You're on your own, kid!
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No images? Click here  April 27, 2022 Dear Meteor readers, I hope last night was as good for you as it was for me. OMG, I don’t mean like that. Last night was incredible because the Meteor team gathered a small group of friends to attend the first installment of our global summit: 22 For ‘22: Visions for a Feminist Future. Hosted by The Moment Symone D. Sanders—we listened to brave, courageous stories from activists, journalists and artists: Filmmaker Janicza Bravo talked to #metoo leader Tarana Burke about the power of owning your own story; Amandla Stenberg chatted with Raquel Willis about making space for trans and non-binary voices in our movements; the great Dolores Huerta in conversation with Chris Smalls—a historic meeting between two generations of labor leaders—brought the crowd to their feet. I am still buzzing. We laughed. We wow’d. We cried. We hugged. You literally cannot miss this. Register ASAP for our May 9th event—where we’ll go live with these conversations and more! In today's newsletter journalist Rainesford Stauffer considers how the “best of luck to you” attitude of the new masking guidance might feel eerily familiar to many of us. But first, the news. Xoxo, Samhita Mukhopadhyay  WHAT'S GOING ON
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—SM  MASK ON MASK OFF“Toxic Individualism Is Just Classic Americana”The confusing and downright unclear mask mandates are a reminder of how little America cares for its most vulnerableBY RAINESFORD STAUFFER  STUDENTS IN NEVADA PROTESTING THEIR CAMPUS'S MASK POLICY (PHOTO BY TY O'NEIL VIA GETTY IMAGES) Last week, a video raced around social media feeds: Airline passengers, upon hearing that the mask mandate for planes and public transit had been lifted mid-flight, were seen waving their masks and cheering as if they were crossing a finish line. Those who had booked their flights under the impression that passengers and crew would be masked were trapped with no escape, the cheers drowning out the concerns of those who didn’t want to risk contracting COVID. It was a viral version of a common pandemic theme: You’re on your own, good luck! Un-American selfishness? Hardly. It’s “classic Americana,” says Jhumpa Bhattacharya, Vice President of Programs and Strategy at Insight Center for Community Economic Development. “The end of the mask mandate on public transportation is a perfect example of how toxic individualism has a stronghold on American society,” she said. There are examples of extreme individualism everywhere: Teachers are resorting to pooling their own leave to “donate” to colleagues who have been denied paid time off or run out of sick days; parents and caregivers exiting the paid workforce with little support at home to manage childcare and work; millennials and Gen Xers having to care for their children and their aging parents with little support; high costs of health care; and unbearable student debt. Young people are regularly told to go vote when they are upset about their lived conditions, even when that vote doesn’t necessarily make their material lives much better. Even before the mask mandate was lifted, the government was failing disabled, chronically ill, and immunocompromised people, systemically devaluing their lives and refusing to address accessibility and safety concerns. Kathryn, a disabled mother who works full-time from home and is the parent of a seven-year-old, doesn’t have faith in their daughter’s school’s ventilation–their daughter brought COVID home during her first week of in-person school. “Children can't decide for themselves not to go to school,” Kathryn said. “We can't say that a child's ‘personal choice’ had much to do with it.”  THIS SIGN MAY AS WELL BE A FOSSIL (PHOTO BY JUSTIN SULLIVAN VIA GETTY IMAGES) Most of Kathryn's concern has to do with their long history with Epstein–Barr virus, which, reactivated, could cause long COVID symptoms. Additional debilitating fatigue and brain fog would likely take them out of the workforce permanently. They see the lack of attention to COVID safety as just another example of not prioritizing disabled people–similar to the lack of seating in public places, a “strong signal that the community doesn't want me out in public,” they said. Kathryn has mobility challenges, but the “solutions,” like hauling their own chair, put the weight on personal choices and removes the impetus on systems to make changes. That’s the highly American tendency toward “individualizing responsibility,” says Justin Feldman, a social epidemiologist and Health and Human Rights Fellow at Harvard University. That’s the academic term for reframing a collective problem as an individual one to deflect blame from the state or corporations—similar to the way the disposable packaging industry proposed personal recycling as a solution to waste.
But the truth is, our government officials have acted as if masks are a burden—and issued contradictory guidance about them. For example, even the CDC director, Rochelle Walensky, called masks a “scarlet letter”; politicians have been unwilling to continue implementing mask mandates; the CDC reported that N95 and KN95 masks are best for avoiding infection, especially in indoor settings, then shortly after, announced it was safe for most Americans to go without masks in indoor settings (despite lack of mandates rendering those spaces inaccessible to wide swaths of people). Masking being framed as an individual choice–as opposed to a collective effort–disproportionately harms people who are most marginalized by a society rooted in systemic racism and ableism: disabled and immunocompromised people, working-class people of color who are more likely to be in “frontline” jobs that require in-person work and commuting, older people and families with children under five–for whom there is no vaccine. Some transit systems, including New York’s MTA and public transit and airports in Los Angeles County, are still requiring masks. As writer and public health researcher Abdullah Shihipar wrote for Slate, “one-way masking exists on a continuum of risk mitigation, with universal masking—using masks that filter well—being the best case.” Just as you can’t bootstrap your way out of a pandemic, you can’t wish it away in pursuit of personal freedom, either; the risks are still real. That’s what Bhattacharya asks us: “What if we framed masking as a way to eliminate a virus that then gives us all collective freedom to live our lives without threat? This kind of thinking is not available to us within the confines of toxic individualism.”  Rainesford Stauffer is a freelance writer who has written for Teen Vogue, the New York Times, InStyle, Vox, and Scalawag, among others. She's the author of An Ordinary Age, which came out in 2021 from Harper Perennial, and All the Gold Stars, forthcoming from Hachette Go.  JOIN US! Don't forget to register for what we're sure is going to be the most invigorating virtual event of Taurus season, 22 For '22: Visions for a Feminist Future presented by The Meteor and Gucci's CHIME FOR CHANGE!  FOLLOW THE METEOR    Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
The unsung heroes of the labor movement
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No images? Click here  April 22, 2022 G’day Meteor readers, Happy belated Earth Day! Or as environmentalists like to call it, the one day a year that everyone collectively considers their impact on the environment even though the Earth tells us she has had enough of our nonsense literally every day. Like everyone else worried about impeding climate doom, I dream of converting to a minimalist off-the-grid lifestyle every time Earth Day rolls around. But there’s a reason I’m a writer and not a survivalist tilling my own vegetable farm in the mountains like some of my relatives. Anywho! Thank heavens for these folks who are walking the walk and talking the talk for the planet. In today’s newsletter reporter Esther Wang talks to labor journalist and Teen Vogue columnist Kim Kelly about her new book, Fight Like Hell: The Untold History of American Labor. They cover the hope springing from the current labor movement—along with what we can learn from the labor leaders of yore, namely the Black, brown, and Indigenous women who did all the dirty work and never got the Norma Rae treatment. But first, let’s cruise through some news. —Shannon Melero  WHAT’S GOING ON
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 HISTORY LESSONThe Rest of the Story Behind America’s Labor MovementA new book looks to ensure women's place in union history is undisputedBY ESTHER WANG  KIM KELLY STUNTIN' ON THESE UNION HATING CORPORATIONS. (PHOTO BY ELIZABETH KRIETSCHMAN) Labor journalist Kim Kelly’s new book, Fight Like Hell: The Untold History of American Labor, comes at the perfect time, as enthusiasm for labor unions is at the highest point in decades, and workers from Amazon warehouses to Starbucks stores are demanding more—better pay, dignity on the job, and a say in their workplace. Her book goes beyond the simplified history we’re exposed to in textbooks (and that’s if we’re lucky) to tell a fuller, and therefore more true, story of the labor movement, as well as our country. Her message? “This is your history, too,” Kelly said. “And it’s also our future.” Esther Wang: You started off your book by acknowledging the enormous debt the labor movement owes to women—immigrant women from countries all over the world, Black women, and queer and trans women. Why did it feel necessary and important to tell those stories? Kim Kelly: I wanted to focus specifically on women just because we're so often left out of the equation when it comes to writing about labor and labor history and the idea of the working class and what a worker looks like in this country. There's this enduring avatar of the working class in this country that is the straight white guy and a hard hat. And he belongs here, he's done a lot of great work, too. My dad is that guy. But if you look at the actual composition of the labor movement, the most common face of a union member in this country is a Black woman who probably works in home health care or domestic work. It's not even a shift—it's kind of always been like that. You include the stories of labor activists like Dorothy Bolden, Rosa Flores, and Ella May Wiggins. What would it mean for all of us if we looked to those women as labor leaders from the past? I think it would reframe a lot of the perceptions of what organized labor and collective power look like. Dorothy Lee Bolden started working as a domestic worker when she was nine