PUB: Calvino Guidelines — University of Louisville

University of Louisville

Calvino Guidelines

The Calvino Prize
Submission Guidelines

  1. Submit up to 25 industry standard (double-spaced, 12-point font, pages numbered) pages of a novel, novella, short story, or short collection. Entries which use a smaller font or are single-spaced in order to make a longer work appear to be only 25 pages will be trimmed to approximately 25 industry standard pages. Work previously published is eligible and simultaneous submissions are accepted. An excerpt from a larger work is allowed; however, remember that the selection will be judged on its own merit and so should be able to stand on its own.
  2. Please submit TWO copies of your submission bound by a paper clip, binder, or single staple. DO NOT USE MULTIPLE STAPLES. The author's name should not appear on the work. All entries will be read anonymously.
  3. Please send two cover pages: one listing only the title of the manuscript; the other listing the title, author's name, address, telephone number, and e-mail address.
  4. Please tell us in what magazine you learned of this contest.
  5. Please do not send publication history of the author.
  6. Submit anytime between July 1 and October 15, 2010.
    Deadline: October 15, 2010

    Winner announced December 15, 2010.
  7. The entry fee is $25 and should be made payable to: The University of Louisville.
  8. Mailing Address:
    The Calvino Prize
    English Department
    Room 315, Bingham Humanities Bldg.
    University of Louisville
    Louisville,  KY  40292
  9. If you would like confirmation of receipt of manuscript, please enclose a self-addressed, stamped standard US Postal Service post card.
  10. All results will be posted to the University of Louisville's website following the announcement on December 15, 2010. Finalists and winners will be notified via email. 
  11. For questions, email Paul Griner, Director of Creative Writing at pfgrin01@louisville.edu
  12. Faculty and employees of the University of Louisville and the University of Syracuse may not enter the contest.
  13. The judges reserve the right to withhold the award if no entry is deemed worthy.
  14. Previous first place winners may not enter for three years after winning.  Second place winners have no restrictions.
  15. Final Judge 2010: Ben Marcus

 

 

PUB: Barnard College Department of English

Women Poets at Barnard Poetry Prize

Announcing the 2011 Barnard Women Poets Prize, given biennially for an exceptional second collection of poems.

Prize: $1,500 and publication by W.W. Norton & Co.

The contest is open to U.S. women poets who have already published one book of poetry.  (The first collection should have been printed in an edition of 500 or more copies.  Chapbooks do not qualify.)  Although a writer may submit a manuscript that has been submitted to other contests, any manuscript under option or under contract to another publisher is not eligible.

Because the prize is given to a poet who has already published a first book, the manuscripts are not read anonymously.  Every qualified manuscript will be read with care by the panel of judges and the chief judge, who changes every year.

Manuscript submissions will be accepted from August 1 to October 15, 2010.  The winner will be announced in April 2011.

A qualified applicant should submit three copies of her book-length manuscript (at least 55 pages) with a cover letter naming the title and publisher of her first collection.  

Entry fee: $20, payable in check to Women Poets at Barnard.

Women Poets at Barnard
Barnard College
3009 Broadway
New York, NY 10027

For more about the history of the Prize or to order past publications, click here.


Winner, 2009 Barnard Women Poets Prize


The 2009 Barnard Women Poets Prize was awarded to Sandra Beasley for I Was the Jukebox, chosen by Joy Harjo.

Harjo writes of Beasley's work, "there is no wavering of image or sign. . . these poems are fresh, crisp and muscular...they are decisive and fearless." Harjo explains, "every object, icon or historical moment has a soul with a voice," and claims that, "in these poems these soulful ones elbow their way to the surface of the page, smartly into the contemporary now."

Beasley's first book, Theories of Falling, won the 2007 New Issues Poetry Prize. Her recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Black Warrior Review, Cave Wall, Blackbird, and Poetry. Honors for her work include the 2008 Poets & Writers Maureen Egen Exchange Award, the Elinor Benedict Poetry Prize, and fellowships to the Sewanee Writers' Conference, the Millay Colony, and Virginia Center for Creative Arts. She serves on the Board of the Writer's Center and writes for the Washington Post Magazine in Washington, D.C. She is at work on Don't Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales from an Allergic Life.

PUB: Queer Africa Reader: Discussion paper & call for abstracts. : Kwani Trust

Queer Africa Reader: Discussion paper & call for abstracts.

Written by Kwani · August 25, 2010

Dear Friends

We are writing to invite you to participate in the publication of an African LGBTI / Queer Reader [The Reader] to be published by Pambazuka Press in June 2011. The Reader is being published in response to the increasing homophobia and transphobia across the continent which aims to silence the voices of African Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender and Intersex people.

The African LGBTI / Queer Reader [Working Title] seeks to make a timely intervention by bringing together a collection of writings and artistic works that engage with the struggle for LGBTI liberation and inform sexual orientation and gender variance. The book seeks to engage with primarily an African audience focusing on intersectionality and will include experiences from rural communities, post-conflict situations, religious experience as well that of immigration and displacement.

