I Am (Not) My Hair

Straight hair. Short hair. Pixie cut. Bob. Blonde hair. Wavy hair. Hair in the shower. Ew, hair in the drain! Long hair. Thick hair. Curly hair. Thin hair. No hair. Hair is everywhere. And sometimes, it is notoriously missing from shiny, bright, bald, bulbous heads. There's a whole aisle dedicated to it in Wal-Mart. Actually, there may be two. Rows lined with fragrant shampoos, conditioners that make your hair grow, hair dyes, hair gels, hair spray, an assortment of accessories that I've still not figured out (beyond the basic bobby pin and hair tie) and a range of other things. And at the very end, the things I need most: the ethnic hair products. Of course, they take up one side on half the aisle, but they're there. My products, my nutrients, my trusted friends. The nappy girl products. Yeah, that's them.

I've been experimenting with my hair now (or I should say my mother and I have) for 22 years. 22 years, and I still haven't found the right chemical combination. Alcohol dries your hair out. Sulfate makes it even worse. Palmade makes it greasy! That other stuff makes it stink! Watch out for those hair gels, they either make your hair too soft or too stiff. Nothing is just right! Even Goldilocks couldn't figure her way out in the hair care section.

I'm sure men must think most women are just over-reacting. What's the big deal, it's just hair? (Of course, they don't realize the seriousness until they find their first gray hair, or their hair line starts receding, or that little bald spot on their crown develops. But they understand, in the end. They all do.) But when articles appear in the New York Times about the stigma against older women having long hair (when articles appear in the NY Times about hair at all), the issue of hair has to be taken seriously. But it has to be taken even more seriously when you're a half black women living in a world where the hair care market is saturated with products for white women (and only marginally for black women). And of course, neither is right for you. Don't get me wrong, black hair care products are great (and hell, some of the white ones are pretty great, too). But there's nothing like knowing that someone, somewhere in the world, has made a product JUST FOR YOU. But that feeling, it is one I've not yet known. There are great alternatives. I hear all the time just how fabulous Dominican hairdressers are. And that probably has something to do with the fact that Dominicans have hair very similar to the texture that biracial girls do (you know, not quite kinky, not quite straight; it's hovering somewhere in the middle because like everything else in our genetic code, it couldn't make up its damn mind). But still, it isn't quite right, is it?

I had a teacher in Feminist Psychology once who told me that producers make products that are most beneficial (and least detrimental) to themselves. That's why in a male-driven market, feminine products will lead to TSS, contraceptives that "regulate" female hormones will be made to seem more appealing than rubbers a man can just pop on his dick, and pain meds aimed at specifically female aches will be created and sold at exorbitant prices. If women were in charge, she hypothesized, we would make products that were better, healthier, for us. I guess it's the same for hair care. Most producers are white, hence, more white hair care products. And the black producers that there are, they're primarily concerned with their black consumers. Us mixed chicks? Alas, we're the minority here. And while every now and then some miracle elixir may come out that works magic on our hair, we're pretty much relegated to the position of waiting, wishing, and hoping.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm thankful for what advances have been made in the mixed girl hair care world. (I thank God every night for Brazilians and the Brazilian Keratin Treatment, which has finally allowed me to actually comb and style my hair for the first time in 22 years). But I am hopeful that one day, maybe when I have my own little curly headed daughter and her hair to fuss with, they'll have something that works (so that I won't have to put her through the torture that I endured when my mother put a relaxer on my head that burned my hair out. Live and learn, right?).

In the end, though, it's not really the hair that matters, is it? Not to sound cliché, but…hair is just hair. And it's just there. And most of the time it's annoying and frustrating. It gets absolutely everywhere, and I don't even want to think about how much I spend per year on products to keep it up. But still, it's hair, and it's there, and it's mine. It's long. It's thick. It's coarse and it's curly. And it's mine. And it's wild and it's crazy, just like me. So, while I totally agree with Indie Arie, (you know…"I am not my hair, I am the soul that lives within"?), I am my hair. It's a pretty in-your-face representation of my personality. And I'm learning to love that.

