#content warning: racism

[dailylooneys]

Happy 80th Birthday to Private Snafu!

Snafu.......Situation Normal All........All Fouled Up!

A series of World War 2-themed animated short films screened for young military men. They were mainly instructional, educational films, but still contained that same irreverent, slapstick comedy style of humor of the Looney Tunes & Merrie Melodies, thanks to the contributions of the boys of Termite Terrace: Chuck Jones, Bob Clampett, Friz Freleng and Frank Tashlin, and voice legend Mel Blanc.

The intention these cartoons had on the military audiences was that, the titular character, Private Snafu was an incompetent soldier that was meant to illustrate, in more straightforward way, what NOT to do (true to his name that is), with practically each short ending with Snafu getting blown.

Imagine how different it could've been if Disney had done these instead of Warner Bros., as that was the United States Army’s first choice. But that didn't happen as Leon Schlesinger would bid lower than Disney.

These shorts, of course, generally remained obscure in the minds of the mainstream audiences (until recently that is) as they never were intended to be shown in public theaters. As Martha Sigall, a staff of the ink-and-paint department at Leon Schlesinger Studios, stated these Private Snafu cartoons were top secret. They wore ID badges, did fingerprints, got FBI approval and were given ten cels rather than the usual thirty cels, to prevent them from knowing about the stories.

Therefore, it was never made for a general audiences of kids and adults as the publicly released Looney Tunes shorts were, especially considering it’s content; mild swearing (i.e., damn, hell) and fanservice displayed all over these cartoons that couldn't have been possible in the days of the Hays Code (it's especially surprising to note that Ted Geisel, AKA Dr. Seuss, of all people, was the main writer for THESE!!! Wowie!!!!). 

Fun fact: (one of the shorts titled “Censored” was shown on Cartoon Network’s trivia show Toonheads late at night with half of the scene featuring a topless Sally Lou cut out!)

And, naturally, because this was a WWII-themed series, featured a good deal of derogatory depictions/imagery of Japanese/Germans and Nazis (which will not be shown here).

It's interesting to see not only how strongly connected Private Snafu is to the Looney Tunes, considering, not only the same style of humor, but the two cameo appearances of Bugs Bunny (Gas and Three Brothers), which could make Snafu himself a Looney Tune. 

This is especially considering his early bird cameo in Chuck Jones’s The Draft Horse.

Later on, Private Snafu would not only be done by Warner Bros., but also by it’s competitors, like MGM, UPA, Harman-Ising and Disney. 

Two shorts were left unproduced. One of them was originally going to be directed by none other Tex Avery at MGM. Too bad that didn’t happen!! 

Though the Private Snafu series maybe a time capsule of World War 2, as oppose to being as timeless as the classic Looney Tunes cartoons are, they still serve as a fascinating historical art, a look at what our world was going through, and still included a lot of the trademark style of humor seen in the Warner Bros. cartoons that still kept it entertaining enough.

[1ore]

"The Indian Question" Susette La Flesche, 1880

[originalleftist]

Reminder:

One of the core beliefs of Nazism is hatred of Jews, and one of its core goals is the annihilation of Jews.

You can have a pro-Israel authoritarian. Maybe even a pro-Israel fascist (though if you think all Israelis are inherently authoritarian or fascist, then that is by definition bigotry). But a pro-Israel Nazi is an ideological contradiction.

If someone says Israel or its supporters are Nazis, they are either an ignorant fool, or they are lying.

Specifically, they are employing Holocaust Inversion, a form of Anti-semitism which seeks to weaponize Jewish trauma against Jews, by equating them to their persecutors and destroyers.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Sinclair

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.7k || cw: check the tags

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper ao3

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Evil monsters from a hell dimension are easy to spot, like a dog with a face that blooms open to eat your cat, or a monster clawing it’s way out from the ceiling. Everything about them feels wrong on base-level instinct. But all you have to do is just get it in your sights, plant your feet, and swing for the fences. Dodging helps too, Steve supposes. 

Monsters like Billy Hargrove, however, are harder to spot. They look and sound like everyone else if you’re not paying close enough attention. The guy radiated violence, and all Steve could hope for was to stay out of his way. To stand off to the side and hope Billy would pass him by, sight unseen.

After what happened to Lucas, Steve can’t afford to stand by anymore. There’s more kids out there like Billy. Fucking christ he used to be friends with those kinds of people. He thought it was all just meaningless jokes and empty words– Steve and all his friends and his family and their neighbors in the Loch, it was all just jokes.

But then he’d called Jonathan Byers queer, laced with venom and meant to sting. As Jonathan’s fist hit its mark, Steve finally realized that maybe the people in his life weren’t just joking. He’d started to understand what they actually meant, how to look past the casual tone and see it for what it truly meant. 

Since then, Steve’s worked to separate himself from people like Tommy and Billy, like his parents. That still doesn’t mean everyone believes he’s trying to change, or that he’ll be forgiven. But that doesn’t matter, he’ll spend the rest of his life making amends regardless. Steve will do whatever it takes to be the best person he can be for the kids.

Anxiety churns through his gut as he knocks on the front door. The cold November breeze ruffles his hair. It sends a shiver down his spine and he finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet to shake out both the chill and his nerves.

After a few moments, a woman with a delicate heart-shaped face and stylishly short black hair opens the door with a warm smile. He never saw Mrs. Sinclair in the moments after it was all over, everyone congregated in the Byers’ living room exhausted, sharing information, and tending each other's wounds. Steve had slipped out the back just as Claudia had arrived for Dustin. 

Her smile falters, only for a moment, before she overcomes the surprise at her unexpected guest. She smoothes her hands down the front of her blue jeans then crosses them over her chest, wrapping the crochet shawl on her back tight around her shoulders. It’s cute, patterned with little yellow and green flowers with dark brown in between.

He smiles awkwardly, bringing his hand up in a wave only to abort the movement halfway through because she opened the door and she’s waiting, just say something.

“Hello, dear,” she prompts, saving him from his spiral by following a simple script. The things you’re supposed to say when some random boy knocks on your door late into the evening but doesn’t say anything.

“Hello, Mrs. Sinclair,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “Umm, my name’s–”

“Steve Harrington,” she says, not unkindly. “Yes, I know.”

He swallows, desperately maintaining an appropriate amount of eye contact. On top of everything else, that sentence alone could mean so much.

Even though Steve’s never met Mrs. Sinclair, he knew of her from his mother. He remembers listening to her rehash the events of whatever social event they’d both attended over dinner, notable only because it was one of few occasions his father would actually listen while his mother talked.

She was a little outspoken during book club.

Richard, you should’ve seen her new hairstyle.

Sue wore a very interesting outfit today.

His parents have nothing in common, but they both love tearing down others to feel better about themselves. Sue Sinclair eventually quit attending the same clubs, and his mother adjusted her sights to new targets. Steve can only hope that Mrs. Sinclair is referring to things Lucas might have mentioned about him, and not because of Beth Harrington and her luncheon book clubs.

“Right, yeah,” he says. “I was hoping I could talk to you and Mr. Sinclair about Lucas. About what happened that night at the Byers’ house.”

His gaze has drifted back down to the pavement, and he can’t help running a hand through his hair only for it to pull at the stitches on his forehead. They would’ve been healed by now if he didn’t keep pulling them out. If he could keep his hands in his pockets like Dustin keeps telling him.

It’s dark, and it’s quiet. It’s silent for so long he expects to be turned away, until he hears a soft sigh.

“Come in then,” she says, stepping to the side to open the door fully. “I’m sure we’ll all want to sit down for this.”

Even on a dark, cold winter night, the sunshine yellow walls help the home feel warm and bright– to match the family inside, he thinks fondly. Steve spots multiple science fair plaques hung up in the living room and a fridge covered in what look like pages of meticulously colored pink and purple horses. A stark contrast to his own home, lifeless and lackluster.

A small cough breaks him of his reverie, and he turns to find her carefully watching him. She’s eyeing him like he’s a code she can crack, making him even more nervous. Her lips quirk up at the corner of her mouth and she gestures for him to sit at the table.