We are proposing an alternative framework for the book based on a participatory model in which we ask prospective contributors and the broad queer activist community to discuss possible topics to be included that will push analysis and thinking within this distinct and diverse movement across the continent writing from the standpoint of both personal stories and experiences as activists. We feel this is important because of the multi layered issues which exist historically, regionally and politically with regards to sexual orientation and gender variance in Africa as well as the overall struggle for African liberation.

We hope to facilitate the writing of key African LGBTI leaders, activists and thinkers by providing a two week retreat where activists can create the space to reflect, share their ideas and writing, peer review each other’s work, have access to sources and resources provided by prominent academics and the institution. The writing retreat will be fully sponsored and contributors will be provided an honorarium for their writing which will enable them to take the time away from their activities to provide a critically reflective piece.

Submissions can be any of the following: essays, personal stories, poems, art work, photography, short stories.

Possible Topics – not including personal stories, poems, stories
We have identified eight themes which are listed below with a brief summary of each. We are suggesting each of you think about the theme[s] that interest you and suggest specific topics on which you could write or would like to see addressed.

1. WHAT’S IN A LETTER:
We repeatedly use the terms lesbian, gay, bi-sexual transgender and intersex but what do these mean in your own experience, your own community and country? How limiting or inclusive are these labels? Are they appropriate and do they reflect your own experiences? Does the identity cause more problems than the behavior? Does gender variance provide a more appropriate entry point for discussion in Africa given silence around all sexualities? How do we organize across definitions? Why should we?

2. RESISTING OPPRESSION – TOWARDS LIBERATION:
What kind of strategies have been used or could be taken up to resist / challenge queer oppression?
Should the struggle for LGBTI Rights be framed within a Western construct which sees Rights as instruments and legislation or should the struggle for rights be constructed within a framework of movement building around which the oppressed organise?

How has the reliance on the NGO Industrial complex supported or hindered movement building? If the latter, what possible alternatives are there to organising and fund raising? How can we move towards more collaborative and collective ways of working which support movement building? What kind of strategies have been used or could be taken up to resist / challenge criminalisation and homophobia including that coming from religious institutions and the media?

3. PINK COLONIALISM AND WESTERN MISSIONARIES:
What are the problematics of internationalising campaigns and how do we work with allies in the West? How do we overcome donor dependence as a movement? Do the donors and bilaterals save us from ourselves? How do we measure victory e.g. in Malawi and Uganda?

3. A CHANGING WORLD: SOUTH AFRICA AND THE BRICS:
Does South Africa have a particular role to play in supporting queer liberation in Africa? Does the shift in global power create opportunity or threat for African queer liberation? What other geo-political factors determine the course for queer liberation?

5. AFRICAN QUEER LIBERATION AND CLASS STRUGGLE:
What are the intersections between the broader social justice movement in Africa and the movement for queer liberation? Why should one care about the other?

6. ARE GAY MEN FEMINISTS?
What political frames are useful in our movement building? While LBT activists have tended towards feminism does it exclude GT men? How do we address patriarchy and sexism in our movements and personal relationships even among women-identified folks? Why do many straight identified African feminists resist taking on queer issues as a feminist issue in Africa?

7. GOD AND QUEER – INCOMPATIBLE OR INSEPERABLE IN AFRICA
Does the movement have to come from a secular space? Given that many African queer folks identify as religious how do we overcome fundamentalism? The US right wing church are using Africa as a battleground for queer bashing – why is this effective? What of countries with majority Muslim populations or Islamic law for queer liberation?

8. RECONCILING THE PERSONAL WITH THE POLITICAL:
What particular role has been / can be played by those engaged in activism through the creative arts? What has been / is the personal cost to working as social justice activists often working in relative isolation and in hostile environments? How can we better balance our lives as social justice activists with that of social people and the need to care for ourselves?

We would appreciate it if you could please send us your suggestions and a statement of interest by the 15th September.

Email: qar@fahamu.org

REVIEW: Book—Criminal Injustice: Slaves and Free Blacks in Georgia's Criminal Justice System > H-Net Reviews

Glenn McNair. Criminal Injustice: Slaves and Free Blacks in Georgia's Criminal Justice System. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2009. xii + 234 pp. $45.00 (cloth), ISBN 978-0-8139-2793-0.

Reviewed by Vivien Miller (School of American and Canadian Studies, University of Nottingham)
Published on H-Law (July, 2010)
Commissioned by Michael J. Pfeifer

Criminal Justice and Slavery in Georgia

Glenn McNair’s study of Georgia’s capital criminal justice system in the colonial and antebellum periods is a welcome addition to a growing number of Southern state studies that include Christopher Waldrep and Donald Nieman’s edited collection, James Denham’s study of antebellum Florida, Philip Schwarz’s work on colonial and antebellum Virginia, and Harriet Frazier’s wide-ranging analysis of slave crime in Missouri.[1] Georgia’s history of crime and punishment in the nineteenth century has been the subject of several excellent studies. Edward Ayers’s examination of Greene and Whitfield Counties to evaluate the similarities and differences between plantation and upcountry societies formed a key part of his seminal study.[2] Alex Lichtenstein’s work on convict leasing and the emergence of the chain gang and the ways in which punishment was embedded in the state’s political economy and Martha Myers’s exploration of the shift from corporal punishments to incarceration focus on the New South and the early twentieth century.[3] Consequently, McNair’s study of the period 1733-1865 makes an important contribution to knowledge and understanding of these earlier decades.