Is it or Ain’t It? Homosexuality and the Civil Rights Movement

It's a much discussed topic. And most people fall neatly into two camps: those who think that, obviously, the movement for homosexual rights is an integral (and unfulfilled) part of the Civil Rights movement, and those who think that it very clearly is not.

What of those who think that the quest for homosexual rights is not to be associated with the Civil Rights movement? I suspect that many who associate the Civil Rights movement with the pursuit of rights for members of certain ethnic groups are reluctant to include a class of people that they believe have chosen their lifestyle, rather than being "dealt their hand," so to speak, as African Americans have. Further, it seems that many feel (particularly African-Americans) that homosexuality is a sin, and are hesitant to include amongst themselves such people, (it was widely speculated that the overwhelming amount of support by the Black community in California for Prop 8 was due to religious beliefs.)

I'd like to address these issues, and present the case for why I think that the fight for homosexual rights is a part of the Civil Rights movement.*

Many seem to believe, as I mentioned before, that homosexuality is chosen, that it is a "lifestyle" choice. This seems to me incorrect. Who would willingly choose to be tormented, harassed, and bullied? Scientific studies have shown that homosexually may in fact be linked to genetics, and many gay individuals assert that they do not elect to be gay. I suspect, in fact, that many homosexuals choose to live a heterosexual lifestyle, even though they are unhappy with it. If homosexuality is not (in most cases) chosen, then it is like one's ethnicity or gender, which individuals similarly do not choose. Homosexuals no more choose to be gay than blacks choose to be black, or disabled people choose to be crippled. As homosexuals are systematically discriminated against, for something they could not and did not choose, it seems as though homosexual rights to ought to be classed under Civil Rights.

It may be pointed out that as I have alluded in the previous paragraph, homosexuals can choose to hide their sexual orientation, something that African-Americans may not do, and that this fact accounts for why it should not be considered a part of the Civil Rights movement. This strikes me as an ill-conceived argument that shows a considerable misunderstanding of homosexuality and civil rights. Why should anyone elect to hide who and what they are for fear of persecution? I can think of African-Americans who could "pass." Consider the anecdote of the young women in the film "Imitation of Life," who in the movie very successfully did pass as white. The fact that she even had to resort to such behavior to live well is indicative of the failure of the American system to protect all individuals equally under the law. People should not have to "choose" to look and act and believe like other people to avoid discrimination. It is true, perhaps, that homosexuals could deny their inner instincts and live a heterosexual lifestyle. But just because people can "pass" and get away with it, doesn't mean that this should even be a viable option.

And consider what happens when people fail to conform to social norms. Look at the men of Morehouse who are being openly targeted for their desire to wear women's dress. Consider the routine discrimination suffered by members of the transgendered community. And more recently, consider the suicides of the teenagers and college-aged men and women, some of whom were not openly gay, but violated social norms for their gender. No one should be dictated to how to act. And choosing to go against this norm should not result in punishment or being ostracized. Yet it does. Just as choosing to adhere to black social norms yields discrimination in the work force (e.g., wearing dreads, braids, etc.).

Most importantly, let us consider the purpose and aims of the Civil Rights movement: it was about more than just equality under the law, it was also about the fundamental issues of freedom, respect, dignity, and economic and social equality.

Do homosexuals have freedom? Arguably, no. In many states homosexual couples are not permitted to adopt. They aren't free to dress the way they choose; to love who they choose; to live where they choose, (without the fear of persecution).

Are they respected? Do they have dignity? Again, no. In a day and age where children are bullied so badly that suicide seems like the only option, it is clear that the choices that individuals make for themselves are not respected, and that people are not treated with dignity.

Are they equal, socially and economically? Clearly the answer is no. Homosexuals are, in many states, still denied even the access to civil partnerships. I remember reading a story about a lesbian couple in Florida, one member of the partnership fell ill and was hospitalized and was comatose. Her partner was not permitted to come visit her in the hospital for some silly legal reason. If I remember correctly, the children they had together were unable to visit either. Many heterosexual couples wonder why it is so important for gay people to be able to get married. But consider the economic and legal benefits. Insurance, power of attorney, etcetera; nearly unattainable without marriage.

