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this post will be irrelevant for most. - don’t care. its mostly just to summarize my thoughts on an experience I had in the bay area - which pertains to punk/racism/cultural exclusivity. It doesn’t reflect an entire scene or subculture… in fact and you probably shouldn’t even read it.
January 2011, SF, Mission District. At at a venue with enormous murals of Emiliano Zapata painted on the walls and there is a projector playing Persepolis in spanish. There are 5 or five bands playing that night. the audience is mostly white kids, all wearing nearly identical leather jackets with studs and band names painted on them. although I’m with a band who is well familiar with many of the kids at the show, no one says hi or acknowledges our existence. I get few questionable looks and thats about it. we say hi to a member of Los Crudos and a POC writer from MRR that we respect. I film my friends set. while I’m recording a dude notices the Puerto Rican flag patch sewn on my vest and says ‘VIVA PUERTORRRICO’ in my ear while he is making his way to a hip hop open mic night taking place in another venue that is conjoined to the ‘punk’ venue by a hallway. during the lull between performances I go check out the hip hop open mic. nearly everyone occupying the space is a person of color. everyone is dancing and having a good time. me and two friends (neither are people of color) don’t get any dirty looks or questionable stares despite the all the leather, studs, biker boots, and dirty clothing. I get a drink and my friends talk to a couple of the young women. although the ‘hip hop’ section is open to all and the bar is less crowded, no one crosses the barrier between the hip hop section and the ‘punk’ section. after the last band finishes their set I get into an argument with a friend and leave to hang out in front of the venue. while I’m talking with some friends out front a white punk girl comes up and says ‘what was up with all those ghetto people in the back of the venue??’ - referring to the kids attending the hip hop open mic. everything I drank that night tells me to spit in her face, but I don’t. I walk back to the hotel. before I pass out I think to myself ‘what the fuck do I owe this subculture’?
(Source: biencafre)
