Oh, Upworthy! You inspire me, then let me down.
As an admirer of the work Upworthy does, I have applied for a position there more than once. My goal in doing so was to see a focus on adoption and its impact on children. Adult adoptees have a unique perspective on adoption to share. There are various blogs and articles as well as the electronic magazine Gazillion Voices, but not much on Upworthy until this.
The story about Kim Kelley-Wagner has splashed all over my Facebook page and my Twitter feed; she lives in Charlottesville, a city we still consider our original home. At first glance, I was ambivalent. I felt that these words were powerful in the hands of a 13-year-old, that it spoke to people to know how insensitive the general public is on transracial adoption. But the more I delved into it, the more upset I became.
As a parent, I know I have made many mistakes. I caught criticism from a recent article I wrote for The Good Men Project as well as the same article on xoJane. This article was based on a photography project I had started on feminism. Upon seeing the comments, I wondered if I had made a grave mistake in writing the piece and including my son. Understand that I did not get paid to write that article, nor do I use my photographs as a means to advertise a business. For me, my writing and my photographs are vehicles for activism.
Activism was my initial thought in the Kelley-Wagner Images post, until I realized that her post was posted from her photography business page! While it may not have been her intention, Kelley-Wagner appeared to be using her children as advertising props.
Maybe I was blinded by another post by an adoptive parent (Rage Against the Minivan) of other transracial adoptees that had hit the internet around the same time. Her photographs of her transracial adopted children copying an ad for the Gap again seemed like a promotional stunt. Again, this site is this mother’s business site. She sells t-shirts and advertising.
Back to Kelley-Wagner, had her photographs not been on her business site, I might have been persuaded on some level. But as a mother, I still have a problem with them. I would understand the project if it were prompted by the 13-year-old, but had not included the 7-year-old. In my mind, it should be written in the hand of the receiver of the comments. If the comments were said to the mother and the 7-year-old, the mother should be standing in the frame with her daughter to show solidarity.
Now, my friend who is both an adoptee and an adoptive parent asked me why the mother should be in the photograph. She felt the images had more impact with the sad children’s faces. She also pointed out that the mother took the photographs. As an art photographer, I can state that a photographer has the means to take self-portraits. Also, as an “art photographer” and not a “commercial photographer,” I do not sell my images. They are a means for my activism; they are an essential part of my being. Selling them would be selling my soul. If you ask my subjects, you will know that they receive a copy of their photographs.
There is a fine line in activism. While activists do not gain monetary riches, we gain pleasure in knowing we might have touched just one life and made it better.
As an artist, I respect these women’s images and therefore am not sharing either of their photographs, as they belong to their businesses. You may view them via the links above.
Showing posts with label Upworthy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Upworthy. Show all posts
11 March 2014
09 March 2014
What’s in a name?
This video really spoke to me via Upworthy:
I recalled my father’s early days in Tennessee. “Enrique” was hard to say, so he always told people to just call him “Jim.” So, all the newspaper clips read “Jim Gonzalez.”
I recalled my father’s early days in Tennessee. “Enrique” was hard to say, so he always told people to just call him “Jim.” So, all the newspaper clips read “Jim Gonzalez.”
This video got me thinking, and of course, when I think, I tweet:
The changing of names. #Whiteout. My dad went from “Enrique” to “Jim.” HT @RococoCocoa
http://t.co/7DOmHonRm4 #American
— mothermade (@mothermade) March 8, 2014
Always mispronounced my name. “Roserita” “Rosalita” “Rosetta” It’s hard to #Whiteout a Puerto Rican name. #adoption
— mothermade (@mothermade) March 8, 2014
BTW, it’s Rosita … and no you can’t call me “Rosie.” #Whiteout
— mothermade (@mothermade) March 8, 2014
My tweets feed into the Facebook account which I maintain for my friends and not the general public. The last tweet brought a flurry of conversation. Unfortunately, not everyone had read the entire thread.
Commenters tried to console me by letting me know that they too suffered from the name shortening. When I tried to explain the entire thread, a commenter asked this question: “Is everything about race to you?”
I responded this way:
“Race is a huge part of me. Not just my Korean self but my Puerto Rican self too. I don’t expect you to know that, but I do expect you to try and understand that. Again, I have been called ‘Roserita, Rosalita, Risotto …’ then, when I correct them, I have been asked, ‘Can I just call you “Rosie”?’ I hate shortened names for that very reason. My children’s names were chosen to be short so they couldn’t be butchered. (But alas, they have been shortened even further.) I get that people like to shorten names often as a expression of familiarity, but that hasn’t always been the case for me. I have had new acquaintances ask to call me ‘Rosie’ and I have accepted that politely … ”
The conversation continued both on my Facebook page and in messenger. The commenter continued that my full Puerto Rican name was as “American” as his. I responded that this is very dependent on what our definition of “American” is. I explained that, to me, the melting pot was a middle class fallacy.
I doubt my commenter understands that I am profiled and assumed by many just on the basis of my name. This commenter’s name is as generic as John Doe. It is difficult for me to explain my experience to someone who has never experienced what I have. My British husband realized this early in our relationship. When we lived in Tennessee and began our hunt for a new apartment to share, I would call and leave a message about a place leaving my name. No one called me back. Then, he would call the same number, and he would immediately get a call back.
If you have followed me for some time, you know how idyllic my life was in Virginia. I had two very dear Asian friends, my kids had friends who resembled them racially. Our community was less segregated, and I was blissful in my everyday life, but there were hints of a longing for an identity. This commenter met me during this time in my life. I was the model minority. Married to a white man, living in a middle class home and going about my daily life as a mother … that was how I was living. I wasn’t questioning the injustices that most likely happened all around me. I was white by default … having a white mother, a white family and white friends.
The commenter’s final words were these: “… it does concern me that you’re so obsessed with race; I think this obsession is a self-defeating waste of energy.” He’s confused. Trust me, I’m still confused, but clarity is coming. My children are the catalysts for change, that is why I spend my time and energy writing about race and adoption.
It seems the further I distance myself from my white identity, the more I am called, “angry.” As long as I stay silent about the prejudices I feel and experience, the less threatened others feel. But why should they feel threatened? I am not angry, but frustrated and motivated to change how we are viewed.
I cope with my racial identity, adopted children cope, my children cope. But why should we just cope? I want to see our communities recognize and address racial inequities instead of saying “It’s better.” I think it is time for those in places of power to cope with the realities of race.
As my fifth grade teacher taught me, “Good, Better, Best … never let it rest, ’til the good is better, and the better is BEST.”
Labels:
American,
angry,
Daddy,
define,
discrimination,
father,
identity,
language,
model minority,
name,
Puerto Rican,
Puerto Rico,
racism,
Upworthy,
white
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)