I decorated the house for Halloween yesterday. It's really nice. But I noticed two people who passed, scowling. One lady passed 3 times, slowly, blatantly staring at me. The man looked angry.
I told Ma I didn't know whether they were just confused by the goblins hanging in our tree, whether they thought I was having a yard sale, or whether they disapproved.
"Why would they disapprove?" Ma asked.
Well, I explained, in the 'hood, the fundamentalist preachers tell the flock Halloween is Satanic.
In fact, I told her two stories of preachers who tormented and hounded me, calling me Satanic. One followed me down the street with a bull horn, shouting I was demon possessed and queer. The other preached against me from his pulpit, because I was taking in the kids from the hood.
Either could have gotten me killed by the ignorant, angry neighbors.
I told Ma stories about the second to last apartment building in which I lived there. Just remembering the constant horror, filth, danger and ugliness made me cry.
I sobbed inconsolably.
I went to that radio station as a volunteer. I walked, many days, the three miles, round trip. I went malnourished, under fed, in pain. I worked hard and tried to be useful.
When I offered my services for grass roots fundraising, not only was I ignored, but the person went to the Volunteer Coordinator AND the Station Manager, to complain about me! I only wanted to help. I had no idea this person would see my offer as a THREAT to the person's position! To this DAY, that person refuses to acknowledge my existance, yet persists on complaining about any possible thing to my 'superiors.'
When I worked as a reporter--without pay, I may add--I was constantly harrassed about my: food, dress, mode of transportation, work style, voice, private conversations... ANYthing, to make an example of me in front of others. I was constantly baited and humiliated.
When someone does something odd or against the regulations, such as bringing a dog to the station, it is I who am questioned, as though it's my doing.
I volunteered in the phone room during this pledge drive. I filled in the gaps for many more shifts than anyone else volunteered to cover. I was never thanked for helping in a crunch. I was barely acknowledged. People gossiped about me and told phone captains to shut me up.
This is a "community" radio station. I am the community. I am being told to SHUT UP at a free speech, public venue.
I thought about what my being banned from the newsroom really means. I no longer have access to equipment I need to be an independent producer.
I was earning a bit to compensate for my meager social security insurance --not WELFARE: INSURANCE!-- by selling my little stories elsewhere.
I've struggled, for months, to set up an independent recording studio in my new home. I've lost a minimum of a thousand dollars' income as a result of this "ban" from the newsroom.
The "ban" could have condemned me to return to the hell of the War Zone. They don't understand how hideous things are there. But the scariest part, for me, is that the people responsible for this decision don't CARE what could have happened to me as a result. Hell, the person who wanted me banned didn't even have the fortitude to do the dirty work; it was pawned off onto the Volunteer Coordinator to give me the bad news!
The next day, I was suicidal. Truly.
All my life, I've struggled to write, to publish, to broadcast, to perform. I've struggled to speak my truth as best I could.
And here it was: one more time, I was being told to shut up and go away.
Not because I'd done anything harmful, dangerous, unethical, unprincipled, irresponsible, etc.: I was being banned for speaking my truth as best I could.
Free speech isn't free.
Now, this "ban" happened, what? Three, four months ago?
I asked Ma, "have you ever seen me cry about it before?"
"No."
"Have you ever heard me express my humiliation about this before?"
"No."
No, I was a good soldier; I sucked it up. I went through the motions and pulled myself out of my suicidal ideations and walked BACK into that station that never misses an opportunity to let me know how inappropriate my white trash butt is and I CONTINUED to volunteer! I held my head up, put a smile on my face, and acted like their contempt, their abuse, their suspicion, their arrogance didn't phase me--like I didn't even notice it.
I did not renew my pledge to the station this year. As they waxed poetic about how this is YOUR station, broadcasting YOUR neighbors (none of MY neighbors attend poetry readings in Santa Fe, buddy), free speech, community oriented programming--I cleaned my chicken coop, hung my Halloween decorations, washed my dishes and began work on my recording studio.
I contacted a radio news director from a network I've worked for in the past. She assigned me three stories, immediately.
I'm editing a Radio Theater piece nobody else wants to work on.
I sat in that phone room nearly twenty hours of the fund drive. I take it back: the Volunteer Coordinator thanked me.
But the people most obsessed with acquiring money in that station continued to refuse to acknowledge my existence, and one continued to complain about me!
I'm not going away. You might as well get used to it. It's not YOUR station; it's OURS!
Middle class people pretend anger is a "negative" emotion. Bull crap! Anger can save my life! Oh, they're angry, alright. But they don't yell. They stab in the back, manipulate. They're quiet and lethal and sick as hell.
And they call ME crazy, because I won't stoop to their level and employ their tactics!
uh, huh.
I'm never going to let that insanity make me cry again!
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