This Bridge Called My Back

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1986

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0-9i3175-03-x 0-913175-18-8 ISBN ISBN ,,ct ' l t tt

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I his Bridge Called My Back intends to reflect an uncompromised definition of feminism by women of color in the United States.

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Lontaining prose, poetry, personal narrative and analysis by A f r o - A m e r i c a n , A s i a n A m e r i c a n , L a t i n a , a n d N a t i v e A m e r i c a r r women, This Bridge Called My Back is divided into six powerful sections.

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sTREETS

T h e R o o t s o f O u r R a d i c a l i s m

ENrenrxc

rHE LrvEs

oF orHERs

Theory in the Flesh

Ailo wHeil You rEAvE,

TAKE YOUR PICTURES WITH YOU R a c i s m in t h e W o m e n ' s M o v e m e n t

BErwsEn rHE uNEs

O n C u l t u r e , C l a s s a n d H o m o p h o b i a

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ToNGUEs

The Third World Woman Writer

El nuroo zuRDo

The Vision

THIS

BRIDGE

CALTED

MY

BACK

WRITINGSBY

RADICAL

WOMENOF

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EDITORS:

-CHERRIE

MORAGA

GTORIA

ANT,ALDUA

FOREWORD:

TONI

CADE

BAMBARA

KITCHEN TABLE: Women of Color Press

C o p y r i g h t o I 9 8 1 . 1 9 8 - l b y C h e r r i e M o r a g a a n d G l o r i a A n z a l d r i a .

All rights reserved.-No part of this book may be reproduced without permission in writing from the publisher. Published in the United States by Kitchen Table: Women of Color press, Post Office Box 908, Latham. New York l2l10-0908. Originally published bv Peresphone Press, Inc. Watertown, Massachusetts, 1981.

A l s o b y C h e r r i e M o r a g a

Cuentos: Stories hy Latinas, ed. with Alma G6mez and Mariana Romo-Carmona. K i t c h e n T a b l e : W o m e n o f C o l o r P r e s s . 1983.

Loving in the ll/ar Years: Lo Que Nunta Pasd Por Sus lcbios. South End Press, 1983. C o v e r a n d t e x t i l l u s t r a t i o n s b y J o h n e t t a T i n k e r .

C o v e r d e s i g n b y M a r i a v o n B r i n c k e n . T e x t d e s i g n b y P a t M c G l o i n .

T y p e s e t i n G a r t h G r a p h i c b y S e r i f & S a n s , ln c . , B o s t o n , M a s s . S e c o n d E d i t i o n T y p e s e t b y S u s a n L . Y u n g

Second Edition, Sixth Printine. ISBN 0-913175-03-X, paper. ISBN 0-913175-18-8, cloth.

This bridge called my back : writings by radical women of color /

editors, Cherrie Moraga, Gloria Anzaldfa ; foreword, Toni Cade

Bambara. - lst ed. - Watertown, Mass. : Persephone

Press,

c1981.1*1

x x v i , 2 6 1 p . : i l l . ' , 2 2 c m . Bibliography: p. 251-261.

ISBN 0-930436-10-5 (pbk.) : $9.95

l. Feminism-Literary collections. 2. Radicalism-Literary collections. 3. Minority women-United States-Literary collections. 4. American literature -Women authors. 5. American literature-Minority authors. 6. American literature-20th century. I. Moraga, Cherrie II. Anzaldria, Gloria.

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810

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I O T E h ' i r a N l o r a g a L : t s ' r e n c c e t l l c l - \ r n ; r l i i r C l r . i a A r r z a l t l r - r . l J I r r l ir r l a l l r ) u r l ) l r ) t l 1 c r 5 f o r t h e o b e c i i e n c e a t r c l r e b e l l i o r r t h e l ' t a r . r g l - r t u s .

Library of Congress [r88]rev

[*]-2nd ed. - Latham, NY: Kitchen Table, Women of Color Press. c1983.

C H R Y S T O S : " C e r e m o n y f o r C o m p l e t i n g a P o e t r y R e a d i n g , " copyright o 1976 by C h r y s t o s , f i r s t a p p e a r e d i n W o m a n s p i r i t , r e p r i n r e d b y p e r m i s s i o n . C O M B A H E E R M R COLLECTM: "A Black Feminist Statemenr," first appeared in Capitalist Parriartht'

a n d r h e C a s e for Socialisr Feminism. Ziltah R. Eisen:iein. ed. (Ne* York: Monrhiv R ^ e v i e w P r e s s , I9 7 9 ) , r e p r i n t e d b y p e r m i s s i o n . D O R I S D A V E N P O R T : " T h e P a t h o l o g y of Racism," copyright nl lS89 !V Doris Davenport, first appeared in Spinning O-li, r e p _ r i n t e d b _ y p e r m i s s i o n . H A T T I E G O S S E T T : " b i l l i e l i v e s ! b i l l i e li v e s ! , " c o p y r i g h t o 1980 b y H a t t i e G o s s e t t ; " w h o r o l d y o u a n y b o d y w a n t s to h e a r fr o m y o u ? y o u a i n ' i n o t h i n g b u r a b l a c k w o m ^ a n i , " c o p y r i g h r o 1 9 8 0 b y H a t r i e G o s s e t t . M A R Y H O P E L E E : " o n n o t b e i n g , " c o - p y r i g h t , o _ 1 9 7 9 b y M a r y H o p e L e e , fi r s t a p p e a r e d i n C a l l a l o o , r e p r i n t e d b y p e r m i s s i o n . A U D R E L O R D E : " A n O p e n L e t t e r to Mdry Daly," copyright o'1980 by Audre Lorde, I t r s t a p p e a r e d i n T o p R o n k i n g , re p r i n t e d b y p e r m i s s i o n . " T h e M a s t e r ' s T o o l s Will Never D i s m a n t l e t h e M a s t e r ' s House," copyright o 1980 by Audre Lorde. PAT PARKER: " R e v l o u t i o n : I t ' s N o t Neat or Pretty or Quick," copyrighr o 1980 by Par Parker. KATE R U S H I N : " T h e B r i d g e P o e m , c o p y r i g h t o l 9 8 l ' b y - D o n n a K . h u s h i n . M I T S U Y E Y A M A D A : " l n v i s i b i l i i y is an UnnaiuralDisasrer," copyright o 1979 b y B r i d g e : A n A s t o n A m e r t t e n P e r s p e t t i v e , r e p r i n t e d b y p e r m i s s i o n .

When Persephone press, Inc., a white women,s press of Watertown, Massachuseus _{and the original pubrishers}

of Bridge,..ur.d op.ruii", i" ,rr. Spring of 1983, _{this book had already gone our of piint. Aft.. ;;;}

;;nit , of negotiations, _{the co-editors were finiliy able to retrieve control of their book,} whereupon Kitchen Table: women of color press of N.* vo.t-ug...l ;; ..-publish it.

The following, then, is the second edition of rhis Britrge Caretr M.r,Bacx, conceived _{of and produced entirely by women of color.}

REFUGEES OF A WORLD ON

FIRE

Foreword to the Second Edition

Three years later, I try to imagine the newcomer to Bridge. What do you need to know? I have heard from people that the book has helped change some minds {and hopefully hearts as well), but it has changed no one more than the women who contributed to its exis-tence. It has changed my life so fundamentally that today I feel al-most the worst person to introduce you to Bridge, to see it through fresh eyes. Rather your introduction or even reintroduction should come from the voices of the women of color who first discovered the b o o k :

The woman writers seemed to be speaking to me, and they actually understood what I was going through. Many of you put into words feelings I have had that I h a d n o w a y o f e x p r e s s i n g . . . T h e w r i t i n g s j u s t i f i e d some of my thoughts telling me I had a right to feel as I did. It is remarkable to me that one book could have such an impact. So many feelings were brought alive i n s i d e m e . *

For the new reader, as well as for the people who may be looking at Bridge for the second or third time, I feel the need to speak to what I think of the book some three years later. Today I leaf through the pages of Bridge and imagine all the things so many of us would say differently or better-watching my own life and the lives of these writers/activists grow in commitment to whatever it is we term "our work." We are getting older, as is our movement.

I think that were Bridge to have been conceived of in 1983, as opposed to 1979, it would speak much more directly now to the r e l a t i o n s b e t w e e n w o m e n a n d m e n o f c o l o r , b o t h g a y a n d heterosexual. In 1979, response to a number of earlier writings by women of color which in the name of feminism focused almost ex-clusively on relations between the sexes, Bridge intended to make a c l e a n b r e a k f r o m t h a t p h e n o m e n o n . * I n s t e a d , w e c r e a t e d a b o o k which concentrated on relationships between \)omen.

