#& I am not kidding. the women of color consistently had more grounded and developed understanding of feminism

[genderkoolaid]

I don't think No True Scotsman-ing feminism is helpful but there are a lot of people (esp, in my experience, middle class cishet white women, but not exclusively) whose entire feminist education is pop feminism, & they tend to have a very shallow view of feminism & its politics while thinking they are better educated than they are. and they also have very badly made arguments that physically hurt me to hear made even if I agree with the point they are trying to make.

& tbh I think this is part of how radical feminism gets so popular especially amongst the aforementioned group. because radical feminism, for all it's flaws, DOES promise to make feminism a radically left movement again, purposefully ties itself to historical Marxist feminist theory. & if you are tired of lukewarm liberal pop feminism & want something with teeth, that's really enticing. and if you are a cis woman, especially a white one, it's very easy to let that desire for something with teeth & unexamined transphobia/cissexism guide you into Being An Asshole

[fandomscombine]

The Hargreeves Kerfuffle  Part 1 : Disastrous Childhood (Prologue)

TUA Series Part 1:  Disastrous Childhood

The Hargreeves siblings x Hargreeves!Reader (Familial Relationship)

An idea came to me at 2am after binging TUA S2 and rewatching S1 right after!

BG: The Reader is Number Eight. It follows how you fit into the structure of Season 1 and the family dynamic of the siblings.

This part follows when the young Hargreeves Siblings had their powers manifested and the development of The Umbrella Academy.

Contains: Sibling Angst and Fluff. Reginald being a crappy father but sometimes not really?

The series will consist of 10 parts. Where the reader would have a focused interaction with each sibling. (Eg. After this part, it would be Luther x Reader, then Diego x Reader and so on! –Yes Ben is included)

WC:2649

A/N: This is my first ever TUA fic and I’m doing a series. WOw ambitious I know. Anyways I hope you enjoy! And tell me how you feel about it!

>>MASTERLIST<<

>>THE HARGREEVES KERFUFFLE SERIES MASTERLIST<<

READ: [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]

>>JOIN MY WRITING CHALLENGE!<<

~

On October 1, 1989, 43 women across the globe gave birth despite them not being pregnant when the day began. In news of this mysterious happenings, Sir Reginald Hargreeves immediately went out of his way to find as many of these special babies. He has successfully adopted 8 of these children and you were one of them.

One might think that when a person adopts not one, but eight kids would have so much love to give but they would be mistaken. Sir Reginald Hargreeves—Dad, was not a loving father. It would be a miracle for one to see the man show any other emotion apart from anger. Sir Reginald Hargreeves was distant and treated the children like they were experiments that the dynamic felt closer to a doctor/patient relationship. The children weren’t given actual names, only to be called by their numbers based on the order Sir Reginald Hargreeves had procured them. It was only when Grace, their robot mother insisted they have a real name, were the children given them. And so, the children were:

Number One - Luther Hargreeves

Number Two – Diego Hargreeves

Number Three – Allison Hargreeves

Number Four – Klaus Hargreeves

Number Five – Five Hargreeves

Number Six – Ben Hargreeves

Number Seven – Vanya Hargreeves

And finally,

Number Eight -  y/n Hargreaves

For 6 years, the only special thing about the children was that they were miraculously conceived and birthed within a day, the same day. However, on the 7th year , October 1 1996, more strange things started to happen to the children.

It first started with Ben at breakfast. Dad as usual is cold and strict more so in the early morning. ‘Sit up straight Number Six.’ He directed without even a glance up from his newspaper at hand.

‘Yes Sir.’

Beside him you place your hand on his and whispered, ‘You alright Ben? You look sick.’

He gulped. ‘Yea y/n.’ Wiping the cold sweat off his forehead.

‘You sure?’ you questioned, not buying it.

‘Umhmm never bett-----’

You expected vomit to come out but what happen next is something you would never though was possible.

Screams broke out everywhere.

You feel yourself being raised above the table. Looking down, you were 5 feet off the ground held by what seemed to be tentacles.

‘Take that!’ You hear some shout then a thud. Diego had brought down a knife to the tentacle that had suffocated him and in now laying on the floor covered in green blood.

The sight finally snapped you out of your shock, your fight or flight reflexes kicked in.

A quick sweep of your surroundings showed Five and Klaus on either side of you, they too are struggling with the ever-tightening grip of the monstrous arm.

While on the ground, Vanya and Allison are making their way to Ben in hopes of helping him control whatever all this that was coming out of his body. While Luther is fighting off the arms away from Diego who seem to have broken his leg from the fall.

Dad, Mom and Pogo are nowhere to be seen.

You move your head to the left, knowing that Klaus doesn’t do well in small spaces. ‘Klaus it’s okay buddy, Dad would find a way to fic this. Just breathe’ You choked out ‘Just breathe Klaus, everything’s gonna be alright.’

‘mmmm!’ That was Klaus’ only reply but you were thankful to see him to fidget less. He seemed to have taken your advice – how much of the second part of that advice be true, you genuinely don’t know.

