The Cliche of Anger

I am tired, in massive pain, and yet I still am riding on the waves of fulfillment. I worked an entire week straight. I am taking a few more days to get back to my standard however, and reminded myself why I do not work in a traditional manner. I would have been fired today for being unable to wear standard clothing for one, and my attitude for another. Every action I take, every interaction I am bogged down by references to the past, lessons, and reminders. I hear my mother’s voice most clearly, and that is not something I welcome. I want to be an individual not the product of my family.

I wasn’t going to post until tomorrow but I was reading a few pages over at Womanist Musings. The proprietor of Womanist Musings has recently outed herself as being amid the disabled. She is beginning to run into the challenges of being suddenly unwelcome, invisible, and at times hated for merely existing. Today one of the commenters told her that she should start a civil rights movement, ignoring the fact that the disabled community has been pulling for equal rights for as long as other civil rights movements have been in effect. Before we go on, I want to remind you my dear reader that every single civil rights movement hasn’t ended, and that the fight for equality is on going no matter what your ism is. This reader seemed to think that a few protests fix everything.

This ignores the protests in New York, the individuals who do sacrifice their energy and at times sanity to try and force businesses to comply with the laws, and it ignores the fact that there are those who came before you and I. This is an erasure of our history. I responded with snideness and sarcasm, ignoring for the few moments it took to suggest a hacksaw so she could remove her legs as “easily” as I can get off of my scooter, the voice of my mother. “All disabled people are angry, they think they have rights.” I am aware that it is the events of today that shape the memories that seem to nitpick at us. Before I was disabled my sexuality was most often the harbinger of a Mommy Memory. “Bisexuals are selfish, they just want to have sex with as many people as possible.” Every time I went to flirt with a woman or a man, I heard something like that.

The myth of anger is just that, a myth. It erases the happy moments with friends and family, it erases the moments where competent and open minded people realize that everyone has rights. The myth of anger is often used to subjugate. Stop being angry, so that I can continue to oppress you. That is what I hear. The expectation that an entire group of people must never feel one emotion is ridiculous yet this is foisted on women of color, the disabled, homosexuals, and countless other oppressed groups, all to control us. Anger is forbidden.

Many times when I am smiling, I am told, “This inaccessible area will be fixed soon, we swear!” The tone is always frantic, that hint of “Oh god she will be mad that we haven’t done this yet.” It doesn’t matter that I am smiling and just nod and say, “Great, thanks for letting me know.” The fear of my anger, which is some how more toxic than their anger or fear is there. I still don’t understand it, but, I see this often. The times when I am angry, I am also not heard. It’s enough for me to want to go back to trying to be Super Cripple, but, I won’t do that.

My anger is valid. Your anger is valid. Anger is not a reason to oppress, discriminate, or subjugate. Anger is not an excuse to not build the ramp in an accessible manner, and anger is not an excuse to try to “just get rid of” someone. I am tired today, and I am trying to seem reasonable. My mind is far from reasonable. I am in truth alone, and am having a small tantrum every time I need to get up to move. My fiance forgot to feed the cats, which merited an hour of sitting there whining about how I wasn’t sure if I could do it, I can’t bend, and their bowls are on the floor.

It wasn’t anger that had me make a really big mess trying to feed them either. That was love. They were hungry so I fed them, without bending. (Sorry honey, but the kitties have to eat too!) It won’t be anger that I let him know he forgot either, but amusement. Every emotion that I have is not anger. The lessons that our parents teach us, may shape what we see but it is the choice that I made in my first experience with disability as an adult that showed me otherwise. I chose to not see anger.

It’s really that simple. Demeaning an entire group of people does cause anger. If you fear our anger so much, stop discriminating. If you come near me right this second and discriminate I will show you anger, but I won’t run you down with my scooter. That’d hurt me too, and you just aren’t worth my time or pain.

To my friends, allies, and fellow disabled persons, don’t forget that every moment that we are alive is the revolution for our people. Every time we are seen out of our homes, with our assistance equipment, service animals, and even having issues, this is our revolution. VIVA LA REVOLUCION! Free my people!