If the definition of the Civil Rights movement that I posted above is accurate, then in every way, the quest for homosexual rights is an integral part of the Civil Rights movement.

The only difference that I can see between the Civil Rights Movement as it pertains to African Americans and the fight that homosexuals are fighting now, is that the denial of rights to African Americans was far more direct. I don't think that the homosexual community will ever be subjects to attacks as direct as, for example, the Chicago race riots. (But then again, consider individual cases like Matthew Shepherd.) But that's because we have gotten better at discrimination, we're craftier now. What homosexuals endure is closet discrimination: it's discrimination that is hidden in word and action, that looks innocent and undirected (consider the military's "don't ask, don't tell policy." It doesn't prohibit homosexuals from serving in the army, it just strongly encourages all members not to disclose their sexual orientation). And that's in some ways worse; it's more difficult to attack. It's like fighting in the dark, or reaching out at an enemy that you can't see.

Civil rights do not belong just to blacks, or women, or children; they belong to all people, by virtue of the fact that we are people. I ask, now, what degree of suffering must a population endure in order for it to be considered a part of the Civil Rights movement? When did the idea of Civil Rights become so selfish, so short-sighted?

Let me close by saying this. No one, not anyone, no government or legal system, no President or Dictator, has ever possessed the ability to give someone rights. We have always had rights. They have always belonged to us, as African Americans, as women, as homosexuals. The most that any government can do is recognize those rights. The homosexual community is standing up and taking back what has been denied them, what was wrongfully refused them. And I applaud you all.

*Note that I may fundamentally misunderstand the debate and the reasons that people might have for not considering homosexual rights a part of the Civil Rights movement.

Link to Dan Savage's 'It Gets Better' YouTube Channel:

www.youtube.com/user/itgetsbetterproject

Where Does the Pollen Go?

Cultural Pollination. I'm sure this isn't the first usage; I'm not so arrogant as to think that I coined the term. But I've never heard it so before so I'll at least give myself credit for it here.

What is cultural pollination? And what's more, why am I writing about it here?

Cultural pollination is the accepting, sharing, and adapting of cultures dissimilar from your own. It is the evolution of your own traditions and culture by adapting the unique traditions of another's. And it's what I'm being forced to do here. When I researched Sheffield, they did say that they were international. But I equated this with FSU's statement that they are "diverse," and so I didn't take it to mean much. But seriously, I've been tossed into a cultural whirlpool, and I'm drowning. That coming from a girl who is in a multicultural sorority. Perhaps I'm not being clear about the degree of diversity here. Let's see if I can be more vivid.

Let's start with the Asians.* The Judge, in West Side Story, when discussing the influx of Puerto Ricans in a not-so-elegant and intolerant manner, exclaimed "Help! I'm drowning in Tamales!" Well, folks, I'm drowning in wasabi. I mean, seriously. If all of the Asians of Sheffield united and planned to revolt against the British government, they could, in all seriousness, start a small colony here. I'm sure that people thought, when they heard I was moving to England, that the cultural experience would be nil. Well, they were wrong. I've never felt more out of place. I've honestly met more Asians than I have British folks. This may have to do with the fact that all of my flatmates, save one, are Asian. And the fact that my Asian flatmates have had their Asian friends over a few times, and so I've met all of them, as well. The Asian food mart is actually closer to where I live than the Tesco.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. My flatmates are wonderful! The other night, they had a party and made dumplings, and they made vegetarian ones just for me! It was so fun (pictures coming soon!), and I learned how to mix everything and fold dumplings, and I had so much food that I risked exploding if I consumed more. And they are all so friendly!