Using the inferior and superior court minute books, appellate reports and decisions, and other legal sources, McNair analyzes 417 capital cases between 1755 and 1865 to ascertain the meaning and operation of Georgia’s criminal justice system in the colonial and antebellum decades for both African American and white victims and offenders. He seeks to understand how all components of this colony/state’s criminal justice system operated together and consequently explores the informal plantation justice system alongside the evolving formal system. Thus, (and as in other slave colonies/states) a dual system of punishment operated in Georgia throughout the colonial and antebellum periods. Within the boundaries of their farms and plantations, slave owners and masters presided over all crime and punishment matters and dispensed justice as they saw fit. The slave patrols operated as a police arm to this system of summary and often arbitrary justice. The formal legal system operated outside or away from these farms and plantations, and discussion of this system takes priority in this study, largely because of the availability of sources and the methodology, particularly the statistical analyses. In both systems, white males dominated the administration of “justice.”

The organization of the six chapters, particularly chapters 3-6, follows the different stages of the formal criminal justice process, from the commission of crime(s) through arrest, prosecution, conviction, and punishment. The first chapter charts the settlement and early development of Georgia, intended as an egalitarian society where economic prosperity would grow from the religious values and hard work of white colonists rather than a system of racial slavery which was deemed to breed white indolence and avarice. McNair charts the rising discontents over the ban on slavery, the expanding illegal slaveholding, and finally the legalization of slavery within twenty years of the colony’s founding. He argues that the battles over the establishment of racial slavery in Georgia had a profound impact on the development of the system of justice and on the treatment of black and white defendants. A “high level of autonomy” and continued “suspicion of, and even disrespect for, the rule of law” (p. 33) among slaveholders defined their treatment of black miscreants and lawbreakers and the evaluation of their transgressions and offenses. Given that Georgia’s laws were racially constructed, some evaluation of how the categories of “white,” “slave,” “Negro” and/or “free Negro” were legally defined and redefined would be useful here, especially as measurements based on racial mixing or fractions of “Negro” blood would change over time.[4]

Chapter 2 examines the development of slave law, with its many inconsistencies (such as the prohibition on slaves bearing arms and the authorization of their recruitment and arming when called for militia service), and the colony’s emerging legal culture. In all chapters, McNair is able to summarize, evaluate and relate these often complex rulings and their archaic language in clear and accessible language and form. The 1755 code which included the definition and list of capital crimes was a watershed as it encompassed the racial prejudices and misconceptions of the white slaveholding society: “From that moment forward, the law gave precedence to slavery and to white supremacy over due process and justice for blacks” (p. 40). Thus, the law served the needs of the slaveholders first and foremost. Nevertheless, to what extent were these laws shaped by the agency or resistance of slaves? White Georgians were clearly frightened by the Stono Rebellion but there must have been other, more localized interracial and intraracial conflicts that impacted on the ways in which the laws were constructed and the shape of the legal culture. McNair does address this in places, for example, in the 1765 anti-poisoning provisions, but why the 1770 capital amendment for rape? Does this reflect changing gender relations within the colony perhaps as a result of rising slave numbers and the particular demographics of the black and white populations? Were there particular anxieties over black and lower-class white relations, perhaps in relation to a tiny but expanding free black population?  

While the 1755 code and the 1770 revised code were core components of Georgia’s legal system through the Civil War, a “modern” penal code was adopted in 1816 in the context of changing ideas about the origins of crime, the purposes of punishment, and appropriate methods of punishment, that were permeating the Atlantic world. Yet, local social, economic, and political conditions guided the actions of Georgian justices of the peace, judges, and Supreme Court justices; local conditions trumped international discourse. Reform of the criminal law for whites was the priority in Georgia, but the penal code which combined common and statute law affected slaves and free blacks also. New definitions of burglary and arson and a reduction in the number of capital felonies were included but so were racial disparities. For example, interpersonal violence offenses with white victims drew the most severe punishments. It is telling but not surprising that Georgia juries convicted every black male defendant charged with rape between 1812 and 1849, and every black male convicted of rape between 1755 and 1865 was executed (p. 128).

Georgia’s criminal justice system had no legitimacy for slaves and free blacks but they were still subject to it. Chapter 3 examines the types and numbers of offenses by race and sex and numbers of assailants. Nearly 70 percent of cases before the courts c. 1755-1865 involved crimes against persons (murder, rape, poisoning, etc.); interpersonal violence by blacks was of greater concern to white Georgians than property crime. (Ayers found that generally non-capital and usually white property offenders were treated more harshly than those accused of violent interpersonal offenses).[5] While white Georgians were generally paranoid about slave violence and insurrection, violent assaults in the home, on the plantation or farm, and among family or kin were much more prevalent than stranger or public violence. McNair’s analysis of “simple” and “effective” conviction rates underlines that slave men were “the group most likely to be convicted” of interpersonal violence offenses between 1755 and 1865. The odds of conviction were even for African Americans charged with capital crimes, but stacked against black defendants once their case went to trial as 75 percent were convicted (p. 114).

