"Being white means never having to think about it."

James Baldwin

(via spinals)

(Source: intellocgent, via breachbangbloom)

Tags: race

thepeoplesrecord:

What HIV testing is like when you’re queer, black & undocumentedAugust 8, 2014
Last fall, I received a call from an old partner I had not spoken to in six-months. In the middle of debating whether to answer or not, I accidentally accepted the call and heard his voice. I went to get tested and I’m HIV positive, you need to get tested, he quietly explained. He sounded tired, filled with the kind of panic that comes after days of shock and denial. It was the same tone I remembered carrying in my voice one day in Boston as a glass bottle flew towards me—then shattering as it hit me—followed by an older White male calling me “illegal.” I heard his voice and I could not breathe. I was scared for him, for me, for life.
After the phone call, all I could think was: Can I even get tested?Growing up undocumented and queer on the East Coast meant only seeing a doctor when my temperature was over 104º or there were free clinic drives at local non-profits.
I could not sleep for more than two hours. I could not eat. I could not concentrate. During the week after the phone call, I kept running through scenarios in my head about how to go to the doctor and not disclose my immigration status. I was afraid that if I had HIV, the government would think I was a threat and deport me. I could see the headlines blaming undocumented immigrants for the HIV virus. I was afraid of the attacks on my community, my family, and myself. But above all, I was afraid that if my mother found out, her body would be too weak to endure the shock. My mother’s shoulders, limbs, and spirit carried the trauma of not seeing her mother in about twenty years, of having a deceased daughter, and of surviving years of domestic violence. If I was diagnosed with anything, I could not tell her. I could not burden her with another worry when she is still healing from the open bruises that hide underneath her clothing, her vulnerabilities only exposed in 30-minute phone calls to Abuelita Belen. I could not disclose negative news with the face of my younger sister still blurring in her mind, the remnants of a grave abandoned almost two decades ago when the cemetery did not receive the seventh-year payment.
The phone call scared me. It was about more than just papers and sexuality. I had just moved to Connecticut and didn’t know the area. I had to come out to a new friend as undocumented, queer, and potentially living with HIV. She dropped everything, not knowing exactly what to say, and took me to get tested. Stop one was Planned Parenthood. Approaching the glass window felt like I was about to enter an immigration check point. I had to act American: make sure my accent did not slip off my tongue; make sure I wore colors that didn’t make my skin look too Black; make sure I rubbed the nail polish completely off of my fingernails; remember to wear the button-up I would never have been able to afford if it weren’t for the $1/pound section at the thrift store. I was finally going to get tested.
Planned Parenthood turned me away from getting an HIV test. I did not have a U.S. ID. I had a Mexican matrícula. We’re sorry, but you need a state or federal ID. If you can’t provide that, you must pay full price for any check-up, test result, or anything of the matter. I walked out, something I was used to after living undocumented for sixteen years. As I pushed through the door, the thought hit me that maybe I experienced this not just because of just my immigration status, but because the lives of poor, queer, people of color do not matter to society.
Stop two was a free clinic a few miles away. Denied.
Local college clinic next, wait list. Maybe in two months.
Crying in a borrowed car outside a Rite Aid parking lot at 3:47 p.m. on a Tuesday appeared to be the only type of healthcare I would receive.
Hours later, many miles away, I finally found a clinic that would test me. No questions asked. Negative.
I moved to Los Angeles three-weeks ago, where, for the first time, I have seen organizations that work to gain healthcare for undocumented immigrants. It’s unbelievable to me that we even have to fight for such a basic human right. I am done feeling that I don’t deserve my health. This country has systematically conditioned me to think that I’m not good enough because I’m too Latino, too Black, too Gay, too easy to Mispronounce, too Savage—Illegal Alien. Healthcare is a human right, but in the US healthcare is only for those who can pay. I cannot live a healthy life when I can’t remember my last eye doctor visit or experience the security of a bi-yearly checkup.
My blackness does not make me invisible. My queerness does not make me illegitimate. My immigration status does not make me alien. I am in these positions because of a complex colonial history that has enslaved people that look like me; burned people who painted their nails like mine; shot people whose coffee tasted like the coffee in my backyard in Mexico; trafficked people that would do low to no-wage work like those in my family.
I am afraid I can’t even afford to die. Healthcare is the least this country could do for its people, our people.
Alan Pelaez Lopez is an AfroLatin@ that grew up in Boston via La Ciudad de Mexico, documenting his existence as an undocuqueer poet, jewelry designer, and bubble tea addict. Alan currently works at the Dream Resource Center in Los Angeles, which is a project of the UCLA Labor Center. He is a member of Familia: Trans*, Queer Liberation Movement.
Source

thepeoplesrecord:

