Been quiet for a bit, taking it all in, preparing for the new year.  More on that later.

Hearing about the death of the two police officers in New York raises a great many issues.

First, the deaths immediately raised the topic of retribution and revenge.  Had it been the case that individuals in the population had decided that it was unacceptable to take African American lives and decided to strike back violently?  Had it been the case that individuals in the population were done feeling that they had no agency and they decided to strike back?  Were they done begging for something to be done?  What did it mean that individuals no longer feared directly bringing the fight to political authorities?  What did it mean that the fear that normally kept citizens in check had dissolved and they raised arms against the state?  Was this the very meaning of individualized anarchy?  Would the attacks diffuse throughout the population?  How many individuals in the population harbored antagonisms toward the police?  How deep and wide did that resentment go?  Or, was this an isolated incident of an unstable individual who took an act that could be misrepresented because of the current context?

Second, although the discussion in the media has not yet made the connection, with the explicit reference to the word “pigs” in the police killers entries, the deaths reminded me of the days of the Black Panthers, their use of the word and their violent interactions with the police. As shown above, pig has a specific meaning when used by black nationalists and black power advocates.  This phrase is associated with a certain type of vicious agent of the state that appears to just brutalize all in their path. The recent reference appeared to invoke the image but without the data it is hard to say if the situation now is any worse than it was in the 1960s and 1970s when the Panthers were active.  It was not about shooting the police however.  The Panthers wanted to put the police in check for their seeming aggressive and violent attitudes as well as the type of activities employed against the black population.  But, there are some major differences between this period and the current use of the word. For example, the Panthers were a social movement organization with a broad plan for how to improve the political-economic system and not an isolated individual with a single issue they wanted addressed. The Panthers were largely interested in having the police follow the law, not attacking them pre-emptively. This is not to say that there were no violent exchanges. At one point, some members of the organization did decide to break off, start their own faction and to attack the “boys in blue”.  Such action was set within the context of a perceived all-out assault on the black community which could no longer be tolerated. This opinion was not unique to the Panthers. Most black nationalists advocated such a position - especially when viewed as a "reactive" response to anti-black violence enacted by whites in general and the police in particular. This includes groups as diverse as the Revolutionary Action Movement, the Republic of New Africa (the subject of my latest book), the All African People's Revolutionary Party under Kwame Ture, US under Maulana Karenga, the Organization of African-American Unity developed by Malcolm X and occasionally the Nation of Islam.

Third, the deaths of the police officers seems to have invoked a significant amount of sympathy for the police in particular and agents of the government in general despite the recent revelations about their activities and growing mobilization around the topic.  Would the killing of “seeming innocents” or armed government agents “on the job” shift the sympathies of the mass population away from raising questions about what had taken place and what was taking place? Would people be too scared about offending the legitimate users of coercive violence who put their lives on the line daily?  Would the momentum be lost from those who began to come together in criticism of these agents of the state?  Could a separation be made between those criticizing the police and the killer in specific or potential killers in general?  Had the scales been shifted?  Would the general deference to political authorities be resumed and the growing critical tone from much of the population be stunted?

Fourth, there is the issue of when (if at all) it is acceptable for citizens to use violence. Many political theorists speak of the right to rebellion. In the face of tyranny (i.e., a misuse of coercive power by those in political authority), it was believed that citizens had the right to raise up arms against those in government.  Unfortunately these theorists never really dealt with the issue of exactly when someone knew they were in a situation of tyranny.  They provided no definitions, no criteria and no measurement strategies. They did not address the fact that governments were the ones who frequently compiled data regarding the use of coercive power.  They also did not really discuss any variation in the concept of rebellion.  Does such activity have to involve large numbers of people?  Does such activity have to involve violence?  Does such activity have to lay out a clearly defined plan of action or could it just be a “shot in the dark”?  Is all this discussion regarding the death of the police officers and the desire for retribution simply a justification for some violent action with no significance or resonance at all?  In this latter categorization, the activity is not some measure of rebellion or signal of dissatisfaction but instead some horrific act of random violence seeking a justification?  Could the deaths of the police officers be irrelevant for current discussions?  

Questions abound.

As my mom will attest, I have not been a fan of President Obama.  On his watch, people have been killed and tortured, a beheaded behavioral challenger's body was virtually paraded around the minds of millions, civil liberties restrictions have continued, the poor have been kind of skirted and the difficulties with the criminal justice system have been short-changed.  I have also noticed that he has kept his distance from black folk.  Now, I did not expect him to embrace Jesse Jackson, Kanye West or Chokwe Lumumba (the last is a recently deceased black nationalist by the way), bring Kwanza to the Senate (blackening it up for a day) or put up a 24-hour basketball court on the front lawn (not desired) but I did not expect him to roll the way he did.  

Different discussion though (I can feel my mom scowling).  Today is a good day because of a photo - perhaps THE photo of his presidency as far as I am concerned.  Actually, the article is ok as well. By the way, the picture is on page one, right in the middle of the page. This is one reason for getting actual hard copies and not the online version.

Look at the picture.  He is surrounded by young black men (almost completely).  He is partially embracing one as if to say, I got you brother.  He is leaning in and having heard the man speak hundreds of times, you know he is saying something inspirational. The others look on and in this photo I am calmed and made a little hopeful (a bit, for a second). There just have not been (m)any photos like this over the course of the presidency.

Now, I'm not calmed or made hopeful by what the Prez actually said per se, which is something that should be discussed widely.  Indeed, the caption for the article is kind of intriguing, noting that Obama speaks uncharacteristically about his missteps as a youth as if to suggest that all black men have missteps being the problems that they are.  Reading between the lines you could think that if you follow what the Prez has to say (ummmmm growing up in Hawaii and going to Harvard), then things will all work out fine and you could become president.  Ok.  

Regardless, I am alright with this because there is now a photo that can be decontextualized and used to uplift individuals so that they can feel incorporated in some way. Yes, the context does not matter.  The photo is now part of the public record.  It will be used, downloaded, tweeted, reimaged, cropped and photo chopped thousands of times  And, that is perfectly fine.  People can do whatever they want to their images.  I'm going to leave mine just like this.  

I have been around gay men my whole life.  Specifically, gay black men.  The reason: my family was and is in the arts: e.g., dance, TV and film (my mother was respectively in things like Alvin Ailey, the Ed Sullivan Show as well as The Wiz) and music (my stepmother ran a record company or two). And, yes, in line with the stereotype, there is an abundance of gay males in general and gay black males in particular within the arts (luckily, in my opinion).  We all benefit from their light, talent and energy. 

Now, because of my upbringing, very early I developed what is referred to popularly as “Gaydar” -- the ability to detect a gay man.  I am not as gifted with detecting gay or bi-women, which would have been helpful while clubbing in New York City in my younger days but with a guy: give me about a minute and I'll tell you what the deal is (or not).

Now, I go into this because there are many brothers within Rwanda that are ummmmmm…. "closeted" (in the shade/shaded), in my opinion. These brothers are not "in the jungle" or "in the bush", to be clear - suggesting some crass primitivism. The logic of this position is straightforward: the continent is not the best place for homosexuals and, in my opinion, in Rwanda there is a whole country that's trying to keep the reality of gay Rwanda hidden.  Indeed, I have heard and seen denial before but the degree of resistance to even the possibility of homosexuality in Rwanda during my travels there was astounding.

When asked about the idea of a gay black man in Rwanda, I was told “no, we don't have THEM here” and “no, they’re are NONE in Rwanda.”  Yes, like it was the plague or something.  Direct quote.  Hand to the universe. On my travels, I constantly heard this.  Pushed to the edge of reason and thinking about what every gay, black, male friend of mine would have said to such an assertion, I pushed and finally had one person admit that there might be at least one or two homosexuals in the whole country but that was a major admission after some alcohol. Right after my colleague said this though he added: they had better not to get caught.  Seriously.  Truth be told, the conversation caused my colleague to get mad at me, like I was calling him a "barbarian" or "underdeveloped" or something because of how they (he and his country) were handling their homosexuality issue.  It was like he was Archie Bunker on crack with a side arm, walkie-talkie, explosive, machete (of course), a german shepherd and access to more of the same.

The evidence for the possibility of a few homosexuals in Rwanda was clear - at least to me.

First, men and women do not generally show affection to one another -- especially in the rural context. No hugging, holding of hands or kissing.  Men and women however can show affection within their respective groups.  Men, in particular, can and do walk hand-in-hand as well as arm in arm with each other down the road in the center of town without anyone caring. This practice was particularly problematic when Rwandans traveled abroad. For example, in America (where the last Tutsi king lives), I am told that he is often seen walking arm in arm with one of his “friends.”  Of course to those in the US, it was simply assumed that they were a couple.  Not that there's anything wrong with that but this is how it looked to neighbors. This was also problematic when someone I considered a friend, naturally swooped their hand to mine and started walking down the street.  Now, while I agree that we were friends and appreciated the Rwandan acknowledgment of such, I still was a bit uncomfortable about what it meant in my context and what it meant to the other mizungus.  This was not an issue of being homophobic (which because of my upbringing I am not).  Rather, it was an issue of being seen as having “gone native” – something especially frowned upon by non-anthropologists.  To have an air of legitimacy in the academia and as a researcher in the field, one had to have an air of empathy, sympathy but also a little distance.  But, I digress. 

My second piece of evidence for the gay Rwandan is that there was an observation of the occasional male prostitute hanging out with the female ones, eyeing the male mizungus. How did I know he was gay?  Well, I mentioned my Gaydar was pretty good but, aside from this, the mascara, swishing of the hips, slicked back hair, crotch-hugging jeans and glossy lips were a big hint.  Leaving with the gay white mizungu was another one.  The gay mizungu was even easier to identify.  Also, on this one particular occasion, there was a straight male prostitute standing right next to the gay one and the comparison was pretty simple to make.  Presumably, if there's at least one gay prostitute for mizungus, there must be at least one gay man in Rwanda.  Just saying.

Third, men hang out with one another all the time and are quite comfortable with one another, everywhere and at occasionally high levels of intimacy.  It does make sense as far as I'm concerned that relationships would emerge.  For example, men chill in saunas buck naked and real close.  Men constantly rubbed oil on each other at the pool and dancing with each other at nightclubs where women would never go unless they were prostitutes. Now, I do not believe that every woman is a prostitute but mizungus are a constant draw for this type of woman and they always appeared to be wherever they congregated.  In addition to that, single women never seemed to go to such places, leaving the environment all male, all the time.  Now, I am also not saying that every man dancing together in a Rwandan nightclub is gay.  Heck, by that category everyone dancing at Danceteria, Area and the Paladium back in New York when I grew up would be gay - which actually might be possible (except for me as well as my club buddy at the time - Parnell) and thus that is a bad example but hopefully you get my point. 

The epitome of the comfort/familiarity/intimacy phenomenon of which I speak is observable by watching men occasionally sit on each others laps in a bar.  Again, this in and of itself does not suggest homosexuality but the response to such familiarity and comfort did suggest homophobia, which I took as an indication that homosexuality was possible. How can you be homophobic is there is no homosexuality? See what hoops one has to go through in order to address the topic.  For example, one evening I pointed out to my Rwandan host two men at some bar and asked him if sitting like that was common.  To this question, it was first denied that the man was sitting on his associate’s lap - at all.  This, however, was clear to everybody. There was no other place that would be as proximate to the individual's chest and groin that did not involve the lap. Now, you say: "of course, non-gay men could be sitting on each other's laps and hanging out".  Well, as I mentioned, my gaydar works pretty well and I could just tell: those brothers were GAY and fabulously so!  Upon acknowledging that my observation was legitimate, and this one guy was indeed sitting on his friend’s lap in a slightly gay-like manner, my Rwandan associate stood up, walked over to the host and complained. Several minutes later, there was no more lap sitting.  Shortly after the initial complaint, the two gentlemen were approached by the host (who whispered something to them) and they left the bar entirely.  After they left and my associate seemed to beam with a little tyrannical, homophobic pride, I wondered about whether or not and how badly I'd put the two guys at risk with my little observation. I had merely attempted to learn a bit more about Rwandan society, but quickly realized that there were just certain things that Rwandans did not want to know themselves or have visitors probe. At that point, I realized that "outing" in Africa was both possible as well as potentially dangerous. 

