HERstory

Of Course You Can, If You're Not An Idiot

I remember attending a party once, where I met someone who was so offensive, I had to restrain myself from hurting him with the very pointy-toed boots I had chosen to wear on that grey, frozen day. As soon as "offensive" had ascertained that I was desi, his eyes lit up and he looked at me mischievously.

“I know a lot of Indians…” he said proudly.  “That’s why I can talk like this!”

He had affected his best attempt at what can only be termed “Apu: the accent as done by a white boy”. He punctuated his declaration by laughing uproariously at his own “talent”.  I looked at him with malicious intent. 

“That’s not funny.  At all.  And I would prefer that you never did that again, around me or any other sentient being, for that matter.” 

What he had done thus far was more than enough to merit a vicious front-kick to the nads, but astonishingly, he wasn’t done.

He cocked his head to the side and replied, “But I have to—whenever I go in to a 7-11 if I don’t talk like them, they don’t understand me.  Besides, they like it.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Sure they do, I can tell!” 

And with that, the troglodyte left me to run off and torment someone who had just walked through the door. 

What kind of douche bag is dumb enough to think that you have to speak to someone first-gen with the worst possible imitation of their accent?  You’d be amazed.

:+:

Via Wonkette and Hotline.

In thanking a young Indian-American man for the support of his Indian-American group, Sen. Biden touts how Indians are the fastest growing immigrant group in Delaware and says,

“You cannot go into a 7-11 or a Dunkin Donuts without an Indian accent.”

GDI, with no hope for relocation

you know why i can't join the party of my parents, the party of kennedy, the party of the loyal opposition?  because certain "liberal" assholes make it impossible for me to stomach the thought of being a democrat with them. 

i've said it before and i'll say it again, the sick thing about d.c. about the humans whom i know is that the conservatives, in some bizarre and unexpected way are more tolerant than the liberals.  when i interviewed on the hill, the GOP offices i applied at looked at my internship at my local dem congressman's office and paused before realizing that he was my LOCAL congressman, that i was working for the people of my district.  fine.  no harm, no attitude. no excessive questions to determine what manner of snake i might be.

unbelievably, it was the DEMOCRATS who gave me snide shittiness for working for CA Gov Pete Wilson, nevermind the fact that i did so for my POL 192a class at Davis and he was the Guber in office at the time. "how do we know you're trustworthy?  no matter, we could never work with someone who worked with him!" no opportunity to explain, no willingness to consider such words even if i had been allowed to speak them.  i didn't understand the disparity between those two reactions then and i've made no progress in reconciling it now. so, stuck in the middle i'll remain, an avowed independent who is a political prisoner in solitary confinement, jailed by two mammals whom i equally detest.

solidarity?  only if you consummately endorse everything they agree with...if you want to work against a death penalty which slaughters people with melanin who probably had poor representation, then you'd better not reveal that you don't mind intelligent design.  all or nothing, a borderline political disorder, which would be a funny metaphor if it weren't so painfully true.  if you don't raise your brown fist alongside these voices of reason, then you're acting white, you're a shitty conservative, you're uncle tom, you're a victim of your own self-hatred, you're the elitist oppressor, YOU'RE WRONG AND THUS, SUB-HUMAN. 

i'm disappointed that there is no respect for other views or thoughts, but i'm more disappointed in cowardly actions like the one which inspired this post, a rant i am so passionate about, i dusted off my main podium HERstory to deliver it, because this isn't some desultory tidbit about my day; there is no bravery when it comes to people who leave anonymous comments on my personal blog, people who earnestly agitate for the right things via their own well-known political blogs, people whom i would be kind to, whom i respect, who repay such courtesies by dissing and dismissing me solely because i'm not like them.  yeah, that's tolerance i will not be a party to, tolerance that i choose to live without.

Look into the mirror, who's inside there?

Anna,

Have you gained weight recently? You look fat in your pictures now. I saw you posted something about that recently, but you said only 7 pounds. Thats a lie right? I mean, of course it is. Its at least 14 pounds. (You have to figure Anna is not going to tell the truth anyway.)

Posted by: Fava | March 29, 2005 08:00 AM

:+:

i may be "fat", but you're ugly.

thanks to your pointless immaturity via-comments-section, the entire world knows how foul you are now. who do you think looks worse?

your drive-by-insulting surprised me and yes, stung a wee bit. i'm human, no matter what you might think of me. but you knew that on some level b/c you knew it would make me recoil a bit to read what you left, and that's why you did it.

don't gloat too hard-- i was more confused than sad or infuriated. i am uncommonly honest with my readers, whom i am trusting enough to let in this space. i readily stated that i had gained weight, thanks to a crew of chefs that my company has thoughtfully retained to keep us happy and productive; it's part of the reason this is one of the top FIFTY companies in the U.S. to work for...i feel lucky to be here and so taken care of, i don't think that my body's natural reaction to strawberry shortcake on steroids or fresh coconut cream cake is anything to be ashamed of. my body works. what a blessing.

thousands of people are starving in refugee camps, thousands more who are children go blind every year b/c of malnutrition and a still larger number than the sum of the heartbreak above perished in december, when a wave of epic proportions came and swept them away, whether they were slender or corpulent. death see no body fat. if someone grim greets me tonight, i assure you that the last thing on my mind will be regret over the mezze and syrah i savoured last night. you bet your rude ass, i'll be grateful that i seized the delicious moment. life is for living, not weigh-ins or calorie-grubbing.

