Nobel’s Will vs. Obama’s Will

The Cuban dissidents and Fidel Castro finally agree on something: Obama deserved to win the Nobel Peace Prize.

In a rather controversial decision last week, the Norwegian Nobel Committee handed U.S. President Barack Obama the world-renowned prize for what they saw as extraordinary efforts in diplomacy and nuclear disarmament.

The Committee wasn’t mistaken in what it saw. But the question remains – was what it saw worthy of such a prestigious acknowledgment?

Let’s take a moment first to understand what the Nobel prize is and what it stands for. For starters – who is Alfred Nobel? One of the more amusing conversations I had over this news included a comment from a man who argued that Obama deserved the prize because no one knew who the other candidates were. Aside from the fact that this shouldn’t be viewed as a popularity contest, I’m quite certain that no one actually knows who Alfred Nobel (the man after whom these awards take their name) is, either.

Nobel came from a Swedish family known for its technical genius and contributed a great deal to science and technology during the 19th century. To flavor his artistic side, Nobel was also a polyglot, a dramatist and a poet. According to the Nobel Foundation, “he was also very interested in social and peace-related issues, and held views that were considered radical during his time”.

This man was so busy during his lifetime that he had to take out a personals ad in the newspaper to try and find a wife. The closest match, Austrian Countess Bertha Kinsky, decided not to marry him but the two remained life-long friends. She was a critic of the arms race at the time and wrote a book (Lay Down Your Arms) about the issue. Nobel was so touched that he awarded her a sort of “peace prize” in his will, alongside other individuals and organizations he deemed worthy of his wealth.

So what does the award stand for? Alfred’s will itself, on the subject of peace, states the following about awarding the Nobel Peace Prize: “the most or the best work for fraternity among nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the promotion of peace congresses.”

Countess Bertha Kinsky and President Barack Obama do share much of a common vision – an end to an arms race. But for one thing, the former was an author on the subject matter, not a head of state. She also had no idea that two world wars and the development of nuclear weapons would throw her reality on the matter into complete disarray. For her time period, her thinking was very new and very radical. And what about Obama?

For starters, he had no romantic interest in Alfred.

Secondly, he has yet to achieve an abolition or reduction of his standing armies. It’s a known fact, unlike the times during the 19th century, that the arms race is very real and very concerning. Taking over as Commander-in-Chief, increasing troops in Afghanistan and having barely started to show signs of reducing American military presence anywhere still stand in sharp contrast to Nobel’s vision of a peaceful world. He continues to allow funding of billions to the Israel Defense Forces, one of the world’s other strongest standing armies. As the United Nations continues to condemn Israel for grave and serious crimes against humanity during last year’s Gaza siege, Obama remains silent and flimsy. Illegal settlements continue to flourish. The Department of Homeland Security and John Ashcroft still roam free.

A Commander-in-Chief awarded for lack of elimination of the world’s largest military presence? Alfred must be rolling in his grave.

To be fair, Obama has worked towards undoing a lot of Bush’s eight-year mess in a very short period of time. Steps towards closing Guantanamo, granting Iraq greater autonomy, releasing classified information on prisons to the American Red Cross, opening up dialogue with a previously-shunned Syria – to name a few- are very admirable moves.

Many argue in Obama’s defense, citing that he has achieved a great deal as a black man in the United States. He is the first black president, after all. But the question is – what does this have to do with “fraternity among nations”, “abolition or reduction of standing armies” or “promotion of peace congress”? Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela, for example, took their work beyond their state borders and made racism an issue the entire international community could not ignore. Their work prompted an international camaraderie during the early 1990s that the world so badly missed during the Cold War.

Nelson Mandela’s already “been there” and “done that.” And rightfully stands as a Nobel Laureate for such achievements. Obama follows in his footsteps, and carries with him a very different set of goals. This isn’t a fight against the Ku Klux Klan for him – this is a fight for increased multi-lateralism and idealism with the rest of the world. And what stands in his way is a bloated, American military presence that’s time again violated the sovereignty of other nations.

In the span of ten very short months, Obama has pledged to decrease such presence and increase diplomacy. But what he pledges to do is a very different matter than what’s been actualized into visible progress. Everyone wants world peace and an end to world hunger, conflict and poverty. Should we all get a piece of Nobel’s funds for our thinking? The Committee can’t award the prize, first, and hope that the recipient will earn it, later.

