As for me, I don’t completely despise words preceded by TEFKATNAPS (The-Emblem-Formerly-Known-As-The-Number-And-Pound-Signs). They can be useful, especially on Twitter. Mostly, though, they feel like visual clutter.
Nevertheless, I’ve come up with a few hashtags of my own over the years. My current favorite is #NewsThatDoesntSuck, because there’s been a lot of national news over the last several months that has definitely sucked.
To put it plainly, I started using #NewsThatDoesntSuck because of Donald Trump.
His election has turned out to be as much of a disaster as many of us thought it would be. And every day has brought news related to the Trump Administration that has shown something of its:
Callousness toward struggling and marginalized people
Lack of respect for humanity’s responsibility to steward the Creator’s world
Brazen and unconstitutional exploitation of political power for personal financial gain
Psychological inability to accept unpleasant realities
Extreme dishonesty, even for politicians
Pro-life hypocrisy, pursuing policies hazardous to the lives of millions
Just writing this list makes my blood boil with a (hopefully) righteous anger, because so many of these things are antithetical to Christian biblical values. And being a news junkie, with a habit of reading and listening to multiple updates a day, I’ve experienced such boiling events quite frequently since the election. As a result, news that sucks has become at times overwhelming emotionally and spiritually.
I know many of you have experienced something similar in the aftermath of Trump’s election. And from our conversations, it sounds like you’ve also had to figure out how to step away from the news and your activism to catch your breath, take care of yourself, arrest your slide toward burnout, and renew your spirit.
My first step came in early March, when I decided that on some days, I just had to turn off the news and limit the number of times I checked for updates. Into that quieter space entered a bit of K-pop.
Lovely, Lo-Lovely Fox
I can’t recall exactly how I stumbled across the song “Fox” by longtime popular K-pop (short for Korean pop) artist Kwon Bo-Ah, better known by her stage name BoA. It may have started through a suggested video that popped up on the right side of my YouTube screen. That itself was highly unusual, since I’m not a K-pop fan. Until a few weeks ago, I could only have named three K-pop songs, one of them being the track everyone knows, rapper PSY’s ground-breaking 2012 song “Gangnam Style.”
Regardless, I found “Fox” to be so incredibly catchy. Full of joy and energy, it bounced around in my head for almost a week. In fact, I hadn’t had a song stuck in my head for that long since Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off.” It quickly became the song I played most often in the car and at home.
Several weeks later, it’s still the song I listen to the most. And that’s despite the fact I don’t know Korean, and that the only English lyrics are:
Like a lovely, lo-lovely fox
I’m so into you, babe
A translation of the song reveals that BoA’s singing about a dude she’s attracted to, and that he’s charming like a fox. I don’t get it, but maybe it makes sense to some of you; if so, please explain it to me. But the important point here is that the song makes me feel happy! Even though I don’t really understand it, “Fox” has been a tonic for me against recent sucky news.
Here, you try it:
There are also a couple of videos online that use a shortened version of the song. One shows BoA performing before a studio audience:
Another shows Lia Kim, the song’s official choreographer, demonstrating the steps with students from her dance studio:
Not only is the song a happy, feel-good one, but the dancers look like they’re having a good time! And that’s infectious! It sounds absurd, but it’s true: “Fox” has helped me to deal with Donald Trump’s presidency.
And actually, I’ve curated an entire list of songs that are also saving me from Donald Trump, beginning with the versions of “Fox” I just mentioned. I hope they help you, too! Visit my YouTube playlist or look these up indvidually:
I’ve also gone hiking more often to deal with my #TrumpStress, as well as maintained frequent prayer times for the people affected by the president’s words and decisions. How about you? If you’ve found yourself often stressed/depressed/infuriated/scared by the news coming from the Trump Administration, what have you done to take care of your own emotional and spiritual well-being? Please let me know on social media (see buttons on this page).
Three years after Mattel’s American Girl brand retired its only Asian American historical doll, Ivy Ling, it has introduced another, Suzanne Yang, who’s better known by her nickname, “Z”! Z Yang represents the latest effort in American Girl’s intentional push for greater diversity in its characters, something I wrote about in my previous post.
And as always, there are books! The first is entitled The Real Z, and it’s really good! I truly enjoyed it, and more importantly, my daughters enjoyed it as well, devouring it in one day each!
The author of The Real Z, Jen Calonita, is a best-selling novelist whose popular middle grade and young adult fictional works include the Fairy Tale Reform School series and the Secrets of My Hollywood Life series. She was very kind to take the time to correspond with me about The Real Z and the work that went into writing the story! I’m privileged to share our conversation here, very slightly edited for clarity.
