The following essay was written by my friend Krystle DuPree, a member of the Washtenaw County Democratic Party Executive Board (among many other roles she has) of which I am the Chair. It is in response to an article posted on MLive.com titled “Ann Arbor area’s cost of living jeopardizes veteran’s efforts to escape poverty“. Since the article was published, some edits were made to make the story more accurate. But there is an underlying issue with how it was written that Krystle gets to here in her thoughtful essay. This post is a call for us all to make sure we don’t succumb to trivializing important issues by focusing more on what Krystle calls the “Poverty Porn” aspects of the advocate(s) for the issue. And, equally (or even more) importantly, that we seek to know more about the nuances of an issue and take concrete steps in our spheres of influence to alleviate the core causes of inequalities of all types in our communities.
Enjoy.
Story tellin’, my roots tell me to tell a story.
For many people of color, the ability to take a tale of tragedy and turn it into story of triumph and motivation is a nearly innate skill passed on through generations. (Many communities of color hold on to cherished oratory history and fables which provide comfort and a sense of rejuvenation in times of struggle. People of African descent value stories of dedication and hard work as much as we love the charismatic and poetic delivery from community and national leaders. At times we look to stories of rebellion from our ancestors to learn lessons of leadership and social justice. We are taught tales of incomprehensible dedication among inhumane hardships and from these accounts, we are tasked to find inspiration. Many times, when we tell our own, we tend to shy far away from the light of victimhood and neediness. Rather, we position ourselves as just a complementing factor in the story. We share each story with the hope of motivating someone great to do something great. Rather than attempt to elicit sympathy or empathy, our presence in the story is merely a fact.
However, what happens when someone else tells our story? What happens when our stories are collected, dissected, and served to the Pavlovian dogs who instantly salivate at the site of poor folks of color? What happens when our stories are told from perspectives that are not our own?
We are touted as the “exception” bathed in stereotypical waters and that is where the “Poverty Porn” starts.
If you read the phrase “Poverty Porn” with a raised eyebrow, do not fret as it is a new, yet accurate, title for the way people who are considered disadvantaged in some way are used and reduced to talking points. Many people and their personal narratives are used to frame or set the tone for an argument being made by someone who considers themselves more privileged; who may or may not share that lived experience.
On my 34th birthday, a local news outlet dropped its latest installment to the collection of economic erotica. This partial personal narrative featured a 30-something combat veteran who is a graduate student at the University of Michigan. She is also a community organizer who recently accepted a paid fellowship with Mothering Justice with career hopes in activism as well as a leader within the Washtenaw County Democratic Party. The veteran persisted after a challenging upbringing and the economic shift of divorce. She is also a recent convert to Islam, a poet, an activist, and a single mother. Her sense of resilience and purpose was forged among struggle and bold choices and helped her to navigate systemic shortcomings and concerns. She has fond memories of watching shows like “A Different World” as a child that told her that, “Hey! College ain’t just for them. It’s for you too!”
Yes, this person is yours truly.
SO MANY DIVERSITY BOXES, NOT ENOUGH CHECK MARKS!!!
If you guessed that the diversity boxes that were chosen for the article were “Veteran”, “Black, “Single Mother”, “Poor”, and “Student”, you’re absolutely right. Just enough to capture the attention of the “liberal/progressive” hyper-local social media (at least a few for a couple hours or so) and elicit an emotional response to the present housing concerns in Ann Arbor. Yet, contrary to popular belief (or the tone of the article) I am struggling but not suffering. And, yes, the struggle is real for many of us. Women between the ages of 18 and 24 are the largest demographic living in poverty in Washtenaw County. The median property value in Washtenaw County, MI was $258,700 in 2017, which is 1.19 times larger than the national average of $217,600. Between 2016 and 2017 the median property value increased from $244,700 to $258,700, a 5.72% increase. The homeownership rate in Washtenaw County, Michigan is 61.8%, which is lower than the national average of 63.9%. In 2017, full-time male employees in Washtenaw County, MI made 1.38 times more than female employees. The majority of single parents in Washtenaw County are single women.
Yet, even in the light of these facts, I don’t find it at all shocking that my directness was construed as anger and a wavering sense of loyalty in the article. I find it even less shocking that my sexuality and the whereabouts of my ex-husband (or the kids’ dad) became a topic of discussion among commenters. This is especially true considering the overall demonization of single parents, particularly black women, who are often seen as sexually irresponsible. The perceived lasciviousness of black women was a good selling point when AA/Black women were bought and sold for the purpose of breeding and bed warming. It is yet another item on the long list of stereotypes associated with black women. The book Sister Citizen by Michelle Harris-Perry speaks to these stereotypes explicitly, relating them to the overall policing of black female bodies and black motherhood.