97 is hot because they'll burn in hell (now with links)

i stopped listening to the radio today. i heard something that stole my breath, it was so despicable. painfully, it came from the radio station in new york city that i once loved most, a radio station that i will never listen to again, if mocking world-changing tragedy in south and southeast asia is their idea of appropriate entertainment.

on this one-month death anniversary of almost three-hundred-thousand people, i ask for your attention, your compassion and your outrage.

go ahead, click that first link if you're somewhere where it's safe to listen. it's depraved, craven and unacceptable. that's exactly why you NEED to hear it. i will not let you be ostriches; not when it's this important. you are well within your rights to write off certain anti-indian shock-jock antics as obnoxious or juvenile, but using the humanitarian aid song "we are the world" to attack people who have suffered in ways we will never know, because of the tsunami...that's some next-level evil.

have you heard enough hatred? i have. and i have HAD IT.

i wouldn't stay with a boyfriend who called me "bitch" or otherwise disrespected me, so why on earth would i bruise my ears with the filth and degradation that seems to be far too ubiquitous lately? i don't care what you say, there is no difference, the situations are beyond analogous.

my late father once told me to "shake the dust" from my shoes and take nothing from an unwelcome town with me. those words are on an infinite loop in my head, as i stare at the list of companies that sponsored hate:

Sprint/Sprint PCS
Media Contact:
James Fisher, 202-585-1947
[email protected]

Popeyes
http://popeyes.com/corp_comm.asp
Popeye's parent company:
[email protected]

Reebok
Lisa Bartlett
[email protected]

Jennifer Hawkins
[email protected]

Reebok International Ltd.
PO Box 1060
Ronks, PA 17573

OR

Corporate Headquarters
Reebok International Ltd.
1895 J. W. Foster Boulevard
Canton, MA 02021
781-401-5000
ask for David Pace (atty) or Paul Fireman (CEO)

McDonald's
http://mcdonalds.com/contact/contact_us.html

Coca Cola:
The Coca-Cola Company
P.O. Box 1734
Atlanta, GA USA 30301
http://www.coke.net/webapps/pubinquiry/PublicInquiry
1-800-438-2653

Toyota
800-331-4331
800-443-4999 for TDD
6:00 AM - 6:00 PM Pacific Time, Monday - Friday

For calls originating outside the United States: 310-468-4000
7:00 AM - 5:30 PM Pacific Time, Monday - Friday

http://toyota.custhelp.com/cgi-bin/toyota.cfg/php/enduser/ask.php?

many of those names make my stomach hurt; i'm not lovin' it. when i think of every indian family that owns a toyota camry, corolla or a lexus anything, the bile begins to ascend. how many millions of dollars did we give toyota, before people who shared our DNA were ravaged by a natural disaster?

i can already see the words you want to fill my comments section with: it's not like toyota composed or sanctioned that "song", etc etc. not quite, but i haven't heard their apologies. i have not seen the obligatory statements that would distance them from this outrageous incident. like that email forward about the holocaust that went 'round the world enough times to end up in my inbox thrice, if you didn't speak up when you had the chance, if you didn't stand up for what is right, you are partially complicit.

i studied PR and campaign management. i know how this system works; they have no excuse. i've given them enough time. i didn't jump on this the moment it dropped, like i did with other notable shock-jock-idiocy.

if this were a song about black people, i'd have a list of press releases to link, from vice presidents who'd want to assure the public that their companies believe in "diversity". diversity doesn't protect other shades of brown, though, does it? that's the blunt, bullshit truth. gosh "miss jones", it's okay to hate on us b/c we think we're "superior", that's how this works, right? that's how you justify your relentless bigotry?

MLK fashioned his vision around the ideas of one small brown man, clad in homespun fabric. what would he say if he saw that his dream had disintegrated, the notion of "equality" has become crass and commercialized, a hallmark'd cliche to be thought of in terms of duty and not justice. what would he think when the epiphany levelled him--he wouldn't have a dream, today.

my inner cynic wonders if miss jones et al were jealous of star and bucwild's "triumphant" return to nyc radio, via Power105. they must have been so envious of all that negative, rat-eatin' publicity. well. hot97 sure showed us! wow, what a way to prove that skits could aim even lower.

my bullshit detector is exploding

How you livin', readers? Are you fine? Or are you just okay? More importantly, has your ire gone away?