What HIV testing is like when you’re queer, black & undocumented
August 8, 2014

Last fall, I received a call from an old partner I had not spoken to in six-months. In the middle of debating whether to answer or not, I accidentally accepted the call and heard his voice. I went to get tested and I’m HIV positive, you need to get tested, he quietly explained. He sounded tired, filled with the kind of panic that comes after days of shock and denial. It was the same tone I remembered carrying in my voice one day in Boston as a glass bottle flew towards me—then shattering as it hit me—followed by an older White male calling me “illegal.” I heard his voice and I could not breathe. I was scared for him, for me, for life.

After the phone call, all I could think was: Can I even get tested?Growing up undocumented and queer on the East Coast meant only seeing a doctor when my temperature was over 104º or there were free clinic drives at local non-profits.

I could not sleep for more than two hours. I could not eat. I could not concentrate. During the week after the phone call, I kept running through scenarios in my head about how to go to the doctor and not disclose my immigration status. I was afraid that if I had HIV, the government would think I was a threat and deport me. I could see the headlines blaming undocumented immigrants for the HIV virus. I was afraid of the attacks on my community, my family, and myself. But above all, I was afraid that if my mother found out, her body would be too weak to endure the shock. My mother’s shoulders, limbs, and spirit carried the trauma of not seeing her mother in about twenty years, of having a deceased daughter, and of surviving years of domestic violence. If I was diagnosed with anything, I could not tell her. I could not burden her with another worry when she is still healing from the open bruises that hide underneath her clothing, her vulnerabilities only exposed in 30-minute phone calls to Abuelita Belen. I could not disclose negative news with the face of my younger sister still blurring in her mind, the remnants of a grave abandoned almost two decades ago when the cemetery did not receive the seventh-year payment.

The phone call scared me. It was about more than just papers and sexuality. I had just moved to Connecticut and didn’t know the area. I had to come out to a new friend as undocumented, queer, and potentially living with HIV. She dropped everything, not knowing exactly what to say, and took me to get tested. Stop one was Planned Parenthood. Approaching the glass window felt like I was about to enter an immigration check point. I had to act American: make sure my accent did not slip off my tongue; make sure I wore colors that didn’t make my skin look too Black; make sure I rubbed the nail polish completely off of my fingernails; remember to wear the button-up I would never have been able to afford if it weren’t for the $1/pound section at the thrift store. I was finally going to get tested.

Planned Parenthood turned me away from getting an HIV test. I did not have a U.S. ID. I had a Mexican matrícula. We’re sorry, but you need a state or federal ID. If you can’t provide that, you must pay full price for any check-up, test result, or anything of the matter. I walked out, something I was used to after living undocumented for sixteen years. As I pushed through the door, the thought hit me that maybe I experienced this not just because of just my immigration status, but because the lives of poor, queer, people of color do not matter to society.

Stop two was a free clinic a few miles away. Denied.

Local college clinic next, wait list. Maybe in two months.

Crying in a borrowed car outside a Rite Aid parking lot at 3:47 p.m. on a Tuesday appeared to be the only type of healthcare I would receive.

Hours later, many miles away, I finally found a clinic that would test me. No questions asked. Negative.

I moved to Los Angeles three-weeks ago, where, for the first time, I have seen organizations that work to gain healthcare for undocumented immigrants. It’s unbelievable to me that we even have to fight for such a basic human right. I am done feeling that I don’t deserve my health. This country has systematically conditioned me to think that I’m not good enough because I’m too Latino, too Black, too Gay, too easy to Mispronounce, too Savage—Illegal Alien. Healthcare is a human right, but in the US healthcare is only for those who can pay. I cannot live a healthy life when I can’t remember my last eye doctor visit or experience the security of a bi-yearly checkup.

My blackness does not make me invisible. My queerness does not make me illegitimate. My immigration status does not make me alien. I am in these positions because of a complex colonial history that has enslaved people that look like me; burned people who painted their nails like mine; shot people whose coffee tasted like the coffee in my backyard in Mexico; trafficked people that would do low to no-wage work like those in my family.

I am afraid I can’t even afford to die. Healthcare is the least this country could do for its people, our people.

Alan Pelaez Lopez is an AfroLatin@ that grew up in Boston via La Ciudad de Mexico, documenting his existence as an undocuqueer poet, jewelry designer, and bubble tea addict. Alan currently works at the Dream Resource Center in Los Angeles, which is a project of the UCLA Labor Center. He is a member of Familia: Trans*, Queer Liberation Movement.

