read me

I have been thinking about getting into the blogging game for some time now.  Seeing other peoples amazing blogs both inspired  and terrified me at the same damn time. Would I be able to write like them, have thought provoking, eye opening, world changing, tear jerking, heartfelt and other such adjectives posts as they did?  What would I write about? How would I write and the most important question of them all, what would I call my blog?  These were questions I continued to ask myself, questions that I let become obstacles.

But finally I think I am ready.

I am ready to blog and make mistakes, to rant, to share my musings, predilections, to be laughed at/with…meh, to be critiqued, to critique…I am ready to write.

Being ready came just after finishing my MA in Social and Political Thought and beginning my doctorate.  I suppose I can now be officially called an academic of some sort.  But I digress,… it is at this point that I was prompted to revisit why I pursued graduate school.  I remember always feeling that there was a disconnect between academia and the rest of the world.  Academics read/write academic things that are understood only by other academics. I guess that’s what makes academia so exclusive. However, I  believe *wait I more than just believe*… I strongly believe that other people should be able to benefit from the work that I do or else what’s the point?  People should be able to use what I have done to…, well I am not too sure what they should do with it, but they should be able to do something with it… something useful.

Growing up, I was never taught the language I needed  to speak my truths.  Everyday I was faced with the systems and legacies that oppressed, you know racism, sexism, patriarchy-ism |I sometimes make up words|, white-ism (this is one of them), relationship-ism (I made that up), life-ism (that too), etc.  It was not until my first year of graduate school when I read Steve Biko, ‘I write what I like’ and Aime Cesaire, and Frantz Fanon and bell hooks and Angela Davis and all these great black intellectuals that I learned the language of resistance, of love, of revolution.  |I shall revisit this all in a later post|I never knew how to talk about life and all its fuckupness and as soon as I learned these things I felt powerful. And the power came from learning a language that came from the heart of struggle to express the heart of struggle.

Steve Biko says “the most powerful thing in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed,”  Fanon talks about how crucial language is, especially to the colonized. My contention is that if we consider ourselves oppressed and cannot talk about this oppression in a way that makes sense to others who are oppressed and to those who are not, then our minds stay in a state of frustration that furthers the state of oppression.  To talk about racism, without sounding angry (even though we are angry), sexism, in a way that is not about hate, is necessary in order to shift the conversation.  When we start talking in a way that is about love and in a way where the only options are the options that makes sense, is when our minds are our minds again and we can longer be dismissed.

So this blog is my attempt at teaching the language I learned to those who want to learn. Ill try to write in a way that is accessible and useful to both academics and non-academics.  Ill attempt to leave the pretentiousness and big words behind *wink wink*, unless absolutely necessary and if I do I will break them down.

The goal is to be readable, intelligible (capable of being understood), interesting, repeatable and such… I suppose I made my point and will leave it here.

*insert clever way to end here*