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queer-and-dear-books · 1 year

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Title: Beating Heart Baby

Author: Lio Min

Genre: YA Fiction | Romance | Friendship | Music | LGBTQ+

Content Warnings: Transphobia | Homophobia | Mentioned Abuse

Overall Rating: 9.9/10

Personal Opinion: There is so much to love in this book. The diverse cast, the chosen families, and the sweet romance of reconnecting with someone you had once lost. If you don’t fall in love with this book then there’s something wrong with you. Although it can be hard to keep up with and differentiate the friends at times because there are so many of them. But overall, I really enjoyed this book.

Do I Own This Book? No.

Spoilers Below For My Likes & Dislikes:

Likes:

- Diversity win! Pretty much the entire cast is in some way a person of color, queer, or both. We have Black kids, brown kids, Asian kids, trans kids, gay kids, non-binary kids, and so many more. But best of all, they are all thriving. We have Cola Carter, a Black lesbian who is a top star and creating new stars that are queer and POC like her. Aya is Latina and queer too and she gets to live her dream making music and even inheriting Cap’s legacy of leading the Sunshowers. Suwa and Santi are both gay Asians and they are in love. Suwa is a rising star making music that matters to him and Santi is just living his best life painting and teaching art to kids. Everyone is thriving and I love that for them.

- Found/chosen family is just so important in this story. Santi and Aya are not blood related but they care about each other very deeply. Aya is so cool too, giving Santi enough freedom to explore while also being heavy-handed enough to discipline him when he needs it. Suwa, on the other hand, lives with Cap, who took him in when home became unsafe for Suwa. He even refers to Cap as “Dad” sometimes and that is so cute to me. Cap is honestly the best, he really cares for all his students and wants the best for them. Even after retiring, he still wants to give students a love of music. I love that.

- But we also have so many friends! Every single one of them are so kindhearted and cool. Mira, Octavian, Ari, Reva, Feli, and I’m likely forgetting someone but they’re all good people. They care for Santi and Suwa and the way they plot to get them together was hilarious. But I just love how easily they accept Santi into their group and how easy it is for them to forgive Suwa for leaving them for a year and a half. They’re ride-or-dies, really good friends.

- The scene where Suwa goes (to his dad’s) home after that interview just makes me tear up. Especially when he went into his old room to get the hanbok his dad gave him. It was just so precious to see his relationship with his dad mending. Even though it’s far from perfect and his dad was abusive in the past, I love seeing them both grow.

- Mira was absolutely right, Santi is a hunk. He’s clearly athletic and he’s covered in tattoos so that already makes him physically hot. But then he’s also an artist and a chef! A perfect package! Not but seriously, when Suwa messed up in the kitchen and Santi jumped in to help him, I felt my heart grow three sizes. The love was still there! The care was still there! The domestic tenderness was still there!

- Suwa being Memo was not at all surprising but it was also enough of a twist to really have an impact. By which, I mean, I was also rationalizing to myself like “No, it can’t be.” But when it was confirmed, I was like, “I fucking knew it!” It’s good, like a loose end being fixed.

- I also love all the references in this book. Mainly the Agumon bobblehead. Digimon is one of my favorite animes so of course I was going to love that. But also, Mugen Glider. The way they describe it in so much detail made it sound like an early, Showa-era Ghibli-esque show. I genuinely thought it was real! But it’s not! But it sounded so real and that’s what I like about it. I just wish I could watch it.

Dislikes:

- One thing I don’t like? Suwa abandoning his life in LA for Japan for a year and a half after dumping Santi. Bruh. I just, it was so bad. Suwa was acting so toxic too when he came back, reeling Santi in while also keeping him at arm’s length like Santi was the poisonous one. But at least Suwa apologized for his behavior. Because otherwise, I would not have wanted them to stay together. And I hope he does get serious about therapy again like he said he would.

#Booklr #Booksbooksbooks #Book Review #Book Rec #Book Blog #Beating Heart Baby #Lio Min #LGBTQ #Queer Lit #Queer Representation

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cadence-talle · 3 years

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Moonlight Burst Into the Room

Pairing: Marella Redek/Linh Song

Wordcount: 2,203

TW: mentions of transphobia

Notes: For @marellinh-week-2020! Doesn’t totally fit any of the prompts besides First Kiss/Confession so let’s just pretend I posted it then instead of several days late

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess, @diamond-dreamerr, @we-have-no-bananas-today, @an-absolute-travesty, @callas-starkflower-stew

Linh has never had a nickname.

When she was younger, still living with her parents, names were a point of frustration. Her parents never used pet names, which meant they always referred to her by her given name- the wrong name. Always the wrong name, until Linh had to tell them to stop.

(That conversation was quiet, hushed, like her parents couldn’t quite believe it. They had simply stared at her when she said I’m a girl and then shared a long look.)

Her parents had called her Linh from then on, but it still felt strictly impersonal. As if a wall of water had sprung up between them and drowned any hope of parental affection.

Once they were banished, names were hardly ever used. Elves at Exillium weren’t considered to have names; they were referred to in a group or not at all. So Linh grew accustomed to turning at a simple shout, to only hearing her name spoken by her brother. Lonely? Sure, but at least she didn’t have to hear that disappointed sigh of Linh whenever she messed up.

(The way Tam said her name wasn’t disappointed, not ever. But it was resigned, like he knew he was the only one who would ever say it. Like he had come to terms with the fact that they were going to fade into oblivion.)

Then Sophie turned up and ushered them into her friend group, into warmth and belonging and people talking to Linh. People saying her name.

Sophie’s group didn’t use nicknames much- besides Keefe, of course, who seemed to be in a competition against himself to come up with the most ridiculous titles for Sophie- but just hearing her name said in a way that told Linh people wanted her here was enough.

And then Marella Redek becomes a bigger part of Linh’s life, her fiery temper charging into arguments and her endless vocabulary of pet names filling the air, and Linh doesn’t know what to do with herself.

-/-

“Hey, sweetheart, could you grab me that box?”

Linh turns just in time to see Dex hand Marella the small wooden box in question with a confused look. The blond girl grins at him and opens the box, digging through its contents. “Ooh, a necklace! And… Prattles?”

She holds up the package for all to see. The three of them are the only kids at Havenfield today- the others are all off on various errands. Even Sophie’s out in Atlantis, shopping with Biana. Linh doesn’t mind much, though, even as they embark on the laborious task of sorting through the stuff in Edaline’s cluttered office. She’s still marveling at the fact that she has friends now.

“They’re probably really stale by now,” Dex says. Marella shrugs, ripping off the top and popping a candy into her mouth. She makes a face.

“Oh, ew. Why did you two let me eat that?”

Linh giggles and Marella smiles at her. There’s a strange flush on the other girl’s cheeks, and Linh wonders if you can get sick from eating old Prattles. She hopes not.

“He did warn you,” Linh points out. Marella puts a hand over her heart in mock insult.

“Betrayal! I thought we were friends, sweetie.”

Linh shrugs nonchalantly, trying to hide the warmth she can feel creeping up her neck. Marella does this all the time, she reminds herself, and Linh just needs to get used to it. “Sorry. All’s fair in lov- in war and stale Prattles.”

Dex snorts, shooting Linh a knowing look. Linh blinks and he shakes his head. “We should get back to cleaning. Marella, put the Prattles down.”

Marella, who is apparently a three-year-old in the body of a fifteen-year-old, shoves two more Prattles into her mouth and pockets the drawstring bag that holds the pin. Dex rolls his eyes and turns to a huge green chest. Marella nudges Linh’s ankle with her foot.

“You know, hon, this stuff really isn’t bad. You wanna try?” She holds out the box.

Linh shakes her head and Marella puts the package away. Linh’s thoughts, though, can’t be dislodged so easily, and the word hon echoes in her mind for the rest of the day.

-/-

The transition from Exillium to Foxfire was a hurried one, a few busy days of reading schedules and getting used to being around normal people again. It felt almost too fast in the moment, too quick for even the little they were leaving behind.