years old. She's visually impaired. She grew up in the forties and fifties in the South as a Black woman. So she had every possible disadvantage, but she managed to overcome those obstacles that were unfairly thrown her way. She made history in a way that was so incredible, the way that she organized and worked and advocated for domestic workers [as the founder of the National Domestic Workers Union of America]. At its height, it had about 10,000 members. They organized to win fair wages and to professionalize household work. They were people that were seen as unorganizable. And they're like, well, we'll just organize ourselves. Ella May Wiggins, who died on the picket line, who was this balladeer who was the heart and soul of a strike down in Gastonia, she's another Joe Hill. She's another Billy Bragg. Rosa Flores was this 18-year-old woman who ended up being the face of an entire massive strike for being this militant presence, for seeing what the world offered her as a young Chicana woman and was like, well, that's not good enough. That is the kind of energy that we need to be bringing to the labor movement. That's the kind of energy that it always had, but it's been buried under white patriarchal bullshit. You make it so clear and so apparent that labor issues, workers’ rights, and the fight for a union are intertwined with so many other issues—Black liberation, immigrant rights, feminist battles, disability rights. They’re not silos. One of the greatest truths that we have found to be evident over and over and over again throughout the history of labor and work in this country is that solidarity between workers is the greatest weapon that we have. And solidarity means obviously standing up for people that are on your side, but also people that maybe don't look like you or talk like you or come from the same background, but are also dealing with the ravages of capital, dealing with bad bosses, dealing with mistreatment. I think every story is a labor story because wherever you're coming from, wherever you're going, whoever you are, you've probably either had a job or you have a job now, or you're going to have a job. And that common ground really is a uniting force. There’s so much momentum and energy in labor right now, stemming from the successful Amazon unionization drive, the workers organizing Starbucks, the mining families on strike that you've been following for more than a year in Alabama at Warrior Met Coal. How are you thinking about what's happening? History is being made right now, from Amazon to Starbucks, to Appalachian coal mines, and in North Hollywood strip clubs. There's momentum. And I think it's just been very inspiring for folks that maybe for a long time thought there wasn't any hope, or maybe thought that there wasn't any room for them in the labor movement. To go back to Amazon and Starbucks, those movements have been led predominantly by Black workers and workers of color, young queer workers, a lot of women, nonbinary people—the exact workers that common wisdom or whatever has told us are not organizable. They are organizing, and they're winning.  Esther Wang is a New York City-based writer who covers social movements, immigrant communities, and the intersection of culture and politics.  FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
Meet the women blazing trails for cannabis
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No images? Click here  April 20, 2022 Dear Meteor readers, Welcome to the 4/20 issue! (Which you might be receiving at 4:20 PM, and yes, we do want a cookie for that.) Today we’re talking all things weed—or pot or reefer or cheeba or grass or ganja—whatever you call it. Specifically, we're talking to some of the women making the marijuana industry more accessible and raising awareness of how weed works in our bodies. Did you know estrogen levels can affect your reaction to THC? We didn’t. I guess you could say we are fans. But before we do that, today’s news… —Samhita Mukhopadhyay  WHAT'S GOING ON
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—Shannon  FREE THE TREEMarijuana Is For EveryoneOne woman's very personal fight to make cannabis more inclusive BY SAMHITA MUKHOPADHYAY  GORGEOUS GORGEOUS GIRLS LOVE WEED (PHOTO COURTESY OF MARY PRYOR) Cannabis has always played a part in American culture. But while some young people had the freedom to experiment with it, for Black and brown people it was demonized and regulated to the full extent of the law. That's continued despite the steady normalization of cannabis use; in a study from 2010 to 2018, the ACLU found that more than 6 million people were arrested for marijuana possession, with Black people arrested at higher rates than others, even in states where it is legalized. So it's worth asking: Who will benefit most from this burgeoning industry? There are already efforts underway to democratize the distribution of licenses; for example, in March, it was announced that in New York State, the first 100 retail licenses would go to people that had prior marijuana convictions. But the cannabis industry is still male-dominated, so I was excited to sit down with Mary Pryor, the founder of Cannaclusive, an organization aimed at holding cannabis businesses accountable for their diversity commitments. Samhita Mukhopadhyay: So, you have a very diverse career—you've worked in advertising, music, and tech. What got you interested in the cannabis industry? Mary Pryor: I grew up a caretaker. My mom had multiple sclerosis and lupus. My grandmother had really, really severe arthritis. Around 2012, I got hit with what I did not know at the time was my first Crohn's flare. I was in [and out of] the hospital, and people were like, "We don't understand what's going on. Is it blood cancer? Is it ovarian cancer?" Nobody had a clue. In February of 2013, I fell into a coma, and I was put into ICU. They figured out that I had Crohn's. I was miserable. I was on up to 20 medications a day. I was 119 pounds. For most of 2013, I didn't leave my house. I couldn't keep things down. A lot of medicines [for Crohn’s] are meant to either numb the pain of the issue, mask the issue, or stop your body from attacking itself, which may or may not solve the problem. Around 2014, and 2015, I started traveling out to Denver, Colorado, which was the second state [to make cannabis] legal. I’d had friends send me cannabis studies, focusing on people with ulcerative colitis, IBS, IBD, and Crohn’s. And in Colorado, I could get suppositories, and I could get sprays. And it allowed me to be able to get up and not be in pain, be able to eat, and be able to actually function. But you felt conflicted about cannabis… As a Black woman, the things I grew up with were seeing drug addiction, which took away my father, and seeing the war on drugs, which has beat the asses of Black and Brown people and is still winning. And the propaganda behind the war on drugs and the propaganda [against] the plant really was a targeted campaign against melanated people in the US. And I literally was like, I need this to survive because without it I'm fucked. So, I wanted to raise awareness of the medicinal benefits, the need for affordability (which is key for businesses to thrive) and relaying this information in a digestible way. So you founded Cannaclusive… I needed people to be in this industry that look like me. So, I started screaming like Chicken Little like, "Yo, if you want to own a business, this game is different than what you know. People need to get in here." And so Cannaclusive was co-founded by myself and Tonya Rapley and Charlese Antoinette Jones. We are now a team of 13. And as of last week, I am now one of [only 50] current license holders to grow cannabis in New York State. The predatory nature of this business mostly targets women. And as someone who has unfortunately been in that position—where I've had to learn hard mistakes from people that have taken advantage of me—[I want to create] successful ways to build while you climb. Melanated people need to work together. And, there are a lot of ways to utilize the benefits of cannabis outside of smoking weed or CBD. The reality is that this is a plant that has a feminized origin. Only feminized [marijuana] seeds give birth to anything, period. And the recognition of the wellness that it provides for our bodies does need to be first and foremost. What advice do you have for young women who are interested in the space? I'll say right now, ancillary businesses are a way less risky way to go about being in the space than growing cannabis. There is a value behind licensing, but it's a lot of hard work. Two: capital is a need—and if you're able to raise that, awesome. But if you're not able to, there are great resources out there (like Our Academy). Three, the self-investment piece is key. So if you need to go to conferences to figure out what's happening in the space, do it. Four, there's nothing wrong with wanting a job [in the industry] instead of being an entrepreneur. And five, understand the policies. Every state is different. And federally, cannabis is still illegal and placed as a schedule 1 drug. What’s allowable in one place may not be the same in other places, so make sure you understand all the regulations. Learn more about women and people of color in the growing cannabis industry here.  PHOTO BY HEATHER HAZZAN Samhita Mukhopadhyay is a writer, editor, and speaker. She is the former Executive Editor of Teen Vogue. She is the co-editor of Nasty Women: Feminism, Resistance and Revolution in Trump's America, the author of Outdated: Why Dating is Ruining Your Love Life, and the forthcoming book, The Myth of Making It.  THE DOCTOR IS IN A Little Enlightenment Before You Next Light UpBY SHANNON MELERO Between CBD and THC, there are as many strands of cannabis as there are Kardashian offspring. So it’s no wonder that first-timers or even seasoned smokers can get a little confused when attempting to create a marijuana-as-medicine routine. At the height of the pandemic, I was smoking anything remotely green to keep my panic attacks at bay, and to no one’s surprise, it only worked half of the time. I was inconsistent, switching between different products, and didn’t bother consulting a doctor because YOLO, right? But now that more folks are puffing and states are passing laws to allow for recreational use, it’s time to be more of a Serious Weed Consumer. So I asked integrative cannabis physician and co-author of Cannabis for CBD and Health and Wellness Dr. June Chin for some guidance on getting started on the ganga as safely as possible. Here are the best hits (weed humor) from our conversation.