One persons Courage…

You hear about it in the news, inspirational articles, and in the whispers of people discussing someone’s life. Sometimes you hear it to your face. “You are so courageous.” I have been facing my fears lately and there has been some courage yet, most of what people tell me is courage is merely a will to live. Is the Will to Live what makes us couragous? Does this invalidate courage?

When I hear about someone being courageous, brave, or something along that line the picture in my mind is a bit gender normative and sexist. It’s a brave soldier in a black and white movie with bombs exploding behind him rescuing the little woman and running away from gunfire without breaking a sweat. I am well aware this is a very skewed image that remains in my mind. I use this image to invalidate my own experience often.

How can I be courageous? I just didn’t give up. I didn’t notice it until tonight. Giving the speech about my Thirty Seconds, I was reminded it is courageous to save a life. I found myself afraid of those words. Why fear courage? I think it is the responsibility to be something more than human that the media shows us courage is. Batman is couragous. He’s a super hero. I am just a small and broken woman at the end of her endurance trying to make it through every day.

I am trying to teach myself what courage can be, beyond the black and white John Wayne dreams. I am trying to teach myself that courage is simply living. Transgendered people who have the courage to go through the change, to live in the sex that fits their minds and not their bodies are courageous because it is their will to live. They can die for being who they are.

How terrifying it must be to have to pee in public. How terrifying it must be to go clothes shopping, to go out and feel that fear… what if someone figures out who they are and in their ridiculous hatred they attack? That is courage. It is also horribly sad that we live in a world where it is not a hate crime to attack a trans individual. I didn’t know that until recently, I thought that it was a hate crime. It should be. Living without a legal saftey net, living without basic human respect, and living without the ability to be accepted by any other minority (except for some of us who actually do care) takes courage. There are trans persons who are unable to live as they wish, because it is too dangerous.

It takes courage to live at all. It takes courage for the college student to go to her late night class, because she hears all the warnings about rape. It takes courage for the woman who was date raped to speak up, risking victim blaming and slut shaming. It takes courage for the teen mother to take pride in being a mother, bucking against the stereotypes about teen mothers. It takes courage for the disabled man to go up a flight of stairs on his hands and knees to see if his able bodied friends and family are alright after hearing a gunshot. He couldn’t escape if there was a killer. That is courage.

To revile the word courage is to revile the act of living. It takes courage for our students to go to school. We live in a world where the terror of school shootings is very real, where the hate that a disabled student feels can destroy their minds and their souls. We live in a world where there is no safe haven. It takes courage to raise a child with disabilities and to love them. It takes courage to admit that you are disabled.

It takes courage to say that you do not want to see a movie because it is full of sexism. It takes courage to be a Womanist. It takes courage to be a Feminist. It takes courage to be an advocate. It takes courage to write. It takes courage to cry. It takes courage to go out, knowing discrimination is waiting for you. It takes courage to date a person who is of another color. It takes courage to love someone who is of the same sex.

In a world as full of toxic messages, it is cowardly to defame courage. To hold the power to inspire one person is enough to change the world. To inspire countless thousands? That is a gift unparalleled. Forgive me for feeling that I was unworthy of the word courage.

I have been courageous. I am courageous to write about my time as a Victim. I am courageous to have ideas and to share them. I am courageous to start a business during a Depression.

You are courageous too. I am sure you can list ways you are courageous. I would like the comments on this post to be dedicated to your courage. What have you done that is courageous today?

Today my act of courage is to start planning the wedding ceremony for two young women in love. My acts of courage in life will include officiating their wedding ceremony. I do this with pride, and to honor their love and the courage it takes to stand up and proudly say, “I am Gay, I am Pagan, and I am in Love!”

Thank you for your life. Thank you for your courage.

Over Reacting?

Am I over reacting to the news about the new Rogan movie? I made the choice to make my friends, male and female aware of the rape scene. Most of them either didn’t care or thought I was over reacting.

“Don’t get mad.” “I don’t care.” “It doesn’t effect me.” My choice to become angry earned me dozens of people telling me my upset is invalid. The movie looks funny to them. I have yet to find any Rogan film actually funny, but trying to warn them to protect my friends has only gained me treatment that I would never offer them. In trying to explain why a date rape scene as comedy is not funny, I am told instead to stop over reacting.

