changed my mind about my approach?  Dr. Bronner’s Magic 18-In-One Hemp Pure Castille Soap.

My sister introduced it to me; we read the label (with interesting, fervent morality messages all over it) aloud to each other over margaritas in Fort Greene, dissolving into tipsy giggles every other sentence.  Once you accept the packaging, though, it’s a great product; I had never stepped out of the shower feeling so sparkly, squeaky clean and refreshed before.  The best, and most relevant part though, is that it’s totally natural and Fair Trade.  Hmm, I thought to myself, if totally natural soap works this well for the body, what can it do for my face?  And anyway, if my skin is a natural “problem,” shouldn’t there be a natural solution? And here is where the story truly begins.

Now, I’m no dermatologist, but I’ve seen enough of them (5, in fact), and been on enough acne drugs (Adoxa, some other antibacterial pill that made me sick, this Benzoyl-Peroxide mix that was only slightly stronger than the over-the-counter-stuff, some random concoction the doctor came up with himself, Differin Gel, Cleocin-T, Retin-A, Retin-A Microgel, Clenia, Tazorac…), that I know a bit about a bit.  Biore, Noxema, Clearasil, all of those… that salicylic acid in their products does more harm than good.  And the benzoyl-peroxide based stuff is ineffective for anything other than “normal skin.”  Tried them all: ended up with tight, dry/burned skin and those awful blemishes… so not cute.

Now, I’m not discounting what doctors do; the dermatologists have been helpful, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat, you know?  I’m just sayin, you’re in your skin 24/7… who knows what, in specific, makes it happy and what triggers flare-ups like you do?

I’m currently debating whether or not to give in and go with my dermatologist’s recommendation of Accutane (read the warnings; it’s a pretty big decision), but in the meantime, I’m rather pleased with the results after having changed my skin care regimen to products that are all at least 90% natural:

MORNING

Face Wash: Say Yes to Tomatoes!

No, you will not smell like a tomato.  I picked up this product because I noticed my skin was getting all red and irritated and I wanted a facial cleanser that would soothe as well as purify my skin.  I’m quite satisfied.

Exfoliator: Burt’s Bees Peach and Willowbark Scrub

Only use the exfoliator up to 3 times a week, or you’ll do more harm than good.  Massage your face gently in upward circular motions; you don’t want to rip it apart with those “microbeads” or whatever.

Complexion Refining Toner: Boots Botanics

Kind of burns a bit, like an astringent, but it works so I’m not going to complain any more than that.  It’s got Amazonian clay (it could be Southern Maryland clay for all I care, as long as it’s clay) in it, which absorbs oil.

Daily Moisture Lotion: Boots Botanics

I don’t remember any of my dermatologists mentioning the fact that I needed a moisturizer, but maybe I wasn’t listening.  …And if they didn’t mention it, I want to know why.  Like most people with oily skin, I thought the answer was to do everything and anything possible to keep my face dryer than the Sahara.  Absolutely not!  Over-drying your face causes it to produce even MORE oil.  A daily oil-free moisturizer keeps your skin hydrated and your oil glands relaxed.

NIGHT

Face Wash: Say Yes To Tomatoes

My Guilty Prescription Pleasure: I really like Tazorac, so I still use it.  It’s Vitamin A-based though, so it’s not like I’m doing something wild and experimental.

Clay Mask: Boots Botanicals

Twice a week I walk around for 10 minutes with my face caked in green clay.  Like the toner, it burns for about 15-20 seconds (if that), but after it dries and you wash it off, your face feels soft, clean, and oil free.

OTHER GOOD PRACTICES:

• STAY AWAY FROM OILY, GREASY hair products. Even if you have short hair… it’ll get on your pillow when you sleep.  And believe me, the oil on your hair will trigger breakouts on your skin.
• Likewise, don’t touch your face. Don’t freaking touch your face.  If you MUST touch your face, (a) keep your hands clean, and (b) keep some of those oil-absorbing sheets with you.
• On that note: DON’T POP YOUR PIMPLES.  I know, I know, that’s like preaching abstinence: 90% of the kids are going to do it anyway, 50% of them because you said not to… BUT!  Popping leads to scarring, and who wants scarring?  Because it’s hard to resist, though, keep some peroxide and Neosporin handy to reduce the likelihood of scarring.
• Cut down on the refined sugar and greasy foods in your diet and increase your Vitamin A intake.  The dermatologists all told me the effects of doing this would be minimal, but I’ve noticed a difference.  Plus, you just feel better when you eat less cupcakes+pizza and more apples+kale and such.
• Makeup: Don’t. I only wear makeup when I’m going out to a special event and/or know I’m going to be photographed or on camera.  When I do wear makeup, I keep it oil-free all the way down to the moisturizer I apply before I even open the concealer.  I’m currently in love with NARS’s Sheer Matte line.  It’s SUPERlight and oil-free, but covers like a nun’s habit.  #biwinning.  PS… NEVER, NEVER, NEVER go to sleep with makeup on your face.  That’s just asking for trouble.  I don’t understand how you can go to sleep without washing your face and brushing your teeth anyway, but GOING TO SLEEP WITH MAKEUP ON YOUR FACE IS THE BIGGEST NO-NO IN THE HISTORY OF FACE NO-NOS!