The Committee also made its mistake not in considering him as a candidate, but considering him too soon. It would have come with better agreement had the world experienced the fruits of his labor and not the harmonious ring of his speeches.

But he can’t be blamed personally for any of this. He didn’t award himself. In fact, the prize may have raised the stakes to make his job even harder.

And for those other potential candidates, like Sima Samar and Hu Jia, well, it looks like they’ll just have to wait another year.

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This article also appears here.

Unexpected Hero in the Eyes of the Arabic World

Iraqi journalist Muntathar Al Zaydi, 29, witnessed the American invasion of his homeland.  He reported the war on Iraq with anguish and anger.

He hated what was happening in his country as he witnessed the daily death of many innocent Iraqis.

Montathar, a correspondent for the independent Iraqi TV station Al Baghdadiya, went to sleep every night praying and dreaming about his country’s freedom - and the freedom of all other occupied countries, such as my own.

He was against the American presence in Iraq and thought that it was the wrong path to freedom. Rather, he felt it was the path to violence and bloodshed.

We all heard about the American president’s visit to Iraq and the press conference that was scheduled. All the journalists were invited to hear George Bush - including Muntathar Al Zaydi.

The press conference aired live around the whole world.  We were all glued to our TVs, radios, or computers to follow it - including myself, a journalist in Gaza.

Suddenly — out of nowhere — we saw a shoe thrown at Bush, which made us all gasp in shock.  Was it real or fabricated?  All cameras moved from Bush to the Iraqi journalist who threw the shoe at America’s president.

I was very worried about the journalist when I saw the whole security apparatus grab him while he was cursing Bush.  I thought to myself, “Poor guy, he won’t see the sun rise again.”

As we all expected Muntathar was immediately jailed. We tracked the daily news for updates on his well-being.  One day we heard he was going to be released and we couldn’t believe it.

On the day of his release, my friends and I were happy.  We watched him, live, talking about his experience.  About how his emotions had built up during the conference until he felt he need to let out his anger by throwing his shoe at aggressor.

The shoe-thrower said he did not regret it, and that if time rolled back he would do it again.

Muntathar was released sooner than we expected.  Perhaps the election of a new American president allowed the Iraqis to do that?

Unexpectedly, this journalist is considered a hero in the eyes of the Arabic world today.  Everyone now loves him and respects him.

The shoe thrower was even offered money, gold, houses, marriage, and even employment from leading royal Arabic personalities and political personalities.

He was even offered an enormous sum of money for his shoe, but he refused to sell it, saying “You cannot sell dignity because it doesn’t have a price.”

Welcome back to freedom, Muntathar Al Zaydi.  The world needs more people like you to take a stand.

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About the writer: Omar is a 22-year-old journalist living in Gaza – Palestine.

The changing face of the news media

The morning of September 11, 2001 I was in my Brooklyn apartment getting ready to go to class and then it happened. The need to be informed as events unfolded that day could not be greater. People turned to any and all available news media to get that information and journalists, reporters, and anchormen valiantly fulfilled their roles as informers.

It was a rare moment of an ideal news mediasphere realized. Sure, there were moments of blatant sentimental storytelling and sensationalism in the media at the time, but we can all recall the solemn, stoic voice of those personalities whom we chose to listen to narrating our collective thoughts and emotions as fellow eyewitnesses to a national tragedy.

With the recent passing of Walter Cronkite, “the most trusted man in America,” a legend from the golden era of news media has passed. News anchors and journalists like Cronkite were synonymous with trust. It was a time when they stuck to the truth, asked the hard questions, and had no qualms with introducing their opinion when it mattered. Some would argue they were often more knowledgeable than even our own politicians in office. Newsmen like Cronkite weren’t interested in policy-making, however. They were more interested presenting accurate and balanced information on the big issues affecting the country.

Compared to the run-up to the Iraq War, the news media often acted more like a PR mouthpiece for the Bush administration than reporting accurate and balanced information. Of all the personalities in contemporary news media, only a small minority were actually questioning the rationale, morality, or legality of preemptive war. Most outlets were relying on polls that showed popular support for the war in 2003 in making a conscious decision to feed and feed upon popular opinion rather than to examine objectively what our leaders were getting us into and on what justifiable evidence.