F.A.D.: You’re a best-selling writer who has written 18 novels previously. What was different about writing for an iconic brand like American Girl?
JEN: It’s funny because I have two boys and my sister has two girls, and out of the two of us, I can be the real girly girl! So when it came time for her two girls to have their first American Girl experience, my sister let me take the girls to the store in New York City to have lunch and pick out their first dolls. I loved every minute of it! I love American Girl’s message of empowerment, and I always tell my nieces they can do anything they put their minds to. So when I was asked to work on the American Girl project, I felt like I won the Lotto. I feel so proud to get to work with them. They have a very clear vision of what they want for their characters, and it was fun to see Z’s first book come together.
F.A.D.: Z is 13 years old, making her older than most other American Girl characters, who are usually no older than 10 when readers first meet them. Do you feel like it was easier or harder to write the story with an older set of child characters?
JEN: For myself, I write middle grade characters that hover around 12 or 13, and my son is 13, so I have a lot of girls in my life at this age. I feel like I live 13 every day! So for me, I enjoyed getting to write about a 13 year old.
F.A.D.: There’s quite a bit of expectation for Z Yang among Asian American fans of American Girl, given that she is the first Asian American doll with a definitive story line since Ivy Ling (controversially retired in 2014). Did this create any additional sense of pressure for you?
JEN: Of course, but it was definitely pressure I put on myself. American Girl knows their characters’ backstories inside and out, and have such a well-thought out plan for their dolls and their book series, so that really put me at ease. Plus, I made sure to talk to a lot of American Girl book fans and girls that are Z’s age to make sure I was hitting her friendship struggles the right way and handling her relationships appropriately. Z puts a lot of pressure on herself as she’s working on her project, and I think that’s true of most girls – and adults! – when they are working on a project they love.
F.A.D.: In the book, you refer several times to things that many Asian Americans, especially those of Korean heritage, appreciate as a part of regular life – kimchi, chocolate Pocky, bubble tea, bossam, and bulgogi, for instance. What has helped you to become more familiar with Asian American culture?
JEN: I wanted to make sure I was familiar with Asian American culture when I sat down to write Z’s story, whether certain aspects ever came into play or not, so I interviewed several Asian American families, teachers, moms, and kids before I wrote the story. Several Korean American tweens and I texted when I ran into questions. A lot of the time I had questions about snacks! I made sure to try them when I could find them, too. My boys are now obsessed with bubble tea and I love chocolate Pocky, and we found a bubble tea shop near our house so I went in several times to talk to the teens who worked there about things as well. My eight year old would ask me, “Do we need to buy more snacks to try? Because I will.” He was very helpful!
F.A.D.: Z’s friends are quite a diverse bunch! Her closest two friends are Caucasian and Latina, while one of her vlogging friends has a disability and another is British and lives overseas. How do you think kids benefit when they have a diverse group of friends?
JEN: I loved hearing about Z’s friends when I was working on the project. Some of her friends are ones that have appeared in Z’s YouTube American Girl videos, and others are new. I think it’s so important for kids and adults to be open to new experiences and meet people from all walks of life and all over the map, so they can learn more about the world around them. Every time I visit a new city and meet school children, I’m amazed at how different their school experiences can be compared to my own or that of my children. I love that Z has so many wonderful friends – both the ones she’s met online and the ones in her everyday life. My mom always pushed me to make friends outside school. I remember her purposefully not letting me go to the dance school in town! She drove me to another area so I’d be forced to meet new people, and I look back on that and am so thankful that my circle opened up because I wasn’t in my familiar surroundings. I try to do the same thing with my own boys now.
F.A.D.: Like many tweens and teens, Z often uses technology and social media to communicate with friends and family. What benefits and limitations do you see to the frequent usage of these tools?
JEN: Insert audible groan here! As someone whose oldest just got his first cell phone, I find it’s a constant struggle between what he wants to do online and what’s appropriate for him to do online at age 12. There are several apps his friends have that I don’t feel comfortable letting him use. It’s tough because kids want to be part of a crowd, but there are many things available online that aren’t right for their age. We talk a lot about how once a picture or video is online, it’s up there FOREVER. So we had constant discussions about what Z and her friends could do online, what was appropriate, and what wasn’t. We made sure that even though Z is a filmmaker, her films have to be shown to her parents before she posts anything, and that’s something really important for kids to understand. Parents are there to have their back, and Z’s really do in this story.