Or-rce this right has been established, horvever, once a rnovement has provided some basic consciousness so that heterosexisrn and sexism are not considered the normal course of events, 'uve are in a lnuch stronger position to anaiyze our reiations u'ith the men of our f a m i l i e s a n d c o m m u n i t i e s f r o n r a p o s i t i o n o f p o w e r r a t h e r t h a n c o n r p r o m i s e . A B r i d g e o f 1 9 8 3 c o u l d d o t h i s . {I am particularly e n c o u r a g e d b y t h e o r g a n i z i n g p o t e n t i a l b e t w e e n T h i r d W o r l d lesbians and gay men in our comr)runities of color.)

T h e s e c o n d m a j o r d i f f e r e n c e a 1 9 8 3 v e r s i o n o f B r i d g e r v o u l c l prorride is ihat it would be much more international in perspective. Although the heart ol Bridge remains the same, the impetus to forge iir-rks with women of color from every region grows nrore and more urgent as tl.re number of recentll'-inrmigrated people of color in the U.S. grows in enonnous proportions, as lve begin to see ourselves all as refugees of a world on fire:

The U.S. is training troops in Honduras to overthrort,the Nicara-guan people's government.

Human rights violations are occurring on a lrassive scale in Gua-tenrala and El Salvador {and as in this country those most hard-hit are often the indigenous peoples of those landsJ.

Pinochet escalates political repression in Chile. The U.S. invades Grenada.

Apartheid continues to bleed South Africa.

T h o u s a n d s o f u n a r m e d p e o p l e a r e s l a u g h t e r e d in B e i r r . r t b y Christian rnilitiamen and Israeli soldiers.

Aquino is assassinated b1' the Philippine governrnent.

And in the U.S.? The Reagan adrninistration daily draii-rs us oi nearly evcry political gain rnade bv the feminist, Third World and anti-war u,ork of tl-re late 60's and earl1' 70's.

The question and challenge for Third \{orld ferninism rernains: what are the particular conditions of oppression suffered by rvonren o f c o l o r i n e a c h o f t h e s e s i t u a t i o n s ? H o w h a s t h e s p e c i a l c i r c u m -stances of her pain been overlooked by Third \\brld mover.nents, soli-d a r i t y g r o u l l s , " i n t e r n a t i o n a l f e r n i n i s t s ? " H o l v h a v e t h e c h i l soli-d l e n suffered? How do u,e organize ourselves to snrvive this war? To keen our farnilies, our bodies, our spirits intact?

* G , r l d i t i ( r / / s . _{] " i v c . ' l ' h t B l o r ' . t l 1 ' o n r . ' n l s l s s r r e e d . b v L o r r a i n c I l e t h e l a n d l l a r b a r a} S r : r i l l r i r r l r 7 . r r r r ' , r r r r ; r j , ' ; c x c c l , t i o n

Sometimes in the face of my own/our owrl lin-ritations' irr ti-re face of such rvorld-wide suffering' j doubt even the significance-

of books' Surely this is the sa'ne predlcametlt so many people who^have tried to Lrse words u, *"upo'-" have found themselves in- 2Cara Q

cara con el enemigo de quZ- valen mis palabras?* This is especially

true for Third World women wriiers' who know full rvell otlr writings s e l d o m d i r e c t l ; ' r e a c h t h e p e o p l e w e g : e w t i p r ' t ' i t h ' S o m e t i m e s knowing this makes 1'ot' t""i like you're dunrping your words,into

a very deep and very dark hole' But we contillue to write To

the people of color we do reach and the peopie they touch' We even write to those classes of people for rvhom books have been as com-mon to their lives as bt"ucl ior finally' r't'e write to anyone who

r'vill listen lvith trr"i.

"u., op"n {even if only a crack)

to the currents of

c h a n g e a r o t r n d t h e m - , - ^ . ^ r i . , . i c r l - o t i e r

T I t e p o l i t i c a ] r ' r ' r i t e r , th e n ' i s t h e u l t i m a t e o p t i n r i s t ' b e l i e v i n g people are capable of change and using.rvorcls as one way to try and penetrate the privatis'-''t of" ntt lives' A privatism which keeps us back and arvay from each other' rvhich renders us politically useless'

At the tir.r.re oi tttis writlng horvever' I am ieeling rnore discouraged than optimistic. The tlt"u'i of a unified Third World feminist

move-rnent in this country;t ;" conceived of it when rve first embarked ." ,ft" f ."j.ct of thii book' seemed more possible somehow' because as of yei, less tried. ti *a' stiil rvaiting in the ranks begging to

take forn and hold ln ti''e iast three years I have learned that Third World feminism cioes not provicie ttre i<ind of easl'political framework that women of color are running to ir-r droves' We are not so rnuclt a

llat-ural" affinity group, o""o'1ll"" rvho have come together out of politi-cal necessity. fne idea oi fn"a World feminism iras proved to be much easier U"tnt'""n the covers o[ a book than between real

live \vomen. There are ;t;;; it;"tt that divide us; and' recognizing that fact can n.rake that dreanr at times see'r qrite re"ote. Still, the need f o r a b r o a d b a s e c t u ' S ' w o m e n o f c o l o r m o v e r r t e n t c i r p a b l e o f s p a n -,ti"g tr"ta"ts of nation and ethnicity has never been so strong'

If we are interesteci in builcling a movetnent that will not constantly be subverted Uy i,''t""lut differe"nces' tl.ren we nust br'rild frorr the in-sideout, r-rot the ottt""tuy arouncl'-Coming to terms u'ith the suf-ferlng of others has uever meant looking arvay from our own'

And, lve n-rust look cleeply' We must acknowledge that to change the rt'orld, ,"" t-,ut'" io t}to"g" ourselves--even sometitrtes our tnost cherished bloct-f'atci co'-'uiitio'''t As This Bridge Catted M>' Back is r r o t r , t , r i t t e n t n S t o n e , n e i t h e r i s o l t r p o l i t i c a l v i s i o n . l t i s s u b j e c t t o c h a n g e .

I must confess I hate the thought of this. Change don't come easy. For anyone. But this state of war we live in, this world on fire pro-vides us with no other choice.

If the irnage of the bridge can bind us together, I think it does so m o s t p o w e r f u l l y i n t h e w o r d s o f D o n n a K a t e R u s h i n , w h e n s h e insists:

" s t r e t c h . . . o r d i e . "

Cherrie Moraga October 1983

Forevtord to the Second Edition

2Qu6 hacer de aqui y c6mo? lWhat to do fiom here qnd how?)

P e r h a p s l i k e m e y o u a r e t i r e d o f s u f f e r i n g a n d t a l k i n g a b o u t s u f f e r i n g , e s t d s h a s t a e l p e s c u e z o d e s u f r i n - r i e n t o , d e c o n t a r l a s lltrvias de sangre pero no has iluvias de flores lup to ),our neck witlt suffering, of countirtg the rains of blood but not the rains of flowers). L i k e m e y o u m a y b e t i r e d o f m a k i n g a t r a g e d y o f o u r i i v e s . A a b a n d o n a r e s e a u t o c a n i b a l i s m o : c o r a j e , t r i s t e z a , n i i e d o ( 1 e l ' s abandon this autocannibalism: rage, sadness, fear). Basta de gritar contra el viento-toda palabra es ruido si no est6 acompaiada de acci6n lenough of shoutittg against the v,ind-all words are noise if n o t a c c o m p a n i e d w i t h a c t i o n ) . D e j e r - n o s d e h a b l a r h a s t a q u e lraganros _{la palabra lunrinosa y activa llet's work rrct talk, let's say nothtrry} until we've made the world lumbtous and active). Basta de pasividad y de pasatiempo rnientras esperalros al novio, a Ia novia, a la Diosa, o a l a R e v o l u c i 5 n l e n o u g h o f p a s s i v i t y a n d p a s s i r t g t i m e w h i l e w a i t i n g f o r t h e b o y f r i e n d , t h e g i r l f r i e r t d , t h e G o d d e s s , o r t h e R e v o l u t i o n ) . N o n o s p o d e r n o s q n e d a r p a r a d a s c o n I o s b r a z o s cruzados en medio del puente lwe can't afford to stop in the ntiddle of tlrc bridge u,ith arms crossed).