In 2003, Cronkite, speaking at Drew University and guided by expert knowledge of the political atmosphere surrounding the Vietnam War, openly dissented against popular support for the Iraq War, against overconfident army generals, and an arrogant president. He was one of the few journalists who knew exactly how a government uses deception and manipulation to trump up support for war. The news media is no less a victim than the individual, however unlike the individual the news media has the ability to shift popular opinion and put pressure on our elected leaders to do what is right. In this respect, they failed.

Much of the country, including the news media, could only speak in the past tense when we finally said, “Wait a minute, what exactly did our leaders get us into? Why didn’t we listen to voices of reason?” By then it was too late. We were waist deep.

After all I’ve seen, heard, and read in the news media since 2001, I’ve become a more conscious and selective news consumer. I’ve realized a few things: One, there are no wrong or bad stories in the media as long as it appeals to someone’s intellect and moral or political values; two, most news is biased reflecting on news consumers’ own biases.

There are fundamental divisions in our country and the lines run deeper than ever before. The philosophy of accuracy, balance, and unbiased news was lost to the ideologues on both sides some time ago. The people have taken their sides and their rallying points are who they turn to for their own version of the truth.

Examining racial divides created and made worse by man

Race is a funny word. Man-made, just like everything else we’ve created using our own languages. I believe it is an attempt, at best, to distinguish ourselves from a common genome.

When I was very young, a race was something I saw horses or greyhounds compete in. I grew up in the suburbs of Colorado - hardly a prime suitor for diversity in the 1980s. But, nevertheless, I hardly ever felt like the ugly duckling because of the amount of melanin in my skin or the child that everyone looked at funny because I didn’t physically fit in. Looking back, I’m sure plenty of factors played into this relatively comfortable childhood, particularly the idea that I came from an Asian background. Asians have a very different sort of stereotype associated with them, especially those of the Indian subcontinent.

In my teens, people didn’t look at me and think, “She’ll never make it through middle school” or “I wonder if her parents are crack cocaine addicts”. People looked at me and wondered which Ivy League I’d be attending and how many hours a night I spent studying. And in a funny little way, I began to disapprove. Mostly because I was put on a pedestal I wanted neither to justify nor own. And when I didn’t make Ivy League for college (mostly because I didn’t apply to begin with), people wondered if I was the “special” case among Asian Americans.

It was in freshman year of college that the entire schism between racial groups became very apparent to me.  Prior to this, I didn’t know what “racism”, “white supremacy” or “affirmative action” really were. Of course, I’d studied the Civil Rights movement and gave my allegiances to honorable figures like Martin Luther King, Jr., but they didn’t apply to me. I was neither black nor Hispanic. I came from an immigrant family that specialized in skilled labor and whose parents were sworn in as American citizens when I was in the second grade. Parents who had their Masters degrees from American institutions and who lived a relatively comfortable life.

I may have not personally experienced racism growing up, but that isn’t to say I wasn’t exposed to it. Americans are not the only ones with a long history of racism. It’s a global phenomenon. Many Pakistani Muslims, for example, find Indian Hindus to be inferior, “dirty” and “backwards”. “Monkey worshiping filth”, as one particular individual in my family used to put it. Why this hate? Hinduism and Islam clash historically, politically and religiously. Their followers must, as result, categorize themselves as superior to the other faith in order to justify their own beliefs. This is not to say peaceful coexistence does not exist. But there are a fair share of extremists and racists riddled in the both populaces, some of whom also happen to make-up my family.

This sort of racism also isn’t something to discuss with others. It’s a dinner table conversation, behind closed doors. It is understood, but never publicly acknowledged. Growing up, I found it to be a fascinating paradox that I vicariously lived, through my own parents. They’d smile, make small talk with Hindus and non-Muslims – and then behind closed doors, the hate would fill every corner of every room in the house. At the time, I was too young to realize that what they were engaging in was racism. Thankfully, their words weren’t too impressionable, either.

