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Domestic Labor and Pandemic

by Nicole Ashanti McFarlane, posted in age, captions, sketch comedy, civic culture, civics, cute, cuteness, design, domestic, domestic labor, ethos, family, feminism, media, pandemic, parenting, professional writing, professionalism, psychology, rhetorics, sex & sexuality, sexual politics, Social Media, space, space & spatiality, spatial justice, spatial rhetorics

Welcome to the brave new world of cleaning up after yourself and no longer burdening black women with the unpaid labor and invisible upkeep of taking care of your personal hygiene and sanitation. Get used to cleaning up after your own damn self because we’re all nursemaids now. 

Neither race, gender, class, nor your professional status will protect you from having to pitch in and handle your share of the dirty work. Wipe down that counter and polish away those smears. Not only will your work be invisible, but you’ll have to try and look good while performing it since, now, your life probably depends on it. It’s only what black women have been doing for free for the last four centuries.

So hop to it! There’s plenty of unseen, undervalued work for everybody to do. 



	

		
	



	
	

		
Rhetorics of Neighboring
				

			 by Nicole Ashanti McFarlane, posted in civics, rhetorics, Social Media, spatial rhetorics, technology, Writing		
			

	

		
“HELLO NICOLE, I ENDORSE YOU!!!”


Wont-You-Be-My-Neighbor


Greeted my neighbor from her porch across the street. I smiled and thanked her while laughing to myself. I waved back with equal enthusiasm and finished sweeping my front steps.


My neighbor is an older European woman who is still learning English. When I told a few of my friends about my neighborly exchange, the idea of an “endorsement’  struck us all as funny and odd, but it made sense too—especially considering the residential layout and circumstances of my community. I rent a small house across the street from this particular neighbor. She and her husband own several larger houses on the same block, in addition to the one they already live in.  And while it’s a pretty well integrated neighborhood, I’m almost sure I’m the only single black woman, living without children on our whole entire street. My neighbors are very nice and everyone always look out for each other.


The word “endorse” comes from Latin law, meaning to write on the back of something. For this reason, the idea of an endorsement was originally meant to signify some type of legal documentation. Using the word in this particular context is to commit a solecism because of the way it grammatically pro/claims higher status by naively presuming that another person requires a voucher in the first place (since writing on the back of another person definitely would not be in keeping with modern standards of politeness). The irony of “endorsing” a person reveals a social order or conceit of authority through a politically measured, albeit kindly, acceptance of others. This type of greeting in English appropriates the proprietary of “neighborliness” through the magnanimous imposition of one’s personal rules of etiquette and understanding of good decorum  {~: