Valleywag compares dating service to the comfort women during World War II and refuses to retract with an official apology despite public outcry. They deem it appropriate satire.
A few of us engaged with their editors about mocking the many rape victims during World War II. They tried to get us to comment on their website for traffic + revenue. They asked us to email them to avoid transparency. One editor mocked us and blocked. They told us they do not retract unless it is “factual errors” and refuse to apologize.
I urge all Koreans, Korean Americans, and anyone who cares about social justice to please signal-boost and share this so that Gawker and its Valleywag editors will apologize for what they did.
The formation of Indian-American women’s sexual self-concept is, however, influenced not only by the white American beauty standard but also by the West’s fascination with the “mysterious” East… the image of being considered simultaneously “ugly” and “exotic” was one of the most detrimental to their self-concept. In fact, the exotic-ugly dichotomy is perhaps the diasporic manifestation of the Asian-Indian goddess-whore construct.
The contradictory beauty stereotypes of Indian-American women as both exotic and ugly are coupled to sexual stereotypes. Indeed, in white American’s categorization of racial others as sexually deviant, the Asian-Indian immigrant community is caught in a dual metaphor as both asexual and hypersexual… the “exotic” Indian-American woman is associated with the Kama Sutra, primal sexual energy, and other images of hypersexuality. Simultaneously, the alien, “ugly” Indian-American woman is associated with chastity, sexual repression, and hyperintellectualism.
Regardless of which end of the exotic/ugly spectrum an Indian-American daughter aligns herself with, such unattainable, double-jeopardy beauty and sexual standards most often lead to negative sexual self-perception. Although such negative self-perception may begin in the schoolyard, its impact often manifests itself in postadolescent rebellions.
In the words of Sreemoee Mukherjee, a twenty-three-year-old Rutgers University graduate, “Half the girls in college were leading double lives. They partied wildly and had boyfriends at school, but were also arranged to marry someone from India. We weren’t in the mainstream in high school due to our parents’ rules and regulations. In college, we want to be mainstream, to be what Hollywood shows college students should be. I think Indian guys and girls always had a complex about what America thinks we should look like…and how we look at ourselves is negative in comparison to other Americans.”
”—Shamita Das Dasgupta, A Patchwork Shawl, Chronicles of South Asian Women in America
When stepping back from the Muslim community, to get more of a bird’s eye view of our situation, I am a little perplexed. We are, on one hand, frantically racking up donations and pulling the alarms on Syria’s situation - as we should be - yet, when attention is turned towards Sudan, Somalia, our (coincedentally? sure.) darker brothers and sister, we are satisfied with a forlorn sigh to make ourselves feel better about feeling bad.
This behavior also translates over to interaction in our mosques; where unless a masjid is run or used by a predominately darker-skinned community, many Black-identifying folk are treated as second-class or less than. What more, when our Muslim communities experience an attack from “the outside” we become one very powerful force, The Ummah. However, when our Black Muslims are hurting and voicing their valid concerns, many find that their demands for recognition fall on deaf ears, “The Ummah” being a fragmented group of cultural cliques with superiority complexes.
I am, again and again, dumbfounded at the blatant, and often times internalized, racism that is rampant in our Muslim communities.
3. ”Will immigrants borrow money from banks to become U.S. citizens?” via @MedillChicago
· For many low-income immigrant families, applying for U.S. citizenship can be costly.
· A credit union on the Southwest Side of Chicago recently rolled out a loan product that is designed to help eligible legal immigrants to cover the cost of a citizenship application.
· “But for people living from paycheck to paycheck, this is the one that constantly holds them back from applying for the citizenship. To apply for citizenship, legal permanent residents such as green card holders need to pay $680 to U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services.”
5. Dems expected to move forward with discharge petition on Immigration Reform via @washingtonpost
Multiple sources involved in discussions with House Dem leaders about this tactic fully expect that she will pull the trigger on the discharge petition.