As owners/masters retained control over the informal plantation justice system, an increasingly structured and elaborate formal system was emerging, particularly in the antebellum years. McNair charts the transfer of jurisdiction for the trial of capital offenses from justices of the peace to the inferior courts between 1812 and 1848 and then to the superior courts from 1850. This gave slaves additional privileges, including the right to trial by jury and the requirement that any pronouncement of guilt be unanimous, as well as privileges over testimony and in the evaluation of indictments. By the beginning of the Civil War, black defendants in Georgia had the same trial rights as whites, but the ways in which they encountered the laws, policing, the courts were different and unequal, and their punishments were usually more severe and more public.

The criminal justice system continued to operate in favor of white slaveholding interests (particularly as many judges were slaveholders themselves), and seemingly with the tacit approval of the white nonslaveholding majority. Review of several cases involving slave defendants in chapter 4 highlights how peripheral black defendants were to their own trials as masters took all the key decisions about lawyers, presenting testimony, challenging jurors, and so on. Free blacks fared little better. Masters also held the right to appeal for their slaves. Yet, recent historiography has accorded enslaved and free black persons more agency in shaping events inside and outside the courtroom. Walter Johnson has suggested “that the law of slavery was as much the product of conjuntural pragmatism as it was of considered philosophy or concerted transformation; that the master languages of slavery were continually used by lawyers and litigants to contest its practice; that the social relations between and among slaveholders and nonslaveholders were embodied in and undermined by slaves; that slaves actively shaped the courtroom contests--contests that gave slavery its legal shape--which resulted from their agency and resistance; that slaves were able through everyday resistance to turn race against class--whiteness against slavery--in Southern courtrooms; and that rather than inconsistency or contradiction, the most prominent feature of the law of slavery was complete confusion.”[6]

McNair’s study seems to confirm findings elsewhere that Southern judges, particularly supreme or high court justices, were concerned with legal formalism and respect for the rule of law. Nevertheless, it highlights also that this did not translate into undue leniency or black privilege, as Georgia’s appellate process spared only 6 of 224 black convicts from execution (p. 140). McNair notes also that most superior court judges and all the post-1845 Supreme Court justices were slaveholders. At the same time, Southern courtrooms served as important battle grounds for local contests of law, race, and gender, where racial and social orders could be subverted by insubordinate whites, slaves, and free blacks. In some cases subversion was through interracial collusion (or coercion of slaves by masters?) as in the 1853 murder of Edna McMichael, quite possibly as a result of a conspiracy between her husband and his male slaves, but which resulted in the hanging of an eighteen-year-old female slave, Ailey. The 1859 attempted poisoning of her master and his family by Sarah, with the help of her white male lover, raises intriguing questions as to whether the attempted poisoning by itself was enough to warrant Sarah’s prosecution and sentence, or whether interracial sexual relations between this female slave and a white male who did not own her was the stronger indicator of guilt.

Generally, the chapter organization and the efforts to balance chronology with thematic issues and discussions work reasonably well until chapters 5 and 6 when some repetition and inconsistencies creep in. For example, the final chapter on “Punishment” begins with evaluation of the detailed statistical analysis but then awkwardly returns to a rather pedestrian discussion of colonial punishments and the “birth of the prison” in Georgia, which probably would have been more useful in an earlier chapter.      

The final chapter (chapter 6) presents and explains the statistical results for prosecution and conviction rates, distribution and severity of punishments including the increase in non-capital punishments and the decline in execution rates, as well as victim-offender relations linked to age, sex, status, and race, to highlight the many racial, class and gender discrepancies in Georgia’s criminal justice system. McNair observes: “What was required to accomplish the masters’ goal was a pattern of punishment that balanced severity with a concern for slaves’ lives. Georgians achieved this balance by hanging approximately half of the slave convicts and subjecting the remaining half to combination punishments and flogging” (p. 153). A section on geographical differences and similarities would have been useful here, particularly as the appendix lists the 417 defendants and their county of conviction/execution. For example, there are thirteen cases listed for Houston County between 1849 and1863, one for Coweta in 1858, and twenty-four for Bibb between 1851 and 1865. An explanation as to the nature of plantation slavery and the number of residents and slaves when the county was created would be useful for both academic and general readers. Nevertheless, this is an accomplished study that should prove its value to various fields, including the history of Georgia, Southern crime, punishment and criminal justice, and the wider scholarship on slavery.               

Notes

1]. Christopher Waldrep and Donald G. Nieman, eds., Local Matters: Race, Crime, and Justice in the Nineteenth-Century South (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2001); James M. Denham, “A Rogue’s Paradise”: Crime and Punishment in Antebellum Florida, 1821-1861 (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1997); Philip Schwarz, Slave Laws in Virginia (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1996); and Harriet C. Frazier, Slavery and Crime in Missouri (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., 2001).

2]. Edward L. Ayers, Crime and Punishment in the 19th-Century American South (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984).