I did have a personal face-off with racism in the latter years of high school. It stemmed from the ignorant and widespread racism following the 9/11 attacks in 2001. These days, it doesn’t matter if you’re Pakistani, Bengali, Indian or even Sri Lankan – to the ignorant racists in this country, you’re a “terrorist”. In 2002, I was stopped at Bush Intercontinental Airport and subjected to SWAT team interrogations, for absolutely no reason except that my name was Maha. A white Delta employee at check-in was kind enough to report me (for national security’s sake, of course). It’s a very belittling and awful feeling, to be subjected to racism. Suddenly, your personality and your achievements are trashed for your name and what your skin color is. And often times, there isn’t a single thing you can do about it.

But I’ve learned, through attaining my own independence from unfortunate aspects of my bicultural identity, that racism is very much psycho-social. Individuals with racist tendencies have failed, for the most part, to establish their own personal identities. It is easier to elevate one’s ethnic, religious or national background to a higher level over another than to endure deep introspection geared towards understanding and strengthening insecurities surrounding personal identity. At the microcosmic level, this could be controlled. If an individual exhibits racist behavior, he or she can be consequently restrained.

At the macrocosmic, state-level, however, it becomes a rather nasty problem.

Fort Hood Soldier Refuses Deployment to Afghanistan

President Obama has ordered 21,000 more troops to deploy to Afghanistan this summer, seeking to more than double the 32,000 deployed in the next few months. The move is controversial inside the military and a handful of soldiers — like Specialist Victor Agosto of Miami, Fla. — have refused to deploy. Agosto, who has already served one tour in Iraq, told his superiors that the U.S. military occupation of Afghanistan is “immoral and unjust” and “does not make America safer.” He faces a Special Court Martial, with a maximum punishment of one year in prison and a bad conduct discharge.

Why did you decide to join the army?

I’d been in college for two years and I was tired of it. I wanted to be something. I wanted to see the world. I was in Miami Dade College and I really didn’t have a clear idea of what I was going to do. I was just focusing on my classes for my associate’s degree. I had always wanted to join the army, but I had initially wanted to graduate from college first so I could have a commission, but then I just decided to go in and be enlisted.

Is your opposition to the war in Afghanistan based at all on your previous military experience in Iraq?

I would say, not really. I was in Iraq when I turned against it, but it wasn’t because I had a traumatic experience or anything like that. I never shot anyone. I never got shot at. I never felt I was in any danger or anything like that. I was on the FOB [the base] the whole time. I was doing I.T. work: configuring computers, routers, servers, switches, providing customer service.

So you didn’t see or do anything while you were in Iraq that caused you to have any particular opinion about it one way or the other?

I guess the main thing that got my mind going was seeing how much money the contractors were making, and how little sense that made to me. And I guess that just got me thinking, exploring in that direction. Something is not right here. It’s a jump from that to concluding that the war is not right but that’s what got the ball rolling.

And once the ball got rolling, how did you get to the next step?

Well, I was reading books, like Noam Chomsky’s Hegemony or Survival. That was the one that just totally shattered any conception I had about moral superiority or good intentions.

Obviously there are many theoreticians writing various things about American policy. Why did this resonate with you?

Well it was just that the stated reasons for the war didn’t make sense.

And so the reasons that you concluded after doing your reading were what?

Ultimately, just for more control and to project American power. Obviously, there’s oil in Iraq. And American corporations stand to benefit a great deal from controlling the oil fields, but the main thing is just that there are benefits to obtaining control, and it’s the same in Afghanistan.

But the big difference of course is that there is no oil in Afghanistan.

That’s right.

So how did you go from having this particular feeling about the war in Iraq to refusing to deploy to Afghanistan, which is of course a different war. And there are a lot of people who would say ‘Iraq is a bad war but Afghanistan is a good war, because the people who attacked us on 9/11 were based out of Afghanistan.’

Well, to me there really isn’t a difference. To me the main thing is control, just to project power. If you look at what the goal of the war in Afghanistan was -– to make American people safer — an occupation can’t accomplish that. Those things can’t be accomplished through military means. The occupation in both places just increases resentment against Americans and actually endangers the soldiers that are there because the occupation fuels the insurgency. We go after an insurgent and kill several innocents in the process and it just creates more insurgents. And the process would continue like that indefinitely. And I think that those in power know this. And so the reason that we’re there can’t be to make the American people safer.

