Categories
Disability human rights india Indigenous people intersectionality lesbian, art, poetry racism Social Justice violence against women

World Social Justice Day

The United Nations has declared February 20th as World Social Justice day. In this era, social justice is like a carrot dangling before humanity while the vast majority of us are being beaten with sticks. So, social justice is an aspirational desire, a desire to remediate the wrongs of past times and current ways of ruling. I hope every single day, to see signs of positive and crucial social change.

 In the area of women’s rights, even as we expand our notions of “femininity” and “masculinity” to include non-biologically sexed people, there is so much to do. Women and trans-women who are the victims of violence all over the world, are really at the bottom of the barrel. Our lives are de facto worthless, if we are Indigenous, South Asian, of African descent, East Asian, even more so. 

This is so evident when we examine murder statistics (flawed and manipulated, though statistical data may be) from Mexico ( 2,795 in 2017), India (between 8000-5000 dowry deaths per year), South Africa (2930 in 2017-18 ), Spain ( over one thousand women killed in 8 years), Australia ( approximately 52 women per year) and the United States (approximately 1600 in 2018 ) and Canada (118 in 11 months in 2018, or 1 murder every 2.5 days ).  In Cuba, pressure from local women’s organizations and activists is pushing for statistics on violence against women and a new integrated law of  gender violence that will allow the state and the social services sector to keep track of violence aginst women. 2016 saw about 50 women murdered by male partners and intimates.

Rape statistics and/ or lack of, are also horrifying. In India, over 300, 000 are reported to police, leaving another 3 million unreported annually, as experts have pointed out, due to social and familial stigma, rape and sexual assault are the most under-reported crimes. In Mexico, thousands of women are violated daily with a reported rape rate of 12.6 per 100, 000 and about 3 million reported rapes in the 2010-2015 period. 

As we are well aware, rape and sexually motivated violence is the least reported, with official figures representing approximately 10% of actual cases globally. Biased and misogynist legal systems and law enforcement in every country in the world, makes sure that it will remain that way. In Canada, one in three women experiences some kind of partner assault in her lifetime. The violence against women of Indigenous descent has reached horrific proportions, a genocidal violence that is rooted in the making invisible of native cultures and nations. 

Discussing women’s wages, social and economic opportunities and acquisitive power, we see that the gender gap prevails here as well throughout the world. I have seen how the gap in wages translates in housing vulnerability for women at even higher rates than for men, in one example. Disproportionately, women also shoulder child rearing and housing costs as well as actual child-care. 

In terms of other social justice issues, and there are so many— racism and imperialism rank among the highest impactful issues on the planet. In North America and Europe, racism saves employers, corporations and states trillions of dollars in historical and current under/unemployment, substandard housing and education. Racism makes huge profits for war industries, law enforcement related industries and municipal developers, furnishing companies that supply concentration camps and public and private prisons, and has fostered generations of white supremacist involvement in armed foreces and armed law enforcement. 

https://inthesetimes.com/features/ice-abolish-immigration-child-detention-private-prison-profiting.html

It is almost incomprehensible the ways in which “othering” and inferiorizing the lives of billions of people for the profit of a few white men and their families— global oligarchs— shapes our world view through the media and social networks. As many have argued the intersection of oppressions by race and gender as well as social class, account for the ways our very lives are shaped and the type of opportunities that may be afforded to us. 

If we add disability to the mix, poverty is an almost constant factor in the lives of people with serious and or chronic health conditions, as employment seems the last place in our lives where we might expect accomodation, though we live in capitalist societies that measure  all our worth in terms of what we “do” (read, earn) occupationally. 

Even the left plays into this bourgeois meritocracy. That is why, we so rarely see images of disabled people speaking about the complexity of their lives or political belliefs. They ( by which I mean, we), are relegated to speaking only about “disability”. Having an affiliation to paid, and well-paid employment at that, certainly gives “privilege” to those who are able-bodied but within our own social class.

These horrific underlying social inequalities shape every aspect of our lives. Women, not safe in their homes, or on the streets, live in a state of permanent alert that starts when we are little children. People of colour, indigenous people, colonized communities and nations, are constantly prevented from lifting the yoke of subjugation that presses down on our human capacity and potential. 

Social Justice Day is a day to take stock of all the work we have done in our countries and globally, while confronting the fact that we have barely begun to tackle the enormous overarching issues that literally, shape, and delimit our lives. 

I’ll leave you with a poem from a writer whose words echoed in my head and got me through the cult-like environment of law school so many years ago. Chrystos is a Menominee lesbian poet whose work addresses our real lives. Instead of growing up on the reservation, she was reared in the city around Black, Latino, Asian, and White people, and identifies herself as an Urban Indian.

