idiosyncratic

wandering through the web
diasporadash:

Black and Green: Afro-Colombians, Development, and Nature in the Pacific Lowlands 
by Kiran Asher
In Black and Green, Kiran Asher provides a powerful framework for reconceptualizing the relationship between neoliberal development and social movements. Moving beyond the notion that development is a hegemonic, homogenizing force that victimizes local communities, Asher argues that development processes and social movements shape each other in uneven and paradoxical ways. She bases her argument on ethnographic analysis of the black social movements that emerged from and interacted with political and economic changes in Colombia’s Pacific lowlands, or Chocó region, in the 1990s.

The Pacific region had yet to be overrun by drug traffickers, guerrillas, and paramilitary forces in the early 1990s. It was better known as the largest area of black culture in the country (90 percent of the region’s population is Afro-Colombian) and as a supplier of natural resources, including timber, gold, platinum, and silver. Colombia’s Law 70, passed in 1993, promised ethnic and cultural rights, collective land ownership, and socioeconomic development to Afro-Colombian communities. At the same time that various constituencies sought to interpret and implement Law 70, the state was moving ahead with large-scale development initiatives intended to modernize the economically backward coastal lowlands. Meanwhile national and international conservation organizations were attempting to protect the region’s rich biodiversity. Asher explores this juxtaposition of black rights, economic development, and conservation—and the tensions it catalyzed. She analyzes the meanings attached to “culture,” “nature,” and “development” by the Colombian state and Afro-Colombian social movements, including women’s groups. In so doing, she shows that the appropriation of development and conservation discourses by the social movements had a paradoxical effect. It legitimized the presence of state, development, and conservation agencies in the Pacific region even as it influenced those agencies’ visions and plans.

diasporadash:

Black and Green: Afro-Colombians, Development, and Nature in the Pacific Lowlands 

by Kiran Asher

In Black and Green, Kiran Asher provides a powerful framework for reconceptualizing the relationship between neoliberal development and social movements. Moving beyond the notion that development is a hegemonic, homogenizing force that victimizes local communities, Asher argues that development processes and social movements shape each other in uneven and paradoxical ways. She bases her argument on ethnographic analysis of the black social movements that emerged from and interacted with political and economic changes in Colombia’s Pacific lowlands, or Chocó region, in the 1990s.

The Pacific region had yet to be overrun by drug traffickers, guerrillas, and paramilitary forces in the early 1990s. It was better known as the largest area of black culture in the country (90 percent of the region’s population is Afro-Colombian) and as a supplier of natural resources, including timber, gold, platinum, and silver. Colombia’s Law 70, passed in 1993, promised ethnic and cultural rights, collective land ownership, and socioeconomic development to Afro-Colombian communities. At the same time that various constituencies sought to interpret and implement Law 70, the state was moving ahead with large-scale development initiatives intended to modernize the economically backward coastal lowlands. Meanwhile national and international conservation organizations were attempting to protect the region’s rich biodiversity. Asher explores this juxtaposition of black rights, economic development, and conservation—and the tensions it catalyzed. She analyzes the meanings attached to “culture,” “nature,” and “development” by the Colombian state and Afro-Colombian social movements, including women’s groups. In so doing, she shows that the appropriation of development and conservation discourses by the social movements had a paradoxical effect. It legitimized the presence of state, development, and conservation agencies in the Pacific region even as it influenced those agencies’ visions and plans.

diasporadash:

"Bullerengue is a musical style and dance from the Caribbean Region of Colombia and the Darién Province in Panama. It is a cumbia-based style traditionally sung exclusively by women.

Some famous bullerengue singers are Irene Martinez, Antún Castro, Estefanía Caycedo, Alé Kumá, Benigna Solís, Martina camargo and Etelvina Maldonado.

In recent decades, Petrona Martínez and Totó la Momposina have increased Bullerengue’s international popularity and success, having been nominees for the Latin Grammy Award for Best Folk Album.”

(Source: diasporadash, via latinocaribbeanartists)

stoptellingwomentosmile:

Atlanta portraits by Tatyana Fazlalizadeh. Artists, students, and participants from a number of group discussions we held across the city.

stoptellingwomentosmile:

Atlanta portraits by Tatyana Fazlalizadeh. 
Artists, students, and participants from a number of group discussions we held across the city.

richlouis:

#photographers @reneecoxstudio and @miss_kim22 (at ICP - International Center of Photography)

richlouis:

#photographers @reneecoxstudio and @miss_kim22 (at ICP - International Center of Photography)

yagazieemezi:

C L E A R   A S   B L A C K 

My parents raised me in a predominantly white suburb of a black city, but it was the Latin culture that taught me. My first words, my mother’s food, my grandma’s counsel, my grandpa’s stories, my father’s song, my manipulative manners, my sister’s eyes, our irreverent whispers in church, the old man that gave me candy, the young man called Piraña, who had very large teeth who showed up every 4 months- stayed for a couple hours and left everyone in the house screaming with laughter. All these things… were so very Latin.

I also grew up enveloped in black. Growing up so close to Washington D.C., it was inevitable. From my best friends to my favorite songs; from first loves to lost ones. These things that encircled me from my baby face to my awkward age and carried me to adulthood were the standard for me - a Latina growing up in a white suburb of a black city that did not know she was anything else but Latin.

3 years ago I found out that my great-great grandfather was black. My grandfather was brown, tall and slender with light blue eyes. His grandfather was an African man that came to Colombia and stayed for a while. Somehow this heritage was hidden underneath the shades between white and black. It got pushed more towards white and less towards black, until lines blurred and although I am Latina, I am covered in white. Just like my suburb, just like my face, I am not what is exposed.

Puerto Rico is an island made up of a vast hybridity of people including: African, Arab, Native In- dian, and European. This island also happens to be the capital of the world for Albinism. There are layers upon layers that make up how alibinism manifests physically, inside and out. Albinism is not just white on this island, its black too. There are people who have the condition of albinism, but do not display the physical characteristics commonly known of a person with albinism. They have normal pigmentation, dark eyes and hair.  They are black, white and everything in be- tween, and they are all people with albinisim.

The blackest person with the condition is still white, and the whitest person with albinism is still black. Because of the genetics of the people that make up this place, everyone is black, but not everyone is white. One word cannot embrace the whole of my identity. My make up lies in a million things that cover me and when unveiled are clear as black.  (via)

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