“Would you like anything to drink, Steven? There’s lemonade, tea, and milk, and there’s pop out in the garage.” She moves into the kitchen, the hanging cabinets obscure her face. Her voice is pleasant and genuine.

“Just water, thank you, Mrs. Sinclair.” She sets the water glass next to him and leaves the room only to return a moment later with Mr. Sinclair. He’s sporting a wide smile, but his eyes are strained. 

“Steve Harrington, isn’t that right,” he asks. He gently guides his wife to a chair at the opposite corner of the table, pulling it out for her and softly kissing her cheek. She smiles at Steve and rolls her eyes. The normalcy of the domestic gesture causes Steve’s cheeks to burn and he averts his eyes. He’s been here all of five minutes and has seen more love within the Sinclair home than he’s ever seen within his own. 

“Uh, yes sir,” Steve responds as Mr. Sinclair takes the seat opposite of him, like this is an interview for a high class job. Which, he figures, it kind of is. Except the man’s wearing blue flannel pajama pants and an oversized grey hooded sweatshirt with a Pacers logo on the chest. It helps Steve relax slightly, the perceived casualness hopefully setting the tone for the situation.

“So what brings you by? Sue mentioned something about what happened at the Byers’ house.”

“Yeah, I just umm–” he swallows around a lump clogging his throat– “I’ve already talked with Ms. Henderson and Mrs. Hargrove about being Dustin and Max’s official babysitter, and I’m really hoping I can do the same for Lucas.” In through his nose, out through his mouth. In, and out.

“I’m not sure what all Lucas told you, but the kids got into a lot of trouble that night. Dustin came looking for Mike to help find his lost cat, but he found me instead. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.” He pauses, replaying the cover story in his head. “Lucas and Max found us just before the pack of feral dogs did. We ended up ok, hitched a ride with Nancy and Jonathan back to the Byers’ house. Then that’s when Will got sick and they all left to go to the hospital.

“I didn’t know Billy was Max’s brother. She kept telling me, over and over, that she had to get home or her brother would kill her. I was too busy trying to keep the boys distracted– I should’ve listened to her. We heard the car pull in the driveway, and I knew straight away who it was.

“I told the kids to hide and I tried to convince him to leave, but he saw them. He pushed past me to get into the house, but by the time I got back inside he had Lucas pinned to the wall and– I’ve never seen someone look like that before. The way Billy looked at Lucas– I know I was a bully, but I’ve never– Billy hated him.”

He’s prepared for this, even done it twice already like he said. He’d hoped it’d be easier this time around, yet he’s still just as tense. But the Sincair’s sit patiently across from him, waiting for him to continue. So he musters his courage, takes deep breaths, and pushes on.

“If it wasn’t for Max,” he plows forward, “I’m not sure what would’ve happened. She knocked Billy out while he was on top of me. We managed to take his car and get out. When we came back later, he was gone.”

Steve’s eyes fall to his lap and he wrings his hands together, rubs them harshly against the tops of his thighs to feel the rough denim scratch against his palms– to keep himself from hyperventilating, to calm down, to breathe. Anything to show these nice and normal people that he’s stable enough to care for their son. That he’s not the kind of person to panic when nothing’s wrong. 

“What about the parents?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. When he looks up, there’s a comforting smile on her face that doesn’t meet her eyes, still filled with a hesitancy Steve can’t pinpoint.

He knew the question was coming, yet he still finds it difficult to answer. “I feel like everyone in town knows The Harrington’s,” he says, voice laced with distaste for his own last name.

Mr. Sinclair’s lips form a fine, thin line across his carefully restrained face, disappearing under his  trimmed mustache. Mrs. Sinclair reaches out to hold her husband’s hand again, rubbing her fingers across his knuckles. She still holds Steve’s gaze, unwavering, as he tries to explain himself.

“I can’t ever make up for what my parents have said or done. All I can promise is that I’m trying not to be like them. And those kids,” he stops, digging deep for the right words to explain emotions he’s never had to articulate before. “I feel more like myself around the kids than I ever have with anyone else. It’s like they give me a purpose. They matter to me, and I’m not really used to that. I’d do anything to keep them safe.”