 Please consider puff puff passing this newsletter to a friend or two. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
Name that tune
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No images? Click here  April 15, 2022 Hey Meteor friends, Happy Easter and Passover to those celebrating this weekend! Easter was a huge deal when I was a kid, and as a teen, I attended a church that took it so seriously, we cast a live snake as Satan in the Easter play one year. She was a real diva. But most of all, Easter reminds me of my mother. My mom's voice is exceptional, and the weeks leading up to Easter were always marked by sitting in my mom's show rehearsals listening to her belt out, harmonize, and perfect various gospel songs. Listening to her sing always made me feel like I was a part of something special. I'd almost forgotten that sensation until earlier this week when I listened to the most recent episode of UNDISTRACTED. Brittany Packnett Cunningham and her husband, Reginald, talk about their son, Baby M, who came into the world after only 24 weeks of gestation and spent the start of his life in the NICU. While they were unable to make physical contact with their newborn, Brittany found another way to connect—she sang to her baby. “I just wanted him to feel safe,” she said. “And I wanted him to know that he was held, and I wanted him to know that he is loved.” I was beside myself. Brittany's singing brought me back to all the times my mom's voice gave me a sense of certainty and even a sense of identity. Before I was anyone, I was lucky enough to be Cindy's daughter. And congratulations to the Packnett Cunninghams. We’re so happy Baby M is home safe and sound for his first Easter season. Today's newsletter is a musical lovefest: Culture writer Shamira Ibrahim talks to prolific music critic, journalist, and podcast host Danyel Smith about her latest book Shine Bright: A Very Personal History of Black Women in Pop. Sing on, Shannon Melero  IT'S MS. ROSS TO YOUThe Real Story of Black Women in PopAuthor Danyel Smith is on a mission to give these legends their roses BY SHAMIRA IBRAHIM  DANYEL SMITH (PHOTO BY DREW ALLYN) It’s impossible to discuss the last 25 years of Black popular music criticism without invoking the name Danyel Smith—the first woman to serve as Vibe magazine’s editor in chief. Between her career as a writer, helping capture and document the musical soundscapes that reflect different facets of Black life, to her personal journey, anchored by the ebbs and flows of Black popular culture—Smith’s frame of reference is deeply informed by an innate understanding of the transformative power of music history and its integral role in the definition of cultural identity and belonging. Now, with Shine Bright: A Very Personal History of Black Women in Pop, Smith expertly places herself in the canon of Black writers and de facto archivists such as Greg Tate, Cheryl Wall, and Saidiya Hartman. It’s part history, part memoir, and along the way, it also reclaims Black women’s rightful place in pop music. Shamira Ibrahim: One thing I've always liked about your writing is the way you make these intricate connections. You start with connecting “Queen of Disco” Donna Summer to the 18th-century poet Phyllis Wheatley. How have you honed the ability to draw these connections for people who may not immediately see the through-lines that go from antebellum slavery through generations of pop music? Danyel Smith: I appreciate the close attention to the text—that always matters to me very much. At this point in my career, it's just the way I think, and frankly, I decided to stop fighting it. I have training as a journalist – years of on-the-job training, some training from school, some me training myself, and a lot of that has to do with getting things right. Getting the dates right, getting the moments right, getting the details right. For me, a big part of my work is resisting summary; I feel like so often, Black women's lives are written about in summary. It is a privilege to have the time, honestly, to just actually think. I really do adore and admire and often engage with Phyllis Wheatley and her work; the same for Donna Summer. I don't know that I thought about them both being Boston girls until I was getting close to maybe the midpoint of this book. You’re just writing Boston a million times, and you're checking your spelling of Massachusetts a million times, and something shakes out; you hear the Boston inflection again in Donna Summers’ voice. It came to me because I had time to think and then had the confidence to stop fighting that negative voice in my head that says, “does that really matter?” Not only do you interrogate commonly held narratives in white contemporary thought around Black pop culture, you also work to reconcile narratives within Black cultural thought. Particularly, the section around Elvis, where you tease out that it might be a little bit more complicated than people realize; there were Black fans of Elvis. What prompted you to want to interrogate it in that way? I didn't think it was truthful of me to write a whole book about Black women in pop and not write about my mother's love for Elvis, my enjoyment of Elvis, and my great grandmother's enjoyment. And [of] Johnny Cash, who comes from the Black gospel tradition. How was I going to write a book about myself and Black women in pop without addressing that? [Or] the way that Elvis slipped into Blackness to save himself after falling upon hard professional times. But I'm on a constant mission to try to find a way to get Black women in music the credit that they are due. I think the Sweet Inspirations, led by Cissy Houston–Whitney Houston's mother–have had more impact on rock, pop, soul, and R&B than they're ever going to be given credit for. I really tried to back that up with example upon example, especially with “Brown Eyed Girl” [the Van Morrison track on which the Sweet Inspirations sang the famed chorus]. And I want Cissy and her cohorts to be known—I don't like it when Black women are called upon to save white men and not receive the credit for it. It had to be spoken upon, though, because it's not enough for me to just say, ‘I don't like it, I think it's a mess, Elvis is so racist, etc.’ I refuse to participate in making our work and our fanship, and our music simple. A question I have is about contemporary times—you make a cogent argument that “there's a laziness” in positing that crossover success is somehow devaluing Black work as cheesy or selling out. Now that we’re seeing more women in rap, there's been increased attention to the ability for women to crossover into pop success. Do you still see that judgment today? Do I think that people are saying that Black girls’ rap is less than good rap because it's popular amongst the whites? Well, that's convenient, isn't it? Pop is the people's choice. [In the 1980s and '90s] Pop became a bad word when Black artists like Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Janet Jackson, and Lionel Richie began to take it over. If we have people like Nicki Minaj and Cardi B winning and owning the top of the charts and then all of a sudden pop is again being referred to as less than, I would ask where that energy was when people like The Weeknd–who does beautiful work–was sitting at the top of the charts. Was there a lot of talk then? What about Bruno Mars and Anderson Paak? Is there talk there about how they’re selling out, or is it just that they're making great, popular, and critically acclaimed music? I don’t know why that same grace isn't extended to Nicki Minaj and Cardi B and their cohort. A section that stuck out was about Diana Ross and the rumors of her being a “diva,” in part because she asked to be called Ms. Ross. That also persisted with Lauryn Hill for a very long time when she broke out solo from the Fugees–“she must only be addressed by Ms. Hill.” Now it's part of [Ross’s] Instagram bio, and the idea of a diva is something that is embraced as part of the formation of a pop icon. It’s so difficult for people to just hold Black women in esteem. Black women are on a continuous journey of trying to make it clear – I am who I am, and I said what I said – and the naming thing is a big part of it. I hate to take everything back to slavery and reconstruction, but Black women were rarely, if ever, called by their true honorific. They were called whatever anybody felt like calling them. My grandmother's name is Lottie. A lot of times, people just called somebody Lottie, and they would call the next Black woman Lottie again. A lot of times, people just call people Auntie. White people just called every Black woman over a certain age Auntie. Hey, Auntie, bring me a lemonade. So pardon me If Diana Ross wants to be called Ms. Ross. Pardon me if Lauryn Hill wants to be called Ms. Hill. I understand why people are resistant to it. But it's time to stop. Hip-hop is problematic in a lot of ways, but it is wonderful in that it was a big huge renaming. I'm Dana Owens, but I am Queen Latifah. I am Nicki Minaj, I am Cardi B, I am Yo-Yo, I am J.J. Fad, I am Doja, I am whomever. I find it preposterous that people are offended by that, but I know what it is. It's because it's a Black woman claiming herself. Do you have any guidance for people who have a passion for music but want to also have a more studied perspective on it? Listen without fear, and listen widely. Don't try to listen to it with your whole intellect but with your body and soul. Ask your older relatives–because they have them, believe me–for their back issues of Vibe, Ebony, Essence. Get your fingers dirty and read. Read about what was said about the music in the time that the music was actually being listened to. In my early days of writing about rap, I literally would stop talking to people about it because I always felt like it was some kind of knowledge contest. I like to know obscure things; I think Shine Bright is a collection of obscure things. [But] I'm not into it for like the contest of I know that Gladys Knight's “Midnight Train to Georgia” came out in 1973 on Buddha records, and not, in fact, Motown like people think. I just want to talk about music, and I want to see other people talking about music. When you're with your friends at brunch or whatever, and you're talking about music, just treasure that. That, to me, is the thing that makes life wonderful.  Shamira Ibrahim is a Brooklyn-based culture writer by way of Harlem, Canada, and East Africa, who explores identity, technology, and cultural production as a critic, reporter, feature/profile writer, and essayist.  In the mood to jam? Well then check out this playlist curated by Danyel Smith and don't forget to pass along the good grooves (and this newsletter) to a friend! FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