To be honest, I found all of this completely fascinating except for the two guys being asked to leave, which I found a bit horrifying.  (Note: I actually looked for them over the course of the next month to make sure that they were ok but never saw them again). The identification of Rwandan gayness as well as the denial was in large part interesting because it revealed important differences to the United States. The image of old-school, hyper-masculine aggressive youth with weapons, military fatigues, attempting to mount every female in sight still existed in the US but it is also countered by an equally open, flamboyant, bold, triumphant gayness which no one (at least not openly) would label as anything but male. One sees this in the amazing celebrations during gay pride celebrations in New York and San Francisco - perhaps some of the best parades and parties offered in America.  In Rwanda, however, gay men were not even allowed as an idea, let alone reality. There are no parades there but only charades. On this dimension (and perhaps a few others), the country wears the mask that grins and lies. Indeed, the strength with which they were denied their existence was perhaps as indicative of the tenuousness of control over the society as the openly, hyper masculine aggressive young men with weapons and military fatigues attempting to mount every female in sight which was not only clearly observable in Rwanda but largely celebrated.  Just as I could not imagine an America without its fabulous gayness, I could not imagine a Rwanda with one. 

Note: Between 1999-2004 I traveled around Rwanda during research. Many things happened on my trips and it is only now that I start to share them. 

I had seen bars on windows, houses with gates as well as armed guards, even a dog or two at an opening of a fence, but Rwanda was quite different.  For those that had and wanted to keep their stuff, there were armed guards with machine guns and bats with nails in them and the walls were eight to ten feet high, topped with pieces of broken glass as well as barbed wire.  Now, these were not ordinary pieces of glass; they were immense shards, jagged and multicolored of about two by three inches a piece.  They stretched upward from the wall like a thousand little knives, sharpened to pointed perfection. 

The combination of all the factors struck me as bizarre but especially the last.  Would not the barbed wire do so much damage that the glass really served no purpose, I thought?  Well, yes, probably but this was not the point.  Barbed wire was not part of the average Rwandan’s life whereas most would be familiar with what broken glass could do. 

On entering a wealthy Rwandan home, one would see immense lawns, the shadow cast over the remaining wall – moonlight bouncing off the shards in between the beams of light like a prism of (in)security.  The house was huge but sectioned off – more defensible spaces I suppose.  We were led to the living room, greeted by the Ms. (not the Misses – different house, different story) who was adorned in a stunning shock of color and excess.  While we could not see the rest of the house and were offered no tour, one could see eight doors on different sides of the room.  We were in the center of the maze, very fitting I thought.

The house was elegant, tastefully sparse, decorated with a few masks, fabrics, paintings and pottery from different parts of Africa.  Before sitting down, Mason, myself and Francis (another colleague from Maryland on the project) to see the different pieces of art a little closer.  At some point, the Ms. excused herself (she needed to check something in the kitchen), leaving through one of the doors.  We looked at the handmade crafts (the chairs, table and bowls) and then looked at each other.  By any standard, this place was amazing.  The Ms. blew in and out about five times in one door and out another.  By the time we turned around the table was filled with food of all kinds – the ripest of fruit, the tenderest of meat, the sweetest of smells, some potato-like dish and something else that I had never seen.  Very quickly, we knew that we were in for one hell of a meal.  The four of us started eating out of the handmade bowls, later being joined by others – emerging from the different doors.  Every now and then I glanced though the window and out to the wall, seeing someone with a machine gun walk past. 

The next day we walked through some street in Kigali (the capital and home to the hotel in the movie Hotel Rwanda), closely navigating near the restaurant fronts whose guards kept the hundreds of beggars and money-changers at bay. One could see several hundred more in the cracks of the city (between buildings, in alley ways, on the hills).  The street was a buzz with activity, as always.  There were a million and one colors, smells, accents, faces and outfits.  Some wore three-piece suits, some wore only an old piece of African cloth.  Interestingly none wore shorts, despite the ridiculous heat.  This was considered rude and left for Mizungus.  Given the heat, being viewed as an outsider essentially sucked on every dimension but this one.