F.A.D.: The city of Seattle is such a big part of the story. How did you become so familiar with its landmarks?
JEN: I’d been to Seattle once on a book tour, and I fell in love with the city. I’ve always hoped to take my family back. I’m somewhat familiar with the big landmarks because I’ve visited them, but I knew I needed to do more, so I did a lot of travel research and looked at a lot of pictures. When it came to the area Z would live in, my editor and I spoke with friends who live in Seattle and asked them about the neighborhoods, so we could figure out the best place for Z to live where she could be near school and shopping but also have a somewhat suburban neighborhood as well.
F.A.D.: To me, The Real Z‘s most poignant scenes take place when the characters are showing vulnerability, whether that’s through their attempts to reconcile or through their admissions of their fears and insecurities. What would you like for readers to take away from these parts of the story?
JEN: When Z’s project comes together, and she creates the “Real Z” hashtag, I felt really proud of her and all the girls who would read this story. Connecting with friends and realizing that others have the same insecurities and fears as you do is important at this age – at any age really – and sometimes the tween years can be confusing. I hope they see how Z and her friends come together and, through their honesty, their friendship grows even stronger.
F.A.D.: My favorite line from the book is “Life isn’t perfect. Why should we pretend it is online?” Do you have a favorite line from The Real Z?
JEN: I think you found it! It’s something I say to my 12 year old all the time. We didn’t have social media when I was his age, so I’m constantly telling him that not everything in life has to be put online – it shouldn’t be – and some of what you read and see online is this small, perfect-moment window that doesn’t really reflect real life. I actually posted a picture of the brownies I baked for the church bake sale recently – smashed and ruined when they fell in the car – because that was REAL. And I think that’s a struggle Z faces in the book. How can she be true to herself and true to her film, while still making it shine?
F.A.D.: In its promotional materials, American Girl emphasizes that its products and books are designed to help girls connect with each other and to empower them to confidently be the best they can be. How does The Real Z try to help girls in those areas?
JEN: I believe girls will relate to Z’s struggles when it comes to friendship and wanting to succeed at something they’re passionate about. When Z tries to be someone else with her film, it doesn’t feel authentic. I think we all do that sometimes. We’re afraid to show people who we truly are. When Z and her friends learn to open up to each other, it makes her film come together and it makes their friendship even stronger. Being truthful is tough but so rewarding, and Z sees that in her story. I hope girls will connect with Z the way I did. I can’t wait to see what she’s up to next.
When I was in the third grade, my mom gave me some devastating news:
Son, you are going back to Chinese School!
I was shocked. Incredulous, I asked if she was kidding. But she was totally serious. Our church, an ethnic Chinese Christian church, was launching its own Chinese School, and I was going to be a student.
I broke down crying, on the spot.
That’s because I had just escaped, months before, from my previous Chinese School, without any thought that I’d ever have to go back. Not literally escaped, of course; Chinese School wasn’t actually a prison, though to me as a suburban eight-year-old Chinese American boy, it felt as much like a sentence to hard labor as anything I’d known.
That’s because my Chinese School had meant a weekly hour-and-a-half to two hours reading, writing, and repeatedly drilling Chinese words and phonetics, using textbooks with pictures that seemed decades old and completely foreign. It meant additional homework and test prep on top of my daily regular school homework and piano practice time.
It also meant having to hear over and over again, ad nauseam, lectures from grown-ups on why it was important for me as an ethnic Chinese kid to know the language of my people, and that I’d appreciate it all when I got older. Worst of all, it meant that I had to miss Saturday morning cartoons, like new episodes of Scooby-Doo, in an era that predated VCRs (which my younger readers may not know stands for Video Cassette Recorders – and I hope I don’t have to explain to you what a cassette is).
And now, my parents were putting me back into dreaded Chinese School.
Girl in the Balance
An American Girl Story – Ivy and Julie 1976: A Happy Balance shows a similar struggle for its central character, Ivy Ling, a ten-year-old Chinese American girl living in San Francisco in the mid-1970s. Like me, and like almost every Chinese American kid I’ve ever known, she can’t stand Chinese School. The first time we see her in class, she’s sneaking peeks at a gymnastics magazine, because that’s where her heart really is, with her local gymnastics club preparing for an all-city competition. Her disdain for Chinese School grows only stronger as she misses the extra practice sessions she desperately needs before All-City; ironically, those are scheduled at exactly the same time as her Chinese School classes.