Well get ready, I'm about to stir it up again. From the Philadelphia Inquirer:

WUSL-FM (Power 99) conceded yesterday that an on-air routine by morning shock jocks Star and Buc Wild was "racially inflammatory" and pulled an audio clip of it off the station Web site.

Community-affairs director Loraine Ballard Morrill, who has fielded more than 130 angry e-mails and phone calls, said the station reprimanded the employee who posted the clip on the Web...

Please understand-- I'm THRILLED that mainstream media is picking up on this very important story. I'm also heartened by the fact that Power99 is...um...starting to pay attention.

They are partially correct; the employee who chose to post that clip on the Power99 site wasn't wise to do so, and it is nice to see the station doing...something.

But something is not enough.

Power99 "conceded"? I don't need concessions, I need responsibility. Honour. Integrity. If Loraine Ballard Morrill was the ideal Community Affairs Director, she'd sincerely own the station's gaffe, she'd get it, she'd make amends. But nothing regarding this incident is ideal...

Morrill said station managers have had "extensive discussions" since learning about the clip Thursday with Star, whose real name is Troi Torain, and Buc Wild, his half-brother, Timothy Joseph.

Oh! So they actually took it up with Star? That's good to hear...

"It was made clear this is not acceptable, and it won't happen again," Morrill said.

Excellent. I'm sure the entire civilized world appreciates that.

...The employee who posted the clip on the Internet will undergo sensitivity training, she said. The station also planned to post an apology.

What the--?? The employee who posted the clip gets training? Of course he erred in judgment, but what about the misanthrope who created the content? Why isn't STAR getting training?

I'm not worried about some middling employee, I'm worried about the a$$hole who influences thousands of listeners in several cities.

She said the more serious matter was posting the clip on the Web site. "That probably made it a much more - just a worse situation. Then people could click on it and hear it. That was not cool... . He made a big ol' mistake in judgment."

..."Essentially [we're] apologizing for things on our Web site that were racially inflammatory and insensitive, saying, 'We took it off our Web site and it won't happen again.' "

This is a joke, right? She's not serious, is she?

Morrill is "essentially" saying that the problem was the clip's availability. So if a racist abuses someone in the forest, and no one is there to hear it...it doesn't exist? It's only wrong because they got CAUGHT?

Well then, I'm so grateful for a Power99 employee's stupidity-- were it not for that "mistake", this unconscionable prank would have gone unavenged. They are sorry for their website? Where is their "sorry" and consummate disavowal of Star's hatred, misogyny and racism?

I think Morrill and many of the good staffers at Power99 have their heads up their sphincters. They just don't get it.

Remember "it's the economy, stupid"? Well, it's the HATRED, stupid.

Unbelievable.

This isn't over...not even close.

this is a call.

Richard Lewis & Thea Mitchem
Power99 WUSL-FM
440 Domino Lane
Philadelphia, PA 19128

Dear Power99/Clear Channel/lowly radio intern,

How are you? I hope you are well rested and relaxed, that way the contents of this letter will be better absorbed. How am I? Why thank you for not asking! I’ll bluntly tell you; I am MAD.

Earlier this week, your prized morning “talent” Star thought it would be funny to call an Indian Customer Service agent for the sole purpose of threatening her with assault while verbally abusing her. His justification for this outrageous lack of decency was her race; she was foreign, "a rat-eater", potentially involved with outsourcing, and that made her okay to target.

Wrong.

This was inappropriate, disrespectful, violent and below you. It was below all of us. That didn’t stop you from publicizing a clip of Star’s verbal assault on your station’s website before hastily retracting it a few days ago.

Since you took the mp3 off of your site, you must be at least slightly aware that you were in trouble. Please allow me to dispel any confusion regarding this matter: you ARE in trouble. You are in trouble with me and every other good American.

Our soldiers are dying to protect our freedom and our values. Those values don’t include hate.

You can make amends.

You can take responsibility, and own your error in judgment.

You can reach out to the South Asian community and apologize for this unconscionable incident.

You can apologize to the woman that Star and his amoral crew harassed so wantonly.

You can discipline the DJ, as well as the staffers who perpetrated this revolting act.

You can clean up your own mess by airing PSAs that speak out against the ignorance and hate that YOUR programming may potentially incite.

I will conclude by stating that if you do not respond to this letter or its requests appropriately, you should consider yourself on notice: your unprincipled behavior will have social, public and fiscal ramifications and I swear to you, they will hurt. Stop the violence. Change starts with you.