As we walked, three cars blew down the street, moving faster than anything else.  One of them seemed to miss everyone by inches and then as quickly as it turned onto the street, it turned and moved toward the bank.  Never slowing down, the car came to a screeching halt.  Guards came up on either side and someone in a fabulous two-piece suit stepped out.  If I had to guess, I would say Armani - all black, well-tailored.  More guards showed up and now with about six people on either side the man walked toward the building.  After he was inside, more guards came out, opened the door to the car and then three more individuals came out – one looking more important than the next.  Greetings were made and then they all entered the building.

We asked our guide: who was that?  To this, he only responded: “there are many in Rwanda with a great deal of money. That was obviously one of them.”  We looked at each other and smiled.

Sitting down for lunch across the street from the bank, behind an open fence, three guards, two machine guns and a big stick, I tried to pinpoint my feelings.  I had felt all this before but could not find the moment.  Then I remembered.  On one street in New York city, a homeless woman walked up to a bank deposit drawer, opened it, pulled down her pants, leaned back and furrowed her brow as she took a dump.  At the same time, some guy with an equally beautiful suit and amazing briefcase under his arm walked out of the bank and into a limousine.  The two most likely did not see one another but through me they occupied the same space and that cohesion as well as tension was tremendously unsettling.  How could the two exist in the same space?  What was I supposed to do with that information?  How was I supposed to ignore it?  Why was I allowed/guided to see it?  How could such stark differences exist?  Did they?  How could the car pass through the crowd like a ghost?  Which one was dreaming – the one or the other?  Did it run through the crowd or over it and I just was not able to see the poorer victimized?  What would happen if the bars were not there or the guards or the glass?  Would there be some Hobbesian “free for all”?  Was I not seeing one already? 

Too much thinking.  Where the hell is my tea?

Note: Between 1999-2004 I traveled around Rwanda during research. Many things happened on my trips and it is only now that I start to share them.
 

After several weeks of reparations and negotiation, we met Innocent at the café – he was a member of an organization that advocated for those victimized during the violence. Innocent made an amazing impression.  He was intense, soft spoken, present and skeptical.  Our conversation started as many did with translations of introductions, then it was revealed that he spoke English.  As many Rwandans, he did not think he spoke well enough and thus preferred not to but upon hearing him, it was clear he spoke better English than most Americans.

Innocent gave us “the” history lesson about how everything got to this point.  He discussed the structure of the ancient kingdom with their fluid conception of Handbags and Teabags, the degree of formalism introduced by the Belgians – essentially freezing the socio-ethnic divisions, the discrimination of the Teabag minority against the majority Handbag and then the violence as well as discrimination against the majority Handbags against the Teabag minority. This was done with alarming speed as if he had done this a hundred times – which of course he probably had.

All this was background.  His interest lay in telling us what happened after the killing stopped. 

What he described was the growth of a survivors network: first, the victims of one massacre came together in a church, others in a school, others in someone’s house – all began to come back together.  In these cells individuals attempted to recapture their lives: healing, talking, helping each other find food, shelter, information, peace, pieces. 

After a while (over the course of a year or so) an initiative was made to bring all of the cells together and the organization that was formed out of this effort was called Ibuka – a Non Governmental Organization which represented all of the Tutsi victims. 

The story of the organization was told matter-a-factly with no emotion or deviation.  Interrupted by a question or statement, Innocent just continued.  It was clear that we were meant to hear everything.  It was clear that he was meant to tell us this, in the way that he told it.  He assumed that we knew nothing about his country or that, if we did, we knew the wrong stuff. When he was finished, we sat there exhausted; yet, somewhat clearer for the journey.

Innocent’s position/role in the organization was complex.  He was a lawyer by training and wanted to bring justice to those who had suffered.  This was not some abstract thing for Innocent.  He knew who killed his wife, child and father.  The story he recounted for us was detailed but told in the same tone used to explain Rwandan history – factual, clear, direct from the soul but without affect.  I didn’t expect him to cry or anything.  I was probably teary-eyed enough for everyone in the bar.  I did expect something.  He gave nothing. 