Early in Ivy and Julie, we also hear Ivy express her weariness at having to eat Chinese food every day, and we witness her quiet embarrassment when her mother speaks Cantonese to her in front of her gymnastics teammates. Watching the special, the adult in me felt like she was being kind of whiny up to that point, but simultaneously, I could absolutely see myself in her and empathize.
It’s been thirty-five years since I was her age, but I very clearly remember the intensity of those sorts of feelings. It’s surprising that those emotions feel quite near to me even now.
Ivy’s own angst becomes overwhelming when she realizes that the big gymnastics meet takes place at the exact same time as the mother-of-all-Ling-Family-Chinese-New-Year dinners, a banquet her parents definitely expect her to attend. As in the book on which the special is based, Lisa Yee’s AG novel Good Luck, Ivy, our heroine faces what, to her, seems an impossible choice – All-City or the family banquet.
Really, Ivy is dealing with more than just a decision between those two options. Even at a young age, she’s wrestling, albeit unconsciously, with the question, “What does it mean for me to be an American?”
It’s a struggle familiar to so many of us who are people of color and/or the descendants of recent immigrants. How much do we embrace good, ol’-fashioned American values and traditions, which we non-whites often identify with white American culture? And how much do we retain the beliefs and practices of our ancestors from distant lands?
This dynamic gives rise to the special’s subtitle: A Happy Balance. Yes, Ivy is working intensely to nail her routine on the balance beam. But on top of that, she’s trying very hard to reconcile, or to balance, her Western values (“All-City is really important to me”) and her Chinese, Confucian values (“the family takes precedence over the individual”).
Played winsomely and with a lot of range by Nina Lu (Bunk’d), Ivy deals with these existential questions with the help of her best bud Julie Albright, portrayed with calm confidence by Hannah Nordberg (Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors). Their on-screen BFF-ship captures the warm, easy bond that the characters share in the AG books depicting their adventures.
Yet Ivy finds a lot of added support in her mom, which is somewhat surprising given the conflicts they have. Gwendoline Yeo (Grey’s Anatomy, American Crime) hits all the right notes as mother Marilyn Ling. In fact, her character’s story is similar to Ivy’s in that Marilyn felt compelled to go to law school, which meant an end to her years of helping at her parents’ Chinese restaurant. Her own choice was not all that different from the one Ivy faces.
Notable encouragement also comes Ivy’s way from those restaurant-owning grandparents, whom she calls Po-Po and Gung-Gung. They’re played laugh-out-loud delightfully by veteran actors Elizabeth Sung (Pali Road, Front Cover) and Tzi Ma (Arrival, The Man in the High Castle).
It is very, very cool to me – “groovy” would be the word that Ivy and Julie use, perhaps while munching on Jiffy Pop popcorn, talking on their corded phones, or listening to records – that this AG special is the first one I’ve seen that really delves into what it means to be an American girl. I haven’t seen all of the AG specials or the lengthier films, but the several that I have seen don’t show their protagonists trying to make sense of how they can be both fully American and fully _____ (fill in the blank). Their identity as Americans is just assumed.
But that’s not the case with Ivy and Julie, which makes it a terrific conversation starter between parents and kids on issues of culture, ethnicity, and nationality. At 44 minutes in length, it even works well for elementary school teachers wanting to engage their students on such topics. And though the story is set in 1976, it can definitely spark discussions, quite timely given our current political scene, about immigrants, why they come to America, and what they contribute to our nation.
This special is a winner on several other fronts, too. For one thing, Ivy and Julie continues AG’s long tradition of excellence in storytelling. Yes, the dolls can be expensive. But the books and videos show us girl characters that are the empowered, resourceful, and compassionate heroines of their own stories. These materials are notable as well for their superb depictions of the historical backdrops against which the stories are set.
In addition, Ivy and Julie continues AG’s increased emphasis on diverse characters. It’s a shift that seems at least partly a response to the huge outcry raised by Asian American families and activists a few years ago, when the Ivy Ling doll was “archived,” or retired. (I traced some of that history last September in this blog post.)
This recent emphasis is most clearly seen among its dolls. I mentioned previously on this blog the new WellieWishers line of five smaller and more affordable dolls. Three of these are dolls of color, including the Asian character, Emerson. (She’s my younger daughter’s favorite.)
Last year, AG also added a second African American doll to its BeForever historical line. Melody Ellison’s story is set in Detroit during the 1960s Civil Rights Movement; it was produced with significant input from African American community leaders and educators, including the late Julian Bond. Subsequently, Amazon released the first of its AG specials, with Marsai Martin (Black-ish) as Melody.
