The only reason I read the post was because of blackamazon and Sylvia.
And tonite after reading bfp and after twitterputeando with her I’m going to attempt to say something that makes sense at least for me. Cuz this space has always been about that, yo, Maegan la Mala working her complicated shit out.
The timing of this latest blogcrap comes at a time when I am struggling. I am a single mami again, trying to make rent, working, writing, fighting to get health insurance and child support and food. My abuela just passed away. Tengo una tia muy enferma and this shit came down when I was actually counting fucking coins so I could buy the cheapest milk I could find in my hood and some white women wanted to talk on how WOC bloggers are colonized? Then a radical woc sent me milk money and I did cry and I am crying as I write this shit.
Porque first I get all tripped up over the word colonialism. I carry that word close to my Rican heart shrouded by U.S. citizenship. I wince when I read white mujeres trying to tell a woc how she is being colonized, as if my body and soul doesn’t know what that is. Hell mi abuela muerta y su vientre operada still knows what the fuck that is. As if this cyberworld that radical women of color have chosen to make space on is magically disconnected from the real application of colonialism. As if my being here and the como y cuando is not clear to me.
It’s one of the reasons I have been called a bad feminist for my puta ways, and I’m like, who the fuck ever said I was a feminist?
From my first encounter with NOW NYC after the Rican Parade sexual assaults, I’ve encountered how we are invited to their events, be guests, consider their books etc etc blah blah just as long as we take the radical out as I was asked to for a feminist event recently I was invited to and didn’t go to.
and here’s a confession, I don’t read the feminist blogs in question unless someone I know and love is writing there (and there are a few) and I sure as hell don’t read the comments. When mujeres I love and respect and with whom I have some sort of strange internet connection with decide to blog in those spaces, I don’t think they are sell outs, tokens etc etc etc. Jamas jamas jamas. I worry though the way I worry about all my sisters pero don’t question their motives or wonder in the back of my mind if they are trying to get on some fucking train that allegedly equals success. COÑO.
Mira, 3 plus years ago I was invited to help in the creation of a Latino blog that has changed and moved and that gets some attention and in it’s little niche is somewhat known and as much as I know peeps criticize me and the site for being too commercial, I don’t stress it and I try to balance the best that I can and sometimes fail. Pero that does not mean that I deserve to be called a vendida or be stereotyped by mainstream media as I try and make some sort of a living out of what I fucking love, words y mi gente. It doesn’t mean that I deserve to feel utterly unsupported as a woman of color like I did when covering the DNC last summer. Like I need some outside source telling me when I stand.
Cuz apparently I don’t know. Apparently woc don’t know.
Sabes que? Claro I want a fucking book deal, in fact a fucking few, and I invite all the feminists to come to my casita, with it’s leaky ceiling in the hood with its overhead helicopter , 7 train, police siren soundtrack and sign up to babysit my kids so I can count my change for subway fare, milk, cereal to fight for health insurance, tutor, translate, and then maybe scribble something down and read some more poems. You all think I’m being cute when I put that shit in my bio? I’m waiting for the slots to fill up.
In the meantime I have work to do and I know who will do it with me.