woman off colour • person of culture

 the (in)visibilised is politicised

Blackgirl Songs for Summer Writing.

Feminist Hurt/Feminism Hurts

[H]ow can we respond to the histories that leave some bodies, some relationships, more fragile than others? How can we face up to those histories of losing face?

We can be shattered by what we come up against.

And then we come up against it again.

We can be exhausted by what we come up against.

And then we come up against it again.

The question of survival is a political as well as life question. Perhaps survival seems too modest a political ambition. Not for some. Not at all. Survival becomes a political craft for those who, as Audre Lorde describes, “were never meant to survive”

A beautifully crafted piece by Sara Ahmed on survival, accountability and collective healing

"The prospect of gawking, exclaiming, and comparing our bodies to others that created the spectacle of the late 19th and early 20th century remains a pivotal part of the framing of black and brown bodies in contemporary America. We can trace its contours in the dehumanized prison populations, in the rhetoric of legality attached to refugees and migrants, and in the surveillance enacted upon specific faiths. Yet the community of spectators, which creates the spectacle, remains un-critically hidden."

Manan Ahmed Asif, A History of White Americans Gawking at Black and Brown Bodies

duoyen:

The house is black/Khaneh siah ast, Forough Farrokhzad, 1962

(via vul-va)

finally!

finally!

"In the end, the question is not really about the pros and cons of trigger words. The questions are around, what are the organizing practices and strategies for building movements that recognize that settler colonialism, capitalism, white supremacy and heteropatriarchy have not left us unscathed? How do we create spaces to experiment with different strategies, as well as spaces to openly assess and change these strategies as they inevitably become co-opted? How do we create movements that make us collectively accountable for healing from individual and collective trauma? How do we create critical intellectual spaces that recognize that intellectual work is not disembodied and without material effects? How do we collectively reduce harm in our intellectual and political spaces? And finally, how can we build healing movements for liberation that can include us as we actually are rather than as the peoples we are supposed to be?"

— Andrea Smith, Beyond Trigger Warnings 

(Source: loxmey, via vul-va)

militant-tendency:

"What is the source of our first suffering? It lies in the fact that we hesitated to speak. It was born in the moment when we accumulated silent things within us."

Bachelard, Poetics of Space

(via vul-va)

megh-ana:

 

Kaajal (1965)

megh-ana:

 

Kaajal (1965)

(via ladybrun)

"[E]nslaved African-origin female beings never qualified as women (because of their non-humanness, it followed logically) in the Euro-American modern world, and therefore were not interpellated to partake in the ongoing social construction and contestation of gender. The point I do want to make is that gender - a category that would have enabled a black female claim on social negotiations did not apply to ‘things’, to what was constructed as and treated as human flesh. Moreover, that very category gender emerged in western transatlantic rhetoric precisely in the context of creating a space for white women, who refused to be treated like slaves, like things."

— Sabine Broeck, Enslavement as a Regime of Western Modernity

On being fat and femme and ugly and unloveable

queerandpresentdanger:

Falling in love is dangerous for brown boys, because under white supremacy we are not people to love. Falling in love is dangerous for brown boys because people don’t fall in love with brown boys. Falling in love is dangerous for brown boys until we can learn to love ourselves. How do I decolonize my desire so I can desire myself? How do I love myself in a world that tells me I am not someone to love, over and over again? How can I decolonize my desire so I will never again look at a skinny boy who will never see me as the goddess I am?

Moving Towards Home

by June Jordan

"Where is Abu Fadi," she wailed.
"Who will bring me my loved one?"
New York Times, 9/20/82
(after the 1982 Phalangist/Israeli Massacre of Refugees in Beirut)

I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the
red dirt
not quite covering all of the arms and legs
Nor do I wish to speak about the nightlong screams
that reached
the observation posts where soldiers lounged about
Nor do I wish to speak about the woman who shoved her baby
into the stranger’s hands before she was led away
Nor do I wish to speak about the father whose sons
were shot
through the head while they slit his own throat before
the eyes
of his wife
Nor do I wish to speak about the army that lit continuous
flares into the darkness so that others could see
the backs of their victims lined against the wall
Nor do I wish to speak about the piled up bodies and
the stench
that will not float
Nor do I wish to speak about the nurse again and
again raped
before they murdered her on the hospital floor
Nor do I wish to speak about the rattling bullets that
did not
halt on that keening trajectory
Nor do I wish to speak about the pounding on the
doors and
the breaking of windows and the hauling of families into
the world of the dead
I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the
red dirt
not quite covering all of the arms and legs
because I do not wish to speak about unspeakable events
that must follow from those who dare
"to purify" a people
those who dare
"to exterminate" a people
those who dare
to describe human beings as “beasts with two legs”
those who dare
"to mop up"
"to tighten the noose"
"to step up the military pressure"
"to ring around" civilian streets with tanks
those who dare
to close the universities
to abolish the press
to kill the elected representatives
of the people who refuse to be purified
those are the ones from whom we must redeem
the words of our beginning
because I need to speak about home
I need to speak about living room
where the land is not bullied and beaten into
a tombstone
I need to speak about living room
where the talk will take place in my language
I need to speak about living room
where my children will grow without horror
I need to speak about living room where the men
of my family between the ages of six and sixty-five
are not
marched into a roundup that leads to the grave
I need to talk about living room
where I can sit without grief without wailing aloud
for my loved ones
where I must not ask where is Abu Fadi
because he will be there beside me
I need to talk about living room
because I need to talk about home

I was born a Black woman
and now
I am become a Palestinian
against the relentless laughter of evil
there is less and less living room
and where are my loved ones?

It is time to make our way home. 

my dyke march sign

hijabandboijeans:

image
(huge shout out to kawrage for the inspiration & help)

not without incident, of course. three white women come up to me and ask, “but what’s white got to do with it?”

"i mean white supremacy, the institution of Whiteness"

"but we’re white, and we don’t participate in white supremacy"

"…"

grateful to have a white BFF who jumps in at this point and yells about how they’re participating in white supremacy by accosting a brown woman with a sign.

so in short, made some people angry. a successful dyke march, i think.