And that’s what you wrote in a statement to military counselors that you would not deploy to Afghanistan because it is “immoral and unjust” and “does not make the American people any safer.” What would make the American people safer in your opinion?

Victor Agosto’s handwritten declaration to a military counselor.

Well I think that the terrorist networks gain recruits from populations that have been oppressed. Until these grievances are addressed, there will always be a fresh supply of people who will join up with these extremist groups and decide that they want to attack America. There is really no battlefield solution to terrorism.

People say, ‘Look, I know the U.S. military operations in Afghanistan are not necessarily the most productive, but imagine there were no American soldiers there -– the Taliban would just take over again.’

I don’t really see that as worse than what we’re doing now. As I said before, until we actually address the grievances of people in that part of the world, we’re really not going to defeat terrorism. Being there does make things worse. It wouldn’t be an ideal situation to just leave and then perhaps the Taliban would re-establish control over the country, but that to me would be better than what’s going on right now.

How do the other soldiers that you interact with at Fort Hood feel about your decision to refuse to go?

They’ve been generally positive. I really don’t get a lot of negative feedback from people. I know that negative feeling exists but people don’t usually come up to me and tell me that. And when they have, they always set it up saying they really respect me and stuff, but they disagree with what I’m doing. It’s never a bitter type of response.

Why did you decide to contest this head-on instead of just passively resisting during your deployment to Afghanistan, since as you describe it, you’re more of a back office soldier?

I guess a combination of things. I concluded some time while I was in Iraq that these wars were wrong, but I wasn’t ready to make that jump because I feared the consequences. But after a while I got to meet a lot of people in the peace community who would be supportive of me if I were to take such an action. That, combined with the fact that I just wasn’t sure if I could live with myself if I were to deploy, if I actually got on a plane and went over there. It made it almost a no-brainer for me and something I needed to do.

You’re facing a Special Court Martial, where you face a bad conduct discharge and a year in prison. Suppose you were to get a bad conduct discharge and some amount of prison time. How would you compare that to deploying to Afghanistan?

I’d say it’s more than a fair deal. I mean, if those are my two options, I’d say that’s a no-brainer right there. I would much rather go to prison for a year than go to Afghanistan for a year.

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This article originally appeared on New America Media. Victor Agosto spoke with NAM editor Aaron Glantz from the U.S. Army base at Fort Hood, Texas.

Being Asian in the gulf Middle East

When I was 8 years old I watched my mom get pushed into a kitchen at an Arab wedding and ordered to serve drinks to the guests. The mother of the bride didn’t realize that my mom was a guest. She was, in fact, personally invited by the bride (a former student of my mom’s), who wanted her favorite teacher to be there on her special day. The reason my mom’s sequined scarf and make-up went ignored is because my mom is Malaysian.

Let me take you back. The years my family spent in Kuwait are littered with uncomfortable incidents like the one described above. We moved to Kuwait about a year after the Iraqi invasion was over, and shaken from the war, Kuwait was hugely xenophobic in the early ‘90’s. My parents were working in a village called Batu Buruk (Ugly Stones), Terengganu on the east coast of Malaysia before they were offered better-paying jobs as instructors in the Middle East, and as Muslims with a romanticised idea of the region that gave the world the Prophet (swt) and the Quran, my parents were excited that their kids would grow up in such a privileged environment. They packed up their three girls (ages 1-5) and flew to Kuwait University, Shuwaikh.

My village Malay gave way to a gulf Arabic accent in school, and one of the first teases I got was for being “yabaneezy” (Japanese). When my mom came for PTA meetings the teachers would give surprised looks and tell my mom her English was good. My mom’s first couple of months as an instructor at the Sharia’ College for Girls was rocky with repeated explanations that she was the teacher. No she wasn’t the tea lady, no she wasn’t the cleaner; she was the teacher. “Mudarasa” my mom would say in Arabic and the students would continue to give her wary looks. Luckily my mom was a great teacher, because it would only take a couple of weeks for those same wary students to become enthralled by her classes and her zany humor. “Miss wallah I love you, you must meet my family!” On days when I visited the office with my sisters, a hail of black abaya robes would descend on us and leave lipstick streaks across our cheeks. “Ya Allah Ms. Jenifah you have many children and you are still so small mashallah!” They’d look at my almost-five-feet mother, mousy in her own baggy abaya and wonder how they started out with such different assumptions. It was unfortunate that not all Kuwaitis could be in my mom’s classes.