MAYBE WE SHOULDN’T MEET

IF THERE ARE NO THIRD WORLD WOMEN HERE

How can you miss our brown & golden

a thin red scream

in this sea of pink

But we’re here

meeting & didn’t contact the Black Lesbians or G.A.L.A. or Gay American Indians or the Disabled Women’s Coalition or Gay Asians or anyone I know

You’re the ones who don’t print your signs in Spanish or Chinese or any way but how you talk 

You’re the ones standing three feet away from a Black woman saying

There are no Third World women here

Do you think we are Martians

All those workshops on racism won’t help you open your eyes & see how you don’t even see us

How can we come to your meetings ifwe are invisible

Don’t look at me with guilt Don’t apologize Don’t struggle with the problem of racism like algebra

Don’t write a paper on it for me to read or hold a meeting in

which you discuss what to do to get us to come to your

time & your place

We’re not your problems to understand & trivialize

We don’t line up in your filing cabinets under “R” for rights

Don t make the racist assumption that the issue of racism

between us

is yours at me

Bitter boiling I can’t see you

Stop the Crisis of Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women, Sarah Whalen Lund
Categories
childhood india lesbian, art, poetry memory patriarchy

My Dida’s House

Reading the stories of so many Indian women, I am reminded of this, my only heirloom. I want to tell too, of my hidden memories. My Dida’s house, the noise, the open sewers, the eternal mangy cat with her multi-hued descendants. The ceaseless summer war between cat and human, mosquito and human. The long afternoons after the lovingly prepared meal, the smell of the bus station, the market’s discarded rotting food and always the flies buzzing, as if to remind us there is something else, another species more desperate  and persistent than ouselves.

Since infanthood these noises and smells. The afternoon heat bringing our blood to a boil, the power-cuts, the grafitti, the red sickle like an unfinished question mark amid so much poverty.

Here, the distance of empire and geography, my own unchosen but present desires seperate me far more than oceans from my land. A land which I was made ashamed of by others, and which today, in a sad irony, might be ashamed of me. And thus, we make our own circle of desire and fear.

My Dida’s house saw so many dreams deferrred, so many roads not taken, so many wombs and hearts burning with unclaimed victories. In those early days, I explored like a fearful, cunning Columbus— every dust ball, every crack in the gray concrete veranda. I still remember the bathroom, the barred window like a small sadistic ornament  through which the drivers of the 8B bus could be seen, drinking strong tea and spitting paan juice like macabre avant-garde painters.

I saw men wilt and shrivel like sad dried flowers, betrayed by a politics they did not choose, by a patriarchy which hung loosely like an ill fitting dhoti. In the women’s faces, I saw a thousand resentments (like the faces of prisoners in solitary confinement, who envy the crowded regimentation of those still locked up, but yet more free).

And after the slow afternoon tea, the sweets bought specially, the women’s talk (so often described as gossip) soared into the sudden, coming dusk. My world was always one of communicative women, harsh-voiced or sweet, and silent men appearing like fullstops at the end of hurried sentences.

Dida = Grandmother, colloquial.

Paan = preparation with betel leaf and nut, delicious and addictive! produces a red spit.

Dhoti = men’s lower garment in traditional Bengal. More formal than a Lungi.

Categories
lesbian, art, poetry

Traveller’s Lament

I used to love the roads
as well as blood loves vein
fleeing from
running to
the geographies of other maps
where my race
charted like a cartographer’s
fantasy

finds itself obscured
by the deviance of our desire

in all my darkness
i have never lost the way
nor forgotten the words of
this lamentation

La Sirena, Hotel Belmar Galeria, Mexico photo Kaushalya Bannerji, 2018

Global Warning

A motorcycle revs up the evening
somewhere a man forces himself
between a child’s legs
A silk-clad woman drinks her solitude
into stupor
A father afraid
of hungry tomorrows
breaks through a picket line
Dishonour is painful
and carries a thousand names.

Global Warning, Kaushalya Bannerji, 2019

Both poems copyright Kaushalya Bannerji 2019

Categories
lesbian, art, poetry

Linguistics II

(Kaushalya Bannerji, The Faces of 5 O’Clock, Sistervision Press, Toronto, 1996)

a poem is a dream

with many endings

just like words

are shapes that have no form

but human

Categories
lesbian, art, poetry Uncategorized

I Wanted to Write a Dyke

KAUSHALYA BANNERJI

wanted to write a dyke poem

in your face rhetorical

a poem unbound angry as my curves

aching as the words you never see

me throw

wanted to write a dyke poem

struttingjeans ungirdled

fists that caress like fingers

a poem as inspiring as Bonnie

as Thelma and Louise as defiant

as Lila and Urmila

as erased by your herstory as Malinche and Draupadi

wanted poems

as hungry as Kali

fertile as Yemaya

bursting with women’s sad miracles like Mary

wanted to write a dyke

Kaushalya Bannerji, March 2019