Voces Zine (Summer 2010, Issue 3)

Edited by Noemi Martinez
The Voices Against Violence Project

Unapologetic. Raw. Honest.

The third issue of Voces Zine is a collection of poetry by artists from different communities—indigenous, people of color, trans, and queer—sharing their experiences as survivors of domestic and sexual violence. Originally inspired by a small community of Latino immigrants, this issue represents a first-time inclusion of contributors from outside of its original roots.

The eclectic air of the compilation reflects this shift. During an interview I asked editor Noemi Martinez about the strengths and weaknesses of such a model; she discussed how the stories could be competing or compatible, but that each needed to be told. I appreciated her insight and find this invites a greater audience, while also revealing the individual ways we experience violence against women. Some stories might resonate with one reader more than others, but each exposes the important variance of dynamics in surviving violence: blaming, loving, mistrusting, self-hating, empowering, forgiving, healing, hiding, ignoring, being vulnerable, being strong, being uncertain, being alone, being supported.

At times I felt I could sympathize with each word (“unwrap your bandages/let them wounds breathe/let them scab and itch/and fall/away”), with the uncertainty (“am i better?”), and with the paradox of anger and barren strength (“i aint no fucking weak, limp, helpless, shaking, hiding, trembling, dying, lonely, battered girl. i’m a woman with a black eye.”). Other writings left me unattached or distant, to which I cite Martinez’s foreword, “There is no guarantee how one will react to a particular writing when you are a survivor…as a reader, you might find these writings triggering, not helpful, judgemental [sic], totally off, fucked up, questionable, right on, brutally honest, truthful inspiring.” The point: take from Voces Zine what you can relate to, learn from what you might not, and leave the rest behind.

Voces Zine was created to support survivors and to provide a teaching tool for discussion and understanding of what violence against women means. While the variety of themes provide this type of catalyst, at times the compilation seemed to be more of a therapeutic outlet for each contributor. To this end, I do not fault the project, but commend it for its ability to provide a space in which “victim, survivor, thriver” can share, question, and grow.

I admire each of the contributors for finding the strength to speak up and write out and urge any person questioning, challenged by, or curious about violence against women to take a look through Voces Zine. In the interview, Martinez explained, “I’m not an editor. I’m not professional.” Although I believe she has proven her worth of both titles with this endeavour, the humility of her statement is yet another reflection of the DIY compassion and grassroots foundation of this project. Voces Zine is more than words on paper; it’s a resource of hope, inspiration, and healing.

Review by Ani Colekessian

The Marien Revelation

Alligator Press

Miguel Santana's latest book, The Marien Revelation, which he simultaneously wrote in both English and Spanish, is not your Sunday School version of the Gospels. The reader picks up on that almost immediately when confronted with the two verses preceding the Prologue, regarding the evening before Jesus was arrested:

Jesus told him what to do
and in the evening the youth comes to him,
wearing a linen cloth over his naked body.
And he remained with him that night,
for Jesus taught him the mystery of the Kingdom of God.
-Secret Gospel of Mark

A young man was following Him,
wearing nothing but a linen sheet over his naked body;
and they seized him;
but he left the linen sheet behind and ran away naked.
-Mark 14:51-52

These verses, mind you, precede a chapter wherein a Jesus-in-the-process-of-being-crucified recounts his experiences with a male lover whilst forsaking god: "Oh Father, how I begged you to stay away from me."

Thus does Santana present the reader with the first storyline, that of Mary and her son, Jesus. Jesus' request on the cross resonates throughout the book, especially when interwoven with the parallel story of the modern-day woman, Marien Valbuena, a "radical feminist" theologian who is in an abusive relationship with a former Catholic priest and who was sexually abused by her Mormon father.

It is always bold to revisit "the untouchable paradigms of our western civilization," as Santana refers to them, and infuse them with circumstances that are highly controversial. Undoubtedly, and unfortunately, critics will reject this book without reading it, because of the audacious idea that Jesus might have had a male lover. Yet, Santana's book, far from being a gimmick, is a beautiful combination of intellect, poetry, emotion, and re-contextualized passages of the Bible and other sacred/mythical texts.

From a feminist perspective, the divine feminine is fully present in Santana's Mary and, indeed, many elements of the novel reject an (arguably Judeo-Christian) obtrusive, authoritative god/father who imposes himself on unwilling humans. Mary, as a teacher of the Isis Mysteries, is at least as divine as her son in a world in which multiple mythologies co-exist and influence one another. Indeed, although the disciples venerate Mary for being the vessel from which Jesus was born, her aunt also baptizes her in the name of the Holy Mother, Isis, saying: "I'm Isis, sovereign of the world, the one who set forth laws and set what cannot be changed...I'm the queen of the rivers, the wind, and the sea. I'm the Lady of War, the Lady of Thunder. I have conquered destiny. Destiny obeys me. Blessed is Egypt, for it sustains me." Although, afterward, Mary confesses to having visions of sadness from Isis, perhaps signaling the coming of the male monotheistic god who will "reign over" her.

Within the interwoven Mary/Marien stories are many layers and interpretations. The two protagonists have much in common, despite the roughly 2000 years that separate them. They both want more than the "subjection and motherhood" that their birth religions require of them. And, presenting Mary as a mother who is both aware and accepting of Jesus' sexuality, Santana gives us a progressive model of ancient motherhood. Although, if Jesus took a male lover, what devout mother could be anything but accepting? Perhaps that is part of the conversation Santana was trying to stimulate.

To end, the novel is not linear, parts of it are ambiguous, and the shifts in point of view can be confusing at times. But in Santana's hands, the novel manages to come together in a coherent, lyrical revelation that is, perhaps most importantly, a personal one.

Review by Fannie

Cross-posted from Fannie's Room