White people are uninvited to the “cookout” or the symbolic gathering of the black collective. Their whiteness has been politicized in such a way that they are deserving of their own collective. They can call it the “potluck” and put all the raisins in the potato salad they want.
When you’re black in America your very existence is political so this isn’t new to us.
But because white people have enjoyed the privilege of not being politicized by virtue of whiteness being categorized as the default and/or the standard, it is often assumed that their affiliation would put them on the same side of the political spectrum. Whether it’s the assumption that all white women would not support the confirmation of a Supreme Court justice who has multiple sexual assault allegations or that white Southerners all oppose LGBTQ rights or even so much as telling a racist joke with the…
View original post 507 more words
Still here. Also still on LiveJournal, but I back up my posts to my computer in case the LJ site’s completely taken down by Mother Russia. Still trying to keep a written journal as well, but it gets tedious to write about the same awful political and environmental issues. I think I left some of my fighting spirit at Standing Rock. It’s the last time I felt like I was part of something bigger, taking a stand and fighting for what was right. I haven’t been this uncertain about what the future holds since I was a little Jehovah’s Witness kid growing up by the nuclear power plant in the Cold War 80s. I was constantly prepared for Armageddon, and it took its toll on me. It took me years to recover from that mindset, to make plans for the future, years into the future, and take it for granted that we’d all still be here. I do now what I did then – I escape in books, commiserate with likeminded people, and tell myself that in the very grand scheme of things, all will be well with the planet. We as humans may screw it up to the point where we can’t survive here, but life has arisen from extinction several times in the past. Like I said, the very grand billions-of-years view. I just want more people to fight back, though, to stop what’s happening. Every day, the bar is set higher for what someone has to do to get fired from leading the country, and I am past hoping that others in power will stop this trainwreck. My ancestors didn’t survive persecution, slavery, and attempted genocide just to have me give up this easy. No matter what happens, I will fight against the hate and greed. I throw my lot in with my Black and Native kin, and will fight against what’s happening to people and to the land, air, and water. We are all we have, there is no Planet B, and my freedom is tied up in theirs. And that’s as good a reason as any to stay in the game.
We all know, because we’ve been told, that 40 ish is a difficult time for the smart lady about town. You are not young. You are so definitely not young! Ha ha, you said young like it might apply to you, you are RIDICULOUS. But also, you are not old. Not really. These days, 50 is the new 40, so essentially 40 is the new 30 and you are both 40 and 30 and you have gone back in time to warn your 30 year old self about the wtf is about to happen sometime around 2016, because 40 is the new 12 Monkeys. I mean, you are basically 20. Times have changed. Fiona Bruce is 53 and she barely has to think about her age as a TV presenter. It’s a pretty sweet deal for women now – they get to present programs with old things, so that they…
View original post 3,951 more words
Suppose there was a national steering committee for Black History Month. Now, if I was chair of that committee these are a few of the ideas I would suggest.
For Black History Month black folks should be allowed to trade in on white guilt for things like free coffee at Starbucks, 75% off all purchases at Target, criminalizing white women who wear cornrows, not answering for the stupid shit other black people do, job promotions based on potential not qualifications, preferential seating at restaurants and a free meal if we put up the power fist, not being harassed or shot by the police, extra medical care for black women both during and after child birth, giving black kids the benefit of the doubt before kicking them out of school and the overall recognition of our humanity. That would be soooo dope!
Further trading in on white guilt (and pouring salt…
View original post 407 more words
Coercion is illegal in the workplace, in our criminal justice system but for some reason it’s seen as a gray area when it comes to sexual activity. There are many reasons for this with patriarchy being chief among them but also the idea that women are the givers of sex and men are the takers of sex is also part of something to give thought to. And as I lay here in bed I reflecting on the conversations I’ve observed and partaken in with men over the past few days about Aziz Ansari’s “bad date” story , I keep coming back to a running list of things I wish men could understand.
View original post 370 more words
Picture by Joan M. Mas
Autism is seen, in popular representations, largely as a social and communication disorder. Formerly framed as stemming from an autistic lack of a “social instinct”, the current dominant idea is that something is deficient or missing in autistic social cognition. Often referred to as a cognitive deficit in “empathy” or “theory of mind”, much research on autistic social issues has focused on trying to clarify and detect this inside autistic brains and minds. The search for an elusive broken “theory of mind module” or “empathy mechanism” in the brain, and its ensuing cognitive manifestations, however, has led to conflicting results – with some scientists even concluding that autistic people feel too much empathy rather than too little.
Another view is that this is not simply an individual neuro-cognitive issue, but rather a wider social problem. Against the idea that autistic people have too much or…
View original post 676 more words
It starts with the warnings. I’m told that it’s dangerous at night. Don’t walk alone at night, don’t be on the sketchy side of town at night, don’t wear revealing clothing at night. Don’t talk on your cell phone when you’re walking home from the bus stop in the dark. It’ll distract you from potential attackers. No, wait. Do talk on your cell phone. It’ll make potential attackers think you have a boyfriend.
After the warnings, it’s the stories. Women I love slip frightening, barely disguised hints into stories about their pasts. Stories that happen at night. I never know the details, but I know I’m not allowed to tell anyone.
When I’m nineteen, I move to Vancouver. It seems gigantic and bustling compared to my little home town. My dad buys me a small canister of dog spray, makes me promise to keep it with me in the…
View original post 3,394 more words