3]. Alex Lichtenstein, Twice the Work of Free Labor: The Political Economy of Convict Labor in the New South (London: Verso, 1996); and Martha A. Myers, Race, Labor, and Punishment in the New South (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1998).

4]. One recent work which illustrates how black and lower-class white defendants and witnesses were able to use these often confusing definitions to subvert the criminal justice system is James M. Campbell, Slavery on Trial: Race, Class, and Criminal Justice in Antebellum Richmond, Virginia (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2007), especially chapter 5 on free African Americans, 146-185.

5. Ayers, Vengeance and Justice, 111-112.

6. Walter Johnson, “Inconsistency, Contradiction, and Complete Confusion: The Everyday Life of the Law of Slavery,” Law and Social Inquiry  22/2 (1997): 405-433; 409.

If there is additional discussion of this review, you may access it through the list discussion logs at: http://h-net.msu.edu/cgi-bin/logbrowse.pl.

Citation: Vivien Miller. Review of McNair, Glenn, Criminal Injustice: Slaves and Free Blacks in Georgia's Criminal Justice System. H-Law, H-Net Reviews. July, 2010.
URL: http://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev.php?id=26177

EVENT: San Francisco—FLORICANTO EN LA MISIÓN-A Collective Poetry Reading by 40 Poets In Celebration of the 40th Anniversary of EL TECOLOTE

FLORICANTO EN LA MISIÓN-A Collective Poetry Reading by 40 Poets In Celebration of the 40th Anniversary of EL TECOLOTE

by Poets Responding to SB 1070 on Thursday, August 5, 2010 at 3:08pm


FLORICANTO EN LA MISIÓN
A Collective Poetry Reading by 40 Poets
In Celebration of the 40th Anniversary of EL TECOLOTE
In Collaboration with the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts

Sunday August 29 at the Mission Cultural Center, 7-10 pm
2868 Mission Street, San Francisco, CA 94110; $5 donation

On August 2010, EL TECOLOTE, the bilingual newspaper serving the Latino community of San Francisco and beyond, is celebrating 40 years of existence. A special 20-page edition of REVISTA LITERARIA DE EL TECOLOTE was released on July 28, 2010. A hard-copy poetry anthology featuring the works of established poets as well as those of emerging new voices is in process at the moment. This collective reading of 40 Bay Area poets is a fundraising benefit for this special issue and the planned anthology.

Music by Francisco Herrera Brambila

MC’s: Francisco X. Alarcón & Nina Serrano

Invited poets by alphabetical order:
Francisco X. Alarcón • Jorge Tetl Argueta • Cathy Arellano • Adrián Arias • Avotcja • Devreaux Baker • Charles Blackwell • Lorna Dee Cervantes • Estela de la Cruz • Patricia Fernández Villaseñor • Paul Flores • Xico González • Rafael Jesús González • Q.R. Hand Jr. • Leticia Hernández-Linares • Beatriz Herrera • Juan Felipe Herrera • Jack Hirschman, former San Francisco Poet Laureate • Genny Lim • Mamacoatl • devorah major, former San Francisco Poet Laureate • Jacqueline Méndez • Dorinda Moreno • Alejandro Murguía • Joe Navarro • Gerardo Pacheco Matus • Naomi Quiñonez • Margarita Robles • Nina Serrano • Mamacoatl • reina alejandra prado • Tomás Riley • Miguel Robles • John Ross • Mary Rudge, Alameda Poet Laureate • Alfonso Texidor • Roberto Vargas • .Roberto Ariel Vargas • Vickie Vértiz • Nellie Wong

For more information contact:
Eva Martínez (415) 648-1045; <poeta@accionlatina.org>;
Francisco Alarcon <fjalarcon@ucdavis.edu>

INTERVIEW: Uruguayan Author Eduardo Galeano

 

Fresh Off Worldwide Attention for Joining Obama’s Book Collection, Uruguayan Author Eduardo Galeano Returns with "Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone"

GO HERE TO SEE VIDEO

We spend the hour with one of Latin America’s most acclaimed writers, Eduardo Galeano. The Uruguayan novelist and journalist recently made headlines around the world when Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez gave President Obama a copy of Galeano’s classic work, The Open Veins of Latin America. Eduardo Galeano’s latest book is Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone. We speak to Galeano about his reaction to the Chavez-Obama book exchange, media and politics in Latin America, his assessment of Obama, and more. [includes rush transcript]

Eduardo Galeano, Uruguayan writer and journalist. He is one of the most celebrated writers in Latin America. He is author of many books, including Open Veins of Latin America and the trilogy Memory of Fire. His latest book is titled Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone.

Rush Transcript

This transcript is available free of charge. However, donations help us provide closed captioning for the deaf and hard of hearing on our TV broadcast. Thank you for your generous contribution.
Donate - $25, $50, $100, More...

 

JUAN GONZALEZ: We’re joined today for the hour by one of Latin America’s most acclaimed writers, Eduardo Galeano. The Uruguayan novelist and journalist made headlines last month when Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez gave President Barack Obama a copy of one of Galeano’s books during a brief encounter at the Summit of the Americas in Trinidad and Tobago. The Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent soon shot to near the top of the bestseller list.