Linh has left a lot of things behind in her life. She doesn’t miss them most of the time, but on days like this- days where it’s quiet and cool and the winds whipping past her sound eerily like the whispers in her head- it’s hard not to remember.

She wanders outside of Solreef, settling down under a tree where she won’t be directly visible from the house. The grass around her is still slightly damp with dew, and Linh tugs a few blades out of the ground to fiddle with.

Tiergan’s house is very different from anywhere she’s ever lived. The rooms are large and sprawling but still cozy, perhaps made so by the various pillows and classified scrolls that are scattered across nearly every surface. It’s not the rugged landscape of Wildwood nor the smoothed edges of Choralmere, and Linh is glad. Things are calm here, but not so calm she’s afraid to walk on anything but tiptoe.

She broke a vase, once. One of her mother’s heirlooms. Tam had been chasing her through the house and Linh hadn’t had a chance to slow down in time. Quan had shouted louder than she had ever heard, too angry to even call Linh by the right name.

It’s been years since that event, but the disappointment still presses on Linh’s skin. Covers her like a heavy blanket woven from sad sighs and ignorant comments and constant dissatisfied looks. The idea that Linh would never be enough.

Will never be enough, no matter what she does.

(There have been too many conversations for her to ever disprove that.)

“Linh?”

Abruptly, Linh realizes she hasn’t been breathing. She breaks away from the fixed point she’s been staring at and pastes a smile on her face.

“Marella! Hey, sorry, I must have forgotten you were coming today.”

“You didn’t,” the blond girl responds, sinking down next to Linh. “I wanted to surprise you. Are you okay?”

“What? I’m fine. Why?”

Marella gives her an utterly unimpressed look.

“Hon. You looked about five seconds away from crying when I showed up. And that’s not a bad thing,” she hurries to add when Linh opens her mouth to apologize. “I just want to help, if I can.”

“I-” Linh trails off, staring at the ground. “I was just thinking. About… stuff. Names. Memories.”

“Huh.” Marella doesn’t press, which Linh is thankful for. “Names can be weird sometimes,” she says carefully, turning to face Linh. “My mom- on her better days, she calls me Ella.”

Linh blinks. “I thought you didn’t like being called Ella.” Marella had almost taken Keefe’s head off when he had called her that once. Marella shrugs.

“I don’t know. It’s different when Mom does it. It tells me… she’s there, I guess. She’s there and she loves me.” Marella worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s hard to see, sometimes. What she’s going to do. What I’m supposed to do when she gets frantic or starts crying.”

“I get that. Well. Not the ‘frantic and crying’ part, but I get not knowing what to do.”

Marella smiles, a tiny, crooked thing. “I thought you would, sweetie.”

Linh turns back to the landscape, staring out at it. Next to her, Marella shifts so she’s facing the same direction. Her eyes are still fixed on Linh, though. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the sweetie, but Linh speaks up a few moments later.

“My parents… didn’t always remember to call me Linh.” She says, testing the waters. Marella’s head inclines a tiny bit, encouraging her to go on.

So Linh does. She tells the whole story, all those lonely years in Choralmere and then the too-free years in Wildwood. She’s never had to tell anyone that before- Tam has always known, and neither of them needed to say it out loud.

When she finishes, Marella is silent. Linh worries she’s made a huge mistake.

“Sorry,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to- I mean, I know this changes-”

“Hey, darling.” Marella shifts to sit on her knees in front of Linh, leaning forward and grabbing her hands. “This doesn’t change anything, okay. I mean, obviously it does,” she says thoughtfully, “but you’re still Linh, okay? You’re still Linh and you’re still beautiful. And I totally understand if you don’t want me to make a big deal out of this, but if you do, I happen to throw legendary parties.”

Linh laughs, a half-choked sound of relief. Marella settles back against the tree with a grin and they stare at the horizon again.

“Thanks,” Linh says after a moment. Marella gives her a thumbs-up.

“What are friends for, right?”

“Yeah.” Yeah, Linh reminds herself. Friends.

