Many believe that communities who are mis- and/or
underrepresented across media should support financially any and all content by
our kin even if they consist the same problematic depictions peddled by those
outside of our communities.
Yeah, I’m not feeling that, but that’s not what this blog really
is about.
I have spoken to this time
and again and probably will continue to reiterate why I don’t believe that a
rising tide lifts all boats and that it’s actually harmful to not challenge
stereotypical and other simplistic representations simply because they are made
by one of “us” rather than one of “them.” At one point, I certainly would like
to elaborate on how we should handle these conversations so that they’re constructive.
That first entails, however, that I push myself further on how to critique with
compassion.
And that’s what
this blog is partly about.
It’s in part about the spiritual downside of having the
necessary gift of a critical mind. Necessary meaning that every one can and should
cultivate the ability to question reflexively and liberally use it. Gift ‘cause
your girl here is a natural.
Today’s confession is about my resentment toward people in
my industries who prosper, I believe, without accountability for the images
they produce, their intentions for producing them or their unwillingness to use
their success regardless of intentions to create opportunities for others. You
know, expecting your people to show up for you when you’ve got something to
sell but missing them when you have a chance to pay it forward. I grapple with
this *Eddie Murphy-as-Dexter St. Jock’s
voice* cohn-stahnt-lee.
On the one hand, I do harbor a sense of righteousness that
shit‘s awry when so many people committed to both creating the transformative images
our communities need to see en masse
and radically altering the way they do it so that the creative process shifts
away from the reinforcing hierarchy, scarcity, competition and other facets of
oppressive individualism and toward a praxis recognizing abundance, community
and other liberatory principles struggle to produce and distribute their
content. You know, priding myself on being one of ‘em and all. I very much
cling to this righteousness and, yes, entitlement because dammit, I know I’m on the side of justice here. Full awareness that my ego is the
culprit behind these thoughts and feelings and that attempting to reframe my
perception might make them dissipate rarely eradicates them. Honestly, I don’t
want to be completely free of them because they fuel me in very good ways even
with the troubling side effects.
[Sidebar: this isn’t about knocking anyone else’s hustle.
This is about unapologetically knocking
someone’s privilege as well as the willful
blindness to it. Let’s settle this now: hustle and privilege can co-exist so
perfectly – especially in the worlds of media - that the latter often shadows
the other in an alignment so precise it can remain undetected by even the most
discerning.]
One the other hand, I don’t like this propensity to judge
people I don’t know and content I have yet to see. People are complex, and I damn well wouldn’t like
assumptions about my intentions even if I do expect it and actually welcome
gut-checks based on my track record, especially in those instances where I
might have failed to walk my talk. I know that as I’m pointing one finger
at someone else, there are four pointing right back at me, and that even if my
suspicions and critiques are one hunnid, the fact that I need to make them says
some things about me that are not so endearing that I could stand to spend more
time examining and addressing.
The latest trigger occurred this past Friday when I
discovered that a team of male filmmakers was launching a project to tell women’s
stories yet did not feel any obligation to hire women to write or direct any of
them. Yes, I’m being purposefully vague, and it’s not so much about not giving
the project attention as much as tempering my very tendency to criticize since
ironically that is partially what this post is about. It certainly was more
that the mere concept that got me bent, but to delve into that would be more of
the same that I’m trying to release and doesn’t contribute to my ultimate
point.
After some offline commiseration with a few sisters who
shared my thoughts and feelings, I knew that it did not matter if I believed I
was right (and * Oprah-as-Sophia-voice *
God knows I do.) Being right offered limited service. I scoured my email to a
link to a video by Marie Forleo that I
return to time and again when I find myself in this space.
Even though I know instinctually that resentment more
accurately captures what I feel than jealousy, Marie’s advice was spot on (as
it consistently is.) I took a moment to actually follow it before retiring
Friday night, and that’s why I’m able to be so transparent and accepting of my
vices this morning.
But the real magic – the one that inspired me to right this
blog – occurred this morning.
Next week is the New York City premiere of Mosquita y Mari, the feature debut of
writer/director Aurora Guerrero.
Aurora is a friend so I know that she is at once gifted and a gift. I
have and continue to bare witness to the ways in which she is devoted to not
only creating transformative images of Latinas in film but also transforming
the ways that film is made away from top-down to all-together. A prime example
was her successful
Kickstarer campaign where in multiple ways the MyM team took crowd-funding
to the next level: community-building.
Rather than attempt to elaborate on this, I urge all
of you to read Aurora’s own words in interviews or, even better, experience her
speaking in person. (If you’re in New York City on Thursday, August 2nd,
she will talk about her campaign at La Casa Azul Bookstore
in East Harlem. (Don’t worry if you’re nowhere near the Big Apple. I will
be live tweeting Aurora’s talk using the hashtag #MyM.) Then go see Mosquita y Mari that same weekend and
spread the word rest assured that you’re not just supporting a Latina filmmaker
only because she’s Latina. You would
also be supporting a quality project
that deserves the price of your movie ticket and Milk Duds and signaling to the
gatekeepers, “Fuck a insert the name of the Latino film that makes you
cringe most rah
here, I wanna see more of this kind of visual storytelling.”
Then a divine thing happened as I set about to complete my
day’s tasks, one of which was to spread the word about Mosquita y Mari. I inadvertently came across the New York Time’s
preview of the film, and to the right saw that it was playing at my neighborhood
theater. My heart filled with so much joy that I began to cry. One of my dreams
is to see quality films both by and about people of
color – the Mosquita y Maris, the Girlfights, the Raising Victor Vargases, the Love
and Basketballs, the Saving Graces,
etc. – play in independently owned theaters located in the communities that
most need to see them instead of being confined to the expensive,
downtown art houses for elite audiences.
I don’t know if this is a dream that I was destined to manifest (surely
I would need to do it in collaboration with others), but to see it realized in
this small way felt like the universe hugged me and whispered in my ear, “You
take small, consistent steps towards your dreams like Aurora did, and I’ve got
your back.” How odd to think now as I write this that even though my childlike
anticipation of the release of Mosquita y
Mari has put Aurora and her accomplishment at the front of my mind, neither
occurred to me at all when I was fuming over this male-dominated “women’s”
project. Hell, I was having such a hard time refocusing on my own game, I never
glanced at her lane.
This experience also reminded me that, no, there’s
no unrepentantly mean-spirited hater lurking beneath my critical faculties for
I’m reveling in and being inspired by not only what Aurora has achieved but also
the way she stayed true to herself and her multiple tribes in achieving it.
Si, se puede. She did. I can do it, too, regardless of what anybody
else is or is not doing that I might support or suspect.
Now here’s the kicker and where I fully put myself
on blast. It turns out that what I saw was not what I thought I saw. When I
rushed to inform Aurora that Mosquita y
Mari was playing in my ‘hood, she had to break to me that it had to be some
mistake because she only knew it was screening at Cinema
Village. Sure enough, when I investigated it, I had made the mistake of
assuming that “playing near you” was associated with the preview I found. In
reality, no matter what film-associated article I’m viewing at newyorktimes.com,
that window will display the titles, locations and showtimes of any and all
movies playing near the zip code listed under my account.
Alas, I still have to travel downtown (happily) to
see Mosquita y Mari next weekend, but
the message and elation of that misperception persist. In fact, the sensation
is so resounding, it may be incorrect to label it a misperception. I saw what I
needed to see – the possibility of a dream come true – when I was having
serious doubts that the universe supports people with visions like mine. Even
if the industry is populated with people whose motivations and actions I
question, the universe is a friendly
place. All it takes to see it is to revert my attention from their actions back to
my own mission.