The key to saving more Black mothers
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No images? Click here  April 13, 2022 Dear Meteor readers, Yesterday morning, while I was sitting by my window trying to get some work done, I suddenly heard the sounds of police cars and helicopters. News alerts came in along with text messages: “Are you ok?” Just on the other side of Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn, there had been a smoke bomb set off and a mass shooting in a subway station. As of Wednesday morning, 26 people were injured, 10 of whom had been shot. The details of the case are still coming together, and a suspect has been arrested. I looked up to the helicopters hovering all over Brooklyn, felt my blood pressure rising, and logged on to a Zoom meeting. There was a live-action manhunt in front of me, but the day had to go on. I don’t share this to add to the cacophony of media outlets trying to get their unique angle to you before we've even identified the victims. And I’m not trying to suggest that we’ve all grown numb. All of those analyses have been made and we know it’s more complicated than that. I am sharing because perhaps, much like you, I thought, what is there to say? What is there to even say? This type of daily violence and trauma—whether it’s the latest in what is starting to feel like a never-ending war, an ongoing pandemic, or the unstoppable regularity of gun violence—has largely grown normalized. But it’s not normal. We’re sending love from the Meteor family to anyone affected by yesterday’s tragic events and to the city we love. And wherever you are, take time to reflect, breathe, log off. It’s all been a lot. This week we are marking Black Maternal Health Week with a fantastic interview from our own Rebecca Carroll with director Tonya Lewis Lee about the shocking disparities Black mothers face when they give birth. This conversation is a good reminder that there are so many people working to make things not just normal, but better. With love, Samhita  WHAT'S GOING ON
 THIS WAS A GREAT ISSUE ON FRUIT (SCREENGRAB VIA BITCH.ORG) AND:
 BLACK MOTHERS MATTERAre We Finally Acknowledging Black Maternal Mortality?Director Tonya Lewis Lee talks to us about the health care workers giving her hopeBY REBECCA CARROLL  PROTESTERS WITH THE UK'S MARCH WITH MIDWIVES GROUP (PHOTO BY BELINDA JIAO VIA GETTY IMAGES) Black women in America are three times more likely to die from pregnancy complications than white women. Three times as likely: What the entire hell's bells is that? That question is the starting point of the highly anticipated new documentary Aftershock from Tonya Lewis Lee and Paula Eiselt, forthcoming from Hulu this summer. The situation the film investigates is ghastly yet—I need to understand, we all need to understand how and why this is the reality for so many Black mothers giving birth. So in honor of Black Maternal Health Week, I sat down with Tonya Lewis Lee to discuss just that. Rebecca Carroll: Let’s just get right into it. I mean, that CDC statistic… Tonya Lewis Lee: Yes, and I would add to that, it is regardless of economic or educational status. I mean, not that that should matter, but regardless. Right, we’re not talking about privilege here. So what are we talking about? Race. We’re talking about race. You and I know this because this is the work we do—constantly finding new ways to frame an experience and reality that most white people in power don’t want to hear. So how do we build out a narrative that goes beyond just saying, “You all are not paying attention to this because it’s about Black women”? Right. Well, I often say even if you don’t care about Black women, you should pay attention to what happens to them, because we’re the canaries in the coal mine. You may think you’re doing well, but you’re not. Because Black women die at three to four times the rate of white women, but if white women compare themselves to other white women in other countries, they’re not doing that well either. And so obviously, if you help those that are the most vulnerable or who are dealing with the most, then you help us all—that’s where I try to go. But I also think it’s important to peel back and understand what the system is, and how we got here. This is not, I mean, in some cases it is about racist individuals, but it’s also about a system that is set up to operate in a racist way. And if we start having the conversation, then maybe we can really start looking at what’s happening and try to fix it, because I believe this issue is fixable. You do? Oh, I am optimistic. And I am hopeful because I hear people in the healthcare system say, “Okay, we know there’s a problem,” because they believe in data, data doesn’t lie. And you cannot continue to just blame Black women. That has been the narrative. It’s our fault, right? We are dying at higher rates because we don’t take care of ourselves. We don’t get prenatal care. We’re obese. We have this issue and that issue, but that’s not the problem. What is the problem? It is about not being seen and heard when Black women tell health care providers they have a problem. When Black women go to the doctor for prenatal care—and they do—they are often dismissed and ignored when they complain of pain. This issue is not about access to care, it is not about the “quality” of care. Black women often with the best care [still] die. This is an issue of how health care systems view Black women and their perception of our pain. It is also about the dehumanization of Black women. And…it is about the over-medicalization of birthing. Birthing women are not sick, they do not have a health care problem that needs to be managed. They are healthy women mostly who need the proper support to let their bodies do what they are meant to do. Do you think that the healthcare industry is looking at it in a broader systemic way, as opposed to a micro, one hospital or case at a time, kind of way? I don’t think the entire healthcare system is having this conversation. Let me be clear. I remain optimistic because there are a few good people out there who are engaging, who are like, ‘We are messing up and we need to do better.” So there are hospitals, for example, that are saying, “Okay, maybe we've traditionally said we don't like midwives, but maybe we need to think about how that works.” I think those conversations are happening in some places, and that some systems are looking at it in that way. Why do you think it is so hard to get folks to care about Black women? Wow, that’s quite a question. Look, Black women have traditionally been the mule, I mean certainly in America and it seems across the globe, but certainly, in America, we have been the ones who have had to take it all, right? We are the ones who are birthing the workforce. We are the ones who had to deal with being raped [during slavery]. And yet, we are still here and we still thrive. And so, I think that there’s a lot of power, quite frankly, in being a Black woman that scares a lot of people. I think sometimes the perceived power and strength of a Black woman is scary to a lot of people and they don’t even understand who we really are. So…our power is what’s getting us killed? Yes, yes. The point is to take the power away from her: “You don’t know your own body, you don’t know your pain. You’re telling me you’re in pain. You’re not in pain.” And again, it’s not about privilege—all you have to do is look at Serena Williams and her pregnancy experience. She had to beg doctors to listen to her. Beg and demand. And if Serena has to do that, what’s the hope for the rest of us? Right. As I was researching for this interview, I watched some video footage of you and [your husband] Spike [Lee] arriving at the Cannes Film Festival, and all the paparazzi were snapping and the photographers were like, “Over here, look over here!” And I wondered, do you ever get the urge to just turn around and look straight into one of those photographer’s lenses, and say, “Hi, Black women are dying at three times the rate of white women. Have a nice day.” Well, I got the urge and made a film. To me, that's what it was about. How do I figure out how to tell this story, to get people to pay attention and listen. And what do you hope happens next? Well, my best hope is that in the United States, we start to integrate midwifery into women’s healthcare. We’re the only country of industrialized nations that do not have midwifery integrated into women's healthcare. My hope is that we have a cultural shift in the way that we think about birthing. And the ultimate measure is that we have better birth outcomes in this country and that Black women are not dying at three times the rate of white women. And that we all have an opportunity to have a safe, dignified birth.  Rebecca Carroll is a writer, cultural critic, and podcast creator/host. Her writing has been published widely, and she is the author of several books, including her memoir, Surviving the White Gaze. Rebecca is editor at large at The Meteor.  FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
It only took 233 years