With hope that you will do the right thing,

----------

listen: all you people who were or are moved by this bullshit situation, who think, "yeah...i should do something", right before you succumb to inertia and to-do lists and daily life...

that was for you.

you didn't even have to write a letter. i did it for you. now do something for me. do it for "steena" who suffered through Star's hatred for no reason. do it for your dad, because someone heckled him like that thirty-five years ago, when he came here to get rich for you. do it for your mom, who was afraid to wear indian things in new jersey, in 1987, for fear of attack from "dot-busters". do it for them all, i implore you.

however.

if you don't feel a familiar sadness whilst reading the paragraph i just wrote, if you are one of the lucky ones and you walk on streets paved with gold, and you live somewhere where it never rains, and you have always been accepted, respected and treated kindly...then may you always be so blessed. may one of us live in nirvana, where it is safe. may one of us not suffer the humiliation, the pain, the isolation that hatred brings. may one of us be so lucky.

so if you get some time in your golden, respect-laden nirvana, do it for those of us who aren't as fortunate.

do it for all of us.

in other words, do it for you.

try and choke ME, you punk.

Star, the infamous erstwhile morning host of NY's legendary Hot97 has inspired a wrath and rage within that i haven't felt in months.

now that his profane disrespect is syndicated in several cities including nearby philadelphia, this p.o.s. "radio personality" decided to threaten (with choking) and berate ("dirty rat-eating bitch") a helpless indian woman who was working at a call center for conair. "star" phoned her, broadcast their exchange on-air and offered her humiliation to his listeners as entertainment, while his staff laughed.

star: you do not get to abuse us for pleasure.

:+:

What we need is awareness,
we can't get careless
You say what is this?
My beloved, lets get down to business
Mental self defensive fitness

I'm ready and hyped plus I'm amped
Most of my heroes don't appear on no stamps

(Yo) bum rush the show
You gotta go for what you know
Make everybody see,
in order to fight the powers that be
Lemme hear you say...
Fight the Power
Fight the Power
Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
We've got to Fight the powers that be.

:+:

we must rage against the racist machine:

UPDATE! Sonjie DeCaires no longer works at Power99.
PLEASE address your correspondence to Richard Lewis and Thea Mitchem

Attention: Richard Lewis / Thea Mitchem
Power99 WUSL-FM
440 Domino Lane
Philadelphia, PA 19128

General/Business Line: 215.483.8900

Studio Hotlines:

Philly: 215.263.6699
Worldwide: 800.669.99FM

if you're too lazy to write your own damn piece of snail mail, you need coffee and better priorities. this call-to-fingers may be coming to you via new media, and email may be how you do what you do, but nothing beats the impact of a physical letter (or several hundred of them). put it in writing. then it's real.

also, though turbanhead said it in a much nicer way, don't write like an illiterate jAcKaSs (LoL!). this is not AIM.

this is important.

THIS is you, standing up for your mother (country, tongue, culture).

my ire shall continue (albeit with a more professional, less derivative tone) at Sepia Mutiny tomorrow...

YOUR ire should flow in the form of the aforementioned letter. if you blog, mo' better. where's your post on this? i'm calling you out...if you don't have something to tell your readers, like SAS said, don't come around here no more.

you see, we will not get respect by being quiet.

we will get respect when we demand it. so let the demands begin.

:+:

all praise to
the head turban,
cookie,
krusty and
the geometrist for telling me and the world...

i will remember you

"There are few more glaring cases of the developed world abusing the developing world and getting away with murder than Union Carbide's rape of Bhopal."
THE INDEPENDENT 29 August 2002

"Shortly after the incident, the Wall Street Journal's Barry Neuman wrote that Indians don't expect compensation for lives lost in the Bhopal poisonous gas leak because "the certainty of reincarnation satisfies the Hindus; for the Muslims, what God wills, God wills."
ABC NEWS 4 September 2002

.
.
.

Aziza barely survived; this is her story.

'I was living with my husband's family at that time. My daughter Ruby was 3 years old and my son Mohsin was about 8 months old. That night my husband was away from Bhopal on work. Our family consisted of my father and mother in law, two sisters in law and their husbands and their four children. Our house had four rooms - two pucca (brick/mortar/cement) rooms [in which doors and windows could be closed to prevent gas from entering] and two side rooms made of wooden slats [with a large opening below the roof that could not be closed to stop gas from entering]. I, my husband and our children had one of the side rooms. At that time television had just come to Bhopal and it was a Sunday. Our whole family watched a Hindi movie 'Damaad' [son-in-law] till 9pm then had dinner together and went to bed at about 10 pm. my children had gone to sleep long before the movie ended. The rest of the people in the community also went to bed around that time (nowadays because so many people have TV they stay up later.)