A n c l y e t t o a c t i s n o t e n o u g h . M a n y o f u s a r e l e a r n i n g t o s i t perfectly still, to sense the presence of the Soul and cornmune rvitl-r Her. We are beginning to realize that lve are not u'hoily at the utercy of circumstance, nor are our lives cornpletelv out of our hands. T}.rat if r,n'e posture as victirns rve will be victirhs, that iropelessness is s u i c i d e , t l - r a t s e l f - a t t a c k s s t o p u s o n o u r t r a c k s . W e a r e s l o r , r - l v m o v i n g p a s t t h e r e s i s t a n c e w i t h i n , l e a v i n g b e h i n d t l " r e d e f e a t e d i m a g e s . W e h a v e c o n r e t o r e a l i z e t h a t r v e a r e n o t a l o n e i n o u r struggles nor separate nor autononlous but that r.l'e-u'hite black straight queer female lnale-are connected ancl interdependent. We are each accountable for what is happening dolr.n the street, south of the border or across the sea. And those of us who have nore o f a n y t h i n g : b r a i n s , p h y s i c a l s t r e n g t h , p o l i t i c a l p o w e r , s p i r i t u -al energies, are learning to share them rvith those that don't have. W e a r e i e a r n i n g t o d e p e n d m o r e a n d m o r e o n o u r o \ \ ' n s o u r c e s f o r s u r v i v a i , l e a r n i n g n o t t o l e t t h e w e i g i r t o f t h i s b u r d e n , t h e bridge, break our backs. Haven't we always borne jugs of rvater, child r e n , p o v e r t y ? W h y n o t l e a r n t o b e a r b a s k e t s o f h o p e , l o v e , s e l f

-nourishment and to steP lightlY?

W i t h T h i s B r i d . g e . . . n " - o t i o m e n z a d o a s a l i r d e l a s s o r n b r a s ; hemos comenzado a reventar rutina y costurnbres opresivas y a u.r"r-rtu. Ios tabues; hemos comenzado a acarrear con Orgullo la tarea de deshelar corazones y cambiar -to concieucias lwe have begurt

,ome out oi the shadows; 'we

have begun to break with routines and oppressive customs and to discard taboos; we

'have

commensed - r o

, o i r y w i t h p r i d e t h e t a s k o f t h a w i n g h e a r t s a . n d c . h a n g i n g consciousness/. Mu;eres, a no dejar que el peligro del viaje y Ia inmensidad del territorio nos asuste-a mirar hacia adelante y a u b . i , p u u o e n e l m o r r t e l W o m e n , l e t ' s n o t l e t t h e d a n g e r o f t h e

journey and the vasli?ess of the territory scare us-Iet's look forward 'or,a

opnn paths in these woods) Caminante' no hay puetltes' se hace o.r"tt", al andar lVoyager, there are no bridges' one builds them as ine watks).

Contigo,

Foreword

How I cherish this collection of cables, esoesses, conjurations and fusile missles. Its motive force. Its gathering-us-in-ness. Its midwifery of mutually wise understandings. Its promise of autonorny and com-munity. And its pledge of an abundant life for us all. On time. That is to say - overdue, given the times. ("Arrogance rising, moon in oppres-sion, sun in destruction" - Cameron.)

Blackfoot arniga Nisei hermana Down Home Up Souf Sistuh sister El Barrio suburbia Korean The Bronx Lakota Menominee CubanaChinesePuertoriquenareservationChicana campafrera and letters testimonials poems interviews essays journal entries sharing sisters of the yam Sisters of the rice sisters of the corn Sisters _{of the plantain putting in telecalls to each other.} A n d w e ' r e a l l o n t h e [ i n e .

Now that we've begun to break the silence and begun to break through the diabolically erected barriers and can hear each other and see each other, we can sit down with trust and break bread together. Rise up and break our chains as well. For though the initiai motive of several siter/riters here may have been to proiest, complain or explain to white feminist would-be allies that there are other ties and visions that bind, prior allegiances and priorities that supercede their invita-tions to coalesce on their terms ("Assimilation within a solely western-european herstory is not acceptable"- Lorde) the process of examining that would-be alliance awakens us to new tasks {,,We have a lot more to concentrate on beside the pathology of white wimmin,,

- davenport)

and a new connection: US a new set of recognitions: US a new site of accountability: US a new sortrce of power: US

And the possibilities _{intuited here or alluded to there or called forth in} various pieces in flat out talking in tongues - the possibility of several million women refuting the numbers game inherent in,,mi'ority,,,the possibility of denouncing the insulated/orchestrated conflict game of divide and conquer - through the fashioning of potent'etworks of all the daughters of the ancient mother cultures is awesome, mighty, a glorious life work. This Bridge lays down the planks to cross over on to a new place where stooped labor cramped quartered down pressed

and caged up combatants can straighten the spine and expand the lungs and make the vision manifest ("The dream is real, my friends' The failure to realize it is the only unreality." - Street Preacher in The

Sqlt Eaters\.

This Bridge documents particular rites of passage. Coming of age and coming to terms r,t'ith commr.rnity - race, group, ciass, gender' self - its expectations, supports, and lessons. And coming to grips with its perversions- racism, prejudice, elitism, misogyny, homophobia, and murder. And coming to terms with the incorporation of disease, strug-gling io overthrow the internal colonial/pro-racist ioyalties-color/ hue/hair caste within the household, power perversities engaged in under the guise of "personal relationships," accommodation to and col-laboration with self -ambush and amnesia and murder. And coming to grips r,r'ith those faise awakenings too that give use ease as we substi-iute a rnilitant mouth for a radical politic, delaying our true coming of age as comrnitted, cotr-rpetent, principled combatants.

There is more than a hint in these pages that too many of us still equate tone with substance, a hot eye with clear vision, and congratu-late ourselves for our political maturity. For of course it takes more than pique to unite our wrath {"the capacity of heat to change the shape of thrngs" - Moragal and to wrest power from those who have it and abuse it, to reclaim our ancient powers lying dormant with neglect ("i wanna ask billie to teach us how to use our voices like she used hers on that old 78 record"-gossett), and create new powers in arenas where they r]ever before existed. And of course it takes more than the self -disclosure and the bold glimpse of each others' [ife docu-ments to make tl-re grand resolve to fearlessly work toward potent meshings. Takes more than a rinsed lens to face unblinkingly the par-ticular twists of the divide and conquer tactics of this moment: the practice of withdrarving small business loans from the Puerto Rican grocer in favor of the South Korean wig sl-rop, of stripping from Black students the Martin Luther King scholarship fund fought for and delivering those funds up to South Vietnamese or white Cubans or any other group the government has made a commitment to in its greedy grab for empire. We have got to know eacl'r other better and teach each other our \ /ays, our views, if we're to remove the scales ("seeing radical differences where they don't exist and not seeing them when they are critical"- Quintanales\ and get the work done.

This Bridge can get us there. Can coax us into the habit of listening to each other and learning each other's ways of seeing and being' Of hearing each other as we heard each other in Pat Lee's Freshtones, as we heard each other in Pat Jones and Faye Chiang, et. al.'s Ordinary

Wonren, as we heard each other in Fran Beale's Third World Women's Alliance newspaper. As we heard each other over the years in snatched time moments in hallways and conference corridors, caucusing betlt,een sets. As we heard each other in those spiit second interfacings of yours and mine and hers student union meetings. As we heard each other in that rainbow attempt under the auspices of IFCO years ago. And way before that when Chinese, Mexican, and African women in this country saluted each other's attempts to fornt protective leagues. And before that r,r,hen New Orleans African women and Yarnassee and Yanracrow worren went into the swamps to meet with Filipino r,r'ives of "draftees" and "defectors" during the so called Frer-rch and Indian War. And rvhen members of the maroon communities and wornen of the long lodge heid council together ln'hile the Seminole Wars raged. And way way before that, before the break-ing of the land mass when we mothers of the yam, of the rice, of the maize, of the plantain sat together in a circle, staring into the camp fire, the answers in our laps, knowing holv to focus. . .

Quite frankly, This Bridge needs no Foreword. It is the Aftenr,ard that'll count. The coalitions of women determined to be a danser to our enernies, as June Jordan would put it. The r.r'ill to be dangerous ("ask billie so \A/e can learn how to have those bigtime bigdaddies jumping outta windows and otherwise offing theyselves ir.r droves" -gossell). And the contracts we creative combatants lr.iil make to rnutually care and cure each otiier into n'holesorneness. And the blue-prints we will drarn' up of the new order we will rnake mar-rifest. And the personal unction we r,vill discover in the rnirror, in the dreatns, or or.r the path across This Bridge. The r,r'ork: To make revoiution irresistible.