AG’s new dolls for 2017 keep building on the trend. The current Girl of the Year is Gabriela McBride, the first African American doll to receive that honor. Later this year, AG will release a Korean American doll, Suzanne Yang, who’ll go by “Z” for short, as well as Nanea Mitchell, a Native Hawai’ian doll whose story will be set in World War 2-era Hawai’i Territory.
But not only do the newer dolls demonstrate how the iconic brand values diverse American girls, Ivy and Julie does, too! I really appreciate how AG went out of its way to make this program, and I have to think that it’s because AG’s execs truly heard the deep disappointment from Asian Americans at Ivy’s retirement.
Here’s why I believe that: This special is the only feature-length AG video production released when its main character was in the archives. Plus, it’s the first AG special or movie that is not centered on either a main historical doll (Ivy was always Julie’s sidekick) or a Girl of the Year character.
It’s even significant that Ivy gets top billing in the title. It’s Ivy and Julie, not Julie and Ivy, and not even just Julie, which is what I would have expected from an AG story that included the much-beloved Julie Albright character.
You might wonder why any of this is actually important, especially because it’s “just a movie” or “just entertainment.” Why fuss over all this stuff? If my girls liked it, which they very much did, and my wife and I were able to enjoy it with them, then that should be enough, right?
But it’s not enough! It’s vitally important that my daughters and all Asian American girls get to see and read stories that affirm both their Asian-ness and their American-ness. It fortifies their self-esteem and self-confidence to witness their uniquely Asian American struggles depicted as normal and common. And it boosts their resilience and ambition to identify with someone who looks like them, someone who is the heroine of her own adventure, and not simply the sidekick or supporting cast.
There’s a scene in Ivy and Julie where the two girls are looking through a teen magazine, imagining which hairstyle Ivy would want from among the celebrities pictured. After a few pages, after seeing only photos of white and Black folks, Ivy looks at Julie and sighs, “None of these people look like me.”
It’s a moment that just about every Asian American girl experiences at some point, and likely at many points, as she grows up. It really doesn’t have to be that way, and it really shouldn’t.
Dear American Girl, thank you so much for what you’re doing to ensure that it isn’t that way! This feminist Asian dad is extremely grateful.
It’s one of the most powerful moments in Mary Kathryn Nagle’s brilliant play Fairly Traceable:
Erin, a young Native American environmental lawyer, explains to her also-Native ex-boyfriend why she must one day have children.
Earlier, she had argued in court that the oil industry should be liable for its role in the global warming that energized Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, storms that set records for their destruction and power in 2005. It’s an intensely personal matter for her. She’s a descendant of the Chitimacha Indians and a member of the small Pointe-au-Chien tribe, which experienced devastating losses when those storms smashed into coastal Louisiana.
Speaking with her ex Randy, Erin invokes the long history of American oppression against indigenous peoples:
Climate change isn’t the reason I can’t have kids. It’s the reason I have to have them. If I, as a Chitimacha woman, if I decide to not have kids, well, I’m just helping the United States government finish what it couldn’t quite complete a hundred years ago.
It hit me as an audience member, through my tears and sniffles, that for Erin, having and raising Pointe-au-Chien children would be an act of defiance. As I sat with my own thoughts the next day, it hit me that this scene very much speaks to my being a dad during the Trump administration. It tells me that raising children can be an act of resistance.
Many of us who are deeply troubled by Donald Trump’s ascent to the most humanly powerful position in the world have spoken of resistance a lot since Election Day. We’ve especially used the term when discussing how we can respond to his administration’s numerous inhumane, racially scapegoating, financially self-serving, blatantly unchristian, and just plain bizarre actions, proposals, and statements.
We’ve also, naturally, created a hashtag, #resist, which has found a corollary, #persist, thanks to Mitch McConnell’s infamous quashing of Elizabeth Warren’s speech in the U.S. Senate. And some of us have even adopted the symbol of the Resistance, the good guys in the new series of Star Wars films.
Of course, when it comes to resisting, the stakes are much greater for real-life Natives than they are for me. As an ethnic Han Chinese, I am one of 1.3 billion of my people. The Pointe-au-Chien, on the other hand, number in the hundreds. Resisting societal and institutional injustice is for them a matter of survival, as it is for many Native tribes.
After all, the genocide of Native peoples never really ended. It is just less overt than it used to be.
The long-term nature of the suffering of Native peoples and other marginalized groups points to the value of raising kids to resist and persist as activists and allies. To succeed, the battle against injustice has to outlive us. So through our influence on the next generation, we can help to sustain movements that insist on treating all human beings with the dignity, respect, empathy, and love that Creator says they deserve.
