Woman off Colour
The (in)visibilised is politicised


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tweeted earlier today:

I’ve been wondering a lot lately about the expectation - both from myself and others - to “know better”

And how we often find ourselves torn between the dichotomies of knowledge vs lived experience and theory vs practice

How much pain, suffering and silence do we subject ourselves to because we need to maintain “good politics”?

(By maintaining good politics I don’t mean “not being racist” for instance but refusing to acknowledge our own struggles)

I feel like a “bad queer” because of my recent apprehensions and fears about my future. Leading double lives. Being alone.

That feeling of being a “bad queer” is weighing me down more than my actual fears (is creating categories of “good” and “bad” even queer?)

Coupled with the expectation of strength, resistance and “good politics” from others. And call-out culture. Encourages silence

And constantly worrying that my words will be coopted and turned into a blanket condemnation of one’s “culture” or community

that all adds up to the safe spaces we’ve constructed for ourselves feeling invaded, unsafe. (I’ve censored several tweets because of that)

Silence because we should “know better”. Silence for fear of retribution. Silence for “good politics”. Silence for fear of being coopted

(And my thoughts of silence as stifling are offset by the “good politics” of invisibility as a tool, silence being powerful)

A series of censored tweets later, I’ll just conclude by asking how “radical politics” can enshrine norms and maintain the status quo


Anonymous: what are your views on islam/god? i'm interested in hearing more about them.

Why not send me a message off anon and we could talk about it in private :)


(S)He

Well, what assumptions are we making about god, gender and language when we refer to the divine with the pronoun She?


someone should write about verse 4:34 and the links between heteropatriarchy and capitalism


haven’t worn my hair like that in 15+ years (was prepping to braid it out)

haven’t worn my hair like that in 15+ years (was prepping to braid it out)


processedlives:

Thousand Melons and one Negro — On a melon plantation in the State of Texas (U.S.) a photographer took the above comical snapshot: a thousand large watermelons and in the centre, with a hat on his head, a sleeping Negro
This image appeared in the Dutch news paper De Gooi- en Eemlander on July 29 in 1939.

processedlives:

Thousand Melons and one Negro On a melon plantation in the State of Texas (U.S.) a photographer took the above comical snapshot: a thousand large watermelons and in the centre, with a hat on his head, a sleeping Negro

This image appeared in the Dutch news paper De Gooi- en Eemlander on July 29 in 1939.


ask me a question

and i will probably not answer


(Source: miss-rosypink)


reorientmag:

Selfies? Been there, done that. (The Iranian Qajar monarch Nasereddin Shah and his concubines)

reorientmag:

Selfies? Been there, done that. (The Iranian Qajar monarch Nasereddin Shah and his concubines)


Disposability and to Un-Human

Popular history does not record whether Sojourner Truth ever received an answer to her question, “Ain’t I a Woman?” In taking this question as rhetorical, the answer as self-evident, we assume that being human is self-evident, an assumption that is historically and conceptually inaccurate. We risk forgetting (or agree to forget) that much of what we term “human history” consists of un-humaning, of thing-making: not simply hierarchizing types of humans, but actively distinguishing between humans and non-humans, whether that be in the register of humans and things or humans and animals or humans and commodities or humans and unhumans. History teaches that these are more than conceptual distinctions: they are world-making, world-framing, knowledge-producing, knowledge-destroying distinctions, as rooted in law, commerce, and philosophy as they are in quotidian habits, beliefs, and practices.


unpacking the language of depression

A method I find useful in countering depressive thoughts is to break down the language I use to deride myself. Because very often, the language is one  that reduces individuals and their contributions to economic units, and human connections to mere transactions. And all this of course is nothing new; much has been written about the links between neoliberal economy (and the heteropatriarchal, racist, classist structures that thrive under it) and mental health.

"I deserve to die" 

Several theorists and academics have written about state sovereignty and the power to decide which bodies deserve to live. The power to decide which bodies are discardable and to measure levels of humanity. The power to decide who is human, just-human or un-human. So by declaring that I do not deserve to live, what am I implicitly saying about my own self and humanity?

"I am worthless"

How is a person’s value quantified? Does quality rule over quantity? Is there a bonus system? To what extent is a sense of worthiness tied to one’s ability to keep the wheels of capitalism churning? Do I feel stripped of my worth because according to societal norms, I simply do not measure up? And how can human emotions and the delicate, intricate ways we touch each others’ lives be measured?

"I am useless"

What is the correlation between need and greed? Greedy for affirmation, needy for purpose. Need and greed to find a place in a global system. But what are the implications of reducing our relationships to utilising others and being utilised by others? Who do we wish to be utilised by? Am I a utility? Employing such an analysis might not cure the depression, but it does insert a space between myself and the crippling, depressive thoughts. And it is that small space that I’ve constructed for myself that keeps me functioning.

"But what does it mean to reduce a person to a set of functions?"


"[F]or all the people who were around him there was not in fact anyone to whom one could go in a time of crisis and unburden oneself […] Instead of building up relationships with an increasing number of friends as time went by, we find ourselves collecting around us a small number of acquaintances, some of whom we positively dislike, and at the same time making barriers between ourselves and those nearest to us."
-Alifa Rifaat, “Distant view of a minaret” (via lifefiction)

Beneath the Masks....

We wear the masks

And walk with pride

Strong Black woman

But dying inside.


hijabandboijeans:

Too Good

the trials and tribulations of a well-endowed woman

my breasts offend my father

even more than my opinions;

it’s the size that’s insolent — bursting

out of t-shirts, spilling

out of kameezes that hang

demurely on any other girl.

the most mundane actions inspire a filial

mistrust that extends well beyond your

garden-variety middle-class moral suspicion:

going out for coffee with a friend, being on the phone;

in our lounge, leaning back

dupatta-less on the couch becomes

an act of sexual rebellion.

my sisters get hugs;

I, at best, get awkward back-pats.

felt up by a darzi at 10, groped by a driver at 11,

and too many times to count since; intrusive

hands years of poor posture couldn’t deflect.

I envy other women their ability to wear

their sexuality like a mask, to take

off and put on as they please

and, not least, I envy them

their delicates that actually

look delicate; mine, all hefty

cotton and industrial-strength

underwire, look just like armor.

fortunately, though, the man I love

loves warriors.

~ Hira A





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