At about 12.30 am I woke to the sound of Ruby coughing badly. The room was not dark but lighted by a street light right outside. In the half light I saw that the room was filled with a white cloud. I heard a lot of people shouting. They were shouting 'bhago,bhago' (run,run). Then Mohsin started coughing too and then I started coughing with each breath seeming as if we were breathing in fire. Our eyes were burning too. My mother in law who was also coughing badly came in to the room. She was in apanic and bade us come out. I came out with my children, carrying Mohsin on my lap and holding Ruby's hand and went in to the kitchen. Meanwhile other members of the family were also coughing and groaning. They closed all the doors and windows to stop more gas from coming in. The room was already full of the white clouds. My mother in law was known in the community as a person ever ready to help people. A hindu family in our neighbourhood (Mr and Mrs Verma and their three children) knocked on our door, my father in law opened the door and they came inside in a rush and collapsed on the sofa [the sofa broke under the collective weight] . They said that the 'sardars' had done some mischief. [Sardars = sikhs. A month earlier Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had been assassinated by her sikh bodyguards for ordering an army attack on the Golden Temple at Amritsar. Her assasination was followed by large scale violence against sikhs all over the country by Congress supporters. Union Carbide later siezed on this rumour to try to divert blame for the calamity from itself. It claimed a non-existent 'sikh terrorist' movement called Black June had sabotaged the factory. Later the sikh terrorists became 'a disgruntled employee'.] Meanwhile people were becoming more and more uncomfortable. A lot of people were coming in. My nephew fell unconscious.

Next my son Mohsin stopped groaning as he too fell unconscious. My mother in law suggested that all of us should go to the hamidia hospital. We left the house. me carrying Mohsin and Ruby holding my hand. My sister in law was also holding two children and my father in law was carrying his favourite grandson who was five years old. It was very cold outside but we were not feeling cold at all. We went out in the clothes (night gown) we were sleeping in with nothing else to cover ourselves. Not even our dupattas or burquas were with us. It was around 1.30 am by then. We did not even lock the house, Nothing mattered. Outside it appeared that a large number of people had passed that way. Lots of shoes and shawls and other clothing were strewn about. White clouds had enveloped everything. Streetlights looked like points of light. Our family got split up. My sisters in law ran in a different direction and the rest of us went towards the main street. I saw lots and lots of people running, screaming for help, vomiting, falling down, unconscious. There were a few vehicles. We had gone about five hundred meters when my father in law thought that it would be easier to escape on his two wheeler moped. He asked us to stay where we were and went back for the vehicle. He brought the moped but it would not start, there was no gas. He left the two wheeler by the side of the road. Then he spotted a moving truck and told us to climb on to it. We could not climb on to it but he was tall and strong so he got in, but instead of taking five year old Mansoor (his grandson, my husbands elder brother's son) with him he took another child who was running around with him on the truck. Mohsin and my sister in law's daughter were still unconscious. Ruby was holding on to my kurta (she did not leave it once). We walked for another 500 meters and came to Bhopal Talkies crossing. Mohsin was vomiting on my body. Ruby was also vomiting. I was not able to control my bowels. Faeces were running down my legs. My mother in law was vomiting. She was a heart patient and Hamidia hospital was still two kilometers away much of it uphill. We had just one thought in mind and that was to reach Hamidia hospital. At Bhopal Talkies crossing we all had fallen on the ground. I was two months pregnant at the time. I had a miscarriage right in the middle of the street, my body was covered with blood. There was blood all over. I was unable to control my bowels and the faeces ran down my legs, mixing with the blood.

We were not able to talk to each other or even see because our eyes were inflamed. We were wondering what had happened, who had done it. Till then we had no knowledge that there was a gas leak from Union Carbide. We thought that if we stayed on at Bhopal Talkies crossing we would surely all die because we had seen so many people lying on the ground who appeared to be dead. Trucks overflowing with people were passing on the main road . We took the Saifia College road and walked about half a kilometer. We jumped on to a moving vehicle, a large three wheeler, going slowly because it was uphill. It was already full. By then I was covered with my own blood and faeces and vomit from my children. I fell on to some man's lap inside the vehicle. The vehicle gave away at the top of the hill. The engine collapsed because there were too many people. We started walking again towards Hamidia hospital. We reached Hamidia hospital at about 2 am - 2.30 am. there was nobody around so we went towards Kamla Park (the new city) because everyone seemed to be running that way. Mohsin was still unconscious Ruby still holding onto my kurta.