To be sure, immigration advocates don’t expect House Republicans to sign the discharge petition, which would need perhaps two dozen Republicans to get the 218 votes it needs to force a House vote on immigration reform.
as a child of asian immigrant parents, i can’t tell you how powerful it is to see images of poc in loving and openly affectionate relationships, with other poc.
i think for a lot of us growing, partnerships were never emphasized as something personally rewarding in its own right; marriage was generally placed in the context of duty, stability and responsibility. it’s assumed that of course you’ll get married and have a family, not just for your own sake (stability), but you do it in service of continuing the lineage of your family, community, and society.
and i think that’s why a lot of second generation poc—especially women—would prefer to marry or date outside their race or culture, and specifically with a white person. i think it has less to do with self-hate and more to do with not wanting to get locked in to a lifetime of unspoken expectations and pretense that’s not personally rewarding for the individual(s) involved.
all of this is not to say that interacial/-cultural relationships are any ‘less pure’. but representation matters—it impacts our perspective and our predisposition to certain ideals. and while i know this isn’t always the case for everyone, we should be able to see that it’s absolutely possible to have personally fulfilling relationships with people within our own ethnic or cultural community.
I’m in the mood for sunsets, not nostalgic rain. Its happened before so I’m careful now. I’m playing the game again, and all I can see are rainbows. I don’t feel the same about it all anymore, but the guilt and stain remain.
So when I talk about the concept, I’m harsh, hard and cold. I’ll come off demanding and with high expectations. Perhaps I’ve manage to camouflage into my habitat at last. Just know that those requirements are for her who deserves to wear the white, not one who simply hides herself behind it.
“The subculture of immigrants had nothing much to do with the rest of America. When the girls took sick, Mom would get a concoction from a local Korean pharmacy where they never asked for a prescription. When Dad lost his appetite, he would visit an herbalist in Astoria for a dose of bear’s galls. When her parents had some money they could put away, which was hardly ever, they would turn not to a bank but to a gae, which was a communal-savings pool where a monthly lottery was drawn to grant the winner a lump sum. It was beyond Suzy’s understanding why her parents, like most Korean elders, preferred Maxwell House instant coffee to fresh coffee, or why they wouldn’t touch grapefruits or mangoes, though they kept boxes of dried persimmons at home. Had she stayed in just one neighborhood long enough, had she been allowed to build intimacy with one friend, one neighbor, one relative, then perhaps this perpetual Korea, which hovered somewhere in the Far East, might have seemed more relevant. She kept up with the language. She followed the custom. But knowing about a culture was different from feeling it. She would bow to the elders without the traditional respect such bows required. She would bite into the pungent spice of kimchi without tasting its sad, sour history. She would bob her head to the drumbeats of the Korean folk songs without commiserating with their melancholy. But how could she? She recalled nothing of the country.
Yet American culture, as Suzy was shocked to discover upon leaving home, was also foreign to her. Thanksgiving dinners. Eggnogs. The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Monopoly. Dr. Seuss. JFK. Such loaded American symbols meant nothing to her. They brought back no dear memory, no pull of nostalgia. Damian hailed her as the ultimate virgin. […] A blessing, he said, to be raised in such a cultural vacuum. But the blessing came with its price. Being bilingual, being multicultural should have brought two words into one heart, and yet for Suzy, it meant a persistent hollowness. It seems that she needed to love one culture to be able to love the other. Piling up cultural references led to no further identification. What Damian had called a ‘blessing’ pushed her out of context, always. She was stuck in a vacuum where neither culture moved nor owned her. Deep inside, she felt no connection, which Damian seemed to have understood.”—Suki Kim, The Interpreter
What do you think of Gary Locke being described as a "rotting banana" by China News Service (includes the stirring line "您祖上要是知道，可要把您逐出门户了")and bashed for not speaking Mandarin. I kind of identify with him because it feels like I get bashed by one side for being of immigrant stock and the other for coming from an "anti-China country" or whatever all the time.
in general i think there’s a lot of hostility towards overseas chinese in china, especially those who do not speak mandarin.
the smithsonian indian americans exhibit played this song.
