Bonne Jour de Bastille ! Salut et fraternite !

Je suis heureuse, quand je regarde mon agenda, de pouvoir lire, a la date du 14 juillet, le rappel de la defense par les opprimés de leurs droits.

Le Jour de la Bastille, ou “La prise de la Bastille”, comme disent les Français, commémore ce jour ou la classe moyenne française a tenu tête à l’aristocratie et a pris une prison d’assaut. Cette prison ne renfermait que sept individus. Cet acte symbolique a ete fondateur de la France que nous connaissons.

C’est ce qui me rend heureuse. Un jour sur mon calendrier est dedie a la defense de l’opprime.

Le souvenir du Jour de la Bastille nous apporte du reconfort, et inspira de belles comedies musicales comme “Les Miserables”. Marquons le 14 juillet d’une pierre blanche pour boire du café au lait a petites gorgees avec un croissant tout en pensant à Monet, Manet ou le Millet. Prenons un moment pour penser à la brave bourgeoisie et faire un pas vers les merveilleuses choses que sont la Tour Eiffel, les Champs Elysee et le musee du Louvres.

Nous ne marquons pas d’une pierre blanche sur nos calendriers les insurrections menées par les Africains asservis sur le sol américain, ni la marche sur Washington, ni aucun des trajets de bus réputés à Alabama.

Penser aux esclaves se battant pour un rogaton de dignité nous fait nous sentir mal. Comme un souvenir de sordide roti dominical en famille. Et nul gavage ne peut effacer ce souvenir. Quel contraste avec ce que nous avons lu dans nos manuels scolaires !

Le Français est romantique et ainsi, ses guerres doivent l’être egalement. Tandis que l’esclavage n’était qu’un signe des temps : Aucun besoin de ratiociner la-dessus en le signalant sur le calendrier… Alors, qu’est-il le plus agreable a souhaiter ? “Bonne Jour de Bastille !” ou “Bon jour d’esclave !” ?

At just over a minute into this clip, Brian Kilmeade says that Americans suffer because we marry “other species and other ethnics.”

It’s not so much the xenophobia or racism inherent in this sound bite that worries me. It’s that people may listen and make it much harder for ethnics like me to find a pure-blooded American mate.

But it looks like I have some other folks in my corner, working to debunk Kilmeade and keep my options open.

Gawker

Salon

Huffington Post – Super kudos for using the phrase “murder of idiot crows.”

Thanks to the folks at 11points.com for reminding us why the Oreo fight must go on with their article, “11 Photos Where Black People Were Awkwardly Photoshopped In or Out.”

Whether it’s Canadians, Olympians, ad executives or The Queen, people at large just don’t know what to do with the average ethnic; so why not make it easier for them by blending in as much as possible.

Granted, we’ll put some mediocre Photoshop artists out of business, but we’ll push some guilt out of the collective consciousness as well.

Check out the rest of Into to Editing Style photos here.

http://www.11points.com

Independence Day can be a difficult one for an Oreo. First, some minority group is usually quick to remind us that there was never “Independence and Justice for All,” as our Pledge of Allegiance so proudly states. And that all men were not created equal when the Founding Fathers hypocritically penned those words.

Second, and more immediately problematic. Outdoor eating aka: Barbecues.

These mass gatherings are havens for the of colors–piles of relatively inexpensive food prepared in outdoor areas where people can play sports and indulge in the illegal activity of home displays of firepower. It can get scary.

And as such, I was more than happy with the BBQ I chose to attend. I found a place where I could celebrate my independence from type. I attended a BBQ thrown by a group of yogis.

There were no cheap animal carcasses on the table. Instead, we feasted on Whole Foods purchased vegetarian delights: Fake Steaks, Not Dogs and Sprout Trout.

There were no iPod cradles blasting songs from the radio. Instead, we relaxed and meditated as Master Daniel sang us a Kirtan to the sweet sounds of the harmonium.

And the only competitive event in sight was seeing who could properly identify everyone’s moon sign the fastest. (And it’s Sag…as if you couldn’t tell.)

So as fireworks boomed in the distance, I sat in our healing circle, eyes closed and palms pressed, feeling better from the inside out, knowing that what’s truly inside will never be let out.

This week saw the defection of a powerful member of the ranks of self-hate. US. Army Lt. Dan Choi came out to his commanding officers and lost his place in the military.

Lt. Dan was an amazing example of how much you can hide when you put your mind to it. Not only is he gay, he’s also Asian (Now is that Gaysian or Gasian?). But listen on the radio and you have no idea of either. His voice holds no trace of ethnicity and his stories of his “girlfriend” Martha, kept everyone at bay.

Until now.

Now, thanks to Choi’s apparent need to break rank, he’s standing out, being noticed and losing things that would be important to anyone. Before barreling out of the closet, Choi had a good job, a spiffy uniform and no need to use odd and clunky phrases like “love relationship” as he has over and over again in all manner of press.

Sure keeping his secret would have probably caused internalized anger to gnaw endlessly on his health and well-being. And perhaps his boyfriend would have grown tired of being his dirty little secret, thus painfully ending their “love relationship.” And it’s not out of the question that “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” is causing our military to lose troops at a time when we really need them. And maybe the policy unfairly benefits the majority who doesn’t want to have to deal with anything. But they are the majority–there’s more of them, which means they must be doing something right…right?

But all of that is a small price to pay for keeping things in tact and on track. Our country is in a recession and we’re embroiled in a couple of unwinnable wars. Do we really have the time or energy to tackle tough social issues? I think not. So keep on assimilating, kids. It’s good for the nation.

I’m not going to pretend that I listened to his music or that I have any ability to make a body move that way-even on WhitePal’s most patient days.

But I do know good, amazing, phenominal when I see it – even if I’m seeing it years and years too late. I know that we lost him before his time. And I know that he will be missed. By all of us.