How is wanting to protect someone an over reaction? Yes I asked for a boycott but I didn’t ask for proof or an answer. I didn’t explain well, when being told there is no sexism in movies like Knocked Up. There isn’t? I am not going to list the instances, unless someone really requests it because that will take me hours. I do not have the time right this second.

I am tired of spoon feeding people answers. I am tired of being cussed at, told to not have an opinion, and treated like garbage. I am tired of the temptation to cuss back. Why should I be cussed at when I tell someone we need to change the subject four times, and get angry? Why are my emotions invalid?

I am not over reacting. The idea of paying to see a film and having a very real trauma treated as a joke disgusts me. The idea that any actor or actress would choose to portray these roles disturbs me. “Don’t Blame Rogan.” Why? Actors and Actresses are allowed to speak up, especially established actors. Rogan qualifies. He and Ferris both could have said no. Neither did.

Why shouldn’t I react? Why should I passively sit back and let it go? Why do I have to manually link, explain, and define everything? What happened to the freedom of thought? I know those of you reading this actually do think. I am sorry for the blanket questions, yet there is a huge gap out there.

Does age really invalidate the need for critical thinking? I am not sure that my brain qualifies me to try and guess what others think. I don’t really know what the development of a normal person is. Trauma alone changed my needs and the skills that come with survival. Is it wrong for me to expect a person who is well aware of their enviroment and the abuses that are surrounding them to free themselves? Why wait it out? What good does that do you? What if you do not survive the waiting period?

Is it wrong for me to find someone saying that my choice to not curse, even when extremely angry, is a superiority complex silly? I don’t think so but what about the typical person? I use the word typical here to mean someone who is not Autustic, someone who is not a sufferer of abuse. Someone else.

Why is it wrong to react with passion to something that should be criminal? Why is it wrong to expect someone to at least take slight notice of the patriarchy? I always have. I have always been aware of the sexism and pecking order in the world. Aside from choice how can you be blind to it? How can you not see what is slapping you in the face daily? What makes you choose that?
Yes, there are a lot of questions here but, I think they are valid. Most are hypothetical, but if you can answer them please do.

Also, I am requesting that you boycott the new Seth Rogan movie Observe and Report. Imagine paying to have flashbacks? That’s what has me prickling like a hedgehog. I can’t really imagine paying to watch any woman act like an under educated nitwit either, but, some people find sexism and degredation funny apparently.

One last question. Is it wrong for me, to regardless of age, expect the same respect I offer people by not cursing? Why should I allow someone to call be names just to satisfy their immaturity? Does being a teenager mean I should have higher standards or should I lower them and let people degrade themselves? Should I let the people in my life treat me like crap because they expect me to allow this? I choose to say something when someone curses at me, but, each time there is always just another name. Do I cut them out as I have other people who hurt me? Is that an over reaction or is it just temptation for self preservation?

Violence (Trigger Warning)

I keep rewriting this post. Violence is bad. We all know this. Violence is often celebrated in our culture. In the US most of the television shows, even for children, include some sort of violence or attempt to teach children what boys do and what girls do. Girls like fashion, pink, and hair. Boys like to fight, are great leaders, and work. Bull pucky. The media also rarely illustrates that women can be violent.

I am capable of killing. I am not capable of murder. I know that if I had to kill someone to defend myself or the ones I love, I could. I discovered this when I was young. I am very loyal, it is a part of my nature to protect people. This does come from my history with violent abuse. If I could take the pain then I could save my sister or brother. They used to do that as well. Each one of us did our best to be the only one in pain. I am capable of killing, but, I never have.

I have had run ins with so many things, my life sometimes reads like a fiction novel. I never used to think about writing nonfiction, so afraid of being told I had dreamed it all. My biological mother and I talked on the phone today, partially about violence. The violence of doctors.

When I was eight I began to see a psychologist. After the first meeting they handed my mother a prescription for Zoloft. The pills made me sleepy. I hated taking them, because I couldn’t think. My father was still around, and taking the pills at his house always meant more pain. My reflexes were already slow, how could I fight back? I mentioned this to my doctor and the threat came. “If you do not take your pills you will be locked up with the other worthless children.” This doctor was a man, I remember falling silent, wishing to tell my mother. He threatened too that if I told her that she would be sent away, abandoning the others. I took the pills.