The same could not be said for my dad. At 6-foot-6-inches, blue eyes and as white bread as Iowa makes them, my dad was regarded as the big American hero who fought the Iraqis (which, as an instructor from Ugly Stones, he hadn’t). Kuwaitis didn’t trust any foreigners or other Arabs, but if you were American you were given rockstar treatment. Shop clerks would smile at you, people on the street would go up to you, and if you were an instructor at the University, the women would swoon.

And swoon they did. My dad would come back after teaching to his office and find that love letters had been stuffed under the door and a few giggly girls in abaya waiting outside. My dad received offers for a second or third wife on a regular basis. At first my parents would laugh at these gestures, but the overwhelming attention bolstered my dad’s ego while the tactless prejudice bogged down my mom’s confidence and self esteem, setting what was once a stable marriage onto a rocky patch of misunderstanding and injured feelings.

Eventually the racial attitudes towards our family and the lack of affordable good schools drove my family to move back to Malaysia. After a couple of years of settling down, my parents received job offers from the Middle East again, but this time in the Emirates. My siblings and I refused to go back, but after being assured that we’d be going to international schools this time, we relented. We were happy to find that racial attitudes in the Emirates are much improved from the ones in Kuwait. For one thing the Emirates is more cosmopolitan, and the university my parents teach at is a hodge-podge mix of local and expatriate students. As American-Malaysians we found our niche among the other halfsies and 3rd culture kids of Emirati-Iranian, Polish-Greek, Egyptian-Philippina, and the Lebanese-Cypriot types. We were finally not weird: we were just like everyone else.

My mom still encounters a few awkward situations in the Emirates, but nowhere near the scale that she had in Kuwait. Recently with Obama’s election we can see that racial attitudes are slowly shifting in the US as they do in my mom’s classroom. Justice Sonia Sotomayor once said that “stereotyping is perhaps the most insidious of all problems in society today,” and we found that to be true, but it’s also true that this insidious problem can be dealt with—from the students in my mom’s classroom to the attendees of President Obama’s speeches. It’s not enough that anyone can be a good teacher or president in theory: Sometimes a country needs to see the black president at the White House leading, and sometimes people need to see the Malaysian woman in hijab standing at the white board teaching. Perhaps the change isn’t as big or as radical as most of us would prefer it, but if one person can change the way they think of other races, it makes that much of a difference when they respect people like my mom who expect discrimination.

My mom continues to teach in the Middle East, only this time she’s armed with experience, that same zany humor, and hundreds of students and friends that love, respect and admire her.

What the NAACP Means to Me

As a brown-skinned immigrant who has spent 25 years working for racial justice, I owe a good deal of my life to the legacy of the NAACP. So I attended and watched the organization’s centennial convention in New York this week, with both gratitude and the urge to contribute.

My family emigrated to the United States from India when I was five, which would have been impossible if the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act hadn’t removed country quotas under the pressure of the civil rights ethic.

When I became a community organizer at age 20, I found an inspiring set of groups to work with—few would have existed without the movement’s example and infrastructure.

Yet, my very presence in this country, and my activism, symbolize the demographic and political trends that have changed the racial justice struggle since those days some 40 years ago. Today’s context includes great numbers of non-black people of color, complicating the way in which racism plays out. Certainly there have always been activist indigenous Asian, Latino and Arab communities, but there’s no question that recent immigration has driven our numbers up, expanding our presence in small cities, suburbs and rural areas where we never used to be.

The dominant racial dynamic of the 21st Century is not solely black and white, but a complex hierarchy in which multiple groups of color shift around according to geography, economic status and political power. While communities of color all relate to racism, we don’t experience it in exactly the same way.

I’ve spent most of my career building multiracial organizations and alliances, working with black, Latino and immigrant communities to win new health programs, to protect labor rights, to control the police and to reform school systems. In the early days, I made the “same boat” argument for sticking together—racism oppresses us all in one way or another. But eventually the very real differences between our positions would arise. Immigrants had language problems at the local hospital, but black people were routinely denied high quality treatment through discrimination that was much harder to prove. Black men experience racial profiling while driving, while South Asian and Arab Americans get it at the airport, and law enforcement justifies those actions in different ways.

