Wanting to put your head in your hands and scream hysterically is a funny thing. That is once one realizes that it’s a lot like trying to hide and draw attention to you all at the same time.
Chicago Teachers Union president Karen Lewis commenting on today’s news that the Board of Education has voted to close 50 Chicago public schools.
While only around 40 percent of children in Chicago are black are Latino, 90 percent of children whose schools will be shuttered are black or Latino.(via thepeoplesrecord)
Wow. That sure is fucking convenient.
Well holy fuck.
Internet, you’re the bestest.
i just want perfect skin and hair and teeth and body proportions and endless supplies of money and intelligence is that too much to ask for
The classic doll color test performed with a white child, complete with the parent’s
The little girl even says she picked the white figures as the good child because it “looks like me” and the dark girl as bad because “she’s dark”. When Soledad O’Brien asks the girl’s mother about it, we’re met with quite a few colorblind based excuses and “well, we just don’t talk about race”.
“We don’t talk about race!!”
And your kid is saying racist shit regardless.
That should fucking tell you something, lady.
But of course, it won’t. I bet you cash money she won’t change a thing, continuing to use that color blind bullshit.
This is why the whole idea of not discussing race with white children is bullshit. No, it won’t “taint” them. When you don’t talk about it, they still form opinions — racist ones — because they don’t know any better, so to speak. Then one day they grow up into adults that are, guess what, still racist. As Black folks, we pretty much all had “the talk” as kids/young people; our existence in this society dictates that we do, because racism is a part of our lives at an incredibly young age. Colorblind ideology has been proven to be toxic as blatant racism. And little white kids can be just as racist as their parents.
I think I am leaking-
A woman pours her heart
into a bowl and feeds it to her cat.
The heart becomes a liquid thing-
like heat, a shocking,
but not so shocking red,
like my mother’s lipstick, like the first drop
of blood, like the tone
of a poem written all wrong.
Sometimes I look at people I don’t know
and think “I could love you”. My ribs tremble
with survivor’s guilt, and the branches
of my wrists spell out my future.
I think I am leaking-
and this is the sound of fragility.
We are capable of kissing
bruises and watching mothers cry
over lost children, who are not actually lost,
under the kitchen sink,
or in the upstairs closet, or in the concave
that is the human heart,
plucking ribcage songs.
how sad it is that we create a society where we raise boys to base their self worth on whether or not they can trick unsuspecting women into sleeping with them and we raise girls to base their self worth on how long they lasted until they were tricked