This man is no longer a doctor, he tried this on a competent adult a few years ago. There was a scandal, it made the papers. This was just after I fired him. He was the first doctor I fired. I spent years after that taking more and more pills. At one time I was on six antidepressants, an anti psychotic, an anti epileptic medication that they thought would make me not depressed, birth control pills to try and force my body to have a period, and a few other things.

When I threw up, I had to take a second dose. Doctor’s orders. There are chunks of my life lost not just to suppressed memories but to my brain shutting down from the constant overdose. Most of the medications I was on were not approved for children, just adults over the age of eighteen. I reacted to most of them. Being allergic to so much, that is no surprise. Throwing up, bleeding with each dose, and hallucinations weren’t big enough side effects to be taken off of the drugs.

I was more violent during that time, as they tried to fix a chemical imbalance that did not exist, due to the drugs. They are not the only reason I lashed out at the world. Abuse does that, it teaches people to strike before they get hurt. I barely remember assaulting my best friend in High School. She touched my sandwich and teased me for it. I remember the anger and seeing her on the floor but not the act of hitting her in the head with a chunk of wood.

This was caught on film, there were witnesses. I went into a psychotic rage over food. I have some serious food issues, and I thought she was going to take my food. The fear of being deprived was so strong, that I had to protect myself. This was what I knew, I never knew people could share. I was a beast, primal in my reactions. She did not suffer permanent damage but was hospitalized for it. This lead to the only psychiatric hospitalization that benefited me. Hospital hiding the institution, feeding on itself and drugging children. Teaching them first hand who Nurse Ratchet was.

The reason being I finally needed help. I was shunted around the state, with my history and diagnoses no one wanted to treat me. It feels familiar at times with doctors, sending needles into my heart. I was misdiagnosed with mental health conditions. One to explain every disability. I was accused of things, such as self mutilation that came from my disabilities. I was lazy, I was stupid, I was just not good enough. Years of that, a decade in fact, of being told how worthless I was by doctors and I did not trust them.

I was sent to an experimental facility. The Ranch, as my family calls it, was a peer support program. We did see therapists, and we did have medication given to us but we lived in a boarding school environment. The program depended on it’s recipients to function. This made a difference, as I found people my age I could talk to. This was a first. I also learned I was not alone. At the other facilities you were shoved in until you behaved for three days or so, then went home. In and out like a yo yo.

Each of the children at the Ranch had been in and out as well. Most were not from New Mexico, but a few of us were granted access to keep diversity up. There was violence there, though there was also nature. The Ranch is the only place I have ever been able to drink the water. The water came straight out of the ground. The first thing the doctors did was take me off all of my meds. They gave me two months before they started me on another. They came so close to freeing me from my shackles of medication. The medicine they put me on did change things, it seemed to reverse some of the damage to my brain from the drugs that came before. I stopped losing my hair, I gained some weight and lost some girth. I even began to smile sometimes.

I also met horses. I was one with nature there. There was silence at times, and there was bonding. That was where I learned I could love. The fact is, my father was a diagnosed psychopath. Even knowing this these “great” doctors did not seem to consider that my behavior was environmental. The ranch is where I learned about PTSD. It is also where I learned that flashbacks were not just my burden.

One of the other dorms, full of boys, found a dog. I was triggered when the dog came to us bleeding. The flashback lasted for six hours. I relieved my father killing people’s pets because I liked them. I still cannot go into detail on those horrors without triggering myself. This poor dog was hungry, lost in the middle of no where, and then was assaulted. When he came to our dorm, my brain left. I woke up, and found that the world had for once stopped for me.

This was my turning point. It wasn’t being threatened with institutionalization in the adult hospital, it wasn’t the new drug. It was coming back to myself and finding that every girl had stopped what they were doing, had sat in a circle around me and the dog to which I was clinging and waited. When I stopped screaming, apparently I had been, my roommate asked what happened. When I told them, no one told me I lied, no one told me it was my fault. The first time in my life, someone hugged me and cried with me. No one punished me for needing help, a first in my life.