You try to move your head to face the right towards Five but no dice. The arm was wrapping itself closer to your neck. ‘Five’ you call out, but it was barely a whisper. ‘five..’

‘Y/N!!’ Five’s scream was the last thing you heard before everything went black.

~

‘She’s broken a couple of ribs and sprained her neck. But’s she’s gonna be okay. Just needs time to rest.’

‘And how long would that time Pogo?’

‘She would need to say in bed for 2 to 3 months, Sir.’

You open your eyes and are greeted with blinding white light. Dad, Mom and Pogo surround your bed.

Grace tucks a stray hair behind you ear. ‘My baby, y/n. How are you feeling?’

‘Sore.’ You reply, noting the coarse sound of your voice. ‘How’s Ben? Klaus? Vanya?—’

Grace cut you off. ‘They’re all fine y/n. Though Ben is a bit roughed up.’ She says truthfully.

‘Number Six has appeared to have powers of summoning monsters with his body and he is currently under supervision.’  Reginald stated.

But something didn’t fit right. ‘But how did you calm him down? The whole fiasco back there was in total chaos?’ Voicing out all your thoughts and questions. ‘No one could get him to take back control, unless…..’ You couldn’t continue the thought. Your eyes go wide. There was no way. It was too harsh, but it was dad after all, he would do whatever means necessary to get what he wants.

Your dad smiles proudly ‘Ah yes. Y/n ever the cleverest of the bunch.’ You had observed that he had addressed you in your actual name instead of your number for the first time in your whole existence.  ‘Unfortunately, I had to sedate Number Six. You do understand that it was the only way.’

You open your mouth to argue.

‘No buts, Number Eight!’ Ah and now we’re back to number, you thought.

‘I’ll have Grace by you side whist you recover and Pogo here would relay your recovery progress to me daily.’

He was almost to your door when he faced you again. ‘Oh and Number Eight, When you feel something different or unusual. Do inform me of it immediately.’ And with that he left.

‘Pogo? What does he mean by feel different?’ Your nerves go up, worried about your siblings. ‘Is anyone hurt?’

Pogo sighs, after much contemplation he begins ‘Y/n dear. Today’s happenings uncovered that there are stranger yet special things about you children.’

You nod, not wanting to interrupt but also wishing he would hurry up and continue.

‘Ben isn’t the only one who have gotten powers today. During the kerfuffle, Diego has shown skill with a knife, Luther immense strength and Five had shown ability to teleport.’

Once again you found yourself in shock.

‘Your father has gotten the idea that you children have varying power wish are “activated” so to speak when reached the age of 7.’

‘Haha-OW’ You clutch your side.

‘Careful y/n, try not to do sudden movements—yes and that includes laughing too.’ Mom says, caressing your cheek.

‘When can I see them?’

‘I’ll try to persuade Reggie to allow them for a visit dear. But now I need you to rest.’

~

Sibling Visits are limited to 30 mins a day, right before the bedtime curfew.

All your siblings (expect Ben who was still under strict supervision and is recovering himself) came to see you the following night.

Allison was the first one through your door and ran to give you a hug. ‘Y/n! We are all so worried!’

‘Aww thanks—OW OW OW’

‘Oops sorry’ releasing you from her death grip of a hug.

Seeing that movements still hurt you. The rest opted not to hug you, Klaus and Diego held your hand, Vanya is sitting on the edge of you bed, Luther gave you forehead a quick kiss and Five being Five, greeted you with the typical sibling teasing. ‘Glad to see you not drop dead in front of me.’

Diego showed off his leg cast and asked you to sign it, which you happily did so. Signing ‘Badass as always. -y/n’ beside Ben’s note of ‘Diego is cooler than Batman’

The 30 minutes consisted recaps of what happened the day before, the gushing of the boys showcasing their powers and debating on who’s the most powerful.

And just like that, the time was up and each had to go to bed. Everyone kissed your head for goodnights, even Five.

‘You know I love you right?’ His eyes softer than you ever seen before

‘I know’

‘You really scared me yesterday when you blacked out.’ Five had his tough façade down. ‘I thought you died y/n.’

‘But I didn’t.’ You reach up to wipe his tears away. ‘It’d take something bigger, if you wanna get rid of me.’

He chuckled. ‘Night, y/n’

‘Good night, Five.’

~

3 weeks had passed, and your siblings never failed to visit you. Over that time, Klaus and Allison had manifested their powers. Klaus can conjure the dead while Allison could ‘rumor’ people to her will.

Ben came by 2 weeks later. His color is back to normal, not like the blueish tint it had the last time you saw him. Though he still had a few remnants of bruises and scars across his arms and face.

‘I’m sorry y/n.’ He said leaning on your door frame.

‘Ben!’ You exclaimed. ‘I’m so glad you’re back up and running!’

Ben was caught off guard. ‘You—You’re not mad at me?’