Now let's get on to our next cultural group, and the real reason that I'm writing this blog. The Middle Easterners. Where do I begin? At the beginning, I suppose, is a very good place to start (Thanks, Julie Andrews!). The first event I went to during Intro (Fresher's) Week, was the social at Interval Bar. It was just a little social for post-grads, and everyone was standing around looking awkward because they knew no one else there. So I'm at a table with my flatmate, and this guy comes up to our table and introduces himself. My flatmate asks him where he is from. "Iraq," he says. "Oh." I said, audibly. Fully formed, perfectly enunciated, round-lipped, I tasted the word as it left my lips before I could contain it. "Why?" he asks, "where are you from?" "America," I say. And everyone can smell the awkwardness, as the silence follows my declaration and everyone looks around nervously and sips their beer. It is in this moment that I realize, though I've met Muslims (and I am, in fact, friends with several), I have never met someone who is actually from the Middle East. Like, ever. (He tried to save the situation by making a joke about how we are neighbors, but it was beyond redemption).This situation is made worse by the fact that I routinely see this guy (his name is Muhammad, which inevitably makes me think of the big stink caused by that cartoon making fun of the prophet). And we never know what to do, so we just look at each other, acknowledge that we've met, and keep it moving.

Situation #2. Pub Crawl number 2 was this past Friday (and it's the reason I did not make it to my Peak District hike like I was supposed to Saturday morning). At our final bar, our resting place for the evening (and my new favorite watering hole because it reminds me of Potbelly's), I met an Iranian; he is the flatmate of my flatmate's class buddy (whew! Confusing). As we were introduced - we basically had the same exchange as Muhammad and I- only this time it was followed by the Iranian's friend saying, "Ah! He hates Americans!" Oh, dear. Then I had to launch into this long (and rehearsed) monologue detailing that I am an American, but I am not America; we're a diverse country, with equally diverse beliefs and viewpoints; it's not fair to hate me for something a few of my fellow countrymen think; blah, blah, blah. And that's when Harry Potter woke from the dead and blasted me with "Avada Kedavra" because that's what happens when you deliver monologues. Nah, just kidding. But he (the Iranian, not Harry Potter) finally confessed that he doesn't actually hate Americans, but that he was entertained by my soliloquy none the less. FAIL.

Whether in jest, or not, this situation is frustrating. I feel like I am a cultural ambassador for America; a representative of what she has to offer the world. And I hate it. Whenever I go out, whenever I meet new people, I'm always thinking "I have to make a good impression. What they think of me is what they'll think of all Americans." Must be on best behavior. I know that I'm being (unnecessarily) hard on myself, but this is, in a sense, very true. People will judge me. They will judge Americans because of me. And vice versa, whatever they already think about Americans they will project on to me.

But I can't complain because, well, I'm guilty of it, too. I went out Tuesday night with my flatmate and a few of our friends, and we discussed the stereotypes that each of us had about the country of origin of the other people there. We represented 5 nationalities (French, American, English, Irish, and Indian). I was honest, in giving my opinion on how I think most Americans feel: the French are a cheese-eating, baguette-carrying, fashion-obsessed, Pepe LePeiu laughing people; the English are snobs; the Irish are alcoholics; and Indians (not Native Americans) spontaneously burst into Bollywood style song-and-dance. Do you know what they ALL, every one of them, thought about Americans? We're fat people, who sit on our front porch in a too-small T-shirt, navel protruding, sipping beer. Ay caramba. I suppose it could be worse; at least they didn't say stupid, right? Right?! No wait, they think that, too (thanks George W. Bush!).

But, the point is, cultural pollination. I'm in a city with a multitude of people representing various nationalities. And the truth is, we all have misconceptions about each other. But we have the unique opportunity to prove each other wrong. I'm learning a lot about other people (and I'm pretty sure that by the end of the year I'll actually BE Asian), and they're learning a lot about me (and, about America).

So where does all this cultural pollen go? In my heart and mind (and occasionally, stomach).

Come on baby, pollinate me!

*Though India is considered a part of the Asian continent, I am excluding it here. There are a lot of Indians, which I naturally expected, but the Asians (Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, Malaysians, etc. outnumber them).