-/-

“Whoa. Hon, look at this.” Marella pulls a tiny marble out of a box, glittering pale yellow and about the size of her thumbnail. Linh would almost mistake it for a Councillor’s cache if it weren’t for the absence of tiny jewels inside.

They’re back in Edaline’s office, digging through piles of junk, but this time it’s just the two of them. Linh is halfway sure that’s intentional, actually- even Grady and Edaline suddenly decided to take an impromptu trip to Mysterium today. They have Havenfield all to themselves.

(That sentence seems to fill Linh’s stomach with the mechanical butterflies they accidentally unleashed earlier. She doesn’t think about that too hard.)

(If she does, she knows she’ll find out something very odd about why she always feels warm when Marella calls her a pet name.)

“What is it?” She asks Marella. The other girl lifts one shoulder.

“I don’t know, but it’s pretty. Let’s see...”

She taps the marble with two fingers and the lights cut out. They come back a few seconds later, Marella grinning sheepishly.

“Whoops. Sorry, sweetheart-”

“Stop calling me that.”

The words are out before Linh can stop them, and she flounders. “I mean- I just-” She shakes her head. “I can’t. Not when I know…” You don’t mean them, she finishes mentally. It hurts too much to hear you throw them out that easily.

Marella’s expression shutters and she looks away. “Right,” she says, sounding oddly defeated. “Of course.”

She turns around, muttering “of course you would have figured it out” under her breath. Linh frowns and, since her mouth and her brain seem to be operating on different planes of existence today, says,

“What? Figured out what?” Her tone is almost challenging, but even Linh isn’t entirely sure why. Marella turns back around, arms crossed defensively.

“Really. You’re really gonna make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Marella throws up her hands. “Fine. I like you, okay? Is that what you wanted?” Her voice drops lower, less frustrated and more finished. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be weird. I’ll get over it.”

“You. You like me?”

Marella doesn’t respond, already sorting through another pile. Linh takes a deep breath and uses what’s left of her courage.

“I didn’t know that. I wanted you to stop calling me pet names because I thought they didn’t mean anything to you.”

Marella pauses. Straightens up.

“They did,” she says, so softly it’s almost imperceptible. “They all did.”

“They meant something to me too.”

Edaline’s office is quiet. Linh doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, tries not to even think until Marella turns her head.

“I hear there’s a really good restaurant in downtown Atlantis,” she says. It’s a question, an outstretched hand. Linh smiles and takes it.

“That sounds amazing,” she responds. “Honey.”

The marble slips from Marella’s fingers and the lights turn off again. Marella’s smile, though, is enough to brighten the room.

-/-

When she was little, Linh never had a nickname.

They were too frivolous for her parents, too unnecessary for the people who sometimes forgot to even call her Linh. Nicknames weren’t needed for someone who barely had a name at all.

Nicknames are never really needed, but they’re used here.

“Mare,” she calls across their small kitchen, “we need to go.”

“I’m here! I’m ready,” Marella responds breathlessly, pecking Linh on the cheek as she rushes to pull her coat on.

“Bi is going skin us alive if we’re late to Sophie’s party.”

“Good thing we’re not late then, sweetie.” Marella grins at her and moves out of the door. They are late, actually, but neither of them really care.

It hits Linh sometimes, how very different her life is now. She has friends, and family, and a wonderful wife who deserves the world.

(The ring on her finger seems to shine. That conversation was feather-light and delighted, a gasped yes and cheers from all their friends.)

“Hon, come on!”

She has a nickname now. Dozens, in fact. But she also has a name.

Linh Redek steps out the door.

#kotlc #marellinh #marellinh week 2020 #marella redek #dex dizznee #linh song #my writing #lynn rambles

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radicalrosesrevolt · 5 years

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Milwaukee Pride is a Fucking Disgrace to Stonewall and Here's Why:

Milwaukee Pride is a fucking disgrace to what Pride is all about and where it fucking started. There are too many reasons that I can name off, but I will just name a few of the pressing issues of this festival we call "Pride".

makegayhistory.org, Sylvia Rivera with banner.

milwaukeepride.org, Pride Fest 2019.