I was on the cusp of adulthood when this finally happened. I was about to reach a point of no return, trapped in the system. They saved me from my violence, and I saved them in turn. I love each of those girls still. Someday I may cross their paths again, though I do not plan to admit it to them if I do. We each deserve the right to deny our childhoods to an extent.

I spent my childhood dying daily. I am certain that not every therapist was bad, I do not remember them if they were not. I only remember the incidents of threat, of lies, and of burden. Child psychologists often can get away with crimes and breaking the rules of conduct that their profession has. Not all of them do, but, an adult has power over a child. A psychologist is alone for at least an hour with a child, and some of them abuse this power. I had one who found out I would turn on her like a dog hit one too many times. She spent the sessions telling me about her husband’s erectile dysfunction, and telling me I was fat. The male doctor who gave me the pills threatened me each time with different torments. One of the other psychologists took part in encouraging the children at my school to burn me at the stake.

It is no wonder that I hated the world. Until the ranch only a few teachers had ever shown me adults could manage to not hurt me. Each of them saved a part of my soul, saved a fragment of hope from the violence. My mother did try, but, it seemed hopeless that any of her children would turn out to be a healthy adult. How could we? She wasn’t. We only knew violence.

Perhaps the violence I know tempered me? I doubt it. I believe it was the small bits of love I could find. I do not believe the Ranch did all the work in saving me, I think instead they unburied the ground work set by another.

After Toastmasters I will write of my first Sensei, I will tell you of my time as Little Lotus and how the Batman was my father until I was six. It sounds silly, and the fantasy was. It still held violence but my Sensei taught me ways to thrive, not just survive. I will also write about my experience with hate and nearly being burned as a witch.

We, the subjects of oppression are forbidden anger, we are forbidden violence. Even when it is used against us, violence is often attributed to us. Those with mental health issues, mental disabilities, and physical disabilities are vulnerable to violence in unique ways. When defending ourselves we are demonized. Women who show anger are told to simmer down, they are told that their anger is inappropriate. Some are raped to control their power, to try and punish them for anger. Persons of Color of any gender are also forbidden anger. The stereotypes tell how violent they are, and yet when a man is shot down for his skin color and people get angry, the murdering cops get away with it because the people get angry.

Violence is all around us, it is on the TV, it is in books, it is in my beloved comic books. Violence is in our history. It is sadly in our future. I mourn for all the children and those who once were children who know violence. The kiss of violence is the scar of fear, the spectre of disillusionment, and the taste of bitterness that shatters dreams.

Violence is the most horrifying entity that has ever been introduced into society. Violence is not a part of human nature, it was taught. We learned it from somewhere. Violence is not never ending. The cycle can be broken. I have broken the cycle in my family. Even when attacked I try to protect myself without violence. How do you survive violence? How do you endure?

Anger is violent. Violence is a poison. My antidote for violence is to sing, to write, or to create something. To be violent is to become what you fear. Fear can turn to anger, anger turns into violence. The cycle swirls around. I created this post not just to educate, but to share. I want to share my peace. In order to do that, you must see my pain too. I fear these words most of all, therefore I offer them up to transform and fly into the universe like butterflies, unlocking the caged minds of others. I write these words not with anger, but with sorrow for who I was, mourning for the death of innocence as I knew it, and with love. The love is not just for myself, though I truly love myself. It is Wishing Love, I wish love upon each and every person in this world.

I wish love upon you, for whoever you are you do deserve love. I may know you, I may not. I embrace you with my soul. I offer you a haven of knowledge, a haven of peace, and a haven of change. I am a butterfly. Here you too may learn to fly.

Chain Letters about White Privilege

I recieved a chain letter long ago, and it came around again. this chain letter is about White Privilege. It touts it as a good thing, it even lists examples of privilege. The person who forwarded it to me had a note at the top, stating they didn’t see the big deal. I do. I have discovered most of my favorite blogs that are about feminism are written by People of Color. I am also aware of my white privilege. I wasn’t always but, I must address this chain letter. The letter will be in red, my responses will be in black.

So very sad, but so very true. I am not a racist….I am an American. I am very proud of my ethnicity, as all should be in this melting pot we call our home. But if we are all “equal” why is it that these comments are so true today???