Blessings,

Toni Cade Barnbara

Novelist Bambara and interviewer Kalamu Ya Salaam u'ere discussing a call she made in The Salt Eaters through The Seven Sisters, a rnulti-c u l t u r a l , rn u l t i - m e d i a a r t s tr o u p e , a c a l l t o u n i t e o u r w r a t h , o r . r r r , i s i o n , our powers.

Kalamu: Do you thirrk t h i s ?

fiction is the most effective rval' to do

No. The rnost effective way to do it, is to do itl*

*"ln Searcli of thc Nftrtht-r TonguL-: Al) [ntcrvier.r' rl it]r Toni Cade Bantbara' _{lFrrst ltrirrl.1} / r r r r r r , r l F a l i 1 9 8 0 1 .

Conterrts

lore$'oro l o n l L a d e b a m o 1 r ( t Preface Cherrie Moraga The Bridge Poem

Donna Kate Rttshirt Introduction

Clrcrrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldila

Children Passing in the Streets

The Roots of Our Radicalism

When I Was Grort'ing UP Nellie Wong

on not bein maryt lPPn 1nn

For the Color of MY Mother Cherrie Moraga I Am What I Am Rosario Morales D r e a m s o f V i o l e n c e lttraomi Littlebear He Salv Cftrystos

Entering the Lives of Others

Theory in the Flesh

Wonder Womar-r Genny Lnrt La Giiera

Cherrie lvloraga

Invisibility is an Unnatural Disaster: Reflections of an Asian Americatl Wornat't

Mitsuye Yamada It's In NIy Blood, M,v Face

-My Mother's \bice, The Wav I Sr't'eat Anita \,hlerio v l x l 1 1 X X I x x l l l

L2

T 4 l r ) l 8

z5

1 1

3 5

^L-. 4 1

"Gee, You Don't Seern Like An Indian From the Reservation"

BarbaraCameron

". . . And Even Fide] Can't Change Thatl" Aur<tra Levins Morales

I Walk in the History of My People Chrystos

And When You Leave, Thke Your Pictures With You

Racism in the Women's Movement

And When You Leave, Take Your Pictures With You Jo Caruillo

B e y o n d t h e C l i f f s o f A b i q u i u -lo Carrillo

I Don't Understar.rd Those Who Have Turned Away From Me Chrystos

Asian Pacific American Wonten and Feminisrn Mitsuve Yam<tda

Millicent Fredericks Gabrielle Daniels

- Btrt I Know You, American Woman Iudit Moschkoviclt

The Pathology of Racism: A Conversation w i t h T h i r d \ \ b r l d W i m n r i n

doris davenport We're All in the Same Boat

Rosario Morales

An Open Letter to Mary Daly Audre Lorde

The Master's Toois Will Never Disruantle the Master's House

Audre Lorde

Between the Lines

On Culture, Class, and Homophobia

The Otl-rer Heritage Rosario Morales billie livesl billie livesl

hattie gossett

Across the Kitchen Thble: A Sister-to- Sister Dialogue

Barbara Srnith and Bet,erly Smith

Lesbianism: Ar-r Act of Resistance CherylClarke

Lowriding Through the Women's Movement BarbaraNoda

Letter to Ma Merle Woo

I Come With No Illusions Mirtha Quintanales

I Paid Very Hard for My Immigrant Ignorance Mirtha Quintanales

Earth- Lover, Survivor, Musician Naomi Littlebear

Speaking in Tongues

The Third World Woman Writer

Speaking in Tongues: A Letter To Third World Women Writers

Gloria Anzaldria

who told you anybody wants to hear from you? you ain't nothing but a black woman!

hattie gossett

In Search of the Self as Hero:

Confetti of Voices on New Year's Night Nellie Wong

Chicana's Feminist Literature: A Re-vision Through Malintzinlor Malintzin:

Putting Flesh Back on the Object Norma Alarcon

Ceremony for Completing a Poetry Reading C&ry'5165

El Mundo Zurdo

The Vision

Give Me Back Chryslos La Prieta GloriaArualdua

A BIack Ferninist Statement Conrbahee Riv er Colle c tiv e The Welder Chenle Moraga

r28

1 3 8 1.10 148 l 5 u | t r 7

5 7

1 6 5 6 5 6 8 7 1 79 8 5 9 1 1.97 1 9 8

2r0

r07

1 0 9 175 1 7 7 182 1 9 1 9 8 1 1 3 b-_ 219

O.K. Momrna, Who the Hell Am I?: An Interview with Luisah Teish

Gloria Anzaldua Brownness

AndreaCanaan

Revolution: It's Not Neat or pretty or euick Pat Porker

No Rock Scorns Me as Whore Chrystos

Biographies of the Contributors

Third World Women in the United States _ B y a n d A b o u t Us:A Selected B i b l i o g r a p h y Cherrie Moraga

221

2 3 2

238

z + 3 / . 4 6 z J L

Preface

Change does not occur in a vacuum. In this preface I have tried to re-create for you my own journey of struggle, growing consciousness, and subsequent politicization and vision as a woman of color. I want to reflect in actual terms how this anthology and the women in it and around it have personally transformed my life, sometimes rather painfully but always with richness and meaning.

I Transfer and Go Underground (Boston, Massaclrusetts - _{July 20, 19801}

It is probably crucial to describe here the way this book is corning together, the journey it is taking me on. The book still not completed and I have traveled East to find it a publisher. Such an anthology is in high demands these days. A book by radicai women of color. The Left needs it, with its shaky and shabby recorcl of commitment to women, period. Oh, yes, it can claim its attention to "color" issues, embodied in the male. Sexism is acceptable to the white left publishing house, par-ticularly if spouted through the mouth of a Black man.

The feminist movement needs the book, too. But for different rea-sons. Do I dare speak of the boredom setting in among the white sector of the feminist movement? What was once a cutting edge, growing dull in the too easy solution to our problems of hunger of soul and stomach. The lesbian separatist utopia? No thank you, sisters. I can't prepare myself a revolutionary packet that rnakes no sense when I leave the r,t'hite suburbs of Watertown. Massacl-rusetts and take the T-line to BIack Roxbury.

Take Boston alone, I think to myself and the feminism my so-called sisters have constructed does nothing to help me make the trip fron-r one end of town to another. Leaving Watertown, I board a bus and ride it quietly in my light flesh to Harvard Square, protected by the gold highlights my hair dares to take on, like an insult, in this misera-ble heat.

I transfer and go wtderground.

Julie told me the other day' hou' they stopped her for walking through the suburbs. Can't tell if she's a lnan or a woman, only know that it's Black moving through that part of town. They wouldn't spot her here, moving underground.

L-Cherne Moraga

The train is abruptly stopped. A white man in jeans and tee shirt breaks into the car I'm in, throws a Black kid up against the door, handcuffs him and carries him away. The train moves on. The day before, a 14-year-old Black boy was shot in the head by a white cop. A n d , t h e s u m m e r i s g e t t i n g h o t t e r .

I hear there are some women in this town plottinga lesbian revolu-tion. What does this mean about the boy shot in the head is what I want to know. I am a lesbian. I want a movement that helps me make some sense of the trip from Watertown to Roxbury, from white to Black. I love women the entire way, beyond a doubt.

A r r i v i n g i n R o x b u r y , a r r i v i n g a t B a r b a r a ' s * . . . . B y t h e e n d o f t h e evening of our first visit together, Barbara comes into the front room where she has made a bed for me. She kisses me. Then grabbing my shoulders she says, very solid-like, "we're sisters." I nod, put myself in-to bed, and roli around with this word, sislers, for two hours before sleep takes on. I earned this with Barbara. It is not a given between us - Chicana and Black - to come to see each other as sisters. This is not a given. I keep wanting to repeat over and over and over again, the pain and shock of difference, the joy of commonness, the exhilaratiot-r of meeting through incredible odds against it.

But the passage isthrough, not over, not by, not around, but through. This book, as long as I see it for myself as a passage through, I hope rr,'ill function for others, colored* * or rvhite, in the same way. Hort'' do rve develop a movement that can live with the fact of the loves and lir.es of these women in this book?