They’re quiet for what feels like ages, leaving him waiting for them to pass their judgements, weighing his heart. “I’m glad you’ve told us this,” Mrs. Sinclair replies, “but that’s not what I was asking, hun.”

Steve racks his brain, sorting through his words to find what he’s missed. The confusion must show on his face.

“The girl, Max,” Mr. Sinclair fills in, “what about her parents?”

Steve’s confusion only worsens as he tries to reason out why they’re asking about Max’s family and not his own. The Harrington’s have terrorized this town for decades, and the Hargrove’s moved in less than six months ago.

“Max?” Steve asks. “Why– I don’t understand.”

“Steven,” she starts again, “we know all about the kind of people Beth and Richard Harrigton are, and we know the kind of boy you used to be,” he smile softens, finally reaching her eyes as they shine at him with a sad affection. He feels bare, and moves his gaze to just over her right shoulder instead. “Just because your parents are bad people, doesn’t mean you are. And just because you’ve made mistakes, doesn’t make you a bad person. Especially when it’s so obvious how hard you’re trying to fix them.”

“But this young girl, Max, that Lucas has been spending time with. She’s new to town, from California, right?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. Steve nods.

“We don’t know them,” she says, her smile melted into a frown. “Lucas and the boys talk about her well enough, and she sounds like a sweet kid.” She blinks, hard, and Steve realizes she’s trying not to cry.

“If her parents are like her brother, Billy,” Mr. Sinclair picks up her train of thought, “Lucas could be in danger just by being her friend, Steve. If her parents are anything like that, I can’t have our son spending time with her. It won’t matter whether you’re there to protect them or not. There are some things in this world you can’t save them from.”

There’s nothing he can say that’ll meet the gravity of their questions, except sit in their beautiful, warm, yellow kitchen and process the small fraction of their world they’ve laid plain. He’s imagining Billy catching them at the movies, sharing a popcorn bucket and a soda with two straws. He can’t help but morbidly wonder what would happen if Neil passed them on the street with Max riding on the back of Lucas’s bike. 

Even if Steve were there with them, they’d still be seen. He can’t be around all the time, won’t always be there to help. Shoving down the panic at that thought, he leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair and yanks at the strands. The stitches rip from his scalp, and the sting of it keeps him present.

“Her stepdad, Neil, is the problem,” Steve starts. “I haven’t met him, but he seems– I think he’s the reason Billy is the way that he is. I’ve heard him yelling from the driveway when I pick Max up sometimes.” 

His thoughts stray to last week, standing in the driveway, half out of the car trying to decide if he should go knock or stay and wait. The shouts were hard to ignore. As Steve finally decided knocking would be worth the risk of confrontation, Max burst out the front door, red-faced with bloodshot eyes, and her jaw clenched tight. Words like ‘spoiled’ and ‘ungrateful brat’ floated between the snowflakes after her, carried along by the frigid evening.

“Max’s mom seems alright,” Steve says. Beth Harrington’s years of training kicks in and Steve falls back on typical midwest niceties. “Susan loves Max, and she’s the one who agreed to let me watch her instead of Billy. I think she knows that their house isn't– great. She lets Max stay with me a lot. Hell, half the time she practically lives with me.”

He knows Dustin’s happy when Steve’s around, and he hopes eventually the rest of the kids would eventually feel the same way. Max likes having him around too, but Steve thinks she might need him more than the others do. Because unlike The Party– but very much like himself– she doesn’t have anyone or anywhere safe to escape. 

He never had a person waiting in the driveway with the car running, ready to take him away. With Max, Steve gets to be the person he needed when he was her age. 

Steve sighs, resistant to the decision he’s come to, but hopefully the Sinclairs will understand. He meets their gazes, a solemn look from both of them tells him maybe he’s easier to read than he thought.

“I want them all to be together, but when it comes down to it, the boys all have their families to fall back on. Max– she doesn’t have that. So I can’t leave her behind– I won’t.” Steve hesitates, closing his mouth before he oversteps.

“But?” Mr. Sinclair prompts, eyeing him across the table.

Steve considers his words carefully before saying, “I think keeping them apart would be a mistake. You know Lucas won’t stop trying to see Max. He really cares about her, and the way she looks at him–I don’t think you could keep them apart no matter how hard you try.” He sighs, anxious he’s undoing all the trust he’s gained tonight. “And it’s like you said, right? Just because someone’s family is all bad, doesn’t mean you’re like them. We– I mean, Max– can be different. Better.”

They glance at each other, but when Mr. Sinclair opens his mouth to respond, a blur of red and blue crashes into Steve’s side, almost toppling him out of the kitchen chair. All he can see are fingers entwined together across his chest and small arms covered in red and blue rocket ships. Of course Lucas would wear nerdy pajamas, it’s so goddamn adorable. Just another reminder that Steve is so utterly screwed for these kids.

“Lucky,” Mrs. Sinclair admonishes, “what are you doing out of bed?” She stands and moves over to her son, who clutches Steve’s chest like it’ll keep him from being pried away and dragged back to his room.

“You can’t keep me from hanging out with Max,” he shouts, muffled by his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. “She belongs to The Party now, just like Steve. And we don’t leave anyone behind. Ever.”

Something he might think is fondness balloons in his ribs at Lucas’s admission. Steve hadn’t really considered himself included in The Party, as Dustin explained it. He always assumed it was mostly just the kids, plus Nancy and Jonathan because of Mike and Will. He’s more like an accessory, if anything at all. A guy on the fringes, brought in by random chance. 

“I want Steve to be my babysitter, and I want Max to be my friend,” he answers.

“Son,” his dad says, who stands up to place his hand on his son’s shoulder, “we’re talking to Steve about this.”

“No,” Lucas interrupts. He pops his head up to look at them, but doesn’t loosen his grip around Steve’s shoulders. “You don’t get it. Steve’s not like Billy and neither is Max. Max is the coolest. She’s nice and funny and laughs at my jokes. And Steve gives rides in his super fancy car. He lets them hang out at his house after school. Sometimes he even buys us candy and gives us extra quarters for the arcade.”

Mrs. Sinclair clears her throat, a very motherly excuse me, you did what? Steve realizes she’s teasing Lucas, the slight smirk on her face giving the game away. He gives Lucas a gentle nudge, and chuckles when Lucas tries his best to back pedal. 

“I mean,” the poor boy stammers, “he never buys us candy. Only, like, apples and stuff.”

His mom laughs and his dad gives his shoulder a slight shake, bringing a smile to Lucas’s face. He knows the world will be tough for Lucas, but Steve can’t help but think how lucky the kid is to have a family like this. Safe and loving, comfortable enough to tease each other, and carefree enough for affection in front of company.

“Ok, Lucky, we’ll think about it, alright? Now let’s get to bed,” Mrs. Sinclair says, gently leaning Lucas into her arms and guiding him away from the table. He groans, burying his face into his mother’s stomach as she laughs. “You’ve got to get up early for school tomorrow, you know that.”

“Mom,” Lucas draws out the word, whining obnoxiously, “don’t call me that when people are here.”

Steve listens to Lucas’s lamentations as the two disappear down the hallway. Mr. Sinclair gives Steve’s shoulder a hard pat and firm shake, just like he had to his own son. Steve’s throat clogs slightly, and the gesture makes him think of Hopper.

Mr. Sinclair says on the back of an exasperated sigh, “Lucas is a good kid. When he likes something– or someone– it’s fierce. He gets consumed with whatever he sets his sights on, almost like it’s all he can think about sometimes.”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Sinclair chuckles at her husband, stepping back into the room. “Remember when Mike first showed him Dungeons and Dragons? Stayed up all night for weeks working on his character even after we grounded him for it. It’s been years and it’s still all he talks about.”

Mr. Sinclair laughs, shaking his head, but when he looks back to Steve there’s resolve scrunched between his brows. He turns to his wife who nods, a soft smile spreads across her face. “Unfortunately for us, I think you might be right, Steve. If Lucas and the boys have already decided Max is their friend– and if what you’re implying about the two of them is true– I don’t think we could keep him from seeing her. No matter how dangerous it might be. That boy will always do what he thinks is right, consequences be damned.”