Sometimes, in some places, people of color exercise their power in ways that hurt other people of color. At some point, cooperation based on abstract solidarity turned into competition based on specific grievances about the higher step someone else appears to occupy on the ladder.

We can prepare for that moment and deal with it constructively, and dozens of groups across the country have managed to do just that. Being ready means building a broad agenda to expand resources, educating ourselves about other communities, and, most of all, acting as if we’re in the same movement, if not the same boat.

I’ve been privy to a great example in the restaurant industry through my participation in and writing about the Restaurant Opportunities Centers United (ROCU). In any high-end restaurant in any city, we will find the same racial arrangement: white people, whom employers consider attractive enough to speak to diners, in the living wage jobs at the front of the house; immigrants of color at the dangerous low-wage jobs in the back of the house; and black Americans missing entirely, relegated to fast food.

The obstacles we face in accessing the industry’s benefits vary according to employers’ faulty perceptions of our relative worth. Breaking down that hierarchy requires thinking it through, which almost always leads to a complicated set of solutions. Training programs, new hiring and promotion policies, immigration reform and the enforcement of anti-discrimination laws are just a few strategies that ROCU pushes in cities like New York, Detroit, New Orleans and Chicago. ROCU meetings take place in multiple languages, and organizers make constant adjustments to make sure the group is truly inclusive.

That’s the essential challenge facing the NAACP too: being a racial justice leader in a multiracial nation. Its new president, Ben Jealous, is committed to revitalizing the organization—nothing and nobody gets to be 100 without getting a little weary—in ways that connect its current membership to the rest of us. He uses the broader language of human rather than civil rights and works hard to inspire young people, who barely blinked through his speech to the Youth and College Division at the convention.

I’m not attached to the NAACP changing its complexion. The organization doesn’t have to be fully multiracial to meet the challenge set by Jealous. Black people need their organizations, and other communities of color also need black communities to be well organized. As we do our work, though, we need to do it together, regardless of how we’ve arranged ourselves. The solutions we come to will differ, but we can stand up for them together, grounded in our commitment to dismantling the racial hierarchy as thoroughly as we can over the next 100 years.

The author, a social justice activist from the Indian American community, explores the role of the venerable rights organization and the kind of leadership necessary going forward in a multiracial nation.

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Rinku Sen is the president of Applied Research Center and Publisher of ColorLines magazine.
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This article appeared on New America Media.

Exploring racial divides in America

What is your race? Check all that apply.

I’m brown. Latina. Hispanic. Whatever. There’s no way around it.

Since 1790, the American government has been racially classifying and socially constructing labels for us – people of all colors and looks – to help “identify” or “place” us in society, with each U.S. Census allowing for more racial categories. Are they necessary? I don’t know, but they’re there and it’s not realistic to easily eradicate a racial system that has existed for centuries.

I don’t look black, white or oriental. I’m brown, or whatever other title is applicable. That’s what I am, that’s how I’m seen and it’s what I know. And I’m OK with it.

I do have to say, though, that there is a slight hostility between the numerous ethnic groups that are placed under the umbrella term Latino. Guatemalans or Salvadorans are not the same as Mexicans or Cubans.

Despite people of Hispanic/Latino origin coming from different countries and diverse cultural backgrounds, most people don’t understand the differences between us, especially those who lie outside the brown umbrella.

We’re mostly perceived as Mexicans because of the booming Mexican population in California. Yes, there are similarities. Yes, we have almost the same exact experiences with the challenges we face, our parents or just simply growing up.

But we’re different. Our cultures are completely different. Our ways of speaking are different. Our value systems and ways of thinking are different. Our food and music is different. Just because we have some similar qualities like dark skin, hair and eyes doesn’t mean we’re all the same.

Just as Koreans aren’t the same as Chinese or blacks aren’t the same as Haitians. Yet, I’m still assumed to be Mexican, which is the prevalent thought, I suppose.

I don’t think I’ve ever faced blatant racism or discrimination, though. However, maybe indirectly I have.