Source

(via howtobeterrell)

White apolitical people bother me…

indiexss:

like yeah you’re “not interested” in politics because the politico-social paradigm that exists works to your advantage, you afforded the right to not be politicized. 

(via sapphrikah)

Tags: truth race

"If you blame Native American communities for their poverty, remember that the entire continent was stolen from them.
If you blame Black American communities for their relative poverty, remember that Black Americans were stolen from a continent, trafficked, and enslaved for nearly 300 years.
Tell me again about how your family ‘started from nothing’ when they immigrated. Didn’t they start from whiteness? Seems like a pretty good start.
The American Dream required dual genocides, but tell me again about fairness and equal opportunity. Tell me about democracy, modeled after the Iroquois Confederacy. Tell me your proud heritage, and I will show you the violence that made it so."

— (via nativnuance)

(Source: until-i-can-be-quiet, via thingsthatverbme)

Tags: race quote

"As though our lives have no meaning and no depth without the white gaze."

(Source: sensationalsherri, via vaganja)

Tags: race

thefemaletyrant:

biyuti:

biyuti:

TRANSCRIPT.

(Freshly typed. I’m not a professional, but I think I caught everything. Um… no idea how to parse the sentence, but whatever.)

Woman: Uh, everything about our nation and god and everything.

Man: Uh, huh.

Woman: I just want to know, how much do you love your country?

Man: What is your nationality?

Woman: I’m confused.

Man: About your heritage.

Woman: so what is my nationality, what colour are all y’all?

Man: Alright. Let me explain. Let me help you out. Let me help you understand.

Woman: defend it, I love all of you.

Man: At one time, Jewish people lived in Germany,  you understand that right ?

Woman:  I’m German as well.

Man: I know, that is why I asked you what is your nationality. At one time Jewish people lived in Germany, didn’t they?

Woman: Did they?

Man: And during WW1 they fought for Germany, they loved Germany. Until one day Adolf Hitler begins to exterminate them and then they turned on their country and went for a land of their own.

Well, this is what you have to understand: we have served this stinking country. There is nobody more patriotic than Black people. We are the people that die in your wars, build your cities, and raise your children and bleed in your all of your wars and reap none of the benefits.

There is nobody more patriotic than us. There is nobody that served America more than us, until one day we found out that this is the land of our oppressor, this is not our homeland. So we decided to go found our own land. So we decided to go find the land of our ancestors, just like the Jewish people did in Germany.

Know what the, the problem with white people is? You don’t respect anybody’s humanity except for your own. You don’t respect anybody’s pain, except for your own.

You expect Jewish people to hate Hitler and hate the Nazis, but you can’t understand why we should hate you. You can’t understand that because you’re not human. And you’re cruel. And you’re selfish. And if you had any love and compassion in your heart, you would know how much you deserve to be hated. If you had any love in your heart.

You white people are merciless. And you hate to look at anybody as a human being.

How dare you ask us: “have you loved America?”!? [background woman crying, ‘you’re horrible’] We have loved you for forever. And you have always hated us.

We have loved you consistently for 400 hundred years. We prayed to that white Jesus. And we saluted your flags. And we died in your militaries. And you beat us like dogs.

How dare you ask us, “Have we loved you?”!?

I have a question for you. When in the hell have you loved anybody but yourself? [woman crying and pointing, saying ‘you’re horrible’]

Give me Ezekial 35 (? Not sure what is said here)

I’m looking at you square in your eyes and tell you this:

That you are completely cruel. And you know why your heart is broke? Because I’m telling you the truth for the first time in your life.

Your whole life you thought that you’ve been compassionate and caring, but meanwhile, you know what you are? Just another white girl standing on stolen ground, [background, ‘what? what?’] reaping the benefits of bloody fathers.

Woman:  You’re horrible.

Man: That is what you are. Even though you think you’re so liberal and so kind. All you are is another child benefiting off the murder of your father. That is who you reall are. And you should face it. And you should fall on your knees and beg repentance, for your evil, cruel, corrupt selfish life. That you’ve lived here on the bones of the North American Indian, on the bones of the slaves, on the bones of the Puerto Ricans, on the bones of the Mexicans, on the bones of all the poor people. That your father murdered so that you could go to college. And so that you could get drunk and high, and have a good time.

Your father had to murder for that privilege. You understand that, don’t you? Your father had to kill. Your grandfather had to steal. So that you could live like Pamela Anderson [background woman crying, ‘you’re horrible’] in America.

Give me Ezekial 45. That is the truth. I’m sorry. I’m showing you love! That’s love. I’m telling you the truth. Ain’t that real love?