‘Why would I be mad at you?’ You questioned, genuinely confused at your brother’s words.

‘Cause, Cause I almost got you killed. I am a monster.’

You sat up straight at those words, your ribs hurt a bit at the sudden movement, but you didn’t care. Your brother was blaming himself for something he couldn’t have controlled.

‘NO BEN!’

Ben jumped from your sudden outburst.

You motioned for him to come closer.

‘Ben…’ looking into his eyes. ‘Ben you are no monster.’

‘But—’

‘uuh uh I’m not done’ You held his hand in yours. ‘You are no monster what happened then was an accident, nobody knew, heck nobody expected powers to just show up. It was beyond anyone’s control. It took us by surprise.’

His shoulders relaxed.

‘It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for what happened.’

He gave you a bone crushing hug. ‘Thank you y/n. You don’t know how guilty I was feeling.’ Voice muffled by your shoulder, which is now wet with his tears. ‘I kept thinking about the pain I caused you and I wasn’t allowed to leave my room even when I begged dad to see you and say sorry. y/n’

‘Shhh shhh’ Rubbing his back. ‘It’s alright Ben. What’s important is that we’re all here now. Alive, Safe and sound.’.

~

You still have a month left for recovery.

Only you and Vanya are the one left who haven’t had their powers revealed.

Dad had created a group called ‘The Umbrella Academy’ in which he trained your super powered siblings. He even given them codenames to go along with their newfound powers.

Number One - Luther Hargreeves aka Spaceboy

Number Two – Diego Hargreeves aka The Kraken

Number Three – Allison Hargreeves aka The Rumor

Number Four – Klaus Hargreeves aka The Séance

Number Five – Five Hargreeves aka The Boy

Number Six – Ben Hargreeves aka The Horor

With this new training program comes with the downside of spending less time with your siblings. Your traditional Sunday afternoon sister bonding time Allison and Vanya is basically non-existent now. Sure the rest of siblings still drop by to check up on how you’re recovering but it is not as frequency as they once were- you totally understand though, it must be tiring to be part of ‘The Umbrella Academy’ but girl were you still hurt and wanted more than anything to be a part of it.

So, you spend most of your time with Vanya nowadays. You didn’t mind, it is nice to have someone along. Most of the time Vanya practices her violin in your room.

‘That was beautiful Vanny’ you commented after she finished a rendition.

‘Thanks y/n’ Her face flushed. ‘Maybe someday I’d be a famous violinist!’

‘I know you would.’ You say truthfully. ‘And I better get the best seats at your concerts okay? Nothing short of VIP treatment for your favourite sister!’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Allison would get that.’ Vanya teased.

Placing a hand dramatically to your chest ‘uhh I am offended! I thought I was your favourite sister!’

‘well... you thought wrong.’ Vanya tried to keep a straight face but failed. ‘You y/n are the VVIP guest!’

‘Now that’s more like it.’

~

That night you were tossing and turning in your bed.

In the training room, huge boulders were being tossed onto Luther’s back. He currently had 3 on him. ‘More’ he cried. It was an impressive feat to see. A 7-year-old carry the what had to be at least 5 times his weight.

It was at his 6th block when his legs start to shake.

‘Straighten up Number One!’ Reginald voice came through the speakers.

‘I-I’

‘Fix your posture! And stop babbling!’

He was trembling all over, the weight was far too much and carried far too long for just a young boy.

Any second now, he is gonna be crushed by the boulders.

‘LUTHER!’ You screamed. Cold sweat was plastered all over your face. You were still in your room- but it all felt so real.

You look over to your bedside table, 9:07

Training would have started an hour ago. You had time.

You took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the training room. ‘STOP’

Reginald stood from his seat. ‘Number Eight. What in the world are you doing here?’

‘STOP! Luther is gonna get hurt please stop it--.’ Ignoring his question.

‘Number Eight, what are you talking about? Number One is doing perfectly fine!’ He gestured towards the front.

He was right. Luther looks fine. In fact it looked like it was carrying a light backpack instead of 3 boulders. ‘But- But I saw—’ Then it hit you 3 boulders. 3 not 6.

‘More’ You heard him cried out, just like you had in your nightmare.

You stared at Luther, how could this be?

‘I saw him sir, he is gonna collapse from 6 boulders.’

At this, Reginald took interest. ‘You saw?’

‘Yes, I-I must have dreamt it.’ You slumped against the free chair, defeated. ‘but it felt so real.’

‘Let me everything you saw, and don’t miss a single detail’

And so, you did. By the time you finished, Luther was with his 6th block.

It was exactly like how things went down in your dream. ‘No No NOOOO!’

‘Release him!’ Reginald called at the last second. Standing he faced you. ‘Now y/n dear would you please come with me.’

He didn’t speak again until you were both in his office. ‘It seems to me Number Eight that your powers have finally manifested.’

‘what—’

‘A slight delay compared to your siblings, but I presume that it was due to you recovering from your injuries that your body had focus on your recovery first then powers.’

‘What about Vanya? Would she have powers?’

‘It seems that Number Seven has no powers gained.’ Standing in front of you. ‘But no matter now, what’s important is that you’ve got them.’ He placed his hands on your shoulders. ‘You would do great things Number Eight. To see into the future is a valuable asset to have indeed. For this I shall name you Foresight.’

This was it! You own codename!

Number Eight -  y/n Hargreaves aka Foresight.

‘I’m gonna be part of The Umbrella Academy?’ Overjoyed by your father taking pride in you that every other thought left your concern.

‘Yes Foresight. You will.’ Standing straight again. ‘However, your training would only start once you have fully recovered.’

‘Thanks Dad.’ Hugging him and for once showed the affection back.

You wish you could say that it was at this point where you and your siblings finally gotten a loving and healthy childhood. But you were wrong. Things only deteriorated from here on out with the Hargreeves household and by extension the dissolve of The Umbrella Academy.

END OF PART 1

READ: [PART 2] [PART 3]  [PART 4]

Taglist [All]: @gruffle1

Taglist [TUA]: @herecomesthesun1969  @ultraviolet-m​ @winterierwriter @lordofthunderthr​  @alabaster1223

[calpert]

Fat Girl Writing

This is probably my tenth attempt at writing a blog. For some reason I can never be consistent with my posts. I should be writing at least every week. Well I decided to write this blog because I feel very stuck right now. I'm an overweight, depressed woman who desperately wants to lose weight, but hasn't really taken the steps to do so. So here I am, pouring my heart out to the internet in hopes I will hold myself accountable to making my life better. Here is some information about me: I am a 28 year old woman. I am 5'5" and I weigh 185 pounds. I am diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and ADD. I take a number of medications including antidepressants, Xanax, a stabilizer, and Adderall. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety and first given the medication when I was 19-years-old. I wasn't diagnosed with ADD until I was 26, but it was obvious I've had it most of my life. I have struggled with my weight most of my life. I have always loved eating. When I was a baby, I had a Polish Catholic nanny whose philosophy was food equals love. And boy, did she love me. I had an older sister, but because I was the new baby, I was all she wanted. My nanny fed me so much to the point where when I laid on my belly, my arms and legs couldn’t touch the ground. My favorite thing was apple juice. After she left, my mother tried to give me water, but I refused and cried until I received the sweet sugary liquid. Ever since then I have had an addiction to sugar especially sweet drinks like soda, slushees, and of course sugary cocktails and other colorful alcoholic beverages.  Luckily, when I was a child, my metabolism was high and I was active enough that I was not overweight. I enjoyed playing sports and playing outside. But I loved food even more. Every meal I had I would lick my plate clean. My brother and sister were both picky eaters and would only eat certain foods prepared a certain way. But not me. I tried anything and everything. The good thing is this included vegetables. It really didn’t matter what form the food was in or what type of food it was. I didn’t discriminate. For the first ten years of my life, I didn’t think twice about what I put into my mouth. I didn’t think about my body or how it looked or what others thought of it. It was the most mentally peaceful time in my life. The demon hadn’t come out to play. When I was eleven years old and in sixth grade, I got my period. My breasts started to develop and my skinny legs turned into full thighs. Obviously I started to feel uncomfortable in my own body. Most of the girls in my class did not look like me. They were still skinny and flat chested. I felt like there was something wrong with me because I didn’t look like them. I blamed my body type and thought I was just born unlucky.  One day that same year, we had to take the presidential fitness test. This required us to do a certain amount of push ups, pulls ups, sit ups and to record our results. We also had to measure our height and weight so the school could gauge the overall health of our grade. Before I stepped on the scale, I looked at the results of the other girls around me. Most of them were shorter than me and weighed anywhere between 85 and 100 pounds.  It was time for me to step on the scale. I hadn’t really ever weighed myself before except maybe at the doctor’s. I didn’t know what to expect. But I was nervous. As I stepped on the old fashioned scale, I saw the ruler tip up and up and up until it reached the number 120. This was the first time I ever cared about how much I weighed. It probably was fairly healthy for a girl who was five foot two, but I was mortified. When you’re a child in school, all you can do is compare yourself to the other kids around you and see where you fit. I felt like I was the fat girl in the class. All I wanted was to be like everyone else, but the scale did not lie. The next year I started to become less active. As much as I enjoyed dancing and moving, I was not an athlete. This was the year I discovered my true passion: theater. Because of this, I quit the swim team I had been on for a few years. Although I understood that what you eat and how much you moved affected your body, I was in denial of what it would do to mine. I gained about 15 pounds that year and so my mother decided to take action and put me on a diet.  Jenny Craig is a popular diet that has been around for years. It is focused on portion control so they provide small microwavable meals. When you see ads for it, you mainly see women who are trying to lose their baby weight or middle aged women trying to get back on track to a healthy weight. I was only twelve-years-old when I went on it. It was one of the most embarrassing moments for me. My classmates couldn’t understand why I was on this diet or even what a diet really was. They even tried to sabotage the diet by telling me to eat the donuts or other food that was offered in school. When I told teachers I was on a diet, they were appalled. My science teacher said “Twelve-year-old girls should not be on diets”. I was conflicted. I felt like I was the only kid who had to do this. It felt wrong, but I knew my own mother wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I knew she was just terrified that I would become obese and so was I. I lost the 15 pounds I had to lose in a few months and felt great about myself. Seventh grade turned out to be a good year.  The next year, however, was one of the worst years of my life. I was at the same school I was in seventh grade, but the children seemed to have become even more cruel. I was made fun of constantly. I attended a private school and there were less than twenty kids in my grade. They tried to create clicks and weeded out the weak ones which included myself. I was seen as weak because I was nice to everyone and did anything to fit in. Then one day, my mother told my siblings and I that she would be moving to Chicago to get a job since we were in financial trouble. We had to stay with my dad in Arizona until the school year ended six months later. My dad wasn’t home much and he never cooked. We often had to fend for ourselves and once a week we ordered pizza. I think I was afraid of starving. A few months later, my father sat us down and informed us that he and my mother were getting a divorce. This was the first time I felt real pain. Of course when I look back at it, divorce is common and not something to be devastated over, but in the moment it felt like someone ripped my heart from my chest. I didn’t know how I was ever going to feel better. It was then I realized that food comforted me. It was always there and it was delicious and it made me feel good. My parents weren’t around to discipline me so I ate my feelings. That year I gained thirty pounds and was at my heaviest yet. I knew my parents were ashamed of me just as much as I was ashamed of myself. So I went back on Jenny Craig again. We didn’t have enough money for me to complete the program so I only lost about half the weight I had gained. This would not be the last time I was on the Jenny Craig diet program. So you see, this is something I am trying to get a handle on. It's been very difficult for me and this winter weather plus my depression has made motivation an impossible thing to grasp. But I am hoping that once I start writing about it, I will be able to turn things around. -Claudia Alpert