Again, these are all the things that work for me; they may or may not work for you too.  Some general things will probably apply though: if your skin is dry, use a moisturizer; if it’s red and painful to touch, try to figure out what the irritation is and stop.  And if you’re still “battling” your skin, realize that your skin isn’t a problem, it just requires the appropriate care.

Oooh!  And remember, you may be suffering through oily skin now, but once you hit about 35-40 that oil will be like the magic elixer of everlasting youth.  Keep hope alive!  =)

(Kinda) Boyfriend WANTED (Temporarily)!

First of all, I’m not actually interested in a relationship.  It’s a special guy indeed that can get me to change my mind about that and if you try to change my mind: (a) you’re not him, and (b) you should stop reading now because this isn’t for you.

So, on with it: I’m looking for a few boyfriends (yes, plural).  No, I’m not joking… much.  I’d say I’m like… 45% serious.  I could go about this the normal way: attempt to date people (but I’m tired of being the bad guy and hurting people’s feelings), or ask my guy friends (but that would make our relationship all weird and unnatural and gross), but this just works better for what I need.

If you’re interested, don’t ask why.  That’s part of the qualifications, actually: you cannot be inquisitive.  Oh!  Also, there will be absolutely no sex of any kind.  You can’t even IMAGINE it.  …However, if you DO happen to backslide and imagine it, you’re to keep all of the glorious details to yourself.  …That too, is part of the qualifications: you cannot speak words about the nature of our “relationship” to anyone.  Also, you must be aware that you are one of many and can be… let go… at my discretion at any time.  Don’t ask me how you’re doing either; you should know.  Also part of the qualifications: you must be knowledgable.  About what?  Anything and everything you’re supposed to be knowledgable about.

–Ugh!  …Okay, you can ask why I need you but only if you make it past this extensive list of qualifications:

FULL LIST OF QUALIFICATIONS

• Be okay with being glorified arm candy.  And not even the only piece.  If sharing was a problem spot for you in kindergarten, then you’re probably not cut out for this.
• On that note: look in the mirror.  Ask a friend.  Ask a stranger.  Are you actually arm candy?
• Be resourceful enough to take me out on free dates.  Free dates are the best kind.  I appreciate creativity.
• Be able to hold an interesting conversation.  You should have knowledge in an area I’m not very familiar with.  I enjoy learning and you should be able to expand my horizons.
• You can actually date whoever you want, but you probably shouldn’t have a girlfriend.  I’m sure she’d be a little upset.  And I don’t want my “boyfriend” to have a girlfriend either; it just looks bad.
• I’m feminine, but not prissy.  I enjoy twirling around in pretty dresses and cursing like a sailor and making inappropriate jokes.  You should be okay with that.
• Have a life.  I don’t need a lot of attention.  Too much attention makes me uncomfortable.  (Oh!  You should know that I don’t like talking on the phone.  To me, talking on the phone is akin to being held hostage.)

I mean, ideally, you should look like Morris Chestnut, be as witty as Captain Jack Sparrow, as chill to hang out with as Ashton Kutcher, and as fun to party with as Will Smith.*  …Actually it’s cool if you look like any and all of the above =)  …But that’s negotiable.  It’s not like I’m Gabrielle Union or anything.

I'm kinda cute though. Kinda.

And what’s in it for you?  You get to enjoy my company!  And I’m good about returning favors.  -___- Don’t take that the wrong way.  You know what I’m talking about, ya nasty!

Grounds for being “let go” include, but are not limited to: 1) Boring me, 2) Asking too many questions, 3) Exhibiting signs of incurable stupidity, 4) Trying to have sex with me.  And reverse psychology doesn’t work on me either, chump.

If you read all that and are still interested in the position, you are either (1) crazy, or (2) PERFECT for me.**  Email ohDeena@gmail.com to apply.

xoxoxo!

-Deens

*I don’t actually know that Ashton Kutcher is cool to hang out with and Will Smith is fun to party with, but that’s what it seems like!

**I reserve the right to reject you with no explanation.  You can be an adult about it, or you can take it personally; either way won’t change my mind.

A Passing Thought on Overcomplicating Things

So, I’ve got braces, right?  I’ve had them since 3 days after my 21st birthday.  I was supposed to get them when I was like 12, but I told my mom that I wasn’t going to be the skinny kid with big hair, glasses, AND braces who always had all the right answers… it just wasn’t happening.  I didn’t get teased that much because I was nice and fun, but I didn’t want any more than I already got.  She took pity on me until I filled out a bit and got contacts in high school… but then I said I didn’t want to have braces for prom.  And then I didn’t want them in college.  And then she said, “listen… you won’t be on my healthcare for much longer.  You’re getting braces.”  And that was that.

So yeah, I’ve got braces… for four more weeks!  I just had my second to last appointment and I got to choose my retainer!  (Yeah, I’m excited.  Don’t judge me.).  So, my orthodontist hands me the “catalogue” of retainer designs and asks me which one I want.  I say:

“Um, I think I’ll take the abstract… geometric… black and white one.”