This is a comfort to me. Like many folks engaged in social justice work, I have bouts of what I’ll call “activist’s guilt.” That’s the nagging sense that even after I’ve taken one, two, or more steps of action on a particular issue, I still haven’t done enough.
Sometimes, that’s true; I haven’t done enough. But other times, I have to recognize that I can only do my part, and I’ll have to count on others to do theirs, too. Repeatedly giving in to “activist’s guilt” leads to rapid burnout for many who engage in advocacy.
A recent example of my “activist’s guilt” centered on the women’s marches the day after Inauguration Day. Due to some family commitments, I wasn’t able to participate. I felt like I was doing something wrong by not going. A graphic that made the rounds on social media at the time captured my feelings:
That moment when you’re about to join the revolution and you realize you’d promised to take the kids to the park. pic.twitter.com/T8Z53TcfNZ
Erin in Fairly Traceable reminds me that along with directly serving people who are facing oppression, and marching, organizing, and speaking out as an ally, my work as a parent can very much be an activist endeavor as well. Resisting and persisting happens as I educate my girls about discrimination, nurture their capacity for empathy, and help them determine ways to take action.
It seems like it’s paying off so far. My ten year old is passionate about many areas of social justice, and a couple of years ago, when her teacher asked her class members to name what they wanted to be when they grew up, she said an activist. (You bet your right and left pant legs that I was proud!) Later that year, when they were assigned to do first-person biographical reports on historical figures, my daughter departed from the standard list and decided on Maria Tallchief, America’s first world-famous ballerina, both because she loves dance and because Ms. Tallchief was a member of the Osage Nation.
When the time came for the California rite of passage known as the fourth grade missions project, she chose the mission that seemed to her the most liberal-minded toward Natives, San Luis Rey de Francia, while recognizing that the Spanish colonial project there was still tantamount to slavery. And a few weeks ago, when her fifth-grade class went to the school media room to watch Trump’s inauguration on TV, she asked to be exempted! (I did tell her afterward that I totally would have been okay if she had gone to see it, given the educational value of the occasion.)
My seven year old is passionate about environmental issues. At home, she monitors the rest of our family’s water usage because California is in the midst of a drought; she has drawn and posted reminders in both of our apartment’s bathrooms. If we’re driving around after dark, she points out neighborhoods and establishments that are causing excessive light pollution. When I referred to climate change recently in her hearing, she offered, “I hate climate change.” And a few weeks ago, when she saw #noDAPL painted on a car in our neighborhood, she exclaimed, “The Dakota pipeline!”
Trying to raise my daughters to be activists and allies makes my child-rearing an attempted act of resistance. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t also take other steps of action, but it does mean that how I parent is just as important as the rest of my advocacy work.
I trust that Fairly Traceable will speak to you in a profound way, just as it did to me. The phrase “fairly traceable” is actually legal terminology from the pen of the late Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. It appears in his 1992 majority opinion for Lujan v. Defenders of Wildlife.
But if you feel skittish about seeing a play that explores legal doctrine, let me assure you that this work isn’t dry or overly intellectual at all. Ms. Nagle has an uncanny ability, as both a playwright and law firm partner, to take issues of law and present them in ways that are not just educational, but entertaining and compelling. Her masterful play Sliver of a Full Moon does the same thing with the legislative process. In Sliver, she’s able to present the work of congressional coalition-building for the Violence Against Women Act as the pressure-packed, high-stakes drama that it really was for Native tribes.
Three days after seeing Fairly Traceable – and I’d love to see it again – I still feel like there’s more I need to process. That’s probably because the play taps into so many themes with deep human resonance. Heritage and ancestry, race and culture, romance and loss, family and faith, oppression and struggle, science and law, and life and death all intersect meaningfully during the two-hour performance, which includes a brief intermission. Experiencing Fairly Traceable was like going on a powerful journey during which I laughed a lot, cried some, and left hopeful.
The play is clearly a labor of love for Native America, the environment, the state of Louisiana, and humanity as a whole. Ms. Nagle, a citizen of the Cherokee Nation, was a student at Tulane Law School in New Orleans when Katrina hit, much like the lead characters Randy, played by Jason Grasl (Blackfeet), and Erin, played by Kyla Garcia (Taíno). Jennifer Bobiwash (Ojibway), Kinsale Hueston (Navajo-Diné), Chris Jorie, Shyla Marlin (Choctaw), and John Nielsen complete the outstanding cast, each of whom hits all the right notes with his or her character.