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No images? Click here  April 8, 2022 Dear Meteor readers! Where were you? Where were you the moment Congress made history and confirmed the first Black woman to the Supreme Court of the United States? I was in my apartment in South Brooklyn, taking a break from my phone, the anxiety of the wait weighing on me. It is hard to quantify the joy and relief I felt to come back to the string of alerts sharing the historic news. With unanimous support from Democratic Senators and three Republicans: Senators Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, and Mitt Romney—Ketanji Brown Jackson was confirmed to the Supreme Court. As I wiped away tears, I logged on to witness the celebration. The joy was palpable. Voting rights advocate and Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams wrote, “Anchored by intellectual rigor, compassion, and fortitude, Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson joins the U.S. Supreme Court and the annals of history. We are grateful for service that brought her here and the work yet to come. Congratulations, America!” Professor and writer Dr. Brittney Cooper wrote, “My prayer for KBJ is that her term on SCOTUS will be marked not by limits or symbols but by impact. May she herald a new era on this court, that because of her faithfulness and fealty to what is right, good, lawful, new possibilities for justice for all will emerge. Amen.”  Perhaps most breathtaking was her real time reaction. If you’re not crying, are you made of stone? The confirmation of Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson is cause for celebration—not only is she the first Black woman, but she is also the first public defender to be serving on SCOTUS and will bring a much-needed balance to the existing court. But there is reason for our optimism to be tempered—the court will still have a Republican supermajority. So now we have questions. What will her nomination mean for the courts? How soon will she make her mark on upcoming cases? And what will her experience be as the only Black woman on the court—especially given how she was treated during the hearings? For answers, we knew exactly who we wanted to talk to: Madiba K. Dennie—counsel for the Democracy Program at the incredible Brennan Center for Justice at NYU Law. She is a professor and a prolific writer who most recently wrote about how to hold justices accountable, reported out the misogynoir Jackson faced in the hearings, and considered the potential impact Jackson could have on the Supreme Court. Check out our exclusive interview—and her expert insights—below. See ya next week! —Samhita Mukhopadhyay  SCOTUSThe Case for Cautious OptimismKBJ’s confirmation could have a ripple effect on the courts—here’s howBY SAMHITA MUKHOPADHYAY  HOW WE SHOULD ALL BE SMILING THIS WEEKEND (PHOTO BY CHIP SOMODEVILLA VIA GETTY IMAGES) Samhita Mukhopadhyay: How is the nomination and confirmation of Ketanji Brown Jackson significant to you personally and professionally? Madiba K. Dennie: I was surprised, honestly, by how much her nomination has meant to me. I know that a single person is not a quick fix to the deep systemic issues that plague our judiciary, specifically, and democracy more generally. But at the same time, Black women have been deliberately excluded from the halls of power for so long. And as a Black woman, a former public defender, and more, Judge Jackson will bring perspectives to the Court that have literally never been there before. This demonstrably impacts—and improves—judicial decision-making. And yet, a narrow, homogenous group of wealthy white men has maintained a virtual monopoly on power for this country’s entire history. There’s no legitimate justification for this. Ketanji Brown Jackson’s nomination exemplifies the possibility of broadening the political community. So, I find both the ability to shape jurisprudence and also the declaration that we deserve to shape jurisprudence personally and professionally profound. But will she have an impact? At the end of the day, the Supreme Court is still currently dominated by a radical conservative supermajority. It is possible, though, that Jackson’s judicial methodology, presence, and perspective could serve as a mitigating influence and rein in some of the Court’s more absurd behavior. Today’s dissenting opinions can also become tomorrow’s majority opinions. Judge Jackson’s addition to the bench may help chart a path to better future decisions by a better future Court. But she can’t fix it all by herself, nor should she have to. The rest of government should step up and implement substantive court reforms. Will she play any role in the cases expected to be handed down this summer, like Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization or any other cases you might have your eye on? What could her confirmation mean for Roe v Wade? Justice Breyer has indicated that he intends his retirement to take effect when the Court goes on its summer recess, so I don’t suspect she’ll have a role in those cases. She’ll be too late for the decisions and just in time for the consequences. That does mean, though, that she can have a say in determining what those rulings actually mean and how those principles should be interpreted. The ‘undue burden’ standard used in abortion cases, for example, doesn’t appear at all in Roe v. Wade. That came in a later Supreme Court decision applying Roe v. Wade. Similarly, the new ‘guideposts’ for determining certain Voting Rights Act violations don’t appear in any previous case interpreting the Voting Rights Act nor the text of the law itself. They’re just a murky standard Justice Alito invented one day last year. So there are two unknowns at this point: what the damage will be from this summer’s blockbuster cases and how next term’s cases will apply those rulings and either constrain or expand the harm. What will her working experience be like as the first Black woman on the Supreme Court? I’m a little bit nervous. My pride and hope about elevating the first Black woman to the Supreme Court has been somewhat tempered by my fear that we’re sending her into a hostile work environment. Judge Jackson was subjected to offensive treatment by Senators during her confirmation hearing, which should remove any lingering doubt as to whether excellence can protect you from misogyny and racism. And that was the public job interview with Congress. I don’t know what her private experience will be in chambers. But I know it’s not easy being “the only” under the best of circumstances, much less when you have to debate with your colleagues whether people who look like you should have rights, for example. For now, I hope she and her support network continue to stay strong, but for the future, I hope Black women don’t have to be so strong. Is there anything readers can do to support her from afar? There are many organizations out there like the Leadership Conference that are excellent resources for action. I also always recommend that people tune into what’s happening at their local level. The overwhelming majority of cases don’t reach the Supreme Court, and it matters who is serving on state courts and lower federal courts too.  PHOTO BY HEATHER HAZZAN Samhita Mukhopadhyay is a writer, editor, and speaker. She is the former Executive Editor of Teen Vogue. She is the co-editor of Nasty Women: Feminism, Resistance and Revolution in Trump's America, the author of Outdated: Why Dating is Ruining Your Love Life, and the forthcoming book, The Myth of Making It.  Smells Like Teen Spirit While we were dancin’ round the kitchen in judge costumes celebrating the historic confirmation of a new Supreme Court justice, the Alabama State Legislature voted to ban gender-affirming medical care for trans youth. That is just one of the many setbacks we’ve seen to the rights of trans youth. In fact, there is a country-wide campaign to deny the right for trans youth to define themselves on their own terms, to live freely and in their authenticity. In the face of such violent rhetoric and policy, you would think young people have lost hope. But you would be wrong. In this week’s UNDISTRACTED host Brittany Packnett Cunningham spoke with Willow Luna Edgerton, a 13-year old trans girl, and her father Owen, on starting a Gender and Sexuality Alliance club in her school in the face of anti-trans decrees and legislation in her home state of Texas. “Trust me when I say your child will be a million times happier. If you support them, if you respect them as a person and help them out, they will,” Willow tells us. The kids are more than all right. Bask in Willow’s light here. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
A winning week for workers
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No images? Click here  April 6, 2022 Greetings, Meteor readers! I wish I had something quippy and hilarious to share at this moment, but as I mentioned last Saturday, I am fasting for Ramadan, and the brain fog has fully set in. On the bright side, I’ve had so much extra time—time I normally spend preparing and reheating one cup of coffee—I finally finished knitting a top for Spring (if she ever decides to show up). Today we have a cautiously optimistic look at the recent history and future of the labor movement in the U.S. from author Nona Willis Aronowitz. She predicts the aftermath of last week’s big wins at Starbucks and Amazon and what that could mean for workers’ rights across the board. Talk about your David versus Goliath matchups. Who was it that won in the end again? But before we load our slingshots, let’s take a look at the news. —Shannon Melero  WHAT'S GOING ON
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—SM  JOURNALIST'S NOTEBOOKLabor’s Vibe ShiftHow a decade of organizing led to this week's wins at Amazon and StarbucksBY NONA WILLIS ARONOWITZ  PRO UNION PROTESTS OUTSIDE OF AN AMAZON HEADQUARTERS IN ALABAMA (PHOTO BY AL SEIB VIA GETTY IMAGES) It’s been a major week for the labor movement in America. After workers at more than 100 Starbucks locations nationwide petitioned for union recognition, the coffee chain’s flagship store in New York voted to unionize 46-36. At Condé Nast, a smaller but highly influential company, workers announced that they’re organizing 500 employees with the NewsGuild—a major milestone for the ever growing number of media companies forming unions. And in a move that shocked even the most optimistic labor activists, two young men of color who worked in Amazon’s Staten Island warehouse managed to organize the site’s 8,000 workers. It’s a heartening, electric moment for anyone invested in holding powerful corporations accountable for the well-being of workers. The Amazon vote in particular, which was meticulously tracked on Twitter and accompanied by videos of employees joyously celebrating, feels like an exciting but unexpected vibe shift. But as a journalist who has long covered labor and the lived economy, I was reminded that these wins build slowly over time. Allow me to bring you back to 2012; when organizing Amazon was unthinkable, Gawker’s union contract (which started a wave of media organizing) was years away, and the only group trying to organize Starbucks was a radical, grassroots labor union called the Wobblies. America’s labor movement was the weakest it’d been in many decades, the media declaring it all but dead; private-sector union membership was the lowest it’d been in decades, hovering at just over 10 percent, down from 13.5% in the early 2000s. At the same time, though, there was a national class consciousness brewing: The devastation of the Great Recession was still palpable. Occupy Wall Street made such a splash that President Obama expressed tentative support for the movement, and major unions jumped on the bandwagon. Mitt Romney, a vivid symbol of capitalist greed, lost the election after he was caught on tape disparaging the 47 percent of Americans who are “dependent upon government” for handouts.