We reached the lake and found the park separating the upper and lower lakes was covered with people on the ground. People from nearby areas were taking out their quilts and covers and covering people up so that they could be protected from the gas cloud. We (my sister in law, mother in law and four chidren) fell on to a pile of dried leaves near a garbage dump and all of us fell unconscious. I remember faintly that two men came and lifted me and my children and carried us to the side of the road and covered me with a quilt. We lay there for a while and then we heard an announcement on a public address system on a jeep. They were saying “we are in control of the gas leak from union carbide. Go back to your houses.” By then it was almost dawn. One man about 35 years old from the locality took us to his home. Our eyes were closed and were very swollen. We were still feeling as if someone was trying to strangle us, breathing was very difficult. This man gave me clothes to wear and some hot water to wash myself. He made us some tea but we could not drink because our throats were on fire. Soon it was morning but we were helpless because of our eyes. The man and his 17-18 year old son brought us home, They also gave us a bottle of drinking water.

When we reached home we saw that trees had shed all their leaves and looked as if they had been burnt. Milk had turned light green and we threw it away. All food left was also thrown away. At about 8 am we heard that people were running away from Bhopal. My mother and brother had come to see me at night and not finding me at home had feared that maybe I was dead. They came back again but then there was fresh panic because of this rumour about leaving Bhopal. I left with my mother and brother and we went to a relative's place far away from the factory. My mother and brother were less affected than us. Unlike me and others in my family, they could keep their eyes open and they held my hand and carried my two children. We reached our relatives' place around 10.30 AM on December 3. They called their family doctor who put in eye drops and gave us some pills. We could not eat anything, my son Mohsin wasn't even suckling on my breast. All of us stayed in the relatives' place till the next evening when we reached home. By then my husband had come back. He was away in Jaipur and had got the news of the disaster on the radio on the 3rd evening. He was worried that we may have died. He had gone to Jaipur as a chauffeur for a businessman and his family. He drove all the way back from Jaipur in a rush. By the 4th evening volunteer doctors were moving from house to house giving medicines and we got some treatment for them.

.
.
.

twenty years ago, innocent people were slaughtered, tortured and mutilated so brutally that their experience belongs in horror movies. union carbide/dow has never cleaned up their factory, which still leaks poison into the groundwater; the CEO who was employed at the time lives lavishly in the hamptons while he laughs at extradition attempts from india, and speaking of, the indian government hasn't exactly avenged 20,000 lost people either. this was a catastrophic failure on all levels.

the quotes that i commenced this post with make me seethe; if this debacle had happened in the first world, in a christian place, the reactions would have been swift and powerful. i don't think anyone would have had the unmitigated gall to say, "well, God willed it, and besides, even though they burned, had spontaneous abortions, and suffered terribly before dying, well, it's okay because they're in a better place."

twenty years ago might as well be today; the "survivors" of Bhopal still miscarry, have problems breathing and otherwise suffer before they die (usually of cancer).

may their memories be eternal.

may her memory be eternal.

may her death be recognised.

may another father never bury his baby girl in the tainted dirt, only to brush away the dust over her face, because he can't bear to bury her, he doesn't believe he must say good-bye.

never again. please, G-d. never again.

where is the love?

HERstory Comments

What happened to the Amor album?

Posted by: R | August 23, 2004 08:45 PM
.
.
.
dear "badger" or whomever the fuck you are,

i can't believe i have to even write this. i can't believe this has happened to me. i can't believe that you hate me this much.

i have suffered for WEEKS now, in silence mostly, b/c revealing what you are doing would just open me up to ridicule, b/c let's face it, no one would believe the story i am about to reluctantly tell. this is the sort of shit that occurs in soap operas, and not just any soap opera, this is like that surreal, "Passions" bullshit that leaves you derisively incredulous. i just write these little diary posts each day and i allude to "dissolving in saltwater" or being "upset". i never give a reason, and my dear, loyal friends don't ask, b/c they respect the famed "80/20" rule (80% of my life is private, 20% of my life gets blogged).

respect.

there isn't a cell in your cursed, hell-bound body that comprehends such a concept.

you didn't have to respect me.
you didn't have to respect my relationship.
you didn't even have to respect my ex-boyfriend, with whom you might just be psychotically besotted.

all i hoped for, before i knew what i needed to hope for, was that you would respect my privacy.

i am no angel. i want to declare that, emphatically, right now. i have done many things that i am utterly ashamed of, things which perplex me now. i have hurt people. i have pried. i have nonchalantly filtered through their private lives as if i were trying out for the CIA. i have even read someone's diary, b/c i couldn't resist it...

but i have NEVER,

EVER

taken the information i gleaned, and attempted to destroy someone with it.

you fucking whore. you psychopath. you misguided, meddling, succubus. you deserve the sort of torture that saddam hussein once condoned; they should coat your pus-oozing, fetid body with honey, or blood and let rabid rottweilers who have been starved expressly for this purpose have their way with you. they should mimic the worst scenes from american psycho. they should make your last moments on earth as hellacious as you have made my life these last two weeks.

i don't know who "they" are, but i wish they existed, and i wish "they" had you. you deserve no mercy.