Milwaukee Pride is a celebration of overpriced fried food dipped in rainbow capitalism and drenched in the tragedies and issues of young queer and trans people (ESPECIALLY TQPOC) being swept under the rug.

I'm writing this article because I am fucking tired of Milwaukee Pride being a

cis white passively racist gay man's fantasy.

I'm writing this because I'm tired of the fact that there's less than a crumb of an attempt at a safe all-gender inclusive bathroom and that I have to see TGNC people lined up at the only single stall bathroom by the youth area with looks of discomfort and disappointment. Which leads me to my first issue:

1. No real gender-neutral / all gender inclusive bathrooms, No fucks given about what trans people have to say!

There are various reviews and comments on Milwaukee Pride / Summerfest’s social media pages addressing their inability to make an actual attempt at creating safe bathroom experience that have been ignored or deleted.. “Um, what the hell do you mean? There’s huge signs saying you can use WHATEVER bathroom you want! You should be grateful!” you might say. There’s still multiple “MEN’S” and “WOMEN’S” signs that are visible around these bathrooms; we aren’t actually creating a gender inclusive bathroom experience if cis men and women are basically still going to their designated gendered bathrooms. This is an issue because it causes trans people to stand out and continue to be targeted.

I speak from experience when I came out as trans last year and was more “androgynous” looking and decided to use the “gender neutral” men’s bathroom. One man commented on how my breasts looked nice and another man came out of a stall and made eye contact with me. Then, he came over and shouted, “Y’KNOW, WHY NOT HAVE GIRLS IN THE MEN’S BATHROOM?!” while throwing his arm around me and chuckling while I stood there uncomfortable and feeling unsafe. Milwaukee Pride needs to do better for trans people because we literally wouldn’t have pride if it wasn’t for black and brown trans womxn.

2. Pride was a RIOT. The Police were MURDERING US AND BEATING US: WHY TF ARE COPS AT MKE PRIDE?

I reached out to trans and queer people on social media asking what their experiences were at Milwaukee Pride and how safe they felt. Almost instantly, the response was about how bigots in Blue Lives Matters shirts and religious zealots violently screamed at black and brown QT people to repent for their existence during the Pride parade. Another QT Indigenous POC reported violent transphobia at a block party that happened after the pride parade. In all these violent accounts of racist, pro-police bullshit, the police of course stood by and did nothing. This is nothing new. We all know the cops don’t protect anyone and just enforce violence and mass genocide of black and brown people, so why the fuck are they at Pride? Have we really fucking forgotten the origin of all of this? Having cops at pride events erases what our trancestors and trans elders fought for in the first place.

3. Rainbow capitalism, alcohol and anti-lgbtq+ vendors: Stop profiting off of our queerness!

If having the same white DJs playing shitty EDM and 1 Cardi B song, despite her being transphobic, while a drunk man is grinding on your back without consent is not annoying enough for you - let’s dive a little deeper into MKE Pride’s non-sober space issue! Honestly, I don’t even know where the fuck to start because it’s such a fucking mess. “LADIEEEES!” vendors left and right cat-call at me and my black trans/nonbinary friends and continue to misgender us and meet us with disrespectful glares when I snap back saying we’re not girls. Bitch, do you even know where you are??

Milwaukee Pride forces already poor and working class LGBTQ+ people of color to pay an outrageous price of $18 just for corporations and vendors to cat-call and misgender young trans people because all they care about is getting a dollar in their pocket. Miller Lite doesn’t give a fuck about us not having sober spaces. The lack of sober spaces for young QTPOC alone in Milwaukee is alarming and dangerous. Isolation and depression is more common among QTPOC (ages 18-24) in this city than you think. Isolation and depression are main factors that lead to alcoholism, drug addiction, and suicide.

Young LGBTQ+ community members already face so much isolation, hate, and violence, and being outcasted left and right. They don’t have spaces to be themselves and for a lot of young people, their first time at Pride is something sacred. It’s a space that’s decorated in what seems like an invitation to be yourself and be safe doing so when it’s not. This reflects on both Milwaukee Pride being a dangerous non-sober place and the fact that Milwaukee is such a terrible place for young LGBTQ+ people, especially young black and brown lgbtq+ people.