The trouble with public humanities is that any narrative you tell has consequences. If you call an experience “indian american”, you leave out the rest of a subcontinent with stories that run parallel. If you call certain religions endemic to a region, you implicitly call the other ones imported and other. You can’t tell our stories in one mouthful without mumbling some portion of it. You need acres of museum to do justice to this experience.
Which is why, on the one hand, it was absolutely touching to see such a familiar history at the smithsonian, to hear pyar kiya to darna kya in a public place and see family photos framed on purple walls, to look up at a life size image of dalip singh saund smiling down at me and look down at balbir singh sodhi’s turban with unease. But on the other, there were silences and gaps, as I wondered where ayad akhtar’s plaque was oh wait he’s pakistani, why spelling bees took up a corner without any mention of arangetrams and bhangra teams, and where is fareed zakaria’s mention, where is aziz ansari, aasif maandvi? And maybe being muslim makes you more invested in a pan-south asian identity than others, but I couldn’t help wonder how difficult it would have been to call the exhibit “desi-american”. Can we really not stand to be lumped together that much? Because in that case, folks, we have a problem on our hands.
And I looked around, surrounded by this shrine to south asian excellence and felt that it was so lacking in showcasing our beauty—not because it was too problematic (the curators did their very very best given the constraints of the project), but because even with its deliberate, painstaking efforts to showcase the community, it simply could not do justice to our rich histories and struggles. There is not space nor dimension to showcase each foreign medical or engineering graduate’s hours spent mugging formulae, or to illustrate the redness of each taxi driver’s eye at the midnight hour, or the yuba city punjabi muslim’s tears when his mosque was burned down (a story not told here, by the by).
You realize the extent to which a museum exhibit cannot do your experience justice when you suddenly hear Anoushka Shankar in the music box, pulling at your heart and remember the snowy afternoon when you first heard that song, after having possibly failed the first exam in your life at university and not caring, too, for the first time, caring suddenly about things like snowfall and heartbeats, which makes you feel bad, anoushka makes you feel bad, she reminds you of the checks written for music lessons by parents trying to craft the perfect diaspora daughter, the instrument in a case catching dust, but singing the song of your heart, apparently, at least when a shankar plays it.
what does it mean to curate an identity?
I’m immensely thankful that we have a space in the Smithsonian, however flawed. I hope we use it as a way to begin elucidating and complicating our narrative.
We’ve been colonized, brutalized, traded, denigrated, made to seem inherently inferior and evil, and taught to hate ourselves, but we not only survive, we THRIVE.
If nothing else about me is ever known, please know that I love all of my brothers and sisters. It doesn’t matter if you’re American, an Islander, Nigerian, Kenyan, or anything else. Our collective struggle binds us together. That is a bond that cannot be broken. Not all of us have been reunited with the Motherland just yet, but she lives in us all. With love, peace.
The confrontation between Russia and Ukraine reverberated on Sunday through New York City’s tight-knit ethnic enclaves, from southern Brooklyn to the pulpits of Ukrainian church services in the East Village to the Russian consulate on the Upper East Side, where protesters shouted their opposition to Russia’s military involvement in Ukraine at the four-story building’s drawn curtains and silent…
“Growing up, we would always go on day trips to picnic and moving to Los Yunais didn’t change that. El Tunco became Robert Moses State Park. Our car at the time was the color of berenjenas. Anytime we would go anywhere in that car I’d always make the same joke about us being like the relleno in a berenjena. There’s this thing that I’ve found almost all Salvadoran dads do y mi tata no es exceptión. It’s this thing that would make all of us restless cuz if you know anything about Salvadoreñxs, it’s that we don’t eat unless everyone is at the table. My dad would unload a massive colorful maca from the car once we arrived and would go put it up. Sounds simple enough but he was never satisfied with it’s location and would just tell us over and over "espérenme, yo creo que aquí está más fresquito." My father couldn’t ever find the kind of breeze he wanted and had to settle. He was looking for the breeze that carried the flavors of mariscos. The breeze that carried the voices of vendors naming prices in Caliche. One that was the right temperature. That chugged along with violins, güira, guitars,congas and other percussion. One that played nice with beach umbrellas. A breeze that was a guide for pájaros whos ancestors taught ours to speak. Un viejo amigo, espero que mi padre va a reunirse con el otra vez.”—Óscar Diaz, Cajita de Sorpresas
U can say something in broken Mandarin without the proper tones and pronunciation and people will instantly understand what he is saying. If they don’t, they will go out of their way to try to understand what he is saying.
