The only thing I’m not enjoying about this book is its high expectations on my reading list. Twenty pages in and I’ve ordered four books mentioned in the notes.
Where did I hear about Olivette Otele’s African Europeans: An Untold History? No idea. Maybe someone on Twitter, or, more likely what I’d been reading circulates around this subject and one of the authors mentioned it.
Obviously very much here for her writing on Saint Mauritius, and shoutout to Dom zu Magdeburg St. Mauritius und Katharina and that statue of him. And for the bibliography, ’cos there’s been a heap of new stuff specifically on Germany / German-ish regional history that is totes my jam. Probably going to be one of my Books of the Year. If I was still doing that. And it’s making me miss my rando trips to small German cities to gawp at mediæval art something huge.
There was a big gap this year when I had a little money for and no way of getting books. All that talk on social media of supporting artists during pandemic quarantine by buying their books hit up against furloughed supply chains.
Completely off topic here, I discovered yesterday I’d been using the entirely wrong word, furlong instead of furlough (and lifetime usage of either is in the single digits). And then I discovered furlong is 1/8th of a mile, so now I have Vin Diesel, or rather Dominic Toretto in my head going, “I live my life two furlongs at a time.”
Back to buying books. And no, e-books are not an option. I like paper, I like the feel and smell and aesthetics of books, I like how line lengths, page size, fonts, typography, layout, margins, the density of ink on paper, all that, I like how it creates a specific way of reading. So, no new books for some months and a rapidly dwindling pile of that variety which take months or years to read (Spivak, I’m looking at you.)
And then my favourite bookshop let me know books were available again and damn did I go hard. First, the Jhalak Prize announced its 2020 long and short lists and the winner, and I’m doing that thing again where I’ll end up throwing cash at about half the long list.
What is the Jhalak Prize (’cos clicking links scares me or something)? It was started in 2017 by Sunny Singh, Nikesh Shukla, and the sadly defunct Media Diversified and is an annual award for British and British resident writers of colour in any genre. And it’s consistently a banger. If I had the cash, I would without question by everything on the long list as soon as it’s announced.
And second, a bunch of weird old books I’ve been hitting my bookshop up for availability and prices for absolutely years turned up. A couple I’ve been asking about for five years. No, I cannot say no.
Some of these books have been sitting on my reading shelf since last year; some of them I finished months ago. I’m not doing that way too intense essay per book and annual Book(s) of The Year thing anymore, pumped the brakes on that. I still want to remind myself and celebrate a pile of authors who, all of whom did that indescribable magic a book can do. Some of these (’cos that’s my tendency) are hard, painful reads. Even these have beauty and joy and hope in them, and I reach for that. All these authors are my teachers and I’m grateful beyond words to have enough space in my life that I can read and appreciate and celebrate them.
I’ve lived through this shit as a trans femme since working it out on my own, not even in my teens, in the ’80s. That fucking long ago. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of cis cunts coming for my people. I’m tired of the white supremacy and TERFs in feminism and queer spaces and so so many cis-heteronormative people, white and BIPOC, taking so fucking long to say something. If you even do. You’re killing us. You get that, right? You’re responsible for our deaths.
Donate & protect Black & Indigenous trans femme futures ✊🏿✊🏿✊🏿
Do the work. Find community-based organisations in your city and country who explicitly support Black and Indigenous and Brown and Migrant trans femmes. And not LGBT orgs who reliably use the T for publicity, spend all the money prioritising cisgender ‘issues’ and tell us to wait and they’ll come back for us. They never did and they never will.
This trans, queer, multiethnic, Muslim, immigrant, working class, child sexual abuse survivor, on-the-spectrum, sex worker, femme chick says:
Black and Indigenous Trans Lives Matter
Fuck the Police
TERFs and white supremacy can choke on my dick
This is about the minimum space I need to not feel compressed right now.
And I wanted to write about dismantling – rather than diversity in – white cisgender masculine heteronormative space but I’m tired. When I ride I’m usually the only woman in a sea of dudes. I’m definitely the only trans feminine, queer, non-white person. And on the very rare occasion I’m in a woman-centric space, like the Rapha Women’s 100 last year, I’ll still be one of the only non-white (yeah I’m specifically using that term), and definitely the only trans feminine person. And in dude space or white cis women space I never feel safe or comfortable or able to relax and I’m tired. I can’t trust you all and I’m tired.
Recreational and athletic space is highly, highly normalised as white, cis– and heterocentric and masculine, and that includes cis women doing the policing. I don’t want to have to engage with that as a precondition for physical recreation or as an athlete, and it feels like this is the bare minimum of space I – we need to have some room to breath. But I don’t want to talk about all that ’cos I’m tired of saying it in so many different ways for a lifetime and seeing my siblings say it and live it and lose their lives for it for way more than a lifetime.
So, for all you BIPOC trans femme riders, and those of you prepared to educate yourselves, Cyclista Zine has been making me feel good about myself lately.
And for the rest of you, educate yourselves and donate to Black and Indigenous trans funds and support organisations like:
Fuck I will not even try and keep it civil at all anymore.
Fucking educate yourselves.
This is for white people as well as POC who bring anti-Blackness into the room and for people in countries like Germany and Australia who look at the US and are all, “Damn they’re racist!” like every colonised and colonising country wasn’t built on Indigenous genocide and isn’t continuing that European project today.