I rarely say that something is must-see, but Fairly Traceable is! It’s playing in Los Angeles at the Autry Museum’s Wells Fargo Theater through March 26. It’s recommended for ages 13 and up. See specific times and get tickets here.
What are you waiting for?
For my previous posts about being an ally for my Native brothers and sisters, visit my old blog, Raising Asian American Daughters:
Our conversation lasted all of 10 seconds, but it will stay with me for the rest of my life. I’m speaking of the precious moment that I shared with one James Earl Carter, Jr. nearly 20 years ago in Dallas. I was a grad student; he was the former 39th President of the United States.
Better known by his preferred nickname Jimmy, the 70-something-year-old ex-POTUS sat that day at a small table in a cozy indie bookstore, signing copies of his new book Sources of Strength. The volume was billed as a compilation of his reflections on favorite Bible themes, and given his well-known history as a Sunday School teacher (a role he maintained even as president), it promised to be more than the standard existential musings of a former politician. So for the rare chance to meet a former president and buy a signed copy of his rather unique book, hundreds of us lined up out the door, around the corner, and down the block, braving the unusually cold, brisk December afternoon.
President Carter had long held a special place in my heart. It began in my childhood, when he was the sitting president; I learned that he and I shared the same birthday, October 1. (Recently, I learned that his daughter Amy shares with my elder daughter a birthday, October 19.) My fondness for him grew in his post-presidency years, as I learned how active he continued to be in helping people in need, particularly by building homes for Habitat for Humanity.
Two or three hours into my wait to see him, the line finally shortened enough that I could get inside the door and away from the chilly wind gusts. And there he was at the little table with pen in hand, looking much less intimidating than the tall, burly Secret Service agents that stood to either side of him.
My turn came, and as he began to sign my copy of his book, I said, “Mr. President, we share the same birthday!”
His succinct, Georgia-soaked reply came with warmth and a smile: “Well, take care of it for me, will ya?”
“I will!” I answered.
My conversation with the man took only a handful of seconds, but it has become a motivating force in my life. His quip referred merely to our shared birthday. Yet in recent years, it’s become to me a special charge, almost a passing of the baton, from him to me and millions of others to carry on our shared values.
One of those values that he has long advocated for is human rights. He made it a touchstone of his presidential foreign policy whenever he could, and he kept on speaking and writing about it after leaving office.
President Carter has also been known as a peacemaker. His crowning achievement as president was negotiating the 1978 Camp David Accords, which led to historic diplomatic relations and a lasting peace between Israel and Egypt. In 2002, Carter was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his lifetime of peacebuilding work, which has also included the monitoring of elections in a number of countries and the dissemination of medicines to eliminate diseases in the developing world.
That same year, he became the first sitting or former president to visit Cuba since Calvin Coolidge. His efforts at rapprochment with Fidel Castro decades earlier as POTUS paid off. During the 2002 visit, the dictator gave Carter permission to speak via radio to the entire island nation about the need for democratic reform, while simultaneously calling for an end to the American embargo on Cuba.
Another core principle of Carter’s: transparency. A mere two years after Watergate brought down the presidency of Richard Nixon, Carter campaigned on the promise that he would be a different kind of president. For one thing, he pledged to never lie to the American people.
This went over well with the electorate, but it was likely also a genuine expression of his heart. In his post-presidential years, he worked to increase transparency in election financing in other countries.
The pursuit of human rights, peacemaking, and transparency are just three of the values that so many of us share with former President Carter. We can continue to advocate and agitate for these as we receive the baton from him. Yet there’s one more of his core principles that especially resonates with me as a feminist father: his passion, now given the highest priority of his remaining years, for gender equality and ending violence against women and girls worldwide.
I have become convinced that the most serious and unaddressed worldwide challenge is the deprivation and abuse of women and girls, largely caused by a false interpretation of carefully selected religious texts and a growing tolerance of violence and warfare, unfortunately following the example set during my lifetime by the United States.
Who would’ve thunk it, right? Jimmy Carter, feminist!
Carter’s belief in women’s rights is yet another of his deeply-held convictions that millions of us share, and that we must pursue. It is my commitment to do so as much as I possibly can for the rest of my life.
Of course, all of this is not to say that President Carter is without faults. Overall, he is not remembered as having been an effective leader during his term in office; that’s why he’s the only POTUS in the last 40 years besides George H. W. Bush to serve only one term.
