Bad class-room memory

Last week, anti-racist educator, Sherene Razack was here at the law school doing a lecture on "How Is White Supremecy Embodied?: Sexualized Racial Violence at Abu Ghraib."

The room was set up in sort of a horseshoe shape and I was sitting kind of behind her, on her right. Sitting directly across from me, and behind Sherene on her left, was a black third-year law student, Alonzo. Because of the way the room was set up and where I was sitting, I had a much better view of Alonzo than of Sherene and this resulted in some bad class-room memories for me.



Sherene was speaking about lynching and sexual violence and the coalescence of power, control, racism, and patriarchy. Though I tried not to, I couldn’t help but see Alonzo and wonder about the experience of this presentation for him. I also felt like a Bystander in the midst of horror –especially when Sherene juxtaposed the words “caress” (such a beautiful word, onomatopoeic quality, almost tangible where you can hear, feel, sense the softness of caring touching) and then “castration” (which is violent and hurts and bleeds and is horror).



I wondered about Alonzo because this scene (the presentation about racial and sexualized violence in the presence of a black man) reminded me of a first-year history class where the Prof was talking about genocide in Canada and about the (deliberate!) distribution of smallpox infected blankets. This was totally NEW information to me and I was shocked and hurt with the casualness of the lecture. I wanted to scream that it couldn’t be true, that it had to be lie. I was also upset that no one-- not my mother or any other teachers--had prepared me for this.



Also when I think about it now, the juxtaposition of the words “distribution of blankets” (which is sharing and caring and warmth) and “smallpox infected” (which is greed and evil and death) is like using the words “caress” and “castration” in the same moment.



I know that the very best education is the education which is transformative and I often think about that in my Women’s Studies class. But I guess sometimes that “transformation” is so unsettling, so disturbing that it hurts and I think about my role in possibly hurting others.



I’m not suggesting that Alonzo was hurt (he is after all, a third-year law student and my guess is that he’s heard these stories before) but I’m reminded of the potential for pain in the class-room and for my responsibility in that. Didn’t Martin Luther King talk about the wounds that need to be lanced in order to let the poison out? I wonder how we as educators can lance those wounds in a way that doesn’t reproduce the terror but at the same time, unsettles us enough that we are transformed in the process. There’s a balancing act that has to be done and I think Sherene does that well.



So in the end, I’m left with lots to think about and I'm thankful for that. Maybe I can work some of these thoughts into an LLM paper or a lecture for my Women’s Studies class.


Painful though it is, I'm glad I remember.

My Blood Is Red

Last week I stopped at Thrifty's to pick up a few items for my lunch. It was around 9:00 p.m. and the store was quiet. The customer in front of me was just leaving as an Indigenous woman came through the door and went directly to the adjacent floral department. She came back to the till and asked the young cashier if there was someone that could help her there. The cashier replied that the woman in that department was on her break. She offered no apology or any other assistance. At this point, because she was ringing my groceries through the till, the cashier’s curtness was possibly excusable. I say “possibly excusable” because I believe that retail workers exist because shoppers exist. The cashier might have seen the Indigenous woman’s request as an interruption to her work, but in my veiw, shoppers should NEVER be seen as interruptions or in the way. We are their raison d'etre.

A few minutes later, the Indigenous woman returned and asked if the person in the floral department had returned. The cashier said no. The Indigenous woman asked then if there was someone else who could help and when the cashier said no I interjected that it was hard to believe that there was no one else who could assist. The Indigenous woman said that she would try to find flowers at another store and quietly left.

I repeated my assertion that it was hard to believe there was no one else who could assist and the cashier told me (not the Indigenous woman) that she could, in fact, have helped by wrapping flowers or scanning items through the till. I then told the cashier that I wondered if she might have been more helpful in a similar situation if the customer had been a “classy looking white woman.” She replied that she was offended that I was accusing her of being racist.

I hadn’t actually said she was racist; I had merely pointed out my observations and had suggested that perhaps when she had a quiet moment that she might reflect on this situation and consider if she might have unconsciously treated that customer rudely and if she would have been more helpful to well-dressed white woman.

The cashier continued to deny that there was any racism behind her action. I pointed out that the store was very quiet and that there were employees standing around appearing to chat with each other. Also, the cashier had to call a supervisor to approve a transaction and her supervisor arrived within seconds to swipe a card illustrating to me that the supervisor was apparently available to assist with this task.

Racism happens not only with actions but also with inactions. In my view, her behaviour was rude. It was also likely unconscious.

I KNOW that this situation would have played out differently if I had been the one wanting to purchase flowers. I would have asked for the cashier to find someone and if no one appeared, I might have opened the fridge door and started helping myself to flowers.

Today, thinking about the scene last night, I feel badly that I didn’t go and stand beside the Indigenous woman and let her know that I was an ally and was most definitely NOT condoning the ungracious behaviour of the cashier. Most of this scene took place after the Indigenous woman had left. I hope the cashier she went home and reflected on her behaviour. The Indigenous woman's reflections on that scene?

Five Triangles

"Instead of eating three square meals a day, eat five triangles." That's the diet suggestion of the day on the internet. Maybe if you're good at geometry this makes sense but to me, it doesn't seem to add up.

I guess the idea is instead of four big meals you eat five small ones. But hey--
I finally found my weight loss success through hypnosis. Strange but true . . .

I discovered that I love the feeling of being hypnotized and even more, I've loved the results. When I started back in July, I was a whopping 172 pounds which was way too much on my 5'10" body. Now I'm around 154. I don't exactly eat five triangular meals a day but I do eat breakfast (which I didn't used to do) and I walk almost every day, do pilates probably 5 times a week, go to ballet once or twice a week, never (or hardly ever!) do I go to bed with a full stomache (this also means I sleep better). I've also cut out alomost all alcohol and dairy--including cheese which I love.

My pants got longer just like my old friend Martha said happened to her, and I'm now in a size 13 (or sometimes even 11) instead of 15 or sometimes even 15W! Yuck. I hate the thought of how that looks from the back 15W !! cuz you know the W's GOT to stand for WIDE.

One time my husband said that in my gortex jacket with all its reflectors that I looked at night when I was walking down the road,like one of those big tanker trucks you see going down the highway. He hasn't told me lately how he thinks I look. I'll ask.

Holding up the Law School building

If it weren't for this left shoulder, I'm certain the building would fall down.

Nagat'si should not be confused with . . . .

Nagat'si should not be confused with my-gats-si which means S*** house (aka outhouse).

Nagat'si

Nagat'si is a bucket or a pail.