[Woman sobbing. Cuts to music video]

/end transcript

someone was asking for a transciption again…

Still relevant

Know what the, the problem with white people is? You don’t respect anybody’s humanity except for your own. You don’t respect anybody’s pain, except for your own. 

You expect Jewish people to hate Hitler and hate the Nazis, but you can’t understand why we should hate you. You can’t understand that because you’re not human. And you’re cruel. And you’re selfish. And if you had any love and compassion in your heart, you would know how much you deserve to be hated.

And then it goes into a Lowkey video. Yesss. Yes.

(Source: icaruscalling, via i-manface)

Tags: race

A quick note about race, ethnicity, and nationality.

freshtittymilk:

crackerhell:

stinkytofumaiden:

gadaboutgreen:

Him: What’s his nationality?

Me: American.

Him: No, I mean, what’s his ethnicity?

Me: Chinese, specifically Han Chinese?

Him: So his ethnic background is Asian.

Me: No, that’s his race. 

Him: GAH! That’s what I meant!

Me: Then why didn’t you ask that? 

Race=Sociological Construct, (Black, White, Asian) 
Ethnicity=Socio-cultural background, (also socially constructed,) (Han Chinese, Cajun, African-American, Latino)
Nationality=Country of Origin, (American, French, Chinese, Korean, Mexican, Iranian, ect, ect.)  

Reblogging again because white people don’t understand the difference between ethnicity and nationality.

Guide for every time someone says “I’M NOT WHITE, I’M IRISH/ITALIAN/ETC.” 

Also a guide for everyone who says “I’m not white, I’m Mexican”.

Ohhhhh, I understand! Had a bit of ignorance on those matters. I’d often treat race as ethnicity!

(via sapphrikah)

Tags: race

notesonascandal:

elverdugo:

homonoire:

James Baldwin going the fuck off and snatching edges, roots and all, on the Dick Cavett Show. 1973. 

gonna read gonna read gonna read

(via sapphrikah)

Tags: race racism

And then, you ask me whether I approve of violence. I mean, that just doesn’t make any sense at all… whether I approve of guns.

I grew up in Birmingham, Alabama!

Some very, very good friends of mine were killed by bombs! Bombs that were planted by racists. I remember from the time - I was very small - I remember the sound of bombs exploding across the street, our house shaking! I remember my father having to have guns at his disposal at all times because of that fact that any moment - someone - we might expect to be attacked.

The man who was in that time, in complete control of the city government, his name was Bill Connor. He would often get on the radio and make statements like - “N*****s have moved into an all white neighborhood, we better expect some bloodshed tonight,” and sure enough there would be blood shed.

After the four girls - one of them lived next door to me - I was very good friends of a sister of another one… My sister was very good friends with all three of them. My mother taught one of them in her class.

In fact, when the bombing occurred, one of the mothers of the young girl called my mother and said - “Can you take me down to the church and pick up Carol? We heard about the bombing and I don’t have my car.”

And they went down and what did they find? They found limbs and heads strewn all over the place.

And then after that, in my neighborhood, all the men organized themselves into an armed patrol. They had to take their guns and patrol our community every night because they did not want that to happen again. ❞ Angela Davis on Violence [x]

(Source: classicalallure, via a-bayani-deactivated20121004)

Tags: quote race

Some REAL white privilege.

mixedbyziggy:

In America, you can be white and commit heinous crimes—lighting up a movie theater, or Sikh temple; mass shootings at a workplace—and you will more than likely be considered mentally ill. Media outlets will work diligently to elaborate your story; your upbringing, childhood traumas.

You will always be sympathized and looked at as a person who wasn’t helped in time.

(via inmidnightblood)

Tags: race racism

"Teaching kids not to “see” color, denies the fact that people of different racial identities experience life very differently. Only a person living from a position of racial privilege would ever say that they don’t “see” color. It’s a way to avoid dealing with the very real truth that people’s skin color does in large part define how they are perceived by the world."