I’ve usually been followed physically, with the eyes or by a camera whenever I go into stores, most of which are owned or managed by Asians in my area. It is the most irritating thing to be looked at as if I’m going to steal something and even more irritating to be followed while they’re pretending to just be cleaning or organizing.

I’m not dumb and I’m not blind. And I definitely don’t need to steal your cheap things that I can easily buy, is what I usually think. Is it them just being paranoid or is it me and the stereotype I carry that calls for that type of surveillance?

I don’t know, but it’s there.

I’ve also been to wealthy Brentwood neighborhood stores, most of which attract white customers, and have been looked at almost immediately.

Maybe they don’t get too many people like us in their stores? Do I look diseased? Or is it the fact that I’m a beaner/wetback/illegal in their store? Is that too harsh?

Maybe it’s just the reality of how I’m perceived by some.

When my mom came to the U.S. from El Salvador she started working as a housekeeper for wealthy families and continues to work for one in Brentwood. However, she was once fired from her job with a well-known sportscaster; his wife thought she was stealing, which she wasn’t.

She also takes the bus daily and as she waited at her bus stop with other housekeepers, she would come in conflict with an older white woman who lives in the apartment complex near the stop. She repeatedly told my mom to get off of her property or she’s going to call the police and immigration officials.

It’s kind of typical for people to try to intimidate those who look a certain way or don’t speak English as well. These things can’t be sugarcoated.

Furthermore, I don’t know how much President Obama’s election has changed for people. It was a milestone and the blood, sweat and tears of millions of people coat the huge hurdles that were crossed to get to this point.

He is a man who encompasses the wealthy, poor, whites, blacks, Asians and Hispanics. He’s the one who brought the world together, marking one of the most momentous days in American history.

But he is just one man. It’s going to take all of us to change the status quo and progress to a compassionate and accepting future, especially being that this country was founded on diversity.

However, recent events show that some people in society aren’t interested in accepting certain racial groups, making it more difficult to believe that Obama’s election alone will make us move forward.

For example, the Orange County Register reported that on July 4, two men – one bearing a swastika tattoo on his left shoulder – allegedly committed a hate crime against Maria Guadarrama, a 45-year-old custodian in Ladera Ranch, Orange County. She said in a press conference that as they stabbed her they yelled racial slurs, calling her a worthless Mexican.

On the day Americans across the country celebrate the nation’s independence and freedom, two men decided to attack a woman because of her ethnicity and attempt to silence a race as a whole.

Irony at its best.

Celebrating Freedom for America and Iran

This Fourth of July, I spent the day in solidarity with the people of Iran. I added a touch of green in honor of the fiercely brave and yet everyday people of Iran.

A lot of people lost their lives last month. Even more are in prison. I don’t see the point of celebrating American freedom if it does not include honoring the Iranians who have sacrificed for their freedom.

My Fourth of July was in honor of an Iranian blogger who wrote to the world believing it would be her last post. In the face of death, she spent her last night doing the things she loved. Her last prayer. She made her hair look pretty one last time. She painted her nails. And then she danced one last time to her favorite song before she walked out to the street ready die for her vote.

My Fourth of July was in honor of the Iranian who video-blogged from the rooftop of a night-darkened Tehran. I sat in prayer and remembered the silence between the cries of Allah-o Akbar (God is of most value) that pierced the night. I remembered how the people’s cries sounded like the soul of Iran moaning in frustration.

I remembered her voice as it cracked with emotion and tension.

I remembered watching people beat, pulled from their cars and then a women named Neda dying on my TV screen. I remembered the man screaming over her. I remembered Neda’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. I remembered the thousands of people that bullet passed through before landing on her chest.

I remembered the beatings becoming more brutal as the Iranians chanted in the streets to not be afraid.

The police would grab protesters while other protesters would attack the police and save their countryman from being taken away.

I remembered the militia driving down the street on their motorbikes only to have people from a bridge above throw bottles - trying to save the trapped crowd below.

This year on the Fourth of July, I honored Iran and how they are scratching at the walls of freedom with bloody fingertips.

This Fourth of July I honored Iran for they have yet to succeed. I did not celebrate 1776. I celebrated bravery and freedom and the ideas of freedom that connect America and Iran through the everyday people who today make up a worldwide nation of my patriots.

Iranian-American protesters debate Obama’s stance

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