the worst thing about you is that i somehow know you. i don't know who you are exactly, but i know you, that much is clear from the emails you are sending my S. i know you, and somehow, you slithered spasmodically in to my personal email account, an account that was conducive to storage b/c of its lovely one gig of space.

an account that was MINE.

you stole in, and then you read things that were never meant for your or any other eyes. i picture you laughing, as you gazed at your computer screen, formulating what words you would choose to destroy my dream.

you read my life, my doubts, my worries. the things you confide to your absolute closest friends. the things you bury deep within, but occasionally find the strenght to write about; the things you innocently email to yourself, so that you'll be able to access such work from anywhere, b/c you no longer have a laptop. the things your doctor emails you about. the things that were none of your fucking business.

i thought you would email other people the way you did S, that you would try and hurt me over and over again, by destroying other relationships, too. now, i don't think you are going to do that. you have tunnel-vision, and my jaan was in your crosshairs. you fucked up, worthless bitch.

i didn't put two and two together, at first. i was too flabbergasted, too emotionally winded. it couldn't be real...who would do such things? the two of you i confided in immediately, when the first email greeted S, when my life started to disintegrate just like it did two years ago, the two of you whom i run to when i am in need of sanctuary, the two of you whom i trust both said the same thing; "anna, even if people hate you, they won't go to this much effort. i mean, can you think of anyone who would? honestly?"

i agreed (who wouldn't?), but i wasn't thinking.

i didn't remember the comments, on this very blog that i had deleted. the words now rush back to me, "you're so lucky. you almost don't deserve him, haha. be careful, he's my type." and more on that theme. i blithely ignored these things, i ignored the emails, the comments left on fotolog. who wouldn't? who imagines that there are people who are capable of such shit? still, i had this sense of absolute foreboding about washington, dc. it was almost irrational. dc. where you were commenting and emailing from...

did i go to GW w/you? did i wrong you in some way? are you really this mentally ill, that you would resort to such junior high school games? the thing is, in seventh grade, you just think your heart is going to break and stay that way forever when you are betrayed by some bitch. you don't realise you'll be okay. you may not have a date for the dance, but whatever. well, this is not junior high. this is my fucking life. and i didn't lose a date for the dance, i lost someone whose family i met (did you vote on a sari for me to meet them in, and did you pick the ugliest one on purpose?), whose ring i would've accepted, whose children i would've had.

you read my entire inbox, and then you wrote the most important email i have ever read. and then my heart started to throb, and then it started to pound, and then it almost deafened me with the sounds of my life rushing about within. i had to lie down. i thought i was going crazy. i thought i was about to lose everything. i thought that my S had lost faith in me, b/c of your baseless lies.

you have no clue really do you

she likes _______ ...

figure it out, genius.

...who trusts his girlfriend too much. who is blind to the fact that she pines for another. piece it together. she's using you, abusing your trust, using you for now while she waits for him. i know.

How do i know this? Why am I saying this? because. i know, i know the people involved. YOu, her, this guy. I know the conversations that carry in the middle of the night while you sleep. why do this ? because. I must. You deserve more than her. still dont believe me? send back an email...and i'll send you proof.

i thought this was all some sick, sad joke at first. i remember that my first rxn was, "what a shitty writer". i shake my head at this now. i would've been able to dismiss this email from hell entirely if it weren't for the part that i redacted; a part that you don't need to see, a part that lays out details about S that no one else knew, except me. that's what made my spine feel like it had just been inserted in my body after storage in a freezer. how could they know that?

my day was pure hell. you almost took him away from me-- almost. but i fought for him, for his trust, and i got it back.

for a week.

you never let up, did you. you attacked again and again, exploiting weakness w/your lies. what chance did i have? you know all of my struggles, all of the factors that were in play, all of the reasons why S and i shouldn't work. you read it all, didn't you. you knew that a long-distance relationship that was already being tested in the most severe ways was just ripe for the manipulation you had in mind. and armed with knowledge that you stole from me, you had no need for other weapons of mass destruction.

you acted, but i acted as well. this time i lost.

you know so much about me, but do you know what i lost? do you even care? does the shriveled, black, cancer-ridden piece of meat that may or may not pump in the middle of your chest have any good in it, at all? i'm convinced that it doesn't, after what you have done (and done again, and again...)
.
.
.
i have a REAL diary, for the words that live in the "80". this is what i lost:

S and i are REALLY in love. we discuss what neighbourhoods are best, when i will move in, what car S is buying next. he's so funny, he keeps mentioning volvo, and i kept screeching about how that would guarantee an unplanned pregnancy, b/c single, unmarried couples DON'T drive volvos. it is my sincere contention that volvos are fertile enough to provoke immaculate conceptions.

