hearing straight people talk about gay people without them knowing you’re gay is surreal. i feel like an undercover spy. they think i’m one of them
Ugh some people are so ignorant.
The anatomy of a Chihuahua.
half my dash wants to suck jared leto’s dick and half my dash wants to cut it off
How is her name ghetto tho? It’s literally a variation on her mother’s side of the family’s surname Beyince. Not to mention the problematic fuckshit with shaming black people for having names that are different. Basically, bye.
There’s really no reason to explain why it’s not ghetto because there’s no such thing as a ghetto name.
i thought whiteys liked french stuff
My name is Angelique, which is french, but I’ve been harassed about it being ‘ghetto’ my whole life. It’s not because it’s different, it’s because the name belongs to a Black body. White people can name their child wild, meaningless shit like Pilot Inspektor, Apple, Dweezil, and Moon Unit, but that’s considered creative and quirky…yet common Black names such as Lakeisha and Shaniqua, which have meanings such as “she who lives” and “god is gracious”, are considered ghetto [and therefore worthy of ridicule]. I’m sick and goddamn tired of it.
I’m here for all of the commentary
shout out to all of the custodians, cooks, garbage truck drivers, cafeteria workers, bus drivers, waiters, and every one else whose jobs and entire fucking existences get shit on by the same people who wouldn’t know what to do with their lives if they had to do anything for themselves
I will always reblog this.
Seeing some fuck shit in public and looking directly at the only other black person in sight and having a mutual mental agreement about the nonsense that’s in front of you
At this point, I would like to remind everyone exactly what Martin Luther King did, and it wasn’t that he “marched” or gave a great speech.
My father told me with a sort of cold fury, “Dr. King ended the terror of living in the south.”
Please let this sink in and and take my word and the word of my late father on this. If you are a white person who has always lived in the U.S. and never under a brutal dictatorship, you probably don’t know what my father was talking about. But this is what the great Dr. Martin Luther King accomplished. Not that he marched, nor that he gave speeches. He ended the terror of living as a black person, especially in the south.
I’m guessing that most of you, especially those having come fresh from seeing “The Help,” may not understand what this was all about. But living in the south (and in parts of the mid west and in many ghettos of the north) was living under terrorism. It wasn’t that black people had to use a separate drinking fountain or couldn’t sit at lunch counters, or had to sit in the back of the bus. You really must disabuse yourself of this idea. Lunch counters and buses were crucial symbolic planes of struggle that the civil rights movement decided to use to dramatize the issue, but the main suffering in the south did not come from our inability to drink from the same fountain, ride in the front of the bus or eat lunch at Woolworth’s. It was that white people, mostly white men, occasionally went berserk, and grabbed random black people, usually men, and lynched them.
You all know about lynching. But you may forget or not know that white people also randomly beat black people, and the black people could not fight back, for fear of even worse punishment. This constant low level dread of atavistic violence is what kept the system running. It made life miserable, stressful and terrifying for black people.
White people also occasionally tried black people, especially black men, for crimes for which they could not conceivably be guilty. With the willing participation of white women, they often accused black men of “assault,” which could be anything from rape to not taking off one’s hat, to “reckless eyeballing.”
This is going to sound awful and perhaps a stain on my late father’s memory, but when I was little, before the civil rights movement, my father taught me many, many humiliating practices in order to prevent the random, terroristic, berserk behavior of white people. The one I remember most is that when walking down the street in New York City side by side, hand in hand with my hero-father, if a white woman approached on the same sidewalk, I was to take off my hat and walk behind my father, because he had been taught in the south that black males for some reason were supposed to walk single file in the presence of any white lady. This was just one of many humiliating practices we were taught to prevent white people from going berserk.
I remember a huge family reunion one August with my aunts and uncles and cousins gathered around my grandparent’s vast breakfast table laden with food from the farm, and the state troopers drove up to the house with a car full of rifles and shotguns, and everyone went kind of weirdly blank. They put on the masks that black people used back then to not provoke white berserkness. My strong, valiant, self educated, articulate uncles, whom I adored, became shuffling, Step-N-Fetchits to avoid provoking the white men. Fortunately the troopers were only looking for an escaped convict. Afterward, the women, my aunts, were furious at the humiliating performance of the men, and said so, something that even a child could understand. This is the climate of fear that Dr. King ended.
If you didn’t get taught such things, let alone experience them, I caution you against invoking the memory of Dr. King as though he belongs exclusively to you and not primarily to African Americans.”