I would grow despairing if I believed, as Rosario Moraies refutes, we were unilaterally defined by color and class. Lesbiar-rism is then a hoax, a fraud. I have no business with it. Lesbianisnt is supposed to be about corrnection.

What drew me to politics was my love of women, the agony I felt in observing the straight-jackets of poverty and repression I saw people in my own family in. But the deepest political tragedy I have experi-enced is how with such grace, such blind faith, this commitment to w o m e n i n t h e f e m i n i s t n t o v e m e n t g r e w t o b e e x c i u s i v e a n d r e a c -tionary. I call my wy'rrfe srsters on this.

I have had enough of this. And, I am involved in this book because more than anything else I need to feel enlivened again in a movernent

* I lvant to acknowledge ancl thank Barbara Smith for her support as a sister, ht-r in. s i g h t s a s a p o l i t i c a l a c t i v i s t a n d v i s i o n a r v , a n c l e s p e . c i a l l l ' f o r h e r w a _ v l v i t h u ' o r d s in h e l p -i r t g m e p u l l t h -i s t o g e t h e r .

* * ' I ' h r o u g l r o u t t l l e t e x t , t h e r v o r d " c o k t r e d _{r v i l l b e u s e d b y t h e e c l i t o r s i n r e f c r r i n g t o a l l} T h i r d W o r l d p e o p l e s a n d p e o p l e o f c o l o r u n l e s s o t h e n v i s e s p e c i f i e d .

Cherrie LIora!11

that can, as my friend Amber Hollibaugh states, finally ask the right questiolrs and admit to not l.ravirrg all the answers'

A Bridge Gets Walked Over

lBoston, Massachusetts - July 25 19801

I am ready to go horne now. I am ready. Very tired' Couldn't sleep all night. Missing home. There is a deep fatigue in my body this morning' I f"eel used ,.,j. Ad'"trtre asks me if I can write of what has happe'ed with me while here in Boston. She asks me if I ca,-1, not worzld. I say, yes, I think so. And now I doubt it. The pain of racism, classism. Such orre.rrr"d ar-rd trivialized words. The pain of it all. I do not feel people of color are the only ones hurt by racism.

A n o t h e r m e e t i n g . A g a i n w a l k i n g i n t o a r o o m f i l l e d w i t h w h i t e wornen, a splatteriirg of wonten of color around the room. The issue on the table, Racism. The dread and terror in the room lay like a thick immovable paste above all our shoulders, white and colored' alike' we, Third world \Arolrlen in the room, thinking back to square one, a g a i n .

How can yve - this time - not use our bodies to be throv,n over a river of torntented history to brid.ge the gap? Barbara says last night: "A bricige gets walked over." Yes, over and over and over again'

I watch the white wonlen shrink before my eyes, losing their fluidity of argument, of confidence, pause awkwardly at the word''race"' the word", ,,color." The pauses keepirrg the voices breathless, tl-re bodies taut, erect - unable to breatl.re deeply, to laugh, to moan in despair' to cry in regret. I cannot continue to use my body to be walked over to -ik" u connection. Feeling every joint in my body tense this morning' used.

what the hell arn I getting ntyself into? Gloria's voice has recurred to me throughout this frip. A year and a half ago, she rvarned- and en-c o . , r a g e d : , , T h i s b o o k r v i l l c h a n g e y o u r l i f e , c h e r r i e . I t w i l l c h a n g e both our lives." And it has. Gloria, I wish you were here'

A f e l r , d a y s a g o , a n o l d f r i e n d s a i d t o m e h o w w h e n s h e f i r s t n r e t m e , I seerned so white to her' I sairl in honesty, I used to feel more white' Y o u k n o w , I r e a l l y d i d . B u t a t t h e m e e t i n g l a s t n i g h t , d e a l i n g w i t h white women here on this trip, I have felt so very dark: dark with anger, r,t,ith silence, with the feeling of being walked over'

iwrote in my iournal: "My growing consciousness as a woman of color is surely seeming to transform my experience. How could it be that the rnore I feel wilh other women of color, the more I feel myself Chicana, the more susceptible I am to racist attackl"

L-O'"r*"

of Breakthrough: Coming Home

lSan Francisco,

California

- Septembe/

ZO, lgSOl

C }itr l.' ,1Jlrtr;u

When Audre Lorde, speaking of racism, states: ,, I urge each one of us to reach dor,r,n _{into that deep place of knowledge insicle herself and} t o u c h th a t t e r r o r and loathing of any difference thit lives there., ' I anr driven to do so because of the passion for women that lives i. .rv body. I know now that the major obstacle for me, personally, in corn_ pleting this book has occurred when I stopped *,iiti,-,g it for myself , lt'hen I looked away fron-r my own source of kno$,ied-ee.

Audre is right. It is also the source of terror - how deepr' separation between women hurts me. How discovering difference, piofound dif_ ferences between myself and women I love has sornetimes rendered rne helpless and immobilized.

I think of my sister here. How I stiil haven't gotten over the shock t h a t s h e w o u l d n r a r r y this white man, ratheithan enter onto the j o u r n e y I knew I was taking. _{i T h i s i s t h e m o d e l w e h a v e f r o m m y} rnother, 'urturingiwaiting on my father and brother arl the days of rrer life. Always how if a man lvalked into the room, he lt as paid aitentron t o [indulged] in a particular Latin-woman_to_nra" _{* u y . 1 F o r y e a r s ,} and to this day, I am still recovering from the disappointment that thrs girl/this sister who had been with me everydayof my life growing up - who slept, ate, talked, cried, worked, fought with me _ irus srd_ denly lost to me through this man and marriage. I still struggle with b e l i e v i n g I h a v e a r i g h t to my feelings, that it is not ,,immature,,or "queer" _{to refuse such separations,}

to still mourn over this early aban-donment, "this homesickness for a woman.,'* * So few people really u.derstand how deep the bond betrn,een sisters can run. I ,"r,as raised to rely o' my sister, to believe sisters could be counted or.r ,,to so the long hard way with you."

Sometimes for me "that deep place of knowledge,, Audre refers to s e e m s li k e a n e n d l e s s re s e r v o i r of pain, where i must continually unravel the damage done to me. It is a calculated system of damage, intended to ensure our separation from other women, but particulaily those we learned to see as most different from ourselves and there-fore, most fearful. The women whose pain we do not want to see as o u r o w n . C a l l i t r a c i s m , class oppression, _{n r e n , o r d y k e _ b a i t i n g , t h e} system thrives.

* F r o m "The l\{astcr's Tbols will Never Disrnantle T h e N { a s t e r ' s _{H o u s e " ifrolr the textl.} * * A d r i e n n e

R i c h " T r a n c e n d e n t a l Etude," The Drectm of a ct)mnrcn.Langrage _{1 N r , r v} Y o r k : N o r t o n , 1 9 7 8 1 , p . 2 5 .

Cherrie Moraga xvii

I mourn the friends and lovers I have lost to this damage. I mourn the women lvhom I have betrayed with my own ignorance, my own fear.

The year l-ras been one of such deep damage. I have felt between my hands the failure to bring a love I believed in back to life. Yes, the failure between lovers, sisters, rnother and daughter-the betrayal. How have we turned our backs on each other - the bridge collapsing - whether it be for public power, personal gain, private validation, or more closely, to save face, to save our children, to save our skins.

"See whose face it wears,"* Audre says. And I know I must open my eyes and mouth and hands to name the color and texture of my fear. I had nearly forgotten why I was so driven to work on this antholo-gy. I had nearly forgotten that I wanted/needed to deal with racisnr because I couldn't stand being separated from other women. Because I took my lesbianism that seriously. I first felt this the most acutely with Black won-ren - Black dykes - who I felt ignored me, wrote me off because I looked white. And yet, the truth was that I didn't know Black women intimately (Barbara says "it's about who you can sit down to a meal with, who you can cry with, whose face you can touch"). I had such strong "colored hunches" about our potential con-nection, but r,r'as basically removed from the lives of most Black wolnen. The ignorance. The painful, painful ignorance.

I had even ignored my own bloodline connection with Chicanas and other Latinas. Maybe it was too close to look at, too close to home. Months ago in a journal entry I wrote: "I am afraid to get near to how deeply I want the love of other Latin women in my life." In a real visceral way I hadn't felt the absence (only assumed the fibers of alien-ation I so often felt r,r'ith anglo women as normative). Then for the first time, speaking on a panel about racism here in San Francisco, I could physically touch what I had been missing. There in the front row, nod-ding encouragement and identification, sat five Latina sisters. Count them! Five avowed l,atina Feminists: Gioria, Jo, Aurora, Chabela y Mirtha. For once in my life every part of me was allowed to be visible and spoken for in one room at one tirne.