“You can watch him this week, and we’ll see how it goes,” Mrs. Sinclair says, her smile now wide and loving, bright enough to match the home her family has built.  “All we ask is that you keep us in the loop, and he stays away from the Hargrove’s.”

“The kids talk about you constantly,” Mr. Sinclair continues, “and Claudia only has good things to say about you– Max too. We only got to meet her when we drove her home that night, but it’d be nice if we got another chance. Maybe sometime next week we can have the both of you over for dinner to get to know each other.” 

Butterflies erupt in Steve’s stomach at the giddy realization that they’re willing to take a chance on him. To trust him with something as important as their son’s safety is a blessing Steve thought he’d never be worthy of.

They work out the scheduling details, and Steve leaves feeling higher than he has in months. He’ll do everything he can to prove to the Sinclair’s that he deserves the chance they’re giving him, that neither he nor Max are their parents, and that Lucas will be happier for it. He can’t imagine how Lucas would’ve felt if kept away from Max, but now it doesn’t matter. Steve can keep his kids under one roof.

Three down, three more to go.

[fennec-archives]

So I wanna go ahead and start by saying “hello. It’s been awhile.” A lot has happened in recent months, especially within the community.

One issue that’s become glaringly obvious in my time in the lily-critical sphere is that there is a major racism problem. We as a community cannot leave that unaddressed without the risk of leaving vulnerable people behind, especially because of lily’s tendency to target and fetishize POC.

I’ve noticed a pervasive attitude of “we have to keep any bigotry in the community quiet at the risk of looking bad”, and that’s wrong. We are harming our non-white brothers and sisters (and enbies).

Recently, a friend of mine got heat for the crime of being black on the internet. Two days of racist vitriol from multiple alt accounts. I received some in my inbox solely for my association with him and calling him a friend.

// cw anti-blackness, racial slurs

These didn’t impact me nearly as badly as they impacted him, for obvious reasons. What I received was nowhere near the level of depravity that he did. Even still in a moment of harassment, the very brand of harassment received was lesser because I am white.

// cw rape threats, racism, anti-blackness, racial slurs, rape threats, suicide baiting

The community got up in arms over these, which is good. However, I think it’s integral that we discuss how it has been handled.

A huge chunk of the backlash felt performative. Especially because many of these community holders enact casual racism in their own spaces and allow it to fester.

This is not, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, an acceptable response to racist online harassment. My friend was sent rape threats, and told to commit suicide because of something entirely beyond his control. Someone was hurt. POC process racism as trauma. The vast majority of POC live with some form of C-PTSD as a result of the system we live in. Does mental health only matter if your skin is pale? That’s the message I seem to see repeated over and over again in this G-d forsaken community. Shame on those of you who participate blindly and shut down those more vulnerable than you.

The lack of decorum astounds me.

[sad-eyed-lady-of-the-paperbacks]

I’ve only just read the first scene and already I’m BEGGING every Brothers Karamazov fan to go and read The Robbers by Friedrich Schiller, the play that gets explicitly referenced multiple times by multiple characters in the novel. I’m absolutely insane over this added context and the new dimension it’s adding.

[bougiebutchbitch]

seeing 'dead dove & proship dni' on a blog is a first for me. like. i've seen 'proship dni' - and even if I think it's stupid, because you're basically saying 'I believe it's okay to harass people who create fictional situations I disapprove of', it doesn't surprise me anymore. But 'dni dead dove'??? you hate properly tagged fics and want that nasty stuff just floating around in the ecosystem where anyone can accidentally stumble across it? Like turds in a river?? okayyyyyy

I know, I know, they think fiction = reality. They want to eradicate any and all darkfic altogether, regardless of if you're a survivor exploring your feelings/trying to understand your abuser's pov, or digging into the nitty gritty awfulness of trauma recovery, or just putting fictional characters in a horrific situation to see what they do, like a fictional saw trap that is hurting literally no one. Y'know, like TV writers do all the time. I know they buy into the idea that video games cause violence. But like. ???