[sizzlingasianpersuasion]

Would I fuck a Trump supporter?

A Twitter follower recently asked me if I would still see clients even if they were Trump supporters? I answered yes, however I would not see anyone who stays at a Trump property.  I refuse to step a foot into one of his hotels while he undermines America’s principles and democracy.  

 And if you are still a Trump supporter after four weeks of his presidency, I have one question for you – how?  

 Some of you were ignorant to think he would change tactics after being inaugurated.  Your argument was, “He’s just doing whatever to get elected. Give him a chance.”  Despite the fact that he showed no intent on changing his behavior.  He was consistent with his divisiveness on attacking others and stroking his ego. Why you thought he was magically going to change once he was in office, is well, stupid.  

 During AVN, I was fortunate enough to finally see Joey Kim perform at Beauty Bar in Downtown Las Vegas. I sat at the bar sipping my Tito’s and tonic, patiently waiting for the performances to begin.  The bar started to fill with more people and I passed the time scrolling through my Twitter feed to read the news posts from The New York Times, Washington Post, and the Wall Street Journal.

 I was reading a NY Times post, I believe, that was of course about our Orange Dictator.  The man next to me asked if I was a fan of our new president, and I immediately responded no, and that he was a joke.  

 We continued to talk, since the performance was still yet to begin.  He was well-dressed, mid-30’s, 6’4”, and from Texas.  Appearance wise, he was attractive, but then he had to open his mouth and by the end of our conversation, the only way I would have touched him is if he paid for me to hate-fuck him.  

 I was trying my best to have an informed discussion with him.  After much talk about how Democrats and liberals can win back their side, I didn’t want to be the angry, Millennial Liberal that no one wants to listen to because she’s too far left.  We do need to have discussions with each other if we want to try to get anywhere for the sake of our country.  

 We found common ground about jobs (after I repeated the unemployment rate under Obama), infrastructure, and people not taking advantage of the system.  But then we started talking about police violence and biases. After the Baltimore and Chicago Department of Justice reports, I find it ridiculous for anyone who wants to still argue that racial profiling does not occur.  

 Listen, we all have biases, but only some of us are able to recognize that we have those cognitive biases and decide whether or not to have those biases influence our behavior.  

 This Texan tried to make an argument that if I see two black men mysteriously hanging out by my vehicle, I am going to have a certain reaction, but if it were two white men, I would have a different reaction.  My point was that if two men were mysteriously hanging out by my car, no matter what their skin color was, I would be suspicious.  

 So then he tried to further his argument by comparing dog breeds.  “If you have twelve dogs lined up in a row, and one of them is a Pit Bull, you know the Pit Bull is going to bite you.”

 “Uh, no.  You don’t know that.  I’m a Pit Bull owner so that argument is not going to work with me.”  

 Just assuming that a person or an animal is going to react harmfully based solely on appearance, is wrong.

