Textual Resistance

Page 10 American Book Review BrownFemiPower continued from previous page in the zine world—a world that is ostensibly more radicalized than other forms of print media. The MAIZ Chronicles are written by women of color and for women of color. According to editor Noemi Martinez, MAIZ exists as a space to “nurture our creativity with intent to organize & bring to the surface the social problems and put aside the apathy and passiveness and fight for social change.” In other words, MAIZ is a site of action, a site of organizing. And because organizing requires discussion, first and foremost, MAIZ is a site of conversation—a conversation between women who are colored, artists, activists, and zinesters—women who commit to each other through their writing and through their conversations. Some of the conversations in MAIZ are with entire communities of women of color. Alexis Pauline Gumbs’s feedback from the SisterSong woman of color conference “let’s talk about sex” is the embodiment of an intergenerational conversation between women of color organizers and community members. Intermixing quotes fromAudre Lorde with her own observations of the conference, Gumbs demonstrates how activist work done today is influenced and shaped by the work done in the past. She also gives a hopeful, but nuanced forecast of the work for tomorrow, “It is necessary that we fight for each other, because we can only heal together.” Nadia Abou-Karr draws on Muhammed Ali’s distinctly African American-centered, anti-war stance to situate the recruitment of Arab Americans into the military by other Arab Americans in a broader anti-militarization movement created and led by people of color. In doing so, Abou-Karr not only connects Arab Americans to other people of color, but she recognizes issues around militarization that are specific to her community—namely, immigration, assimilation, and the overwhelming need many diasporic people feel to “belong.”Abou-Karr asks, “Are our lives worth so little that we should sacrifice them in service of a government that has institutionalized discrimination against us, in order to perpetuate the same type of war and imperialism that brought many of our ancestors here?” Then there is other writing that is painfully personal. Noemi Martinez’s “distance from heart” examines the definition of abuse, even as it talks directly to the abuser: if bruises show up on skin to what degree do you weigh them? Do you measure width, tone? Distance from heart? Martinez’s raw style demands an accounting from abusers, in a way that honors the emotional safety of those who have been abused while simultaneously refusing to back down or be content with holding the pain inflicted on those who have been abused. But even as the conversations are painful, they are also fiercely inspirational. All of the writers, regardless of what they were talking about—sexual assault, interpersonal violence, government-sponsored violence, or relationships with their mothers— refused the mandate of silence and inaction given to them by those who abuse them. In her poem “Sweet Sister Speak,” Fabiola Sandoval finishes with a mandate of her own, “Let’s fight collectively for all of our struggles.” Some readers may be distracted by the occasional spelling error or the more free-flowing, stream-of-consciousness writing style of some of the texts. But in the end, both qualities serve to shape and complement the conversational aspect of the writing. Conversations can be messy and unorganized, but they can also be freeing and cleansing. As Audre Lorde wrote, “It is better to speak,” always. The MAIZ Chronicles are written by women of color and for women of color. The exciting thing is, because zines are relatively inexpensive to make, a reader of MAIZ can respond to the conversation by creating her own zine. Several of the authors included in MAIZ have organized zine-making workshops that help beginning and experienced women of color zinesters alike to strategize and find support. Contributors Martinez, Abou-Karr, and Gumbs all have websites that spend a lot of time talking about zine-making. Or, if for whatever reason, a woman of color feels reluctant to make her own zine, her submission is welcomed at MAIZ. I recognize MAIZ as a...