She says, “…You mean ‘zebra?’”

Oh.

On that note: sometimes things just aren’t that complicated… and if they are, it might just be because of miscommunication.

 

C'mon... say this doesn't look like some abstract painting (or a poster of a painting). C'mon.

Making Sense of Touch

I have this theory that you can tell everything you really need to know about a man by how he touches you. Admittedly, I’m not the type of person who feels they need to analyze everything when it comes to interpersonal relationships, so my idea of “what you really need to know” is relatively skimp.  You don’t need to put a person through the Spanish Inquisition to know whether they’re worthy of your time or not, and everything after that is secondary.  …Yep, it’s really that simple.  (At least, that’s the way I see it.).

So, yeah!  Yeah.  I believe you can tell everything you need to know about a man by how he touches you.  And that touch can be anything from a handshake to a kiss; casual to intimate.

Now, we all use some sort of shortcut system for decision-making purposes. If you really took the time to define and analyze every little thing anew when faced with a choice, you’d never get anything done.  With that being said: yes, I mentally throw people in labeled bins.  That doesn’t mean they stay in the bin I intially put them in, that I ignore new information that doesn’t agree with what I’ve decided, or that I consider them to be the same as everyone else sharing that bin; it just means that I probably won’t interact with someone in  ”Bin A” the same way I would someone in “Bin B.”  I know people aren’t 1-dimensional and you’re always free to change my mind.

Keeping both of these things in mind [(1) I rely heavily on my sense of touch when making personal judgements, (2) I mentally sort people into bins], also understand how I view men in general. My father has this theory, that I agree with, that all men are either practicing or recovering sexists.  Fellas, those are his words, not mine.  (He also says that having two daughters made him a feminist.).  But listen, the patriarchy shapes your world view from before you’re even able to speak… it’s not your fault for having a “boys rule, girls drool” attitude.  We can debate whose fault it is for why you’re 35 with that same playground attitude another day though.  (Why didn’t I mention what my mother thinks?  I’m not that closely aligned with her ideas about men.).

So NOW, to the point of all that delving into What Makes Deens Tick: Not exclusively, but strongly based on how they touch me, I sort men into certain bins on a scale of how sexist they are.

(At this point I have to issue a note to the guys I’m close to: relax.  I wouldn’t keep you around if I didn’t want you around.  LOL).

After much ado, I present to you: DEENS’S MIND ON MEN *ducks for cover*

DISCLAIMER: This probably isn’t all-inclusive.  And there are probably some in-between stages.  And no one is a perfect fit.  And… damnit, these are MY feelings and I won’t sit up here and defend them!  Damnit.  =)

An Evening in the Mercer Household

It all started when my parents’ different senses of humor clashed (as usual) as my mom made a joke my dad didn’t think was funny…

Me and Dad

Mom: You just can’t talk to your father!  It’s like he doesn’t get nuance and he’s stuck in his own little world and he only catches bits and snatches of what you’re saying.

Dad: I talk a lot with Medina.

Mom: (turns to me)  Really?

Me: Yeah, we have good conversations.

Dad: We talk about football.

Mom: Ugh.

Me: (laughing)  I remember you bought that “Football for Dummies” book and you still didn’t get it.  How could you have been a cheerleader and not understand football?

Mom: I read that book and what I got out of it was that you’re given four opportunities to go 10 yards and if you don’t, you have to punt the ball away to the other team.  What more do I need to know?

Me: Um, what constitutes a penalty?  For starters…

Mom: I don’t need to know that; that’s for the refs to know, not me.

Dad: Do you know what an onside kick is?  Medina knows what an onside kick is.

Mom: Well big whoop.

Dad: Name four Redskins.

Mom: Sonny Jurgensen.

Dad: Four current Redskins; Sonny Jurgensen is like 77 years old.

Mom, Me, Dad

Mom: Okay, um… he’s really gorgeous and tall and he caught four touchdown passes in that one game…

Dad: They weren’t passes.

Mom: Balls, then, he caught four balls.  Intercepted them.  He’s really gorgeous.

Me: DeAngelo Hall.

Mom: Yes!

Dad: Who’s the quarterback?

Mom: Oh, I know this one, I know this one!  He came from Chicago– I mean, Philly– and he’s got big lips, and um… oh, I know it, I know it, don’t help me… this is just a senior moment.  It starts with a D, but it isn’t DeAngelo.  Dominick.  No, Darius…  Okay, help me.

Dad: Donovan.

Mom: Yes!  Donovan McNabb.  Okay, another one… he’s really fat and they wouldn’t let him play…

Me: Albert Haynesworth.

Mom: Woo hoo!  Okay, and Orakpo!  I did it!

**Bonus  Hilarity: As I was leaving, I asked my dad if I could take some CDs with me since I’m going on a music binge right now.  He went down to the basement and brought up a couple for me to take and I said I’d transfer the rest later.  My mother took a look at what he’d selected for me and her finger stopped over Biggie’s Life After Death.

“You’re letting her TAKE this?!”  she demanded, as if she’d never see it again.

Yep, that’s my mother: football dunce, Biggie fan.  Gotta love her.