[thatstudyblrontea]

this academic and intellectual legitimation has persisted right through the modern age in discussions of Islam, the Arabs, or the Near Orient. For whereas it is no longer possible to write learned (or even popular) disquisitions on either "the Negro mind" or "the Jewish personality," it is perfectly possible to engage in such research as "the Islamic mind," or "the Arab character"

E. W. Said, Orientalism

[schizoid-hikikomori]

I don't understand the need to sanitize everything we talk about, to skirt around language and pretend like certain things aren't unavoidable realities.

There's things that are hard to talk about, but they're not any less real than the ground beneath your feet.

In my specific upbringing, there was never a time I was ever truly blissfully unaware of how horrible the world was. It would've been particularly difficult anyway, my family being not white and mostly women.

Unlike the white experience, learning not to trust police officers was an early part of my upbringing, as one of many examples. Many white individuals don't learn these things until later on.

The nonwhite experience is often discounted from the diagnosis of trauma disorders. Merely the experience of having to live as non white in a world catered to white supremacy is traumatic on its own.

Not to mention abuse by women not being considered in assessing a traumatic history. Having so many of my experiences dismissed as sibling rivalry with my emotionally volatile older sister kept me from admitting it was abuse for so long.

It's hard to talk about, but it's real. And still, I'm certain that I would have people not believing me.

"You must've upset her", "My younger siblings are annoying all the time, you were probably the same",

Etc. Etc.

But people don't question women when they say they were abused by a male family member. At least, not in the same way.

My mind is such a tangled up mess I don't even know what I'm trying to say here.

I'm not going to censor my thoughts here or put forth any content warnings. Real life isn't kind enough to put a trigger warning when your drunk sister is trying to climb into bed with you.

[beneath-thestyx]

re:dracula made me realize that im really not able to tell casual racism or just racist takes

edit: please look at the notes on this post. is way bigger than you think

[bonefall]

I'm trying to do my own rewrite that doesn't veer too far from canon, and I'm really struggling with how to handle Tigerstar and Sasha. I think Hawk and Moth being half kittypet contributes to their characters in fun ways, and I can see how Tigerstar would want new heirs after being banished from ThunderClan. But idk why xenophobic Tiger would consort with a kittypet, especially someone he'd see as soft like Sasha, when he could've picked a Shadow or RiverClan cat instead? Any thoughts?

You may find my Political Union Concept very helpful for your Sasha dynamic, but I actually get this particular sentiment a lot. People who come to me feeling like they have to work out a problem, "Why does this xenophobic person consort with this member of an outsider group?"

And I don't understand the confusion. Bigotry isn't a principle. Bigoted people don't avoid talking to minorities like a vegan avoids bacon, like it's a meaningful, noble choice. Xenophobes think minorities are inferior and subhuman and that looks like a lot of different things.

(CW: Talking candidly about bigotry, racism, xenophobia, and violence against minority groups. This includes several real-world examples. I also speak about an abusive relationship in a way that could be triggering.)

Bigots interact abusively with the people they're prejudiced against, which CAN look like the "classic" frothing nazi hurling slurs, segregation, and denial of service, yes, but there's a lot of different ways to be abusive.

It can be Exploitative. It can be labor exploitation, it can be human trafficking. It's very easy to justify doing inhuman acts to someone you don't see as human, and worse... when society agrees and is equally bigoted? It becomes very easy to isolate a member of a minority group to groom them for this exploitation, and not face justice for your misdeeds.

There's a massive power imbalance between a person like Tigerstar, a political figurehead, and Sasha, a member of a minority group unprotected by the society's laws. The potential for abuse, isolation, exploitation... it's unfathomable. Sasha is in a deeply dangerous situation; Tigerstar knows that. That's probably what he wants.

Personhood is a privilege her abuser can revoke. I can't capture how terrifying this situation would be realistically.

I often get the original sentiment in the form of, "Why did Tigerstar work with Scourge when he's a xenophobe? He wouldn't want his help!" and... I think this sort of question that should prompt its speaker to do some more personal education on social justice issues. Racists, colonists, xenophobes, and chauvinists are constantly doing this.