 Dogs actually helped teach me not to have biases towards people.  The only dog that ever bit me was a Cocker Spaniel, owned by the mechanic my parents used to go to.  He warned me his dog was not kid friendly, but I being a small child and convinced I could win over any animal still wanted to pet him.  I did not win him over and he snapped at my fingers.  

 But my aunt and uncle later got a Cocker and she was the sweetest little thing.  I learned then that it’s all about how a dog is raised and to not judge others, whether it be people or animals, by what is on the outside.

 I really have a hard time understanding how people on this planet lack compassion.  When I watch reports on the Syrian refugees and they choke up about how they lost their home, their job, possibly friends and relatives, and they probably will not be reconnected with some of their family, I begin to tear up.  I don’t know how people automatically assume someone is going to be terrorist, especially when it comes women and children.  If you are really worried about a five-year-old, Syrian refugee coming into this country, I suggest you self-evaluate before blaming an innocent child for his place of origin.  

 Is it really so hard a task to try and reverse the roles?  Imagine we were at war and needed a safe place to go.  Everything you had is destroyed.  The only thing you have left is your family, if you’re even that lucky and no one was killed.  But then your family is separated based on where they have been assigned to go, and you are hated upon by others in your new country based solely on the fact on where you fled from.  

 The Texan’s last point was to give Trump a chance.  This was only the first day of his presidency.  I told him I would.  “I don’t want our country to fail, I hope he is going to do good things for the benefit of the American people.”

 But four weeks in and I’m surprised I haven’t developed an ulcer yet.  Every time I get a notification from NPR or BBC News, I cringe.  It’s scary.  And how those of you who are still in support of him and are not concerned by his behavior, tactics, and administration, truly baffles me and makes things even scarier.  

 So yes, I’ll fuck a Trump supporter.  Only if I’m being paid.  Money is money, right?  If there is not an equal exchange of power, then there would be no exchange at all.  

[agustinpippin3-blog]

The Place To become Over The Upcoming 10 Years, Through Mitchell Clark, B. Comm.

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[schwabkm]

Thank you Angela Davis

To my white sisters and friends,

Before we March on Washington tomorrow (Guiding Principles and Vision of the march), let us learn from our ancestor’s mistakes and victories. All of our collective liberation is at stake. We cannot march on without listening to our sisters of color and learning from our herstory.

As I, a white middle class woman of Irish and German decent, prepare to march behind the leadership of poor and working class women of color (as part of the #ItTakesRoots to #GrowTheResistance Women of Color & Allies Contingent) at a march initially started by white feminists, I am thinking a lot about herstory. I am thinking about the many times throughout herstory, from the suffrage to the birth control movements, that white woman have missed opportunities (by organizing in isolation, being stubborn, and focused on their own self interest at the expense of the needs of others) to listen to women of color, learn from their struggles, and organize in solidarity with them. Our herstory is filled with moments when we (white women) have called for unity—thus ignoring the differences in our experiences of oppression—and expediency—thus silencing the voices and needs of our sisters of color—and as a result have betrayed our sisters of color. Our herstory is also rich with white women who organized with women of color for collective liberation and against racism and white supremacy. I will be marching on their shoulders tomorrow.

I spent most of my life ignorant to this herstory. It is not what I learned from my history books or in my suburban bubble; it is what I learned from Angela Davis a few years ago when I read her book Women, Race, & Class.

Thank you Angela Davis—you changed my life!

I am sharing my notes and reflections from a few years ago with you today because I owe it to Angela Davis and all the women of color feminists who have organized for our collective liberation. I owe it to my white sisters who have yet to learn and grow from this herstory, but are so excited to do so; I can’t wait to organize with you. Lastly, I owe it to our future generations—all of our freedom depends on it. None of us can uproot and overcome cis-heteropatriarchal white supremacist capitalism alone (thank you bell hooks and Herukhuti for this phrasing). We will no longer be divided and conquered.

Note: In 2017, I am giving up perfectionism and pushing myself towards more vulnerability. As such, I am sending this reflection and summary from a few years ago out to you today without hours of edits and updates. I welcome your questions and criticisms. I offer this to you with love.

From the first pages of Women, Race, & Class, it was clear to me that Black women in America had a different experience of womanhood than white women. The bulk of the book explores the times that white women did and did not work towards liberation and ending racism and white supremacy. First I will explore the times when they did not do so.

Although many white women took on the cause of abolition and learned a lot about their own oppression and organizing techniques by doing so, they were not committed to (Black) liberation overall. The white abolition movement and the women's rights movement unquestioningly accepted the capitalist economic system; they saw slavery and male supremacy as an immoral flaw in their otherwise acceptable society. They wanted freedom from slavery, but couldn’t imagine a Black male vote over their own. At the turn of the century, racism began to take on a rising influence. In 1893, the year of the fatal NAWSA resolution, the Supreme Court reversed the Civil Rights Act of 1875. With this decision, Jim Crow and Lynch law, a new mode of racist enslavement, received judicial sanction. These institutional supports and ideological justifications built the foundation for modern racism. More than any other time since the Civil War, consistent and principled protest against racism were needed because of the disenfranchisement of Black people in the South, the legal system of segregation, and the reign of lynch law. Yet instead of solidarity, women suffragists allowed racism, eugenics, and the cult of motherhood to creep into their movement.