"would that be so bad?" he always replies playfully..."our daughter would be a supermodel. we'd retire in less than fifteen years and live off of her good looks."

this has become the sweetest routine. i scoff at this and then he insists that there is no way our offspring could be shorter than 5'8...and that is taller than kate moss. done. supermodel it is. :) we do this daily.

i always listen to him w/a bit of awe. i'm the one who loves babies. i've never dated someone who is more excited about them than me. i always tease him about his niece, about how he wants a clone of her, the gorgeous baby who favours her uncle above all others, the baby who inherited the sphinx-like smile of her late grandmother, the only woman S ever really loved. "you want another ____! one you don't have to return!" he always patiently declines. "do you have any idea how difficult babies are? have you NOT been reading the dooce forwards i send you?! who's going to wake up for that punk-ass future covergirl? not ME."

"i promise i'll always get up in the middle of the night, even if i have to work the next day, if it means that you get to sleep. b/c you love sleep. and i love to watch you. you have no idea how beautiful you are when you are dreaming. that and fire alarms can't wake you, so the kid would starve if i don't tend to her! it's useless to try and wake you! you'll be the only mother in the world who doesn't wake immediately at first squall."

"that started off so sweet, and ended so shitty. well done!"

"you want sweet? you require eight hours of sleep. i require four. this means that i spend four hours holding you, playing with your hair, looking at what i get to spend forever with."

does this all make you sick w/its sucrose-laden perfection? good, b/c i'm sick with my loss of it. i got to be in love twice in my G-d-forsaken fucking life. twice. the first time, it was snatched away by fate, and i barely survived. when i got a second chance, i remember screaming my gratitude up at the stars, for their intervention, for their justice. i was going to be one of *those* stories. was.

but then YOU snatched it away. all of it. boy, perfection, volvo, dream, model-perfect baby, future, love, inside jokes, ice cream, photographs, joy, neighbourhood, trust, firsts, life. all of it.

may you live in interesting times. may you never know the love that i have known...twice. may you suffer and shudder and gnash your teeth until they are rotting nubs. may you cry until your water drowns you. may you know what you have wrought and receive retribution ten-fold. may you think of me the moment before you die, your last breath a spasm that echoes my name as you picture me saying, "welcome to hell." in short, may you get all that you deserve.

happy now? you know everything! i am broken. i am sick. i am imperfect. i have secrets. i am alone. i suffer. i ache. i weep. i pine. i am human and i need to be loved, just like everybody else does. i will now prove to those who hate that i am indeed crazy. after all, a tale like this (a tale i have been loathe to write) is surely fable. i fucking wish.

i thought that S and i were unbreakable. i thought we could survive it all. but he is human. and you are persistent. and skilled with twisting my words out of context. you don't have to contact him daily, it's over. at least let this post accomplish that. leave him in peace. you've done enough to harm him. to harm us. to kill the trust that is necessary for two to become one.

you are successful. and though the accusation will be lobbed at me publicly vs you, you are sick.

enjoy your "success". you'll need something to focus on when hell's flames devour your stinking flesh for an entire eternity. know that you are fucked in the head, that NO ONE acts like this. NO ONE should.

me? i am not afraid of orange heat licking my body; yes, my virtue was called in to question, my king doubted my devotion b/c i am exiled far away...i would walk through fire for him, to prove myself, but i won't give you the pleasure of seeing me burn.

where is amor? indeed, where is it? it certainly isn't here.

eat me when i have a yeast infection, you tiny little hater (updated!)

sigh. it's good to be home.

not.

back to being indifferent...

.
.
.

The FellGod101b: your site is L.A.M.E.!!!
politicaldesi: thanks for taking the time to tell me?
politicaldesi: learn this: indifference cuts most.
politicaldesi: you are dismissed.

The FellGod101b: SOME THINGS NEED TO BE SAID
politicaldesi: apparently, i got under your skin
politicaldesi: that's actually flattering

The FellGod101b: how cute. do you have a page-a-day calednar of quotes to use?
politicaldesi: for what?
politicaldesi: retards like you?
politicaldesi: no. no need.
politicaldesi: in case you haven't noticed
politicaldesi: writing is my thing, words are my friends.
politicaldesi: that's why no more shall be wasted on YOU
politicaldesi: good luck
politicaldesi: and good fucking riddance

The FellGod101b: do you have any class? I do not understand why proletariats must act like common street trash
politicaldesi: you accosted me.
politicaldesi: how's that for trash?

and then a 30% warning was flung, and i signed off.
.
.
.

twelve hours later:

The FellGod101b: You're updating that pathetic blog you fucktard?

Auto response from politicaldesi:

updating the flog.
flog me

.
.
.

while i was at a wedding on saturday, a text message to my mobile:

The FellGod101b: indian whore!

pleasant. and they haven't even read this blog yet.