And not just to US orgs who definitely need support ’cos there’s no healthcare system in that country and the for-profit carceral system works by setting impossible bail bonds. Donate to community orgs in your own countries, especially Indigenous ones, and ones doing the fucking thanklessly hard work at the margins and intersections.
And if you don’t get why the death of Tony McDade is inextricable from the death of George Floyd, go back to 1. and fucking repeat until you do.
Seen off Sonnenallee, desert sand immaculate and shiny with tires looking like they haven’t rolled further than showroom to transporter, a 2018 or later (I think) Toyota Land Cruiser J76 Hardtop absolutely stunting. The thing that got me is the Tunisian temporary registration / foreign residents license plate. Yes, Wikipedia has a truly work-of-art beautiful per-country documentation of license plates, and yes, I went through every Arabic or adjacent or possibly country looking at the plates as soon as I worked out ن ت was not a country abbreviation, and yes, I was dead pleased and relieved when I finally saw those two letters. “20 Pound of Diesel mate”
New music for the new week when we’re all on lockdown. OkayAfrica’s 7 South African Female R&B/Soul Artists to Watch In 2020. Ami Faku, who I cannot believe I failed to blog about, ’cos I bought her album IMALI about 5 minutes after first listening to her. Refentse Solo, who I’ll probably ending up also buying whatever I can once I get around to listening to her. I got stuck on Valerie Omari though. Very casually listening to Just Like The Rain and had to pause ’cos, “Did she just say, ‘she’?” Why, yes. Yes she did. “Just like the rain / She had me dripping way down.” South African R&B and Soul is doing the business right now. And Valerie Omari is criminally underrated.
While reading Elizabeth Gillespie McRae’s Mothers of Massive Resistance: White Women and the Politics of White Supremacy, I was continually reminded of the photo of Angela Peoples at the Women's March in 2017, holding a sign saying, “Don’t forget: White Women Voted for Trump”. The resistance by white people, especially white women and white mothers, to the unequivocal truth of the disparity between who they voted for and who Black, Latinx, Asian and everyone else voted for remains, not just in the US but everywhere white supremacy never went away: Australia, Canada, UK, Germany, across Europe, and elsewhere. “Their white motherhood meant teaching their children lessons in racial distance, in a racially determined place in society, and in white supremacy.” (p.237; quote above p. 240)
Pertinent reading for the turn of the decade — the turn of any decade in the last few hundred years. Elizabeth Gillespie McRae’s Mothers of Massive Resistance: White Women and the Politics of White Supremacy came to me from I have no idea where, early last year. My ‘Want to Buy’ list is mad out of control, and taking 18 months for a book to circulate up to getting ordered is quick. I’m presuming it turned up in my RSS feed, or maybe Twitter shortly before I bailed from there.
I play this game when I’m reading histories of racial segregation. It doesn’t have a name, and it’s quite simple. It’s a ‘What if’ game and goes like this: ‘What if my dad or his parents lived there?’ How would or could their lives be shaped and changed by the laws and regulations at that place and that time? What might they be categorised as? I am reminded every time I play how conditional and tenuous ‘race’ is, how arbitrary the race line is, how those tenuous and arbitrary demarcations of where the line falls determine even if they could have married at all. And if they did, and if then my parents could — for the same reasons — the possibilities for life stop with me. White supremacy is, after all, bound at its root with reproductive heteronormativity and the eugenicist-defined ‘health of the White race’.
Around the time I saw the exhibition, Deutscher Kolonialismus: Fragmente Seiner Geschichte Und Gegenwart, and while Germany was (and is) moving through its unfinished history with Namibia, I noticed the burden of proof that genocide had occurred always rested on the victims. Again, conditional, arbitrary. Namibia (then German South-West Africa): genocide; German East Africa: (now Burundi, Rwanda, Tanzania), merely subduing of an uprising. If we accept the fact that the aim of European colonialism was to divide the entire globe amongst itself (clearly seen in its late-19th century form of the Berlin Conference dividing up Africa), we must also agree that two fundamental tools or strategies in that were (and are) race and genocide. Eugen Fischer, who was there in German South-West Africa, later with the Nazis, whose ideology shaped the Nuremberg Laws, said of genocide, “whoever thinks thoroughly the notion of race, can not arrive at a different conclusion”. Wherever colonialism happened, so too did genocide.
And after the Second World War, after anti-colonialist movements, after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the fall of the Iron Curtain, the End of History and all that, we didn’t magically cease to live in a racist, genocidal, white supremacist world. That should have been self-evident before the events of the last few years, and arguing this is again an instance of burden of proof falling on the victims.
While this book deals with a narrow time period and geographical context (primarily 1920s–1960s and the Jim Crow South; broadly the US), nonetheless the role of white, cisgender, heteronormative women in collectively and individually creating, enforcing, and adapting racial segregation is something we’ve seen continuously, around the globe, without pause, right up to the UK election result on Thursday. Whatever racist, colonialist, genocidal (and we’re talking about planetary scale genocide these days) white supremacist fuckery the straight white men who run shit get off on, it’s their women who, in all the little, everyday ways, from home to school to communities to government offices who make it happen.
This wasn’t meant to be a review or compilation of opinions, it’s a Sunday, I haven’t blogged for a while, I have a pile of books that Panda bought (Panda unilaterally does the buying, I get the leftovers, Panda is mad educated), and I’m thinking through a large piece of fiction I’m writing of which books like this are extremely pertinent. It’s the kind of book I say, “Read it if you can, then find and read the comparable books from where you live,” keeping in mind my own global history as a product and result of colonialism.