It’s Been A Minute Since Someone Called Me A Whore

I overstand that there are people in this world that are deeply disturbed, I also overstand that in this age of social media networking it is almost inevitable that you will have a cyber encounter with a disturbed individual. I know I am not the first nor will I be the last woman to experience sexual harassment online. Since my journey in the digital landscape I have blocked male email accounts; FB accounts and YouTube Users. However this mornings encounter left me shook on a multitude of levels and is one of the reasons I am blogging about it.

Before you read any further I need to issue a *TRIGGER ALERT* and an *Explicit Language* alert for sensitive readers.

Almost 11 weeks ago I posted a selfie of myself as I was getting ready to attend a birthday celebration at the Harlem restaurant. I took that selfie cuz it was one of those rare occasions where I was dressed up. I’m usually dressed in my hip hop gear…hoodies, t’s and caps. I actually couldn’t believe the woman looking back in the mirror was me…she looked beautiful, sexy, confident. So I snapped and posted.

11 weeks later I have some new comments for that selfie that make me wanna throw up. After skimming the comments I clicked on the persons Instagram handle. It took me to a page filled with pornographic images of young white women and girls. I went back to my pic…I went through so many reactions within minutes of reading:

1. I was grossed out
2. I was infuriated and felt violated

And then the language began to set off triggers causing me to actually question whether those comments were warranted because I was dressed up and looking “sexy”… The classic: “maybe I asked for it”…

I had to have a major inner cipher with my consciousness and a major sage smudge so I cud really listen to the truth that my intuition was attempting to lift to my mental. NO YOU DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS SHIT!!!

So I reported this sexual predator. I blocked this sexual predator. And then I responded to the comments:

Here are the comments to my Instagram selfie below:

#meow2U2
I want to cum all over u
A Native whore is a need not a want
Nice Aboriginal pussy

My response:

In light of #MMIW (murdered missing indigenous women I have blocked u and reported u) my physical beauty is not an open invitation for verbally sadistic rape talk. Language such as this is sexual harassment and an act of violence. No matter what the medium this kind of talk is an act of violence against women. And not only are u attempting to degrade my gender but also my ethnicity. You are obviously disturbed and sick and need help.

Will this incident deter me from expressing myself visually online…no. This incident is a reminder that both the physical and cyber worlds I navigate through are rancid with systemic sexism; racism and every other ism u can imagine. I will continue to represent myself with courage; integrity and straight up fierceness. I spent a large part of my adolescences and early adulthood plagued by fear because of perverts like this Instagram dude. I’ve come to far in my personal healing journey to revert back to victim status.

M

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Not to Be Forgotten

In 2010 I wrote Dodom. It was two years after Steven Harper’s “apology” on behalf of the Canadian Government, regarding the human rights violations experienced by First Nations, Metis and Inuit Children from the late 1800’s to 1996, in the residential school system. I wrote it to share a hidden truth within my great-grandmother’s life. I performed it live for the first time during the semi’s @ the Toronto Poetry Slam. I knew the judges would probably score low…but I the message meant more to me looking out into the darken room filled with more than 100 non-native audience members. It was so quiet during the piece…and I was shaking when I finished. At intermish…strangers embraced me crying…”colonial guilt”…maybe, but it all seemed to be very genuine.

Two years later students attending the Academic Upgrading Program in the Downtown East; which I am the Manager for are reading Fatty Legs. After reading the teachers request I present a one hour talk about Residential Schools in Canada. I start the presentation with Dodom and end with the lasting affects of this deliberate attempt to “Kill the Indian Inside” by the Church and it’s Government. We have the missing children who never came home….mass graves are being uncovered in Mohawk , Anishnawbe and Mi’kmaq Territories as we speak. The 60’s Scoop. And the current state of Aboriginal Health and Education and the continual increase in incarceration and suicide rates in our communities.

As a people we do not want to dwell in the past but our teachings tell us once you know you never forget.

Here is a project helping native and non-native communities remember

Project Heart

Dodom

My body is not a temple but a totem

Remember my Owena
when I say ur body is not a temple but a totem
ur Dodom each and everyday
Great gran lost her dodom;
so she lost her way
Was it the mush and maggots
that swelled her belly
or being forced
to watch her older cousin
have his head smashed against the front wooden pew
til it was nothing more than jelly?
Was it the nightly rape fest
while saying the rosary
while his cold pale holy flesh
b on top of she?
Was it his sour gin whispers in her ear
fornicating a demonic twisted lie
as his ungodly member violated her dodom insides?
Shhhh…Please don’t cry; please to the Sisters don’t tell.
Or u shall end up burning in the firey pits of hell.
She was already in hell and she was already burned;
the scalding showers that teased and taunted that a dirty indian can b cleansed
from red savage to snow white civility
She was already in hell and she was already burned; the siphilitus inferno from too many saints;
who were truly sinners
had begun to spread
She was already in hell and she was already burned;
like a brush fire too close
to a wooded glen
her language was ash;
her ties to her tradish cinder
Her memories of Haudenonsaunee
like her once thick braided hair becoming whispy…thinner.
When they chop down ur dodom
they cut u off at the knees
…it would be less tortorous if they
just left u to bleed…to death…
but what amusement would quick and easy hold
for those who seek perverse pleasures in others torment.
They would rather watch her slowly rot…whither, and die…
With all the strength/wisdom/and luv
of ur clan buried deep inside..
.suffocatig beneath the decay
…dodom dodom dodom fade away
Yes her body survived the residential school otrosities
and yes she passed before
the late apology
So young her dodom frayed and splintered
and so on each and every winter
the women tie a sweet grass braid on a single birch tree
so that her daughter’s daughter daughter
and me
will
Remember her Owena
when she did say
ur body is not a temple but a totem
ur Dodom each and everyday

Mahlikah 2010