I say something fluently with the correct pronunciation but wrong tones (or tones that they’re not used to, given the differences between Mandarin and 方言) and it’s a minute of blank stares until I run the gamut of possible tone combinations and finally hit the correct tones. Or, if I am stuck at the airport because my flight got canceled, like when I was trying to leave Kunming for America, I have to cry at the service counter before people realize that oh, she actually can’t understand what we’ve been saying and we’ve been rather rude to her and explain to me slowly why my flight can’t be rescheduled.
Each time this happens, it cuts a little deeper. The sting is sharper.
The Indian diaspora has come out of the shadows in recent years, and its largely forgotten history, which encompasses narratives of displacement, migration, the cross-fertilization of ideas, and the emergence of new cultural forms and practices, is increasingly being viewed as an important and intrinsic part of the story of late modernity and humanity’s drift towards globalization, transnational economic and cultural exchanges, and hybrid forms of political, cultural, and social identity.
A discussion panel and drinks reception with a live music performance by Iranian country and blues singer-songwriter Abdi Behranvanfar
The discussion is in Farsi but expert simultaneous translation will be available through headsets
Ali May, Broadcaster and award-winning writer (moderator)
Maziar Bahari, Journalist and filmmaker
Masih Alinejad, Journalist and writer
Kelly Niknejad, Editor-in-Chief at TehranBureau
On behalf of the Munk School of Global Affairs at the University of Toronto, Small Media would like to invite you to join us for an innovative and interactive panel discussion on March 5th at the Free Word Centre in Farringdon.
The expert panel will discuss the topic ‘Digital Revolution, Journalism and Persian News Consumers’ as part of the Munk School’s “Iran and its Youth - a Series of Dialogues” program.
We have seen a revolution in all aspects of media in the past two decades. We started out with 24-hr rolling news networks like CNN, which already seem outmoded by the newer advances in digital technologies. Today, it is smartphones and social media that rule when consumers need to get their dose of daily or breaking news. On the 5th of March we bring together industry leaders to discuss some of the major issues related to digital journalism while trying to draw a comparison between the global trends and what is happening in the Farsi-speaking media, particularly inside Iran.
The panel discussion will be webcast live for an audience in Iran. All audience members, including those present at the Free Word Center, will be able to ask questions of the panelists via online means, so don’t forget your smartphones!
HONY just posted a picture of some dude who is ex-military and basically he was talking about how him and his buddies committed some horrific war crimes like beheading POWs for no reason while in the middle east etc. and now as a result of it he “suffers” from ptsd
and the majority of the comments are along the lines of “poor guy so sad he had to go through that, hope he gets better”
TF???? am I missing something?
why is anyone feeling sorry for this person.
if some dude shoots up a school and then gets nightmares later do people feel sorry for him?
“Every time a pregnancy is intervened upon to prevent disability, eugenics is operating. Every time someone is sterilized or administered birth control against their will or without their knowledge, eugenics is operating. Eugenics is insidious and pervasive and continues to be a threat to disabled people, especially racialized disabled people and/or disabled women.”—A.J. Withers, Disability Politics and Theory (via earlgreyandarsenic)