These moments of loss, sadness and anger drove the urgent questions that percolated through so many stories: How much should be taken away from those who have transgressed? What constitutes just punishment? How do you define family, and what is the purpose of a family? What secrets are worth keeping — socially and personally — and what hidden things need to be dragged out into the light, no matter the cost? Who gets to have power and why do some people get more passes than others? What obligations do the powerful have to the powerless? What rights do the least among us have?
"Since the late 1930s, Chinese men have been playing nine-man, their own intense and dynamic variation of volleyball, in the streets, alleys and parking lots of Chinatown. What began as a way for restaurant and laundry workers to escape backbreaking work and broader social hostility has turned into a cult sport played by Americans and Canadians of Chinese descent celebrating the grit of their roots."
Ursula Liang, “Rogue Sport Lacks Sand but Has Style and Speed”
For too long, writers of color have been told there is no audience for our work. That unless we write towards the universal human—which, of course, is code for white person—our work would not be understood, or read or taught. We are told that regardless of the work the poem is doing, we should codify it in a way that it is accessible and understood and praised by the universal human.
Adelle Waldman’s “The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P” is so good we found a way to physically incorporate it into our bodies.