— Julie Gerstein  (via teantitties)

(Source: thisaintnewjersey, via breachbangbloom)

Tags: race

tranqualizer:

rusty—shackleford:

babsissuchafuckinglady:

crankyskirt:


ISBN 978-1-935950-05-9 Softcover 6″ x 9″, 240pp Coming September 2012
What Are You Doing Here? investigates how black women musicians and fans navigate the metal, hardcore, and punk music genres that are regularly thought of as inclusive spaces and centered on a community spirit, but fail to block out the race and gender issues that exist in the outside world.
“We can neither reflectively choose our color identity nor downplay its social significance simply by willing it to be unimportant… but our color no more binds us to send a predetermined group message to our fellow human beings than our language binds us to convey predetermined thoughts.”—Amy Gutmann
“Sometimes I think nothing is simple but the feeling of pain.”—Lester Bangs
I’ll be the first to admit that, like any other book, What Are You Doing Here? is partly self-serving. I wanted to find other black women like me: metal, hardcore, and punk fans and musicians that were rabid about the music and culture and adamant about asserting their rightful place as black women within those scenes. I wanted to find other women who put aside the cultural baggage that dictates that we must listen to certain musical styles, and simply enjoy the music that influenced us, not just as black women, but as individuals who grew up in an era when, thanks to technology, a large variety of music is accessible and available to everyone. I found many black women and have shared their stories, but I also realize there is still a lot of work to be done.

Sweet! Looking forward to reading this.

I WANT THIS YES

aaaaahhhhhh yeeeessssssss

tranqualizer:

rusty—shackleford:

babsissuchafuckinglady:

crankyskirt:

ISBN 978-1-935950-05-9
Softcover 6″ x 9″, 240pp
Coming September 2012

What Are You Doing Here? investigates how black women musicians and fans navigate the metal, hardcore, and punk music genres that are regularly thought of as inclusive spaces and centered on a community spirit, but fail to block out the race and gender issues that exist in the outside world.

“We can neither reflectively choose our color identity nor downplay its social significance simply by willing it to be unimportant… but our color no more binds us to send a predetermined group message to our fellow human beings than our language binds us to convey predetermined thoughts.”—Amy Gutmann

“Sometimes I think nothing is simple but the feeling of pain.”—Lester Bangs

I’ll be the first to admit that, like any other book, What Are You Doing Here? is partly self-serving. I wanted to find other black women like me: metal, hardcore, and punk fans and musicians that were rabid about the music and culture and adamant about asserting their rightful place as black women within those scenes. I wanted to find other women who put aside the cultural baggage that dictates that we must listen to certain musical styles, and simply enjoy the music that influenced us, not just as black women, but as individuals who grew up in an era when, thanks to technology, a large variety of music is accessible and available to everyone. I found many black women and have shared their stories, but I also realize there is still a lot of work to be done.

Sweet! Looking forward to reading this.

I WANT THIS YES

aaaaahhhhhh yeeeessssssss

(via a-bayani-deactivated20121004)

Tags: music race

"[tw genocide, slavery] In the instances when POC say shit like ‘Oh I can’t stand white folk’ or ‘Damn white people’, they aren’t saying ‘Oh I think they are inferior, I want to humiliate them, abuse them, enslave them and wipe out their people!’, they’re saying ‘Damn, after a couple hundred years of white people thinking I’m inferior, humiliating me, abusing me, enslaving me, and trying to wipe out my people, I don’t wanna deal with them.’ The context is completely different."

Briana (via absinthedisco)

(Source: chumpkaboo, via thingsthatverbme)

Tags: race

rootsdeep:

xenophobia.

rootsdeep:

xenophobia.

(Source: paxmachina, via sapphrikah)

Tags: race

a-bayani:

stuavg:

(Poem-in-progress performed at the Stories of Queer Diaspora event on June 17th, 2012)

Don’t Compromise Me

I am crazy and angry and hurt and healing and pissed off and passionate and beautiful and ugly and queer and brown and I am a threat.

I am a threat to the flimsy definitions of gender, of queer, of mixed race Two Spirit Mexican.

I am a threat to the homo and hetero norms of beauty because my CROOKED YELLOW TEETH SCARRED BODY and ugliness are pieces of my beauty.

I am a threat to the colonizing forces on my land and to the Whites who see me as Other or a ‘special interest’ rather than a human.

I am a threat to the idea that self-injury is harmful because hunny, my wounds bleed truths that your self-help books could never speak.

I am a threat to the idea that crazy people can’t be loved because yes, yes they can be, have been, and will be and yes, they fucking DESERVE to be and yes oh fucking yes do I have my turn comin

You see, I waited in line at the Capitol building like a good lil’ queer liberal to protest for my rights only to feel tokenized, exploited, and shamed for speaking out.

Out, like when I came out as gay and again as trans and again as mentally fucked and I all asked for was love, but received brutal systemic and personal violence, isolation, and abandonment.

So yes, I am a threat on all fronts. I am unapologetically crazy and angry and hurt and healing and pissed off and passionate and beautiful and ugly and queer and brown.

So don’t fucking compromise me.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

(via a-bayani-deactivated20121004)