Hugo Chavez later told reporters, quote, “This book is a monument in our Latin American history. It allows us to learn history, and we have to build on this history.”

Since its publication in 1971, The Open Veins of Latin America has sold over a million copies worldwide, despite being banned in the 1970s by the military governments in Chile, Argentina and Uruguay.

AMY GOODMAN: In 1973, a military junta came to power in Uruguay. Eduardo Galeano was briefly, then he went into exile. He lived in Argentina and then Spain until 1984, when he returned to Uruguay. While in exile, he began writing his classic trilogy Memory of Fire, which rewrites five centuries of North and South American history.

The writer John Berger said of Galeano, quote, “To publish Eduardo Galeano is to publish the enemy: the enemy of lies, indifference, above all of forgetfulness. Thanks to him, our crimes will be remembered. His tenderness is devastating, his truthfulness furious.”

Eduardo Galeano’s latest book is called Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone. He joins us today in our firehouse studio.

EDUARDO GALEANO: Hello, Amy.

AMY GOODMAN: It’s good to have you with us, Eduardo.

EDUARDO GALEANO: Good for me.

AMY GOODMAN: Stories of Almost Everyone is the subtitle.

EDUARDO GALEANO: Yes, yes.

AMY GOODMAN: “Almost everyone,” what do you mean?

EDUARDO GALEANO: Well, it was—it sounded, I don’t know, so solemn and serious to say “a universal history” or something like this. I’m not a historian. It was such a mad project. It was really a crazy adventure, trying to go beyond all the frontiers, all boundaries, boundaries of maps and time. It comes from 600 short stories trying to rebuild, to rediscover the human history from the point of view of the invisibles, trying to rediscover the terrestrial rainbow mutilated by racism and machismo and militarism and elitism and so many isms. That was the intention, at least, to speak about nobodies from nobodies’ voices.

JUAN GONZALEZ: And why the short stories or the vignettes that you’ve increasingly gravitated to in recent decades? Why that form to express these huge stories?

EDUARDO GALEANO: I am fighting against inflation, not monetary inflation, but the inflation of words. So many words to say nothing. I am trying to say—to tell more with less. This is a challenge. And so, each one of the stories I tell has been written and rewritten ten times, fifteen times, I don’t know how many times, ’til I get the words that really deserve to exist, which are the words that I feel are better than silence.

 

INFO: Brazil's census offers recognition at last to descendants of runaway slaves | The Guardian

Brazil's census offers recognition at last to descendants of runaway slaves

Interviewers plan to reach 190m people, including the long-ignored Kalunga, by motorbike, plane, canoe and donkey

A family from a quilombola community in Pernambuco, Brazil
A family from a quilombola community in Pernambuco. Photograph: Sean Sprague/Lineair

When Jorge Moreira de Oliveira's great-great-great-great-great-grandfather arrived in Brazil in the 18th century he was counted off the slave-ship, branded and dispatched to a goldmine deep in the country's arid mid-west. After years of scrambling for gold that was shipped to Europe, he fled and became one of the founding fathers of the Kalunga quilombo, a remote mountain-top community of runaway slaves.

On Wednesday last week, more than 200 years later, it was Moreira's turn to be counted – this time not by slavemasters but by Cleber, a chubby census taker who appeared at his home clutching a blue personal digital assistant (PDA).

"I'm Kalunga. A Brazilian Kalunga," Moreira told his visitor from the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics, who diligently noted down details about the interviewee's eight children, monthly income and toilet arrangements.

Such is Brazil's 2010 census – a gigantic logistical operation that aims to count and analyse the lives of more than 190 million people in one of the most geographically and racially diverse nations on earth.

The scale of the mobilisation is staggering. With a budget of around 1.677bn Brazilian reais (£600m) the census, which began on 1 August, will peer into approximately 58m homes in 5,565 municipalities across 8,514,876 sq km (3.3m sq miles). Between now and the end of October around 190,000 census takers will venture into illegal goldmines, sprawling slums, high-security prisons, indigenous reserves and quilombola communities such as Engenho II, travelling by motorbike, donkey, canoe and plane.

But for people such as Moreira, the census is about more than number-crunching. For the Kalunga, descendants of slaves shipped to Brazil from places such as Angola, Mozambique and Ivory Coast, it is a chance, finally, to be counted, heard and helped by a government that has long ignored them.

"The federal government has to know that we exist – what we do, what we have," said Moreira, a 42-year-old subsistence farmer, who attributes recent improvements in his community, including the arrival of roads, electricity and a school, to Brazil's last head-count, in 2000. "Before, we were totally forgotten. Now equality is coming through the census and the interviews."

Identity

"It is a question of identity," said Ivonete Carvalho, the government's programme director for traditional communities. "When you assert your identity you are saying you want [government] action and access to public policies. [The census] is a fantastic x-ray."

The Kalungas' fight for recognition is part of a wider movement for racial equality in Brazil, a country with deep roots in Africa but where Afro-Brazilian politicians and business leaders remain few and far between. According to Carvalho, only one of Brazil's 81 senators is black, despite the fact that Afro-Brazilians represent at least 53% of the population. The last census found that fewer than 40% of Afro-Brazilians had access to sanitation compared with nearly 63% of whites.