Just how are these statements true? Why do we need labels for each culture that has been added to this melting pot? (Insert required fondu joke here)

Something to think about. . .

This e-mail does contain wording that is meant to express an open opinion to a major problem in the USA . It is estimated that only 11% of those receiving this e-mail will read it all the way to the end. In addition, it is estimated that only 1% of non-white color will read this past this point and 99% will blow it away because of the title. It is a shame this sentiment exists when we tell the world that the USA is the best place to Live, Worship, Work, and Play.

Very bogus statistics. Any time you estimate a percentage without any numbers to work with, it is meant to cause a reaction. I see this with doctors even, trying to ignore rare diseases. It is only rare most of the time, due to a lack of acknowledgment. We tell the world the USA is the best place, but, we live here so of course we will try and seem tough and good. I often see the USA as a little kid throwing a tantrum. If I could immigrate to somewhere I would. Not every person in the USA worships either.

“WHITE ” Pride”

White Privilege.

This is great. I have been wondering about why Whites are racists, and no other race is…..

Plenty of other races are. Every human has the capacity to be racist.

Proud to be White

Michael Richards makes his point………….. Michael Richards better known as Kramer from TVs Seinfeld does make a good point.

He does?

This was his defense speech in court after making racial comments in his comedy act. He makes some very interesting points…

He verbally attacked a man in the audience based on race, because he was heckled. As a public performer I know better, as do most. There was no excuse for his outburst. He could have used any other word.

Someone finally said it. How many are actually paying attention to this? There are African Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian Americans, Arab Americans, etc.

ETC? You want to label people, just to enhance your privilege. That is what I see from this.

And then there are just Americans. You pass me on the street and sneer in my direction. You call me ‘White boy,’ ‘Cracker,’ ‘Honkey,’ ‘Whitey,’ ‘Caveman’… and that’s OK.

No it is not okay. Every citizen of the United States is JUST an American. It is your own racism that is showing as you write this out. My friend who just became a citizen after immigrating is still JUST AN AMERICAN.

It is never acceptable to use racist terms against any person. I also do not know of Caveman being used against whites. I have heard it used against Persons of Color, predominantly those of African descent.

But when I call you, Kike, Towel head, Camel Jockey, Beaner, or Chink .. You call me a racist.

If you call someone those names, you are a racist. I am white too bub, you are being racist.

You say that whites commit a lot of violence against you…. so why are the ghettos the most dangerous places to live?

Whites do a lot of racial profiling in order to further their white privilege. Ghettos are not the most dangerous places to live, in reality they are dangerous yes, but only due to the negligence, police profiling and poverty. You will now likely argue that poverty is a choice. I never chose to be disabled or poor, to have to fight for my right to buy cheese. Neither did they. It is much harder to get a job if you are not a white man. You have privilege. Deal with it.

You have the United Negro College Fund. You have Martin Luther King Day.

We have pretty much every other holiday on the map, and we white folk also have most other scholarships. We too share Martin Luther King JR day. Do you think that the entirety of Black History has no white men in it? Are you really going to claim that the Civil Rights movement had nothing to do with white folk? Some marched with our friends who happen to be of color.

You have Black History Month. You have Cesar Chavez Day.

We have White History Year.

You have Yom Hashoah. You have Ma’uled Al-Nabi.

Again, we have white history year.

You have the NAACP. You have BET… If we had WET (White Entertainment Television), we’d be racists. If we had a White Pride Day, you would call us racists.

We have White Pride year, we have ABC, NBC, HBO, CBS, and every other network out there for what we want. A lot of lily white people on my TV. Not all of them as talented as some of the folks on BET.

If we had White History Month, we’d be racists.

Again? Are you running out of ways to show your privilege? White history year. Every history class focuses on white white white history. I barely heard of the civil rights movement in school. I only learned it happened because one of my teachers happened to be a PoC. I am glad for that because my education would be even more incomplete.

If we had any organization for only whites to ‘advance’ OUR lives, we’d be racists.

The GOP comes to mind. As does Wall Street, oh wait, Harvard!