After the forum, the six of us walk down Valencia Street singing songs in Spanish. We buy burritos y cerveza from "[,a Cumbre" and talk our heads off into the night, crying from the impact of such a reunion.

Si son mis comadres. Somethins my rnother had with her women friends and sisters. Coming homJ. For once, I didn't have to choose

- From "The N,laster's Tools lVill Never Dismantle The Master's Hor.rse" (from the textl.

Clterrie Nlorapa

between being a lesbian and beirlg Chicana; between being a feminist and having family.

I Have Dreamed of a Bridge

lSan Francisco, California- September 25, 1980)

Literally, for two years now, I have dreamed of a bridge. In writing this conclusion, I fight the myriad voices that live inside me. The voices that stop my pen at every turn of the page. They are the voices that tell me here I should be talking nore "materialistically" about the oppression of women of color, that I should be plotting out a "strategy" for Third World Revolution. But what I really want to write about is faith. That without faith, I'd dare not expose myseif to the potential betrayal, rejection, and failure that lives throughout the first and last gesture of connection.

And yet, so often I have lost touch with the simple faith I know in my blood. My mother. On some very basic level, the woman cannot be shaken from the ground on which she walks. Once at a very critical point in my work on this book, where everything I loved - the people, the writing, the city-ali began to cave in on me, feeling such utter despair and self-doubt, I received in the mail a card from my mother. A holy card of St. Anthony de Padua, her patron saint, her "special" saint, wrapped in a plastic cover. She wrote in it: "Dear Cherrie, I am sending you this prayer of St. Anthony. Pray to God to help you with this book." And a cry came up from inside me that I had been sitting on for months, cleaning me out - a faith healer. Her faith in this saint did actually once save her life. That day, it helped me continue the labor of this book.

I am not talking here about some lazy faith, where we resign our-selves to the tragic splittings in our lives with an upward turn of the hands or a vicious beating of our breasts. I am talking about believing that we have the power to actually transform our experience, change our lives, save our lives. Otherwise, why this book? It is the faith of activists I am talking about.

The materialism in this book lives in the flesh of these women's lives: the exhaustion we feel in our bones at the end of the day, the fire we feel in our hearts when we are insulted, the knife we feel in our backs when we are betrayed, the nausea we feel in our bellies when we are afraid, even the hunger we feel between our hips when we iong to be touched.

Our strategy is how we cope - how we measure and weigh what is to be said and when, what is to be done and how, and to r,l'hom and to

Cherrie Moraga

whom and to whom, claily decidinglrisking who it is we can call an al-iu, .utt a friend (whatever that person's skin, sex, or sexuality)' We are ;;;"" withouia line. We are women who contradict each other'

T h i s b o o k i s w r i t t e r . r f o r a l l t l r e w o m e n i n i t a n d a l l w h o s e l i v e s o u r lives wiil touch. We are a farnily who first only knew each other in our dreams, who have corne together on these pages to make faith a reality ""J,"

bring all of our selves to bear down hard on that reality' --tt

i, abo,it physical and psychic struggle. It is about intimacy, a d e s i r e f o r l i f e b e t w e e n a l l o f u s , n o t s e t t l i n g f o r l e s s t h a n f r e e d o m e v e n in the most private aspects of our lives' A total vision'

For the *o-"t in thls book, I will lay my body down for that vision' This Bridge Called Mv Back

In the dream, I am always lnet at the river'

Cherrie Moraga

The Bridge Poem

Donna Kate Rushin

I've had enough

I'm sick of seeing and touching Both sides of things

Sick of being the damn bridge for everybody Nobody

Can talk to anybody Without me

Right?

I explain rny rnother to my father my father to my little sister My little sister to my brother my brother to the white feminists The white feminists to the Black church folks the Black church folks T o t h e e x - h i p p i e s t h e e x - h i p p i e s t o t h e B l a c k s e p a r a t i s t s t h c

Black separatists to the artists the artists to rny frie nds' parents. . . T h e n

I've got to explain rnyself To everybody

I do more translating Than the Gawdamr.r U.N. Forget it

I ' m s i c k o f i t

I'm sick of filling in your gaps Sick of being your insurance against

The isolation of your self -imposed limitations Sick of being the crazy at your holiday dinners Sick of beir-rg the odd one at your Sunday Brunches

Sick of being tl'rc sole Black frierrd to 34 individual white people Find another connection to the rest of the world

Find somethir-rg else to make you legitirnate Find son-re other way to be political and hip

>_-,l,tt

"* be the bridge to your womanhood Your rnanhood

Y o u r h u n t a n - n e s s

I'rn sick of rerr.rinding _{you ltot to} Close off too tight for too long

fm sick of rrediating with your worst self On bchalf of your better selves

I ar.n sick

O f h a v i n g to r e r n i n d you To breathe

Before vou suffocate Your olvn fool self Forget it

Stretch or dro'uvn E v o l v e o r d i e The bridgc I n-rust be

Is the bridge to my o,rvn po\\,er I must translate

My own fears M c d i a t e

My own weaktresses

I n-rust _{be the bridge to nowhere} But nty true self

And then I w i l l b c u s e f u l

I l o n i r , r A o l t , R z r s l u l

Introduction

How It All Began

In February of 1979, Gloria attended a women's retreat in the country just north of San Francisco. At Merlin Stone's insistence, three Third World women \\rere to receive scholarships to her workshop on goddesses and heroines taking place during the retreat. Only one made it - Gloria. The management and some of the staff made her feel an outsider, the poor relative, the token woman of color. And all because she was not white nor had she paid the $ 150 fee the retreat or-ganizers had set for the workshop. The seed that germinated into this anthology began there in Gloria's talks with Merlin.

What had happened at the women's retreat was not new to our experience. Both of us had first met each other working as the only two Chicanas in a national feminist writers organization. After two years of involvement with the group which repeatedly refused to address itself to its elitist and racist practices, we left the organization and began work on this book.

In April, 1979, we wrote:

We rvant to express to all women - especially to white middie-class women - the experiences which divide us as feminists; we want to examine incidents of intolerance, prejudice and denial of differ-ences within the feminist movement. We intend to explore the causes and sources of, and solutions to these divisions. We want to create a definition that expands what "feminist" means to us.

(From the original soiiciting letter) The Living Entity

What began as a reaction to the racism of white feminists soon became a positive affirmation of the commitment of women of color to our own feminism. Mere words on a page began to transform them-selves into a living entity in our guts. Now, over a year later, feeling greater solidarity with other feminists of color across the country through the making of this book, we assert:

This Bridge Called My Back intends to reflect an uncompromised definition of feminism by women of color in the U.S.

We narned this anthology "radical" for we were interested in the writings of women of color who want nothing short of a revolution rn

L--xxiv Cherrfe !\'Ioraga.tGlr>riaAnzaltl*a

the hands of women - who agree that that is the goal, no natter how we might disagree about the getting there or the possibility of seeing it in our own lifetimes. We use the term in its original form - stemming from the word "root" - for our feminist poiitic emerges from the roots of both of our cuiturai oppression and heritage.

The Parts of the Whole

The six sections of This Bridge Called My Back intend to reflect what we feel to be the major areas of concern for Third World women in the U.S. in forming a broad-based political movement: 1) how visibility/ invisibility as women of color forms our radicalism; 2) the ways in which Third World women derive a feminist political theory specific-ally from our racial/cultural background and experience; 3) the destructive and demoralizing effects of racism in the women's move-ment; 4) the cultural, class, and sexuality differences that divide women of color; 5) Third World women's writing as a tool for self-pres-ervation and revolution; and 6) the wavs and means of a Third World feminist future.

The Writers and Their Work

The women in whose hands This Bidge Called My Back was wrought identify as Third World women and/or women of color. Each woman considers herself a feminist, but draws her feminism from the culture in which she grew. Most of the women appearing in this book are first-generation writers. Some of us do not see ourselves as writers, but pull the pen across the page an)'way or speak with the power of poets.

The selections in this anthology range from externporaneous stream of consciousness journal entries to well thought-out theoretical state-ments; frorn intimate letters to friends to full-scale public addresses. In addition, the book includes poems and transcripts, personal conversations and interviews. The lt'orks combined reflect a diversity of perspectives, linguistic styles, and cultural tongues.