Still, it was hard for me at the time to get my hopes up about the labor movement truly coming back to life. In stories I wrote at the time, I took pains to point out that most workers still felt too vulnerable to join the nascent Fight For $15 movement to raise the minimum wage happening at retail stores like Walmart and fast-food restaurants like Burger King. I covered a failed union campaign at a handful of Minnesota Jimmy John’s, reporting that high turnover, emotional exhaustion, and extreme precarity might have doomed the effort from the start. Workers with kids, chronic health problems, and elderly parents mostly sat out the Jimmy John’s fight, which was spearheaded by white college students. And the idea of being in a media union myself hadn’t even occurred to me; it was only years later, after Gawker unionized, when it started to seem feasible. But then, while I was moderating a panel in 2013 at the liberal economic think tank Roosevelt Institute, organizer and scholar Dorian Warren said something I’ll never forget: If this new class-conscious era is our civil rights movement, we’re only at the Montgomery bus boycott—almost a full decade before the signing of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. I realized then that setbacks at Jimmy John’s and elsewhere weren’t signs of doom—we just weren’t there yet.
It feels like today we might be at a tipping point, closer to 1964 than we are to 1955. This cluster of wins for the labor movement makes clear the increased attention being paid to workers’ rights which have shifted during a demoralizing pandemic, where both essential and white-collar workers have been pushed to the point of burnout. Chris Smalls, the Amazon employee who kicked off the successful union effort, is now in his early thirties, which means he was in his formative years back in 2012 when his generation became painfully aware of class inequality. Now, Chris Smalls’ generation makes up the largest group in the workforce. We have a long way to go for a true sea change: Even though 50 warehouses have reached out to the Amazon Labor Union, their victory won’t be easily replicated, and contract negotiations will be a challenge. Flagrant and unapologetic union-busting is still the go-to move for powerful companies. There’s also work to be done in terms of integrating the labor movement into other social justice efforts. Many of the workers spearheading these efforts are women; women are more likely to work in retail and Amazon warehouses, and women have been more likely to quit their jobs during the pandemic. Yet worker’s rights often take a backseat in mainstream feminist conversations. And these particular victories may very well feel short-lived—so we should prepare ourselves for setbacks. I clearly remember the acute depression many people felt when Occupy fizzled out or when other Amazon votes came up short. But these ebbs and flows are a natural part of building any movement. It’ll behoove us to remember that this week’s successes did not happen overnight—and neither will future wins. But against the backdrop of a culture ripe for change, they will come.  PHOTO BY EMILY SHECHTMAN Nona Willis Aronowitz is an author and journalist who’s written about the economy, generational politics, and sexuality for the New York Times, The Cut, Elle, VICE, the Washington Post, and many others. Her book Bad Sex: Truth, Pleasure, and an Unfinished Revolution will be published by Plume in August 2022.  FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
Muslims are not a monolith
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No images? Click here  April 1, 2022 Hi Meteor readers! Spring housekeeping: you won’t see my name as much around these parts for a while, as I’m shifting my focus exclusively to a book I’m writing about my upbringing in Wyoming and the myth of the American West. (Short version: the hypermasculine white narrative of Western Expansion has always been a lie.) I’ll miss you all, but don’t worry—I’ll be back. More importantly, and FORTUNATELY FOR YOU: you will start seeing the name of the great Samhita Mukhopadhyay, who’s joining Shannon Melero on this newsletter ship and is simply one of the best humans around. In today’s newsletter, Shannon writes about the start of Ramadan and asks why non-Muslims still know so little about a holiday observed by two billion people. And after that, we’ve got a wonderful comic strip from Huda Fahmy with tips on how to be mindful of your Muslim co-workers this year. Check it all out, right after the news. And call if you’re in Wyoming! —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd  WHAT'S GOING ON
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—JES  HAPPY HOLIDAYSRemember to Wish Your Friends a Blessed Ramadan This YearAnd please, while we’re celebrating, take some time to educate yourself on what it is BY SHANNON MELERO  A SHOP SELLING RAMADAN DECORATIONS IN GAZA (PHOTO BY MAJDI FATHI VIA GETTY IMAGES) I converted to Islam sometime in 2014, secretly, in a bathroom. I’d love to tell you that “bathroom” is some sort of metaphor, but I took my Shahadah (declaration of faith) in a literal bathroom by myself and told very few people what I had done for almost a year. Why the cloak and dagger? I was a church youth leader. On weekends I would teach teens about their Lord and savior, Jesus Christ. And while Jesus is a beloved homie in Islam, I didn’t fully believe a lot of what I was teaching. But I cared for those youngsters and the thought of leaving them in the hands of other adults who wouldn’t understand them felt like a betrayal. So I hid my faith and continued working at the church, where my mother was associate pastor, until I was asked to leave (but that’s another very dramatic story for another time). Not too long after my conversion—my first Ramadan was upon me. It was horrific. I didn’t make it through the first two weeks of fasting. In the years since, there have been plenty more “failed” Ramadans for me, which have all met their end in a similar fashion—a hunger-induced brain fog where I start asking myself: Why are we doing this? Why am I doing this? Why is it so long? Why couldn’t I be drawn to Catholicism? That seems like it’s not too hard. Before you know it, I’m face down in a bag of spicy sweet chili Doritos like a raccoon on speed.
I wasn’t alone in this line of questioning (although I was absolutely alone on the Doritos binge). Canadian journalist, podcaster, and fellow Muslimah Shireen Ahmed tells me that she also stared down difficult questions, like: “What am I actually doing? And why am I doing it? Is it because I want to please Allah or do I want to be able to flex that I’m fasting?” Ramadan is a beautiful time full of reflection, elaborate community meals, a focus on charity, finishing the Quran and an obscene amount of dates (the fruit!). But fasting seems to be the thing we all get stuck on, both inside and outside of the Muslim community. “What kind of parent would let their kid starve all day,” I’ve heard non-Muslims say. (You know who you are and I will not let that go.) But when I was in Catholic school and it was time to choose what we were giving up for Lent, no one lobbed the same judgment. When I took up the Daniel Fast during my teen years with my family, that was normal. What many non-Muslims choose to remain ignorant about is that fasting is scalable, and it’s also not the only way to participate in Ramadan. Not everyone fasts: There are those who simply cannot fast, because they’re pregnant, suffer from eating disorders, or are on medication. There are also those who simply don’t want to, which is as valid a reason as any other. “Ramadan isn’t supposed to deplete you to a point where you can’t function,” Ahmed says. “It’s supposed to reinvigorate you.”
Ahmed was born into the Muslim faith and understands as well as anyone the struggle that comes with the fast, but also the fun there is to be had within the community. “In the summertime, after Taraweeh, the Tim Horton’s is like nuts,” she says. For those who don’t know, “Taraweeh” is a special night prayer that takes place after we break fast and is often a huge community gathering. Taraweeh is a lot longer than the length of the five prayers Muslims are obligated to do every day and if you attend a poppin’ mosque, it can go on until sunrise. So why do we celebrate Ramadan? Were you to ask five Muslims that question, you’d have five completely different answers. Some will say it’s a way to ensure a place in heaven. Others do it to understand suffering, or to develop humility. Some seek to develop community. Some make goals to memorize Quran. And the list goes on and on. But an answer you rarely hear from our leaders is “introspection,” something a lot of us end up doing anyway. Sure, we’re asked to reflect on our sins and seek forgiveness, but we never talk about extending that forgiveness to ourselves. “When we think about worship, we think about submission...but there’s also an internal spiritual self that needs taking care of,” Ahmed explains. Yet our focus is pulled in so many different directions over the course of 30 days. Decorating, planning iftars (the fast-breaking meal), memorizing Quran, attending Taraweeh, and on top of that, maintaining our normal work or school schedules. It’s a grueling marathon made all the more difficult by having to move in a world that looks at Muslims sideways simply for existing.