Just as descendents of Brazil's runaway slaves are finding their voice – and telling the census takers about it – so too are Brazil's officially black and indigenous communities swelling as a growing number of Brazilians label themselves "black" or "indigenous" rather than "mulatto" when the census takers come knocking.

"People are no longer scared of identifying themselves or insecure about saying: 'I'm black, and black is beautiful,' " Brazil's minister for racial equality, Elio Ferreira de Araujo, told the Guardian.

For the first time in Brazilian history, this year's census will map out the different indigenous languages spoken in Brazil and register the number of same-sex relationships. It will also ask people their "ethnicity" – a thorny issue in a country that has long regarded itself as a racial melting pot and the rainbow nation of the Americas.

Since president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva came to power in 2003, increasing steps have been taken to bridge the social chasm between Afro-Brazilians and their white counterparts. A ministry for racial equality has been created and university quotas introduced. The Brasil Quilombola programme, which aims to provide basic social services to thousands of slave descendants, has been rolled out across the country.

Engenho II, a village that is home to around 4,500 "Brazilian Kalungas" and was officially recognised by the government in 2009, has been one of the communities to benefit from the cause's new visibility.

Calamitous

"It was pretty calamitous here before," said Cerilo dos Santos Rosa, the territory's 56-year-old leader. "We didn't have roads, or energy. We'd have to take our produce to town on donkeys or on our backs."

The Kalungas also hope that their land will soon be formally demarcated by the government, with plans to offer compensation to landowners who leave the area, around 320km from Brazil's capital, Brasilia.

Not everybody is enthusiastic about the government's sudden engagement with quilombola communities. Some claim the arrival of brick houses, cash-transfer programmes and roads will irreparably damage their culture and create divisions between them and other communities. Others speculate that the government simply wants access to the abundant mineral resources buried under this sparsely populated savannah region.

Local people, however, are united in their praise for Lula's attempts to create what he calls a Brasil para todos – "Brazil for all".

"Lula has been a great example. He was the first president to visit our community," said Rosa, a father of 11 and grandfather of 29 who credits the president with building 40 brick homes and 93 toilets in the territory.

Government officials defend their attempts to offer "contemporary" life to some of the country's poorest, most isolated citizens.

"Cultural preservation has to be our objective … but giving quality of life to families that live in such remote places is also part of the mission," said Ferreira, the racial equality minister. "We have to value their culture but also the economic support that will give them social benefits."

Carvalho, herself born into a quilombola community in southern Brazil, said the government had finally started paying "an historical debt" to those whose forefathers were "wrenched from their motherland".

Brazil's excluded, she said, were increasingly willing to stand up and be counted. "I'm here. I'm me. I'm not ashamed of my history."

"The progress is slow but it is progress," said Moreira, sat beside his shack's rickety wooden door, bearing the chalked words: "God in first place."

"Before, the government didn't care if we existed or not. Today things are different. Today we all have to be registered. We have to appear. That's the only way things will get better."

 

Census facts

• In 1872, when the first Brazilian census was conducted on the orders of Emperor Dom Pedro II, the population was divided into free people and slaves, who represented 15% of the population.

 

• Just 1.8% of the 1872 population were considered "rich" – 23,400 families. In 2000 that figure had risen only slightly to about 2.4%.

 

• The following census, in 1890, found that 83% of over-fives were illiterate. By 2000 this had fallen to 17%.

 

• Brazil's population has more than doubled in 50 years, from 71 million in 1960 to more than 190 million today.

 

• 734,000 Brazilians identified themselves as "indigenous" in the 2000 census.

 

• This year, more than 7,000 data centres will compile information from about 225,000 PDAs.

 

INFO: Troy Davis about to be killed by the state of Georgia


Troy Davis about to be killed by the state of Georgia

http://amnestyusa.org/troy

Troy Davis faces execution for the murder of Police Officer Mark MacPhail in Georgia, despite a strong claim of innocence. 

7 out of 9 witnesses have recanted or contradicted their testimony, no murder weapon was found and no physical evidence links Davis to the crime. The Georgia Board of Pardon and Paroles has voted to deny clemency, yet Governor Perdue can still exercise leadership to ensure that his death sentence is commuted. Please urge him to demonstrate respect for fairness and justice by supporting clemency for Troy Davis.

Video by: Citizen
Music by: State Radio

 

VIDEO: “10 Days In Africa” Versus 3 Centuries In The Diaspora > from Shadow And Act

“10 Days In Africa” Versus 3 Centuries In The Diaspora

10daysinafrica2

I recently stumbled upon a documentary film, 10 Days In Africa, by filmmaker and S&A fan/reader, Regi Allen, on the Black Public Media website. Since I’ve known the founder of this site, the subject of black identity and black depictions and representation in the media have often been topics of discussion, before, on and off this site.  In touching on these topics, African-American cases are often cited, perhaps because we live in the West, and perhaps because the African-American image (whether in words or pictures) is probably the most widely disseminated and, more recently, commercially successful worldwide when it comes to the representation of blacks in the media.