In editing the anthology, our primary comrnitment was to retaining this diversity, as well as each writer's especial voice and style. The book is intended to reflect our color loud and clear, not tone it down. As editors we sought out and believe we found, non-rhetoricai, highiy personal chronicles that present a political analysis in everyday terms. In compiling the anthology, Cherrie was primariiy responsible for the thematic structure and organization of the book as a whole. She also wrote the introductions to the first four sections of the book which cover 1) The Roots of Our Radicalism; 2l Theory in the Flesh; 3l Racisnt tn the Women's Movement; and 4) On Culture, Class, and Homophobia.

Ch e rri e M c; r aga / G lor ia Anzaldila

Gloria wrote the introductions to the final two sections of the book *fri.n explore The Third World Woman Writer and The VIsion of the Third World feminist. Together as editors' we both bore the burden of the book (even more thJn rve had anticipated - this being our first attempt ui st.h a projectl, not.onlv doing the proof-reading and *uki"g editorial decisions, but also acting as a telephone answerlIlS and courier sert'ice, PR persons ancl advertisers' interviewers and transcribers, and even occasionally' muses for some of the c o n t r i b u t o r s d u r i n g t h e i r , s o m e t i r n e s r a t h e r p a i n f u l " ' w r i t i n g b l o c k s " ' M o s t i m p o r t a n t i y , w e s a \ A r o u r m a j o r r o l e a s e d i t o r s b e i n g t o e n c o u r a g e writers to delve even more deeply into their lives' to make some meaning out of it for thernselves atld their readers

Time and MoneY

Many people have commented on the relative speed in which this book was pioduced. In barely two years' the anthology grew from a seed of an idea to a published work' Tfue' everyone has worked fast' including the Publishers.

The anthology was created r'r'ith a sense of urgency' From the moment of its conception, it was already long overdue 'TWo years ago when rn,e started, we knew it was a book that should already have been in our hands.

How do you concerttrate an a project u'hen >'ou're worrie-d about paytng the rent? We have sorely iearned why so few women of color attempt this kind of project -,'to

"lo^"y to fail back on' ln compiling thisbook we both ,llulntui.t"d trvo or more jobs just to keep the book and our-selves alive. No tin-re to write whiie lvaiting tables' No time for class preparation, to reaci students' papers' argue with your boss' have a l o v e l i f e o r e a t a d e c e n t m e a l ^ l v h e . ' t h e d e a d l i r - r e m u s t b e n e t . N o money to buy stamps, to hire a lawyer "to go over the contract"' to ".,gug" an agent. Both of us became expertjugglers

of our:1"try u"d the few pennies in our piggybanks: Gloria's 'little chicken" and Cherrie's "tecate bucket'"

Agradecimientos

Btft oh there were the people who helped:Leslie' Abigail' Leigh and her IBM selectric, Ranciy, David, Mirtha's arroz con picadillo and loving encouragement, Merlin and Adrienne's faith in the book' Jane and Saliy's leitir'tg Cherrie change her mind ' our wonten's studies students at San Francisco State Univ"ersity who put up with their two.over-tired grumpy teachers, Debbie's backrubs' Jo who typed the whole damn manuscript, Barbara C' and her camera ancl crew' Barbara S"s work in spreading the word in Boston the friends who lent us money' and all

the other folks who supported our readings, our benefit parties, our efforts to get this book to press.

Most especially, of course, we wish to thank all the contributors whose commitment and insight made the nightly marathons we spent pulling out our hair worth it. They inspired the labor.

Putting Our Words into Practice

with the completion of this anthology, a hundred other books ancl projects are waiting to be de'eioped. Already, we hear tell in the r,vind from other contributors the possibiiity of a firm about Thircr world Ferninists, an anthology by Latina lesbians, a Third worrd ferninist publishing house. We, wome. of color, are not without plans. This is exactly the kind of service r,r'e _{lvish for the anthology to pro'ide. It is a} catalyst, not a definitive statement on "Third world Feminism in the U . S . '

we see the book as a revolutionary tool falling into the hands of people of all colors. Just as we have been radicalized in the process of compilir"rg this book, r.r'e _{hope it will radicalize others into action. \\,e} errvision the book being used as a reqtired text in most \vomen's studies courses. And u,e don't mean just "special,, courses on Third World Wornen or Racism, but also courses dealing with sexual poiitics, feminist thought, !\'omen's spirituality, etc. Sirniiarly, rn,e want to see this book on the shelf of, and used in the classroorn or', every ethnic studies teacher in this countrl', male and female alike. off campus, r,r'e _{expect the book to function as a consciousness-raiser} for rvhite women meeting together or u'orking alone on the issues of racism. And, lve want to see our colored sisters using the book as ar.r educator and agitator around issues specific to our oppression as wonlen.

We want the book in libraries, bookstores, at conferences, and u n i o n m e e t i n g s in e v e r y r n a j o r city a'd hole-in-the-wall in this countrv. And, of course, we hope to eventuall,v see this book translated and leave this country, n'raking tangibre the link betr,r'een Third \Abrld wornen in the U.S. and throushout the world.

Finally tenemos la esperanztt _{que This Brtdje Cailed My,Bacli will find} i t s w a y b a c k i n t o o u r f a n t i l i e s ' i i v e s .

The revoiution begir.rs at horne.

Cherrie N{oraga Gloria Anzaldira

Y-C he r ri e ill r t r a pa / G ! r.t ria An :ald ua

l

l

THIS

BRIDGE

CAttED tuY

BACK

WRITINGSBY

RADICAT

WOIUENoF

cotoR

L-_

Children Passing

in the Streets

0 l

I

c.l a

:'

"I learned to make nr,v mind large, as the universe is large, so that tl.rere is room for paradoxes."-Maxine Hong Kingston*

We are \\'omen frorn all kinds of childhood streets: the farms ol Puerto Rico, tl-re downtorvr.r streets of Chinatorvn, tl-re barrio, city-B r o n x s t r e e t s , q u i e t s u b u r b a n s i d e w a l k s , t h e p l a i n s , a n d t h e reserr.'ation.

In tl-ris first section, you rvill find voices from our childhoods, our youth. What lve learnecl about survival -trying to-pass-for-wl-rite, e a s y - t o - p a s s - f o r - r v h i t e , " s h e couldn't pass in a rnillion years." Here, we introclr.tce to yor.r the "color problenr" as it was first introduced to us: "not rvl'rite enuf, not dark enuf", always up against a color chart that first got erected far outside our families and our neighborhoods, but which ir.n aded them both r'r'ith systematic determination.

I n s p e a k i n g o f c o l o r a n d c l a s s , T i l l i e O l s e n o n c e s a i d : " T h e r e ' s n o sucl.r t].rir.rs as passing."* * Here are wonren of every shade of color and grade of class to prove that point. For although sonre of us traveled more easilr'fror.u street corner to corner than the sister rvhose color or p o v e r t l ' n r a d e h e r a n e s p e c i a l l l . v i s i b l e t a r g e t to t h e v i o l e n c e o n t h e street, cr1/ of us have been victims of tlie invisible violation r,t,hich h a p p e n s i n t l o o r s a n d i n s i d e o i . r r s e l v e s : t h e s e l f - a b n e g a t i o n , t h e s i l e n c e . t h e c o n s t a n t t h r e a t o f c u l t u r a l o b l i t e r a t i o n .

We lvert-- born into colored homes. We grew up lvith the inherent contradictions in the color spectrum right inside those iromes: the I i g h t e r s i s t r - r t h e r n i x e d - b l o o d c o u s i n , b e i n g t h e d a r k e s t o n e i n t h e f a n - r i l y . I t d o e s n ' t ta k e m a n v y e a r s t o r e a l i z e th e p r i t ' i l e g e s , o r l a c k t h e r e o f , a t t a c h e d t o a p a r t i c u l a r s h a d e o f s k i n o r t e x t u r e o f h a i r . I t i s this experience that moves light-skinned or "passable" Third World \\,'ornen to put ourselves on the line for our darker sisters. We are all family. Frou'r those far-nilies we were on the one hand encouraged to Ieave , to clir.nb up rvhite. Anc'l rvith the other hand, the reins r,vere held t i g h t o n u s , o r l r p a r e n t s u n d e r s t a n d i n g t h e d a n g e r th a t b o r d e r e d o u r h o m e s .

We learr.red to live u'ith these contradictions. This is the root of our r a d i c a l i s r l .