Why do xenophobes eat fruit knowing a migrant probably picked it? Because they don't care. Why do sexists hire women? Because they want the labor. Why does Sammy Racism buy product from Company X when he SEES it is owned by a minority? That's the cheapest company.

Why did Tigerstar work with BloodClan? Because they would give him the forest. He probably didn't even plan on giving them what he bargained for.

The minute that Scourge defied him, and said, "I need to rethink these terms in light of new information," Tigerstar flipped the fuck out and tried to kill him for disobedience. He never respected his personhood, or Firestar's, or Sasha's. Ever. That doesn't mean he was physically incapable of interacting with them without slurs bubbling out of him like he was possessed by the ghost of a racism-themed pokemon.

I know it can be easy to imagine bigots being like this chucklefuck who won't climb rainbow stairs, because they are VERY funny and laughing at them is EXTREMELY satisfying, but most bigots will just Take The Rainbow Stairs.

So ASK yourself, instead, what the xenophobic character actually wants. What they can get from this relationship. Sometimes they do want to eradicate the minority group. Sometimes they want power first and will use the group they're bigoted against to get it. Sometimes they want labor. Sometimes they want bodies. Sometimes they want goods. Sometimes the see those last two as the same thing.

Clear your mind of this idea that prejudice itself is rational, logical, or even that bigots have consistent beliefs. Prejudice is a bias, a slimy bucket of contradictory ideas that slide against each other like worms. Bigots and minorities aren't pop rocks and coke, chemically incapable of being in a space without exploding. Minorities live in bigoted societies next to people who hate them their whole lives, it's not so simple as "Xenophobic character = Says no to disliked group."

[biophonies]

a piece I almost forgot to post from The Nib’s issue on Secrets I did last year. check tags for warnings, this one’s kinda heavy depending on your sense of humor, lmao.

[1ore]

speaking of caricatures, there are two kidneys inside of me. one wants to put together some kind of accessible, artist-geared resource about why orientalism and asian caricatures are hurtful and how to spot them and challenge them, and one does Not want to field 8463764737 questions about why you shouldn't draw asian people with squinty eyes

[originalleftist]

Nobody gets to talk shit about Jews around me, EVER.

First, because it's part of a long and hideous history of bigotry, and it hurts people, and incites violence, and "Pick the side Nazis aren't on" is generally a good rule to follow in life, though any of those should be reason enough.

And also, because while nobody needs to "earn" respect for their basic rights or personhood, Jewish Americans were the second most pro-Harris voting block after Black Americans. Even Jewish MEN voted Harris by over 70% per exit polling, in an election where men voted much more heavily for the fascists overall.

And Israelis have been protesting their government for years, sometimes in numbers that are literally unparalleled in recorded American history, while we're almost all still sitting at home with our thumbs up our asses.

I know that none of this will change bigots' minds, because bigotry isn't about facts and evidence, but prejudice. I expect that the Hamas fans, having already labeled Harris "pro-genocide" to justify helping P01135809 win, will simply take the Jewish vote as proof that they're all genocidal, rather than as evidence that they were voting AGAINST a man who has vowed to support genocide in Palestine, in Ukraine, and in America, as well as ecocide across the world.

But the rest of us owe Jewish and Black Americans, both for standing for what was right when America as a whole didn't, and for what will now be inflicted on them and other vulnerable communities because we didn't.

I'm sorry our country isn't worthy of you.

[bellasbookclub]

Did someone order a deep cut? 🌊🌩️

This March, BBC is reading a long-lost gothic thriller from Louisa May Alcott's flop era! Rejected for being "too sensational," this tale of intercontinental stalking, secret identities, literal cliffhangers, and sexy priests wasn't published until 1995—and now, like a virtuous maiden we've trapped on a yacht, it is OURS, ALL OURS! 🪦🥀

Discord discussion: Monday 03/18 8 PM EST | Tuesday 18/03 11 AM AEST

See you there!

Bella’s Book Club is an interactive virtual book club created by the Three Books One Plot podcast. Our monthly Discord discussions are open to all! More info here.

[aleatoryw]

weird little guys is my favorite podcast ever I need 300 more episodes stat