When I first heard the term African-American (being a Brit of Nigerian descent) it took a while for me to get used to using it (Black American having been the norm hitherto). However, I was also somewhat bemused with the term as, from what I could glean, the view of Africans by the average Black American tended to veer from the polar extremes of romanticism to disdain. I’d even go so far as to say that words that might feature somewhere along that specturm might include “apathy,” “ignorance” and even “hate,” so the adoption of the word “African” as a means of identity among a group of Americans seemed to be an interesting and ultimately, I think, positive one.

However, being of Nigerian descent and having lived in the UK for more than three quarters of my life, I’m certainly not immunte to the issues of black identity in the West. I too grew up as a black kid being plied with very skewed images of Africa and Africans – famine, poverty, war, all very true but also somewhat limited scenarios - and, if it weren’t for the fact that my parents didn’t exactly give off that image themselves, it was easy to think of the continent as a charity case, in need of help from outsiders (preferebly white and capitalist) in order to feed, develop and govern itself and its people.

Just as skewered, however, is the image that Africans have of African-Americans. I remember an African-American friend telling me about his dismay and disappointment at being greeted with and hailed as “Nigga” in the streets of Tanzania on people (usually young people) finding out he was American. And, of course, there’s usually the assumption that, becuase you’re American (of from anywhere in the West, for that matter), you’re rich.

So it was with great pleasure and interest that I watched 10 Days In Africa. The blurb on blackpublicmedia.org states:

In a wonderfully textured narrative style, African American filmmaker Regi Allen makes a sojourn to three West African countries to discover for himself the truth behind the myths that separate black identity in Africa from black identity in the Diaspora. With a critical lens often pointed at himself, Allen creates an intoxicatingly chaotic film that raises as many questions as it answers. Filled with deeply moving cinematic stills and 8MM footage, 10 Days In Africa is a song of love intended to heal many wounds, while weaving a complicated path to his firmer understanding of black identity.

Even without Allen’s own self-critical commentary, the thing that hit me was they way in which Africans and African-Americans reacted to one another on being re-united. Cultural identity tourism was a theme that inadvertently reared its head, with Africans reciting by rote sales patter designed to either part the swarthy American brothers and sisters from their money (preferably in hard currency – i.e. US$) or impart information as quickly as possible before getting on with the business of repeating the same schpiel to the next batch of vulnerable cultural identity pilgrims. It was both compelling and uncomfortable to watch, with the only salve being the fact that the African-Americans seemed to have found some touching moments in those old slave forts and dungeons (though, for me, the use of an R Kelly song to demonstrte this kind of took away from the poignancy). These poignnt moemnts, however, were no great thanks to their local tour touts/guides.

But the attitude of some of the African-Americans was just as frustrating too. The tourist Allen calls Black Barbie (I doubt that’s a moniker she adopts herself, although I could be wrong), saved herself from being totally exasperating by her own eventually self-admitted exasperating behaviour. And even before Allen first puts forth the refrain himself, I couldn’t help but think “get off the fvcking bus!” (um, “fvcking” being my own personal touch :| ).

Sitting in a luxury bus, driving through neighbourhoods inhabited by, in the words of the tour guide “people who are rich with a capital ‘R’ “ and then juxtoposing that with guided tours to visit real African royalty in a court seemingly devoid of the type of mega wealth signified by gold encrusted crowns and thrones (they would have been better off in a museum in London or Paris for that), certainly played with preconcieved ideas of African poverty and romanticised notions of  Coming To America style African wealth. The highlight of the trip for some, though, seemed to be a visit to the (white) American ambassador’s residence – no doubt something that, while not necessarily familiar, finally seemed to make sense.

But it wasn’t until Allen finally followed his gut and got off the bus that he actually really met Africa and Africans. In a world in which images of Africa and the people of its diaspora are controlled mainly by non-Africans lacking in melanin pigment, the best way to experience Africa is, not just to get out of your armchair but, once you’ve stepped off the big iron bird, to make an effort to get out of your luxury bus seat.

It’s refreshing to see an honest, engaging and, in some instances, self-consciously tortured, depiction of and reflection on Africa from an African-American perspective but, more than anything, what this film drove home for me was the point that black people cannot, and should not, rely on white owned and controlled media (regardless of whether or not it features black people) to form our understanding of ourselves or the rich and diverse diaspora that, while displaying many commonalities among its people, couldn’t be a monolith if it tried.

Below is the complete film, 10 Days in Africa.

VIDEO: 10 Days In Africa | Watch | Black Public Media.org

10 Days In Africa
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In a wonderfully textured narrative style, African American filmmaker Regi Allen makes a sojourn to three West African countries to discover for himself the truth behind the myths that separate black identity in Africa from black identity in the Diaspora. With a critical lens often pointed at himself, Allen creates an intoxicatingly chaotic film that raises as many questions as it answers. Filled with deeply moving cinematic stills and 8MM footage, 10 Days In Africa is a song of love intended to heal many wounds, while weaving a complicated path to his firmer understanding of black identity.