I’d love to blame non-Muslims for all of this but really, Ramadan has always had a bit of a branding problem. We don’t have a mascot like all of the other holidays; there is nothing to put a smiling face on 30 days of Hunger Games. (No disrespect to Rafiq the Ramadan date palm tree, who is a mascot for the under-five group.) Without some sort of hyper-commercialized gloss over it, non-Muslims can only understand Ramadan through the portrayals already in front of them, and it’s not like the nuances of faith made it into any episodes of Homeland. (If you are looking for a show about Muslims that isn’t about terrorism, I recommend We Are Lady Parts. And as far as Ramadan goes, Ahmed points out there's an entire “micro-economy” around this holiday dominated mostly by women of color who sell dates, decorations, Eid outfits, and even Ramadan trees!) But instead of helping us string up some cute Ramadan lights, folks want to scuritinize religious fasting anew despite being able to mind their own when former Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey was doing it as a wellness habit. “I had a teammate who told me once what I was doing was unhealthy and it's like please, no one asked you," Ahmed recalls. Particularly as we prepare for the fast, Muslims are inundated with outside opinions on our entire belief system and all of its flaws. “The world is not where it was 30 years ago, but we should be further along,” Ahmed explains. “People know what Ramadan is. People know who Muslims are. I just don’t think they’ve learned that we’re not monolithic.” While I’d love to argue with and educate every person who clings to the monolith, I try to follow my mother’s advice: God doesn’t need you to play defense. (But find me on the wrong day, and you will catch these holy hands, I promise you that.) “We are not new to this. We know ourselves, and I know myself well enough at 45 to handle it. Do I get tired? Yes. But I get tired anyway. Like, the point is just because you’re uninformed doesn’t mean that we are,” Ahmed says. I’m sure this year, I’ll ask myself once again why I’m doing any of this—and because I’m hangry, I won’t have an answer. But in my current satiated and clear-headed state, the answer seems painfully obvious: because it’s what I believe.  Shannon Melero is a Bronx-born writer on a mission to establish borough supremacy. She covers pop culture, religion, and sports as one of feminism's final frontiers.  BEFORE YOU GO Know better, do better. Artist and author Huda Fahmy writes some of the funniest comic strips about the Muslim experience. She also put together a handy How-To on making workplaces more accommodating for Muslim employees.  Copyright © 2022 by Huda Fahmy. All rights reserved.  FOLLOW THE METEOR    Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
"Our bodies are not public domain"
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No images? Click here  March 30, 2022 It’s hump day and what a week it’s been already. I know I’m not alone when I say I don’t think any of us will soon forget the incident at Sunday's Oscars. Obviously, I’m talking about the grand larceny that was Billie Eilish winning best original song over Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “Dos Oruguitas.” It’s absolutely absurd! Other than that, it was a pretty boring show. (Just kidding, we’ll get to the other thing in a minute.) In today’s newsletter, we’re talking about the Biden administration’s brand-spanking-new budget (weird how you can budget when you’ve got no money). This one is of particular interest as it omits the Hyde Amendment, opening the door to federal funding for abortions. It’s the second time President Biden has made this move—but with all of the anti-abortion legislation at the state level, what’s it really mean? Julianne Escobedo Shepherd will tell you! But first, let’s get newsy with it. —Shannon Melero  WHAT'S GOING ON
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—SM  YOUR TAX DOLLARS, YOUR BODYDems, Put Your Money Where Your Mouth IsFederally funded abortion is in the 2023 budget, so let's make sure it stays that wayBY JULIANNE ESCOBEDO SHEPHERD  PRESIDENT AND OMB DIRECTOR SHALANDA YOUNG PASSING AROUND THIS YEAR'S BUDGET SPREADSHEET. (PHOTO BY ANNA MONEYMAKER VIA GETTY IMAGES) President Biden released his 2023 budget this week and in a bit of *good* news for humankind, it includes a provision that omits the Hyde Amendment and allows federal funds for anyone seeking an abortion. This is the second time since Biden took office that he’s included this directive, and while it got axed last year thanks to one single man (take a wild guess, his name rhymes with “overexpansion”), it’s an important statement about protecting the right to abortion in a year when states across the country are effectively banning the procedure, and will likely see the gutting of Roe v. Wade. A quick history of the Hyde Amendment: First passed in 1976 after its introduction by the virulent anti-abortion Congressman Henry Hyde, it barred federal funds—that is, Medicaid and Medicare—from being allocated towards abortion. Its legality was challenged for several years, and so it didn’t take effect until 1980 when the all-male Supreme Court declared it constitutional by a 5-4 split—promptly leading to over four decades of struggle for people who need the procedure, but might not be able to afford it. Unsurprisingly, Hyde impacts low-income women of color most of all. And that unfair economic burden is what Biden is taking aim at in his budget proposal, which touts “bold commitments to advance women’s economic security, gender-based violence prevention and response, and sexual and reproductive health and rights both at home and around the world.” The proposal isn’t perfect. It provides $400 million to Title X family planning to “improve overall access to vital reproductive and preventive health services and advance gender and health equity” (great!), but the word “abortion” is nowhere to be seen (not great; it’s a simple medical procedure, people). And there are other, larger issues with the budget—an astronomical, 700% increase in funding for ICE, for instance, as well as giant bumps for police and military spending—all of which can make it feel like its basic support for women, LGBTQIA+ people, and families is all Oliver Twist begging with an empty bowl. (Please sir, may I have some childcare?) Besides, Shmoe Shmansion is still on his warpath to sink any legislation that might actually help people—including this Title X allocation, where he’s likely to reintroduce Hyde yet again. But still, it’s important. The move was praised by leaders like Rep. Ayanna Pressley, who called Hyde “racist and discriminatory” (it is), and Planned Parenthood President Alexis McGill Johnson who, in a statement, called the budget “an essential opportunity to underscore the administration’s values.” Amid a countrywide crisis for reproductive rights, Biden’s stand against Hyde signals to those of us who believe in equal healthcare that we still have some ground in this fight. Not to be all “call your Congressional representative,” but—call your Congressional representative! And if anyone asks, Joe Manchin’s number is (202) 224-3954. Thank you!  Julianne Escobedo Shepherd is a Wyoming-born Xicana journalist and editor who lives in New York. She is currently at work on a book for Penguin about her upbringing and the mythology of the American West.  ONE LAST TIMEPlease Scrub This Year’s Oscars From My BrainBY SHANNON MELERO  THE ONLY PERSON WHOSE OPINION TRULY MATTERS IN ALL OF THIS. (PHOTO BY MYUNG CHUNG VIA GETTY IMAGES) As you may have heard a few thousand times, on Sunday, 16 million people watched as Will Smith arose from his front-row seat at the Oscars, walked on stage, and slapped Chris Rock after Rock made an insensitive joke directed at Jada Pinkett Smith—who has been living with alopecia for four years. That brief exchange has stretched into three days’ worth of discourse, covering every nook and cranny of the moment. The slap has meant different things to different people—with some seeing it as an example of toxic masculinity, others seeing a deserved response to a bad joke, and some questioning why a joke so entrenched in misogynoir had to be made at all. Since Sunday, Smith has apologized, and Jada has posted a new Instagram tile about healing. It sounds like we’re all just about ready to move forward from this. However, this incident was precipitated by a cruel, ableist joke at the end of the day, which is an element worth highlighting. Alopecia is an autoimmune disorder that attacks a person’s hair follicles, resulting in hair loss, and it is, in fact, a disability—one that disproportionately affects Black women. So while the broadcast spent an evening celebrating one groundbreaking depiction of disability (the film CODA, about a Deaf white family), another was being mocked—and it's possible that everyone in that room (including Will Smith) would have laughed and moved on if it hadn't exploded into a spectacle. Of all the voices that had something to say (and nearly everyone said something), let’s end it with the words of Congresswoman Ayanna Pressley, another Black woman living with alopecia. “Our bodies are not public domain,” she wrote in a tweet Monday. “They are not a line in a joke—especially when the transformation is not of our choosing.”  Instead of sharing another slap meme, why not share this newsletter with your friends! FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? 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The long known truth behind the KBJ hearings
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No images? Click here  March 26, 2022 Hey Meteor readers! This week has been a living how it started/how it's going meme. It began with the historic confirmation hearings to confirm Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson to the Supreme Court—hearings in which the most qualified and brilliant nominee in years was made to rebuke a pasty melange of Republicans who used their time to racistly invoke spurious and dangerous lies about her record. And the week ended with the revelation that sitting Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas's wife Ginni was (BIG GULP OF AIR) texting deranged QAnon conspiracy theories supporting overturning the 2020 election to Mark Meadows, Trump's chief of staff, around the same time that Trump was hoping SCOTUS would help him… overturn the election. We've got a lot more on all this in the news, and after that, Rebecca Carroll writes about Judge Jackson's exceptionality and whether her confirmation hearings may have woken white America up to the double standard Black women endure every day. —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd  WHAT'S GOING ON
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—JES  KETANJI BROWN JACKSONOn Being Twice as Good to Get Half as MuchBlack women could have predicted what KBJ went through. So why are so many people surprised?BY REBECCA CARROLL  THE FACE OF A WOMAN WHO HAS HAD ENOUGH (PHOTO BY CHIP SOMODEVILLA VIA GETTY IMAGES) Last week, during the Senate confirmation hearings for Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson, after hours of watching the relentless, shameless and openly racist baiting by white male senators of the country’s first Black woman Supreme Court nominee, I posted a tweet: The way that a Black woman in America can be as highly, hyper educated, intelligent, elegant, skilled, experienced and qualified as KBJ and still be treated like this by white men on national television. It’s not even symbolic. It’s a glaring body of evidence. I didn’t feel as though I was saying anything special or new. I’m a Black woman in America who has not only experienced this kind of racism and misogyny, but has made it my life’s work to call it out in everything I make and do. In fact, I have said or written some iteration of what’s in that tweet literally dozens of times, to varying levels of response. I said it when I first started in magazine journalism, and my ideas were passed over for the less-developed ones of my white peers. I said it when Michelle Obama was in the White House, constantly tested and scrutinized by the media despite the fact that she showed up more graceful, poised, and magnanimous than it was perhaps reasonable to expect. I said it on my podcast Billie Was a Black Woman, for this reason exactly—because Billie Holiday, among the most influential jazz singers of all time, was a Black woman, and as such, was relentlessly targeted and pursued by the FBI all the way to her grave. This is the same historical double-burden of racism and sexism that Jackson, among the most qualified Supreme Court nominees in the history of this country, is experiencing today. I’ve seen this. I know this. Not new. But this time, for whatever reason, it struck a chord. Over the first 48 hours, the tweet was liked nearly 170,000 times and retweeted by over 30,000 people—including, I might add, white male political figures Robert Reich and Howard Dean. All of which mystifies me. Why now? How can you say a thing a thousand times and not have it truly be heard until the thousandth time? Is it just an algorithm? Was it the collective witnessing of what Judge Jackson had gone through? Event television? And mostly, I wondered: Will this change anything for Black women?
