“Because women of colour experience racism in ways not always the same as those experienced by men of color and sexism in ways not always parallel to experiences of white women, antiracism and feminism are limited, even on their own terms… The failure of feminism to interrogate race means that the resistance strategies of feminism will often replicate and reinforce the subordination of people of colour, and the failure of antiracism to interrogate patriarchy means that antiracism will frequently reproduce the subordination of women”
Kimberle Crenshaw in Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence Against Women of Color

(via wocinsolidarity)

“[TW: rape]

This is the rape joke:

My best friend was four years old the first time his father came into his room at midnight and tore out his throat. He still has days when I cannot hold him because the memory of a bleeding trachea haunts his doorway. He has not been home for the holidays in many years, but – even now – hands are seen as weapons.


This is the rape joke:

I have been told by more than twenty people that they have been raped. To all of them, I asked where the rapist was. From none of them, I heard ‘jail.’


This is the rape joke:

Once my brother told me that I was so ugly, I would be a virgin forever. Unless someone raped me. But even they wouldn’t come back for seconds.

This is the rape joke:

I believed him.

This is the rape joke:

I now look at every woman on the street and wonder if the space between her legs is a crime scene, surrounded by ripped caution tape. The statistics tell me that this is so common that I will never be in a room that does not contain a survivor. Not even if I am in that room alone.

This is the rape joke:

I was thirteen years old, and he was supposed to be just a friend.

This is the rape joke:

When his older brother came home, the boy pulled away. He wiped the tears from my face and said ‘we should do this again some time.’

This is the rape joke:

When I finally told my parents, they asked what I had been wearing.

This is the rape joke:

I had been wearing my innocence. My trust. I had worn the love I held for humanity and expected to be treated well. I had never been taught that I would be that girl, the one who keeps a mine of secrets between her legs – that girl was the slut. I wasn’t supposed to be breakable.


What had I been wearing? I wore the rape joke, then I became it.

This is the Rape Joke | d.a.s

After Lora Mathis’s poem “the Rape Joke

(via milkwolves)

thebicker:

amischiefofmice:

orfs:

averyterrible:

thisplaceisdespair:

flatluigi:

stormingtheivory:

So can we talk about the absolutely stunning duplicity going on here?

holy shit

ok, why the fuck is the graph upside down. that is incredibly misleading

Because its from the Florida Department of Justice, and they have a mandate here.

for those who have trouble inverting it in their head, ftfy:

image

this is some of the most blatant twisting of info i have ever seen holy shit

WOWWWWW. In case you can’t see it at first (it took me a minute!), in their initial chart they put the zero at the TOP of the axis and 1,000 at the bottom, so it looks like gun deaths went down instead of, you know, way way way way up.

(Editorial note: I looked for the source of the graphic to make sure it was a real thing that had been published and found it in a Business Inside article. They say Reuters published the graphic but I can’t find it on the Reuters site or the Florida Dept. of Law Enforcement site. Strange.)

(Second editorial note: Wait! I found it! The person who made it is a graphics journalist for Reuters and says this graphic about deaths in Iraq was the visual inspiration. But that Iraq graph has the axis at the top of the chart. This graph doesn’t. Very strange.)

glaad:

Monica Jones, a transgender woman of color (BLACK) and activist living in Arizona, was arrested and found guilty by a judge of “manifesting prostitution” because authorities are targeting and profiling trans women. #StandWithMonica!

(via wocinsolidarity)

“When you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, they’ll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, they’re sadder. If you’re asking for help, they’ll demand more attention.

Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, “Well now you made me sad.”


When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and they’re not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They won’t ask you to explain yourself. They’ll be mad that you’re mad and that will be their whole reason alone.


Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friend’s back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. “I hate men,” she wheezed as her sides heaved, “I hate all of them.”


I braided her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the mess. I didn’t correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didn’t ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesn’t hate all men. She never did.


She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “Fuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.”


“Thanks,” I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, “See you.”


He followed us. Wouldn’t stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. “It’s hard for me too!” he yowled after us. “With fuckers like you, how’s a guy supposed to live?”


Here’s a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, “Your skin doesn’t look dirty enough to be a Mexican.”


When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. “You can’t say that,” he said, “That’s fucking racist. We could report you for that.”


Our teacher turned vicious. “You wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. It’s my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think you’ve got all the power - you don’t. I do.”


Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, “I hate white people.” His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm.


He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didn’t.


Here is a fact: I think gender is a difficult and personal topic and people that want to tell others what defines it just haven’t done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and identify as female in a female body, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing.


Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. I’m not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didn’t want to bother him.


One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. “I hate cis people,” he said weakly.


I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. “I understand why you do.”


Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing.


It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says “Hey, fuck you, lady,” he doesn’t have to worry about what’s so wrong about men.


It’s easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If we’re just smart-ass students, it’s not his fault we fuck up.


It’s easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when I’ve never hurt someone a day in my life. But I’m safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do.


There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says “I’m worse, stop talking.” There will always be people who are mad you’re trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules.


I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and she’s the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but it’s really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. It’s okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group you’re in. But instead of assuming they’re evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.

By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know it’s hard to stay calm. I know it’s scary. But you’re coming from the safe place and they aren’t. Just please … Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

"There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting." SO IMPORTANT

(via aleksandrwilde)

(via sex-and-coffee)

“I think we still live in a culture that assumes that men are single by choice and women are single because no one wants them.”
“They don’t tell you in school
how experience can teach you to heal
in all the wrong ways.
I sabotage myself so well,
bolt myself in
before others can open the doors.
My words are clumsy and awkward.
People regard me like a car accident;
they can’t look away
from something so tragic.
Sometimes I forget how to be human.
I hope on those days,
you’d be willing to wait for me
to resurface.”
Tina TranSomeday I will be better 

(via larmoyante)

fullcredit:

This is the most accurate sentence that has ever been said on national television. 

(via fuckiminmytwenties)

jeddyvsfrason:

Don’t you ever apologize for who you are. Don’t conform to your surroundings or fit your friends’ needs or make yourself small. You are not a camouflaging octopus. You are a fucking big ass blue whale. You deserve to take up space. 

“She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.”
— Roman Payne, The Wanderess

(via larmoyante)

“For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.

So collapse.
Crumble.
This is not your destruction.

This is your birth.”