Yet in recent weeks, many of us have looked upon our current president and bemoaned his glaring lack of maturity. I hope that even as we resist and persist, that we will find inspiration and strength in the lives of heroic Americans on whose shoulders we stand, like President Carter.
If I could tell him one thing now, I’d say, “Mr. President, this country that you’ve served all your life? We’ll take care of it for ya!”
The photo at the beginning of this post, showing President Carter on his 2007 Ghana trip, comes courtesy of The Carter Center.
To the brave women who came forward with the truth of what Trump did to you:
I can only imagine what it’s been like for you these last several months. You had kept to yourself, or to just a few confidants, the story of what he did to you years ago. You handled the intense, lingering pain, confusion, and feelings of shame, each in your own way. Many of you probably thought you’d never need to talk about it ever again.
And then the world heard from the man, in his own words and voice, that he couldn’t help kissing women, that he enjoyed grabbing the most private areas of their bodies, and that because of his star power, they would let him.
And then the world heard more recordings:
In one, he allowed another man to wonder out loud whether his daughter had breast implants.
In another, he explicitly gave permission to the same man to call his daughter a “piece of ass.”
In a third, he boasted of getting away with deliberately walking in on contestants in his beauty pageants while they were naked.
And we heard his denials. It was just “locker room talk,” he said. Just stuff he said, but didn’t do.
Then, one by one, you began to bravely tell your stories of what he had done to you. You did so publicly, knowing what people would say.
They’d accuse you of making it up. They’d say the fact you waited until right before the election meant you were lying.
Not understanding the psychological effects of sexual harassment and assault, they would insist your story had to be fake because of something you said or did afterward. They’d accuse you of conspiring to get Hillary Clinton elected, or that you were doing it for attention, money, fame, or all of the above.
And you were right, they did say those things. Some, for good measure, also called you bitches, whores, sluts, cunts, and pussies.
Some said they would rape you.
Some even said they would kill you.
Most, perhaps even all, of these reactions were not a surprise to you, especially in this day and age.
His denials went into an even higher gear. “Totally and absolutely false … fabricated … outright lies,” he said.
He blamed Clinton. He blamed the media.
He even called himself a victim.
In Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, near the hallowed ground on which thousands of soldiers died for the values Americans hold dear, he promised, “All of these liars will be sued after the election is over.”
You never really wanted anyone additional to know about one of the most painful parts of your life, much less, literally, millions of strangers. But you felt like you had to tell your story. The stakes were too high. The country had to know the truth – that the nation was about to make a sexual predator the most powerful person on the planet.
But after a few days, people rallied to him, proclaiming their belief that he was the one telling the truth. Politicians, pundits, and prominent male evangelicals declared their disgust with his recorded comments but made clear they believed nothing else happened.
Without saying it explicitly, they called you liars, too.
Then on Election Day, he won, and hasn’t looked back.
Nor have his closest supporters, like his own Vice President-elect, who told multiple national networks on the morning of Friday, October 14, that by day’s end, there would be proof that all of you were lying.
As of the date of this blog post, 90 days have passed. We’re still waiting for that proof. And those lawsuits, for that matter.
Of course, we know that proof doesn’t exist. And that he was bluffing about those lawsuits, each of which would either expose his serial abuse in greater detail or would cause him to perjure himself.
It shouldn’t take so many of you coming forward for Americans to believe you. False accusations of sexual assault are no more common statistically than any other major crime; research consistently shows that 92 to 98 percent of accusations are true. But the fact that so many of you have bravely told your stories gives the rest of us no excuse not to believe you. Like with Bill Cosby’s accusers, there is not only strength in numbers, there is no longer even a shadow of a doubt.
I do not know how or when the great injustices that have been done to you – the sexual violations, the years of pain, the retraumatization through public smears and vile threats – will be made right. I have faith that they one day will. Yet in the meantime, please know that you, and what you have been through, have not been forgotten as the political process and news coverage have moved on. Many millions of us believe you, the 22 that have spoken.
Temple, Jessica L., Rachel, Natasha, Mindy, Cassandra, Jill, Nancy, Kristin, Summer, Cathy, Karena, Ninni, Tasha and the other 2001 Miss USA contestant, Bridget, Jessica D., Mariah and Victoria and the three other 1997 Miss Teen USA contestants, we see you. We stand with you and with the others whose stories we have heard, but who have declined to speak publicly at this time.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for speaking out. Your courage inspires ours as we rededicate ourselves to holding him and all abusers accountable, and to stopping violence against women and girls in every community, all over the world.