In Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates writes a letter to his fifteen-year-old son, talking about the experience of inhabiting a black body in American society. He talks about the murders of Eric Garner, Renisha McBride, and many others who were killed by police, who, he says, were more likely to receive pensions than punishnment. Talking about the way that race and racism are regarded in America, he writes that "race is the child of racism," and elaborates that "Difference in hue and hair is old. But the belief in the pre-eminence of hue and hair, the notion that these factors can correctly organize a society... this is the new idea at the heart of these new people who have been brought up hoplessly, tragically, deceitfully, to believe that they are white" (7).

This week, my postcard is about intentions. Growing up, I grew to somewhat resent the statement "at least you tried your best."  I certainly think trying your best is necessary but this statement passes off the responsibility of the person taking the action. "At least you tried your best" sounds like "well, you tried your best, and even though you were off the mark, you don't have any responsibility for being off the mark." Instead, trying your best should be mandatory and then from there we can learn what we can do differently or better. Sometimes, failure comes even when we've done our best.

In Ta Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me, Coates introduces the idea of race as the child of racism, not the father. This reorientation that he begins this letter to his son with reminded me a lot of my discussion on race that I had with my customs team earlier this year. Within this discussion, the idea of pride was one that my first year hall and I began to focus on. Does having pride in one’s race, ethnicity, gender, or anything else fuel the discrimination that is evoked upon that part of one’s identity? Coates’ point here, I believe, is not attempting to discourage anyone from taking pride in their identity and/or heritage.

The Promise of Happiness is a provocative cultural critique of the imperative to be happy. It asks what follows when we make our desires and even our own happiness conditional on the happiness of others: “I just want you to be happy”; “I’m happy if you’re happy.” Combining philosophy and feminist cultural studies, Sara Ahmed reveals the affective and moral work performed by the “happiness duty,” the expectation that we will be made happy by taking part in that which is deemed good, and that by being happy ourselves, we will make others happy. Ahmed maintains that happiness is a promise that directs us toward certain life choices and away from others. Happiness is promised to those willing to live their lives in the right way.

In The Promise of Happiness, Sarah Ahmed talks a lot about how society has set up happiness as a trope and a goal, a thing that comes along with the attainment of capital and status. She points out that this conception of happiness really just sets people up for disappointment, as their gains in money, power, or status do not necessarily correlate to increased happiness. She reminds the readers that true happiness is found in moments and experiences, not in objects. It reminded me of a country song in which the singer proclaims that he knows money can't buy happiness, but "it can buy me a boat." It is clear from the lyrics that the singer does not equate owning the boat with happiness, but that he knows spending time on a boat is something that makes him happy. 

Quoting M. Scott Peck, bell hooks defines love as “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth [. . .] Love is as love does. Love is an act of will—namely, both an intention and an action. Will also implies choice. We do not have to love. We choose to love” (hooks 28-29).

“Abuse and neglect negate love. Care and affirmation, the opposite of abuse and humiliation, are the foundation of love. No one can rightfully claim to be loving when behaving abusively.”

One topic that I found extremely interesting while reading all of the articles and watching the videos, was that especially for Judith Scott, everyone described her artwork as her way to communicate with those around her. For example in the New York Times article, DiMaria states '‘‘It was pure,’’ he says. ‘‘I don’t mean to fetishize that word, but it’s true. They are using their work as a means to communicate.’’'. The powerhouse that DiMaria has made Creative Growth into is incredible, but this was one statement that made me feel a bit weird. Isn't art another way for us to express our emotions, feelings and to present our perception of objects/ life/ the world around us? If so, then isn't art a form of communication for everyone?

Paloma, Sula, Meera, Gabriela, and Paola