Some comments on the tweet, not surprisingly, were from fellow Black women who knew all too well what we were witnessing as we watched Senator Lindsey Graham bitterly interrogate Jackson, and callously speak over her answers, while palpably seething with resentment over her sheer presence. For many of those women, it evoked that famous scene from Scandal, when Papa Pope tells his already exceedingly successful grown Black daughter, Olivia, that she has to be “twice as good as them to get half what they have!” One Black woman in the comments put it a bit differently, tweeting: “We have to be better than the best.” And in Judge Jackson’s case, “better than the best” isn’t an exaggeration. By definition and anyone’s standard — including the white one — she is the living, breathing embodiment of the best. Judge Jackson went to Harvard University (magna cum laude) and Harvard Law (cum laude), became a judge in the U.S. Court of Appeals, a Supreme Court clerk, and a public defender. There’s no “best” for her to be “better” than.  LINDSEY GRAHAM, A DISGRACE TO LINDSEYS EVERYWHERE (PHOTO BY SCOTT APPLEWHITE VIA GETTY IMAGES) And that’s it right there. The hearings weren’t just about the way that white America continues to move the goalposts for success when it comes to Black women (and all people of color); it’s about the way it unrepentantly steals words and lynches language in actual plain sight. We aren’t just forbidden from being “the best,” we are simply not allowed to have or hold the word and its meaning. And if we try, especially in public, white America will snatch it right out of our exhaustively achieved grasp. This week made that reality visible. Because it wasn’t just Black women and other Black folks and people of color who responded to my tweet — white people, lots of them, tweeted comments like, “Those Senators make me ashamed to be a white man.” Some responses felt genuine, others performative. Either way, clearly some (most?) white people are just starting to understand the kind of racism we endure all the time—because they were seeing the evidence. They, and all of us, were watching it right in front of our eyes. I’m still not sure Why Now, but I’m also not that interested in speculating about why white people do what they do; I’m more interested in us and in finding our harbingers of hope. And the reactions did give me a glimmer of hope. Two years into our so-called “racial reckoning”—more a phrase than an actual change—it felt to me this week as if people might actually be reckoning. But there’s no real victory in the simple acknowledgment that racism exists. I will feel victorious when Judge Jackson is.  Rebecca Carroll is a writer, cultural critic, and podcast creator/host. Her writing has been published widely, and she is the author of several books, including her memoir, Surviving the White Gaze. Rebecca is editor at large at The Meteor.  ONE MORE THINGNicole Chung on Having “The Talk”The racism talk, not the sex talkBY SHANNON MELERO  Few things terrify me more than the thought of parenting. I watch all of the parents in my life, and I am astounded and filled with equal amounts awe and fear. How does anyone stay sane while navigating the boss-level Mario Kart map that is being a parent? Particularly parents of color, who have the added responsibility of explaining complex concepts like structural racism, respectability politics, and police procedure to children under 10, because to delay such a conversation is a life-altering risk? On this week’s episode of UNDISTRACTED, author Nicole Chung shared her story of being a transracial adoptee and parenting her own daughter, now 14, amid a surge in anti-Asian hate crimes. “I think we were always going to have these conversations” about violence against Asian women, Chung said on the episode. “Not just because she’s old enough to get news alerts on her phone, but because we’ve always had these conversations… I still feel that parental urge to want to protect her or to just like, keep her safe at home where nothing could happen.” It made me think back to my own teen years and whether or not my mother and I ever had such a talk or how we would have even started it. My family covers a wide racial spectrum, from our Afro-Latino elders to my one cousin on my grandfather’s side, who is full Irish. When you’re a kid seeing this assortment at family functions, it’s as if racism has been magically solved. So my mom had to take a very different approach. Sparing you the details (gotta save something for the memoir), there were many things we never talked about because we had lived through them, and really when life Stone Cold stuns you in the face with a hard lesson, what’s the point in conversation? But I’ll never forget the conversation we had when she was dropping me off at college for my freshman year—the first time we would ever be so far apart from each other. “These white girls are going to be different than what you’re used to,” she said. I attended a predominantly white institution and had already met my new white roommate via Facebook. “They’re raised different. I don’t want you picking up their habits. And remember, you already have three strikes against you. You’re Latina, you’re a woman, and you believe in God. So you need to be careful.” And as much as I hate to admit it, my mother was right. The women I met and lived with were different, and I struggled. When assimilation failed me, I leaned into the unspoken segregation on my campus. I joined the Latino Student Union, Black Student Union, Caribbean Student Association, and even the Asian Student Association—just to fill up the week with people who understood to some degree what I was going through. My weekends were devoted to hockey games and parties with my white friends because, despite our differences, I didn’t want to totally cut them out. It also helped that with a few strokes of a flatiron I could blend in with any white crowd (just not during the summer). And maybe that’s part of why my mother was able to skip some of these conversations: I easily pass, and I was born a people pleaser. But eventually, my turn will come to have a small human, and if I remember seventh-grade genetics correctly, they’ll look like my husband and won’t pass as I do. And even though I’m nowhere near parenthood, I’m already trying to figure out how to have a useful talk with my future kid about race. I reckon that once the big moment comes, I’ll feel much like Chung, who told host Brittany Packnett Cunningham, “The adult you, with the adult perspective… You look back on these moments you experienced, many of them before you had the tools or the vocabulary or the support or the community or whatever it is you needed to kind of deal with it…and it really messes you up a little bit.” One thing I am certain of is that I will be repeating Chung’s advice to her own child published in the Atlantic: “If there are those who do not consider your life precious, I hope that you can always feel assured of your own immense worth and your absolute right to be safe. You deserve to be safe. We all deserve to be safe.” For more of Nicole and Brittany’s conversation, listen here.  UNDISTRACTED IS SPONSORED BY:  MAILCHIMP IS AN ALL-IN-ONE MARKETING PLATFORM FOR GROWING BUSINESSES. Mailchimp helps millions of customers around the world to start and grow their businesses with world-class marketing technology, award-winning customer support, and inspiring content. Millions of businesses and individuals – from community organizations to Fortune 100 companies – trust Mailchimp to help them connect with their audience with the right message, at the right time, in the right place.  FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays. |