He would make the guilty pay but he wanted to use the law to do it.  Al and I were from a society that would have respected this position but somehow we didn’t understand what Innocent had in mind.  Here, we rely upon the law and police because we generally don’t know who did the crime.  If we knew, I always thought, then we might be interested in/willing to address it ourselves.  Despite all of our differences, Al agreed. 

Innocent then went on to argue that if Rwandans took this path, they would never advance. Al and I sat humbled.  Rwandans constantly put you in your place; somewhere that was not quite where you thought it was but clearly not where they were.

Innocent was not quite done. He did not believe in the system that had been created to find, evaluate and judge the accused – this was especially the case for lower-level offenders who were being tried in informal community processes called Gacaca (“Justice in the Grass”).  He identified that the judges were trained for trials in a matter of weeks.  They were frequently part of the same group that did the killings.  There were no court recorders and thus people could lie; all things were done in the open – in the grass, and anonymity was absent.  There was little communication between courts and thus the fact-checking as well as inappropriate behavior was near impossible to catch. 

What was one to do in this situation?  Collect information, eat, sleep, try to find meaningful work, interact with the friends as well as family that remain and wait.  Wait for justice.  Wait for peace.  Wait for an opportunity.  The smallest things in life frequently provide the greatest clues for why to continue living it.

So, Dan Drezner put forward a cogent overview of the recent networking debate about whether or not as well as how political scientists should net work (in his Foreign Policy blog) and he made a few references to some things that merited some comment.  Here are the others in this series:
Posts: Dan Drezner, Dan Nexon, Erik Voeten
Counter-Posts: Laura Sjoberg, Me, Will Moore
Counter-Counter-Posts: Bear Braumoeller

I would argue that there is clearly a "good" approach to networking. I grew up around artists and entertainers. While this has not assisted me in many aspects of my academic career, I believe that it has assisted me with being comfortable talking with people and additionally being able to figure out what I should wear for the day. Dan (Drezner), who I was colleagues with and consider a friend, clearly has this ability as well (both meeting people and sartorialism).  Not everyone feels comfortable talking to strangers or even talking for that matter. Many in our profession also have some problems dressing themselves but that is the subject of another blog - the Academic Sartorialist?  

Despair not however. Individuals like Rom Harre have maintained that we each learn and communicate in slightly different ways. Some are best able to communicate/learn through words, some images, some equations, some sound. We now are beginning to live in an age where you can find your thing and use that as you exchange with others. In short, "everybody's got a little light under the sun".  You just need to find your spot. I do not envision an APSA or a political science where we just have small conversations going on in a large, poorly lit and frequently poorly designed room. This pushes and privileges a certain type of communication/interaction. Rather, I envision an APSA and political science where we have some conversation going on over there, some DJ over here, some 3D projection over here, some film over there, some performance art over here and some large lecture over there. 

Riffing off of Mos Def, people often speak of political science as if it some giant in the hillside or something, where we are just subject to what it does when it decides to come down from it's cave. But, we are political science! We can create what we want for/with this thing. Actually, Dan is a perfect example of this with blogging and Zombified-IR. I'm now working on/pushing for interactive data, film, archiving and animation work. What you wanna do? I think that many of us face a crisis of imagination regarding things like APSA and then get blocked on things like networking.  We don't send ourselves to professional meetings.  We send our representatives (props to [Erving] Goffman and [Chris] Rock). I think we need to start attending - if you get my meaning. Things need to be done to "feed the beast" as it were but we need to start making it our own and taking it where we want to go.

The idea I was trying to communicate in my initial blog is that our discipline is too internalized. We live largely in our heads and publishing venues but if we are to survive, thrive and indeed have any impact at all on our world (which I think we should), then we will need to change this. We begin by meeting and interacting with one another at places like APSA. Awkward it might be but we are much better off from the sense of community and contact that arises from this. For example, has anyone been to a Peace Science meeting? Anyone who has gone will attest to the fact that this is a much smaller meeting than APSA as well as one where you feel immediately accepted, appreciated and very much part of a family. APSA might be too big for this but we never interact with the whole meeting anyway. We stick to our primary interests, panels and people. Well, imagine the meeting in this way: APSA is simply an opportunity for communication, community and fellowship. We can shape it as we see fit.  We need to stop looking for this to emerge from the panels, workshops, business meetings and receptions put forward. There are an awful lot of hours in the day and many places in the cities that we are going to year after year. 