We have a Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, a Black Chamber of Commerce, and then we just have the plain Chamber of Commerce. Wonder who pays for that??

From what I recall, chambers of commerce sprang up out of a need. The local Hispan@ chamber of commerce came up because the white boys wouldn’t let the persons of hispanic descent in. We pay for it, because we also refuse to share.

A white woman could not be in the Miss Black American pageant, but any color can be in the Miss America pageant.

A disabled person cannot enter the Miss America pageant. It is inaccessible. Even white disabled people. I have no issue with Miss Latin@ America, Miss Black America, or even Miss Fat America. They all exist. If we limit ourselves to one choice for everything, it does not circumvent our privilege and continues the absolutely obvious racism.

If we had a college fund that only gave white students scholarships… You know we’d be racists.

We used to. Most Ivy League schools qualify. We are pretty darned racist.

There are over 60 openly proclaimed Black Colleges in the US . Yet if there were ‘White colleges’, that would be a racist college.

Did you forget about SEGREGATION? A lot of people get illegally denied access to education based on skin color. I am all for the underclassed, non white, or non male having a leg up. It’s called EQUALITY. You claim you want it but you are spewing racism.

In the Million Man March, you believed that you were marching for your race and rights. If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists.

A lot of different groups march for their rights. The disabled even do it. Do you really believe there were no non blacks in the Million Man March? What about the Suffragettes? These women were mostly white fighting for the right to vote. They marched. The White folk in this country already have their rights, it is not about taking from you. It is about making certain that everyone has an equal opportunity.

You are proud to be black, brown, yellow and orange, and you’re not afraid to announce it. But when we announce our white pride, you call us racists.

I am proud of who I am, my ancestry is a part of that. This does not mean that as the ruling race, I have the right to expect those who have been dominated, abused, and beaten to not find pride in themselves when a large part of the American Culture is to try and devalue their race.

You rob us, carjack us, and shoot at us. But, when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist.

The phrasing on this implies that only persons of color commit crimes. A lot of white people car jack, murder, and beat on one another. Violence with in race is often very high. This includes white people. Not every black person who is shot is guilty, in a gang, or a drug dealer on the run. Not all people of color are posing threats to society. Nor is every white cop going to racial profile. Do you deny that beating a person who is already in cuffs is appropriate? Denying the wrongs that happen does not make the rights apparent.

Why is it that only whites can be racists??

Delusion. If only white people could be racists then, the world would be very different.

There is nothing improper about this e-mail. Let’s see which of you are proud enough to send it on. I sadly don’t think many will.. That’s why we have LOST most of OUR RIGHTS in this country. We won’t stand up for ourselves!

We have lost most of our rights? Since when? Do you mean that enslaving other races is just fine? Do you mean that denying innocent victims is fine? What about segregation? It sure sounds like that is what you want. I am white. I am also aware that being white means I am automatically given more respect than a person of color. We white people have not lost our rights. This letter is a reaction to the fear of losing your power over another culture, race, or religion. There is a lot wrong with this letter, as you can see.

Why is it alright for us to stand up for our rights but if a group of women, disabled, persons of color, or even Gays, Lesbians, Transgendered Persons, or any mixture of the above do, your rights are suddenly going to vanish. Why is a culture and society advancing towards the elusive goal of equality so hard? Why do you see nothing wrong with trying to be aware of white privilege? I am a womanist. I am a white person. I have all my rights. Check under the couch for yours.

BE PROUD TO BE WHITE!

I would rather be proud to not be a bigot, I would rather be proud to be aware of my privilege, and I would rather be proud to look someone in the eye and see that they are a person not a threat.

It’s not a crime YET… but getting very close!

Congress, Most of Obama’s cabinet, and the Senate…. most of them are white. Why would they make it illegal to be white? Are you insane? I think you are.

It is estimated that ONLY 5% of those reaching this point in this e-mail, will pass it on.

It is estimated that ONLY 95% of people reading this letter and reaching this point have not deleted it because it is completely inappropriate, incorrect, and full of racist, white male patriarchial, and white privileged propaganda.

I do not understand the need to defend a racist action. This is the same as blaming the victim for being beaten, raped, or saying someone deserved to be murdered. What ever you believe, at times it is wise to question it. This can shake the foundations of your reality. It can also make you a better person.