When I went to go see Kim Petras at Milwaukee Pride this year, there was a couple wrapped in a trans flag holding each other behind me, and next to me was my partner. Even though I was being approached by white people all day asking me racist questions like if I knew how to “ninja stuff,” and asking me if the plastic sword I was carrying was a “katana,” I felt relief. I thought, finally, I can dance and have a good time and see an amazing live trans pop artist up close! It wasn’t even mid-concert when a tall drunk man shoved his way through the young LGBTQ+ people around him to get to the front. He was behind me, yelling, and began pushing his crotch against my back. Trying to not make a scene, I kept trying to move forward with the little space I had. Maybe he just balance issues, I thought. He brought his hand up to my side and started to touch me under my muscle tank before I jerked away and yelled at him to stop touching me.

I’m fucking tired. This is the 2nd year I’ve been sexually harassed and inappropriately touched at Pride. Why do I always have to be in fear of my trans body being violated, whether it’d be verbally or physically, at pride?

I wrote this not to shame Milwaukee Pride go-ers. I went this year. But, there needs to be change. There needs to be a call-to-action. Stonewall is an important part of our history and to capitalize off of a riot where police were beating our trans elders who demanded our rights, just to have marginalized identities get harassed and abused at Pride is a disgrace to what Pride is. Stonewall is still now. Stonewall is legacy that can not die. I’m urging this city within and outside of the LGBTQ+ community to reflect on what Pride is all about. I have never left Milwaukee Pride filled with so much shame. Many of us have walked away from Milwaukee Pride traumatized and violated.

I was surrounded by the smell of alcohol and drugs, in a fever dream of EDM feeling the weight of Stonewall’s history in my heart, thinking of how disappointed and disgusted Sylvia and Marsha would be, and the lives of so many black trans womxn that we lost. Milwaukee Pride is a fucking disgrace to the Stonewall Riots and contradicts everything the Stonewall trans activists stood for. You cannot run from our history. You can not deny our history. We Will Rise.

“This Queer Liberation movement is not over. It never ended. Stonewall is NOW.” - Still Here: Trans Alliance for Trans Rights.

#Stonewall50 #Milwaukee #Pride Month #Pride #lgbtq #wisconsin #midwest #queer #trans #nonbinary #fuck cops #no cops at pride #rainbow capitalism #QTPOC #social justice #LGBTPOC

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uncultureddoubloon · 7 years

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My sociology professor made some good points the other day in class that I was reminded of from the law professor’s letter. We’re in our inequality section (class, racial, gender, orientation, etc.) and she prefaced class by stating that sociology is a science, a social science, but a science nonetheless that arose from and focuses on the inequalities in society (think industrial revolution, the rise of child child labor laws, working hours, etc.) and looks to correct those inequalities, giving it a more liberal type leaning. For those who hold more conservative beliefs, religiously or otherwise, she told them to try and approach this class like they would chemistry or another more traditional science class but understand the subjectivity through cultures of the topics.

We discussed hegemony and the cis, straight, and pretty white hegemony that we in the modern western world live in (in the absence of proof to the contrary, cis, straight, and white are the assumed “defaults”). At the end of the class, she addressed those who benefit from the cis, straight, white (and pretty darn male) hegemony and how they do not need to worry about seeing comments from authority joking (or seriously commenting on) about hanging or killing those who share your identity, be it racial or orientation-wise. Do not need to worry about if that police officer will be your assaulter, your killer. Do not need to see story after story of your peers being assaulted, harassed, beaten, treated as subhuman, killed. How they do not need to worry about being dragged through the mud for being black, for being queer, for being different.

This is more of my takeaway, now; what I pulled from the class in a more general sense. There’s plenty more under the read more. If no part of your identity was really discussed over the past few days, other than as being part of the hegemony, the assumed default, the party/parties in power, stop and think over that.

Why?

What are you not seeing that others are?