So, you might not be able to chat up the leading political scientists on the fly in some elevator for 30 seconds, but perhaps you have a short film in you that you place as your poster, in the hallway to catch people walking by, on your webpage or in a local bar - ever heard of Pechakucha presentations?  Perhaps you have a cool graphic that you can sport on your t-shirt or a musical composition that you play during your presentation or somewhere in the city where the conference is taking place - folks would come if you told them. Who wants to hang out in the lobby not knowing anyone when they could have some place to do.  Perhaps we should create a multi-media room: something like the old "paper rooms" where everyone deposited their papers for conferences but more allowing for creative diversity as well as more permanence than posters. 

Now, I am not just some extrovert who strangely became a political science or even an optimist - anyone who knows, meets and/or talks with me will readily communicate this to you. Rather, I believe that we have something to gain from interacting with one another at moments when "our people" congregate. Some of these things we have to gain are professional. Many, however, are not and this tends to get lost sometimes in our conversations. 

From 2003-2011 I was engaged in a research project that took me back and forth to diverse parts of Gujarat, India.  These are some of my stories from those days.

I wish to free the rural women of India and take them to the Indian version of Amazonia – a world occupied by women, for women, of women.  The reason is simple: they are locked down beyond belief.  From birth they are seemingly prepared for marriage.  They work, then work some more, then work again without adequate compensation. They do everything inhumanly imaginable, in flip flops and a sari (not an apology, which I will offer them now but a flimsy piece of fabric that stretches beyond belief). 

Any man appears to have more rights than they do – frequently able to exert them directly. There is no divorce without major stigma; no jobs and no apartments for the husbandless.

What is the key or, rather, one of the keys to their freedom?  Well...  African American women.  As I came across different situations and heard different stories, at different points I kept thinking about different relatives as something of a mental experiment.  None of the schemes worked completely but it did provide some insights, albeit for a minute.

Option 1 – The Freedom Ride (from my Aunt Pat who often served as a delivery truck for the family taking anyone and anything to anybody):

The freedom ride would be a black bus with a huge flag held at 15-20 feet high so that it could be seen from a distance;
            
There would be no doors and the windows would be blackened;

It would always drive at the same speed to facilitate getting on or off; 

There would be no questions – any woman could just step on it and be brought to Indiamazonia

Problems:

How would folks find out?  Word of mouth wouldn’t work because if men found out they would either take out the bus or follow the bus and extract their property.

One could send a witch into a village who threatens all the men. After they leave there could be a meeting to tell the women what is up.  This is problematic as well because one informant takes down the whole idea.


Option 2 – Witchin Woman (My Aunt Annabelle – the closest to our geechee roots in south Carolina who with her multi-colored wigs, babble-speak, tribal markings otherwise known as makeup and individualized incantations to deliver death to ex-husbands, liquor by the bottle and magic numbers put fear into all of us)

This solution was simple: use witches to threaten abusive men, identified by women to local stringers at the well.

Problem:

It is not clear how new witches are brought into communities.  They all appear to be locally-developed and thus the only solution would be to turn them to the cause.


Option 3 – Micro-Mace (One of my aunt's on Mother’s side who gave out advice, weapons and training to all women in the family).

Similar to giving poor people access to credit, I thought that there could be some allocation of mace given to women at watering holes so that they could protect themselves

Problem:

Men might get a hold of them and use them on the women and each other


Option 4 – The Woman’s Protection Program (This one was inspired by Nana – my mother’s mother, who would take in anyone for a while and would lie left and right to keep them protected while in her care).

Essentially this would be an organization whose job it would be to extract oppressed women, relocate them to a new locale (like a city) and create a back-story that explained their legitimate departure.  They would provide a new identity card, new family history and a new village complete with a false history to provide cover.

Problem:

Almost regardless of location, single women are stigmatized and thus it is unclear if any legitimate excuse could be found.  An alternative would be to pair them with men who seek to escape oppression, creating a back story as well as separate living quarters for the couple.  

There has gotta be a better way.