Many suffragists, including the famous Susan B. Anthony, capitulated to racism “on the ground of expediency." Her and her peers wanted to keep white supremacy in place and argued for giving “women of the race” the vote. Suffragists chose "women" over racial and labor solidarity again and again. At the time, Black women constituted more than two million of eight million workingwomen, but were excluded from the women’s suffrage movement. Despite their exclusion, they still supported the suffrage cause until the end.

Davis doesn’t only provide the names and stories of the white women who betrayed their Black sisters for their own interests. She also shares endless examples of people working towards liberation and organizing across gender, class, and racial lines. She argues that when working towards liberation and in sisterhood with Black women, white women could accomplish much.

Additionally, she provides examples of Black men who advocated for women’s voting rights and leadership. Frederick Douglas supported women’s right to vote even when campaigning for the Black right to vote. He saw the two as interconnected. Uniquely for Black and white men, WEB DuBois supported female leadership, not just for increasing black leadership, but for strengthening political life overall.

More so, Angela Davis points to the power Black women could have had if they organized across class lines. For this example, she turns to the herstory of women’s clubs and the club movement. In that late 19th century affluent black women formed clubs and called a convention in response to waves of lynchings and sexual abuse. Although they shared a similar amount of free time to their white counterparts, these affluent Black women were less motivated by considerations of charity or by general moral principles than by the demands of their people's survival. Ida B. Wells and Mary Church Terrell led the Black women’s club movement. Wells was known for her agitation-confrontation techniques. Terrell, who was extremely educated, advocated for Black liberation through written and spoken word, logic, and persuasion. Davis reflects that they were individually powerful and monumental in their time, but could have "moved mountains" if united (136). Learning from some of these mistakes and specifically the ones of white labor organizations, the National Colored Labor Union included women.

Similarly, Communists learned their lessons and joined the fight against racism. According to communist leader and historian William Z Foster, "during the early 1920's, the Party.... was neglectful of the particular demands of Negro women in industry" (152). Over next decade, communists started to realize the centrality of racism in US society. Upon this realization, they developed a serious theory of Black Liberation and "forged a consistent activist record in the overall struggle against racism" (152).

This section of the book is particularly inspiring for Davis dedicates it to Black and white female anarchists, communists and socialists that worked against racism and towards liberation. Here is a brief overview of their stories and contributions:

Lucy Parsons: a Black anarchist who argued that racism and sexism (since all were victims of capitalist exploitation) were overshadowed by the capitalists' overall exploitation of working class.

Ella Reeve Bloor, a.k.a. “Mother” Bloor: deeply principled white ally of the Black Liberation movement. Two highlights of her story are from the 1930s. During the early 1930s, she was attached by a racist mob in Loup City, Nebraska at a meeting for/about poultry-farm employees who were striking. She was arrested and stayed in jail with her Black comrades despite receiving bail. Additionally, she took four black women with her to an International Women's Conference in Paris in 1934.

Anita Whitney: a wealthy woman born in 1867 in San Francisco. She was simultaneously on the executive committee of the NAACP while also serving in the Communist and Socialist parties. She was known for talking to white women club members about lynching and their responsibility for righting this from herstory. For this, she was arrested and charged with criminal syndicalism and sent to jail in San Quentin.

Elizabeth Gurley Flynn: a white Socialist who gave her first speech when sixteen. She was active in the socialist and communist movement for sixty years. She was a leading I.W.W. (International Workers of the World) organizer. As an aside, the IWW was initially the only labor union in the U.S. with a policy of forthright struggle against racism. Because the IWW was industrial and women were mostly kept from industrial work and Black men were mostly agricultural workers, few Blacks were involved despite Black liberation stance. Flynn became active in the Communist Party in 1937, and after spending a weekend with Black communists, developed an understanding of the central role of Black Liberation within the overall battle for emancipation of working class. This became central to her life’s work. She constantly reminded her readers that black women suffered most as Blacks, workers, and women. During the McCarthy era she was arrested with three other women, one of them was Claudia Jones, a black woman from Trinidad who immigrated to the United States as a young girl. Spending time in jail and connecting with Black women there further cemented her commitment to the black liberation struggle.

Claudia Jones: as mentioned above she was born in Trinidad and immigrated to the United States as a kid. In1949, she wrote an article in Political Affairs called, "An End to the Neglect of the Problems of Negro Women." She argued that Black women's leadership has always been indispensable to their peoples fight for freedom. She pointed out many historical examples of Negro Women leading labor struggles, and noted that it was seldom mentioned that Negro Women sparked sharecroppers’ strikes of the 1930s. More so, she called on progressives and trade unionists to recognize Black domestic workers efforts to organize. She’s quoted as saying, "madam-maid relationships feed chauvinist attitudes and make it incumbent on white women progressives, and especially Communists, to fight consciously against all manifestations of white chauvinism, open and subtle" (169).