' I 1 : r r i r r c ' ll,)n{ Kir)cston 7'lu \\',tnatt ltrillior _{l N e r v Y o r k : \ ' i n t a g e 1 9 7 7 ) ,} p . 3 5 . t - F r o u r ir ta)k given at Tl.rr- \ \ b n r e n s B u i l t i i n g s p o n s o r c d b y ' T i r e F e n r i n i s t W r i t c r s G u i l c l . S a n l i r a n c i s c o \ o v e n r b e r 1 9 7 9 .

When I Was Growing Up

NeIIie Wong

I know now that once I longed to be rvhite. How? you ask.

Let n-re tell you the ways.

when I was growing up, people told me I was dark and I believed my own darkness i n t h e m i r r o r , i n n r y s o u l , r n y o w n n a r r o w v i s i o n

when I was growir-rg up, my sisters with fair skin got praised

f o r t h e i r b e a r r t v a n d i n t h e d a r k

I fell further, crushed between high walls when I was grolving up, I read magazines a n d s a w n r o v i e s , b l o n d e m o v i e s t a r s , w h i t e s k i n , sensuous lips and to be elevated, to become a \^,oman, a desirable woman, I began to wear irr-ragi nar_v pale ski n

rvhen I was growing up, I was proud o f m y E n g l i s h , m y g r a m n r a r , m y s p e l l i n g fitting into the group of srnart chilclren s m a r t C h i n e s e c h i l d r e n , fi t t i n g i n , b e l o n g i n g , g e t t i n g in l i n e

u'hen I rvas growing up and went to high school, I discovered the rich white girls, a few yellor,t,girls, their imported cotton dresses, their cashn-rere sweaters their curl,v hair and I thought that I too should have what these lucky girls had

r,vhen I was grou'ing r.rp, I hr.rngered for Anrerican food, American styles, c o d e d : w h i t e a n d e v e n t o m e , a c h i l d b o r n o f C h i n e s e p a r e n t s , b e i n g C h i n e s e was feeling foreign, r,r'as Iirriting, was unAmerican

-r/lll

lrt

l,i

',l

I

I knorv nolt'that llow r.t'rany ntore

once I longed to be ,uvhrte-.

F{ar,'en't I t<,rld 'ou

rta)'s?,vor-r ask enor-rgh?

when l was growing up ar-rd _{a lvhitc ntan \\.iuttL_d} to takc rne out, I thougirt I n,as special,

a n e x o t i c q a r d e n i a , _{a n x i o u s to f i t} t h e s t e r e o t y p e _{o f a n o r i e n t a l chick}

lr'hen I lvas srolving up, I felt asharnecl of some yellon rnen, their small trones, t h c i r f r a i l L r o d i e s , t h e i r s p i t t i n e

o n t h e s t r e e t s , t h e i r c o t r g h i n g , t h e i r l y i n g i n sunless r o o n l s , s h o c l t i n g t h e n r s e l v e s _{i n t h e a r m s} when I was gro'nvine _{up, people r,r.ould ask} if.I rvere Filipino, polyr-rersian, portngucse. Thev nan.red _{all colors except r,r,hitc., the shell} of ury soul, btrt not r.rrv _{clark, rough skin}

wher.r I r,r.as sror,r,ing up, I felt dirtr.. I thought tl"rat goci rriacle n.l.rite _{people clean}

anci no n-iattcr hor,r, rnuch I bathecl, I could not change, I could not shcrl m y s k i n i n t h e g r a y rvater

when I vvas growir.rg _{up, I srvore}

I would run a\^,ay to purplc n,rountains, h o u s e s _{b 1 ' t h e s e a lv i t h nothinq over} r r r v h e a d , r n , i t h s p a c e t o b r e a t h c ,

uncongested _{rvith t,ellclrv peoltlc in an arca} callecl Chinato,"vn, ir.r _{an area I later learned} r v a s a g h e t t o , one of rlanv hearts

t t f A s i a n A n r e r i c a

on not bein

mqry hope lee

b e a s n i a r t c h i l c l tr f i n g t o b e d u m b . . . n o t b l k e r r u f t o l o v i n l i i g n o r e . . . n o t b i t t e r e n u f t o d i e a t a e a r l y a g e . . .

r r t n z : k e s h e n s e +

she never wantecl no never once did she \\ranna be r'vhite/to pass

drear-ned only of beir.r darker she r,r,anted to be darker

not yellorv/not no high bror'r'rt neither but brou'n/n arrl brolvrr

she drearned/her body rnoist earth bror,r't.r she pray'ed/for chocolate semi/srveet/bi tter/su,eet dark chocolate nipples cro\\'nln her sn-rall chested tits

2 l'relshel's kisses s i t t i n s u ' e e t l i k e t o p o l 2 round scoops of sn.rooth m i l k c h o c o l a t e i c e c r e a r n

!

momma took her outta a l m o s t a l l b l a c k l i n c o l n h i g h cuz sl're useta catch hell every da,v in gyrn class

t h e o t h e r g i r l s r e a c t i n to h e r l i k c s h e ' u v a s t h e c a u s e o f s o m e

kinda gau'dar,r'ful allergy'they all had c o n t a c t c o u l d b e f a t a l

sun'ivors w,oulcl be scarrecl w i t h k i n d n e s s

- . \ ' a | | , .

l 1 l g g . lNen \brk: St. \lartin s Prcss lrl73l

1 0

cuz she wasn dark enuf was stnart enuf wasn rowdy enuf had a white girl friend cuz none of them would be beige or buffiecru or chamois jus wasn color/ed enuf

to get picked for the softball team wasn sufficient protection

'gainst

gettin tripped in the shower she wondered/

would they have treated florence ballard so shabbily

I b u t s h e e n v i e d t h e m a l l

felt every once now and then they just mighta been righteously justified since/after all they was brown like

the sun loved they skin special c u z i t w a r m e d ' e m chestnut bronze copper sepia cinnamon cocoa rnahogany

her/she was drab faded out yellow like a scorched july sky just fore it rains & rinses

away tl-re hint of brown fror-r-r the smog sl.re wasn/

no rnaureen peal

tnan ht 'p,' ls2 man holre lee

no'high yellorv drearn child' not/dichtY

a hex muttered not/hinkty

a curse let fly not/saditty

like girls rt'as spozed to be

did they urent to catholic school or was they frour geruranto$'n or baldr,,,'in hilis or

valencia park

tr

{the rnan she r.trarried/cuz he r'r'as the first one to ask/her bein afraid no body else u'ould/said he thought he was gonna hafta marry hisself rt ltitc cuz/he couldn find him no colored g i r l w a s / i n - t e l - l i - g e n t e - n u f f f / b u t r n ' i t h h e r b e i n t h e n e x t b e s t th i n g t o w h i t e . .

For the Color of MY Mother

Cherrie Moraga

I am a white girl gone brown to the blood color of m2- mother speaking for her through the unnamed part of the mouth the wide-arched muzzle of brou'n wotnetl

at two

my upper lip split oPen clear to the tip of mY nose

it spilled forth a cry that would not yield that travelled down six floors of hospital where doctors wound rne into white bandages only the screaming mouth exPosed

the gash sewn back into a snarl wolrld last for years

I ant a white girl gone broutn to the blood colu' of mv mother speak[ng for her

at five, her mouth pressed into a seam

a fine blue child's line drawn across her face her mouth, pressed into mouthing english mouthing yes Yes Yes

mouthing stooP lift carrY (sweating wet sighs into the field

her red bandana comes loose from under the huge brimmed hat movilrg across her uPPer liP)

at fourteen, her mouth painted, the ends drawn ttP

the rnole in the corner colored in darker larger mouthing yes she praying no no no

lips pursed and moving

Cherrte l\fu;ragtt

at fortY-five,

l'rer

rnouth

[i""aing ir-rto

her ston'rach

if,"-r-tor"

guping

grorti rrg rt.-lder

i " " p " " i " g n i t i r r n y

f a t h e r ' s

p a l l o r

f i n a l l y s t i t c h e d s n u l r r o l l l h i 1 ' r t o b r e a s l b o t t e arr irrverted V

Vera Elvira

I am a white girl gitrte brrtwn tct the bktod coktr of my mctlher speaking for her

as it should be

dark lvor'retl col''e to t'"rrrrrr-,,

ir-r ci,rcles I pass through their.hands

the head of uv nlother painted in claY colors touching each carved feature

srvollen eYes and mouth they understand the explosion the splitting

open contained n'ithin the fixed expresslon they cradle her siicnce

oddi.g to me