The story written with my and my son’s faces featured, was riddled with troll traps and misleading information that incited responses that were built upon a foundation of sexual violence and racial discrimination. It essentially depicted me as the pitiful stereotype of a single mom living above her means while attempting to care for a child out of wedlock. I am not seen as a hard worker, but as a leech who is living off the government. The truth is that I am one of many divorced women who have primary custody of their children do not qualify for assistance due to means testing and who persist despite economic challenges.
I am an EMU alumna who has been awarded for her volunteer services in Washtenaw County Democratic Party.
I am a combat Veteran who served as a Mortuary Affairs specialist and was honorably discharged from military service in 2012.
I am a poet who began writing in the 4th grade and who has performed at literary galas and spoken word events.
I am a public speaker who has been invited to appear at “The Survivors Art Show” in Detroit this April and to speak at a rally with the Women’s March on The Diag of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor as a survivor of sexual assault and someone who opposes Donald Trump’s appointment of a man who had committed sexual assault in college to the Supreme Court of the United States.
I am also a member of the Poor Peoples Campaign (the reporter who wrote the piece met me at one of our events) and an organizer for Mothering Justice.
I am more than my boxes.
Oh, to be a black woman in the Land of Liberalism.
As you may guess, I am not offended by the visceral reaction to this version of my story. But, as my mentor once advised me, I want to “make it a teachable moment”. The article was written to elicit a response. It allowed the mostly wealthy (and mostly white) readers to live vicariously through my apparent trauma of poverty and the fear of inconsistency, ultimately learning something from the article’s false presentation of my pain. They read it while sitting comfy on their couches and safely behind their keyboards and then, with a mere click of their mouse, my story fades into nothing. Out of sight, out of mind.
Most of the article’s misinformation was later corrected after I sent an email and made a phone call. But, like my mamma used to say, “what’s done is done”. What is seen cannot be unseen.
I once smoked a cigarette with a combat vet outside of a local bar and grill in downtown Ann Arbor. I was trying to ward off a small panic attack I was having due to the crowded conditions inside the bar. Together, he and I sat and had conversation. He shared with me that he was soon to be housed but was waiting on a housing voucher from a local service organization and had already been waiting a month. I shared my own worries and we ranted back and forth. We could do this because we shared each other’s pain, struggle, and disappointment. I say “shared” because we both experienced these situations, not wallowed in them.
This is that “teachable moment” my mentor taught me about. Articles like this often fail to balance the lived experience of the subject with the lived experience of those who share their concerns within the community. This sort of writing effectively isolates the issue as a personal issue. As the thoughts and stereotypes about black single mothers rise to the surface, allow me to skim the top to clarify: If I were to hit the lottery for millions tomorrow, there will still be people being priced out of Washtenaw County. There must be actual local, state and federal changes to make housing affordable, wages livable, and communities equitable.
In the interview I was asking for actual change just like the 49,600 people — 14.5% versus the national average of 13.4% — who live below the poverty line in Washtenaw County and are being priced out. This economic reality ensures that local elected positions are filled with people of generational affluence and privilege rather than those of us who have been on the receiving end of poorly thought out political responses. This is because one cannot run for city council in a city they do not live in. Of course we want our local government to represent the immediate community. But if people who have lived experiences are being pushed out and forced to live elsewhere, even as they continue to work and go to school in these areas, are THEIR interests truly being represented? Absent these valuable perspectives, how can we find equitable solutions? We are not seeking a handout or a leg up. We are asking for inclusion from the very people who profess to be our allies, express their awareness of their privilege, and claim they learn from OUR stories. In the words of Fred Hampton “I don’t want your mind on myself if you ain’t working for the people”.
SO, how will you work? How will you work your privilege to not just promote but become instrumental in developing polices that are not band-aids that cover the festering wounds of classism and racism. Which are based on stereotypes and ancient perceptions of penury and ethnicity? How are you going to work to ensure that local politics and politicians are community driven and that, together, they are instruments of change based in community empowerment, not perceived detriment? How do you plan to work WITH and not on behalf of those of us who are often pushed to the margins and amplify, not exploit, our voices? How will you work to deepen the understanding that working-class people are the people who live at or below the poverty line and who deserve to live with an abundance of resources, as well? Finally, how will you address these issues while recognizing that women of color, particularly those of African descent, are hit much harder by every political miss and are often minimized and demoralized for the sake of “clickbait”? Allowing our faces and stories to be devalued just enough to detract from the issue.
Where will you do most of your work?
Because bingeing on poverty porn is not work.