I remember reading this letter several years ago. I was fresh into my legal adult status, and I felt things. Disgust mostly. I feared it was true, and realized upon a small bit of research that this was fake. I deleted it and asked the person who originally sent it to me to please go away and not talk to me anymore. My moment of realization caused some over reaction, but, I became aware of the Isms, the discrimination of others.

I had yet to taste it for myself. I post this here, and I welcome you to share THIS version of the letter, if you so desire.

Happy International Women’s Day!

Today is International Women’s day. If you are in any way, shape, or form a woman. Happy day to you.

Womanhood
By Kateryna Fury

Woman hood.
Changes daily
Perspectives on
Faith, life, joy
Woman hood
Stagnates slowly
Burned up by the men
They fear
They punish
They take away
Woman hood

Stereotype of Female
by Kateryna Fury

Female Nature is to love
Female Nature is to nurture
Vagina is dirty
Menstration is bad
You must love every man you have ever had
You must not dress like a whore or frump
you must do the chores and not complain
Striken, beaten, battered too
Female nature is abused

I am Woman
By Kateryna Fury
I am woman
What is woman but a flower
Wilting under heat of sun?
So says man, So say I
What is man but a hammer
hitting the nails even after it is done
Sexuality confuses
Sexuality becomes deviant
I desire to touch
I desire to feel
No flower am I
I am woman
I am person
I am more than just what seems
I see the thousand worlds
I am potential
I am woman
I am love
I am joy
I am woman

When Advocacy is like an Onion

Advocacy is like an onion. It has many layers, and each layer is not quite the same as the outside layer. Starting from the inside you have a core of people, the advocates for each organization that are well known on a National and International level. Each layer is a ring of less active people, less aware people.

Each layer going out has less moisture and vitality. When you cook an onion you usually peel off a few layers and discard them. This is where Advocacy is not like an onion. You cannot discard the outer layer. The outer layer consists of the people who have no information access. They are the people who advocates need to help the most. They are the most likely to be abused, they are the most likely to suffer, and they are the most likely to desire death out of neglect.

I have been in many layers of our Advocacy onion, and I know those layers very well. I work each day to try and help every layer I can access, and this includes looking for people in need. This sounds paranoid to some when I explain it to them but it is an essential part of advocacy. One example comes from a blog called Chewing the fat. You can read the entire story there, but the author was first abused by a stranger, and then took note that the stranger was a care giver. They then made a choice and reached out. The second part of that story is linked here, I won’t spoil the ending for you, you can read it on their site but know as you do, the victim in the story was the outermost layer of the onion. Now she has found herself on a new level.

The other way that advocacy is like an onion is it can make you cry. I myself am challenged with showing my emotions, even alone crying is a struggle. I have never cried so much in my life as when fighting for the rights of myself and others. Cutting into an onion triggers a chemical reaction, just as at times the tears are triggered by of all things endorphins. Sometimes I cry when advocacy goes so well that the joy in my heart overflows. It can be boundless. Other times my frustration and anger bring me to tears. Any emotion that can be felt can be magnified by the act of Advocacy.

Another way that advocacy is like an Onion is simply this. I hate onions. I really hate having to constantly advocate. I do not just dislike it, I hate the pain. Advocating hurts me, it burns up my stomach at times, it leaves me exposed to the sun, it cuts my soul open and lets even strangers poke at it with their sharp sticks of injustice. I am allergic to onions, they burn my flesh when I touch them, they split my skin, and my eyes like to swell shut after, blinding me.Sometimes people who ignore the truth, wasting my energy and causing pain blind me to the happy moments I can have.

The last way that I will share, but far from the last way that sets out truth, is this. Onions and advocacy can add spice. Isn’t variety the spice of life? My advocacy takes me on a strange and varied journey. I never know what each moment will bring, there is no predictability. This causes me to thrive. Onions add flavour to flavourless dishes, they change things, and they can make a good meal better, barring allergies.

For every layer of the world’s largest onion, there are more analogies. You likely have thought of some of your own while reading this.I cannot ever give up advocacy, for myself mostly, but for every single person that I have helped.

Do you like onions?

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