After sharing such an inspirational narrative of women’s labor organizing across racial lines, Davis opens up a discussion about rape, racism and the myth of the Black rapist. This section and the following section about the birth control movement blew my mind. I grew up being told to lock my door when a Black man walked by. I felt a sense of fear when an unknown Black man walked past me at night. I’ve learned over the years that my fear stems from racism and white supremacy and the way that our society, the media, and my family perpetuate it, but I’ve never known the history and systems that led to my misconception of Black men. Davis breaks it down and clearly outlines the origin of the myth of the Black rapist and how we all suffer from this myth.

Frederick Douglass pointed out that there was NO black male rape of white women during the Civil War when white men were away. After slavery ended, rape was used as justification for lynchings, which were a "valuable political weapon" for maintaining white supremacy (185). At first lynchings were justified as a preventive measure to deter the Black masses from rising up in revolt. Later when it became evident that these conspiracies, plots, and insurrections were fabrications that never materialized, white’s needed to modify their justification. This is where the myth of the Black rapist comes in. This myth also led to decrease in white support for the cause of Black equality.

Like she does so often and so astutely, she ties all of this to capitalism, "the colonization of the southern economy by capitalists from the North gave lynching its most vigorous impulse” (190). The superexploitation of blacks made their labor cheap. Resentment became the justification for poor whites’ performing lynchings. As a result, white workers’ hostilities towards employers diffused. Assenting to lynching, gave white workers racism solidarity with the oppressors. This was a "critical moment in the popularization of racist ideology" (190).

Yet again, this could have been a moment for white women to say and do something. They didn’t do so until 1930, when they founded the Association of Southern Women for the Prevention of Lynching in response to appeals of massive numbers of Black women.

What white women then and now do not realize is how their own safety and liberation is affected by this wrongful blaming of rape on Black men and the racist-inspired rape inflicted on Black women by white men. As Davis explains throughout this section of the book, there is a "historical knot binding Black women-systematically abused and violated by white men-to Black men-maimed and murdered because of racist manipulation of the rape charge" (173).

When white women feel more comfortable reporting rapes by Black men then by the white men they live and work with, they suffer and they myth of the Black rapist continues. From slavery to the Vietnam War, rape was used as a tool of exploitation and domination. “The license to rape emanated from and facilitated the ruthless economic domination that was the gruesome hallmark of slavery" and continued beyond slavery (175). When white men used sexual coercion to gain power over Black women and got away with it, Davis argues, we must assume, “their conduct toward women of their own race could not have remained unmarred” (177).  More so, she shares that in the U.S. and other capitalist countries, rape laws as a rule were created for protection of upper class men, whose daughters and wives might be assaulted. What happened to working class women was irrelevant. 

When reading the herstory and impact of rape on Black Americans and the herstory of the birth control movement which I am about to summarize, it became more and more clear to me how many misses have been made by white women. In getting to know the stories and sufferings of Black women, I, as a white woman, can better understand why for example, Black women may not be the first to get on board for asking for rape relief from police and judges. Too many innocent black men have been arrested and executed on rape charges. Davis concludes her chapter, with a clear demand, the “anti rape movement must be anti racist and anti capitalist” (201).

Despite the fact that all women need it, the birth control movement has not united women of different social backgrounds and rarely have the movement's leaders addressed the concerns of working class women. The Abortion Rights Campaign did not have women of color in leadership. Had they taken the time to understand the stories and experiences of women of color, they may have done things entirely differently. Instead they blamed women of color and assumed their fight against racism overburdened them and/or they lacked a consciousness of the centrality of sexism. In actuality, black people's suspicion came from a herstory of involuntary and state-sanctioned sterilization. In 1972, between 100,000 and 200,000 sterilizations were funded by the federal government. In comparison during Hitler's Germany, there were 250,000 sterilizations under the Nazis hereditary health law (218).

This herstory needed to be understood and fights for women's right to control birth control needed to be matched by an end to sterilization abuse. It is also important to note that many Black, brown, and poor women were for abortion rights, not necessarily pro-abortion. Early campaigns failed to provide a voice for women who wanted the right to legal abortions while deploring the social conditions that prohibited them from bearing more children.

How can we possibly organize with and march next to other women without learning their herstories, sharing our struggles, and honoring our differences? It makes my blood curdle to hear these tales.

Had women organized across race and class lines with a commitment to collective liberation and against capitalism, imagine where we would be today. Since that is not quite what happened, I am trying to look beyond my frustration and disappointment, remember how inspired I felt reading about the white women who spoke out and took action in solidarity for Black liberation, and feel gratitude that I can learn from Angela Davis and the mistakes of well-intentioned white women who have come before me.

With love,

Kristin

Davis, Angela Y. Women, Race, & Class. 1st Vintage Books ed edition. New York: Vintage, 1983. Print.