What privileges are you given by being what and who you are?

What are others telling you that happens that you aren’t seeing?

Homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, racism, sexism, Islamophobia. They all exist and more.

Why not heterophobia, Christian-phobia? You know why. Those groups hold the majority here in the good ol’ US of A. Reverse oppression like that does not exists. There aren’t laws or people that argue if you, a straight person, can be fired for being straight. There aren’t laws or people arguing if you should be allowed or proud to wear a hijab in public. People don’t yank off cross necklaces or assault Christian nuns for their head-coverings or assault you for wearing them. Or if they do, that happens much less frequently and hit national new at a much smaller rate.

What do you, in a position of power, of majority, not see? Ask and listen to those who are different and get their perspectives.

Who has to bow their heads just to get a better chance of not getting assaulted, or killed? Who does not have the assumption that they are always safe?

Listen to women. Listen to those who were able and willing to say more than just “Me too” this weekend. Listen to history. Question the story of the winners. Who won and what are their words? Who lost, and do we have their story in their words, and if so what do they say?

Put women and queer folk and people of color and Jew and Muslims and non-Christians back in history. Do not erase their identities alongside their accomplishments.

If a novel or a history lesson makes you uncomfortable, why? Don’t just ban or rewrite the story. Examine it and yourself. Think critically. Don’t just hide in your bubble of self-affirmation. Get other perspectives. What happened and why? Why was that part of a person’s identity erased? Why was that person’s accomplishments attributed to someone else? Who published first and why? What do we know about their culture, their identity? What was hidden? What was presented? Why?

Why does Beowulf, an old Anglo-Saxon epic that predates Christianity in that part of the world, hold elements of Christian influence? Who recorded it? What censors did they have to deal with?

Why was Alan Turing, a gay man in World War Two England who cracked the German Enigma code and therefore helped win the war, dead of cyanide poisoning?

Why are we not taught that Margaret Hamilton (not the actress) programmed Apollo 11 by hand and her code was robust enough to recognize task overload and prioritize what was needed for landing and recover?

Why?

Be that annoying 5 year old who you dread asking “why” again. Confront reality and don’t take things for face value, especially when looking at history. But keep this in mind: language changes, and modern concepts cannot, I repeat, can not be simply retroactively applied to historical settings. In many instances, the language just simply didn’t exist as we now understand it, some of it probably forgotten or not recorded if it did indeed exist.

What we call “gay” or “homosexual” the Ancient Romans would not.

What modern Christians call blasphemous is not always so in a truer reading of the Bible in its original context, like people walking out on their priest or pastor giving the Sermon on the Mount, words that Jesus himself spoke.

Look at the parties in control, what we understand of social dynamics of the time. Research that showed that women in the 1950s actually enjoyed and wanted sex was mindblowing back then (from Kinsey, dude who made the Kinsey scale), why was that? What social conditions were in place to have the general public perception be that women were just housewives and homemakers in the ideal ‘50s suburbia?

Why, dammit, why?

#isa babble #long post #if anyone wants me to tag this with anything please let me know #i don't have solid concrete sources for most things sorry #a lot of it is from classes that the profs presented #or referencing tumblr posts that i've seen but can't/don't have the time to find rn #venting #be loud #be critical #i will tag this with anything triggering for people #i just don't know what to really tag it as for that #bc i don't normally post or tag this kind of thing #i did stick the majority under the read more

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95wonder · 4 years

Text

scared

I don’t make many original posts. I reblog mostly.

I just felt the need to say this somewhere and facebook isn’t the place for this.

All during COVID-19 panic stuff, I felt a bit worried but mostly ok. Even though what was happening was scary and as an at risk person (2 heart conditions and immune problems) I worried for myself. I worried for my parents that are over 60. I worried for my friends that lost jobs. But I kept living my life. and my life was pretty ok. good even. I was getting more money finally (dad retiring switched me from SSI to SSDI). I knew where my life was going and spent a fair amount of time planning for grad school applications. I dealt with the usual shit that comes with my daily life (disability itself, associated ableism, dysphoria, associated transphobia, random acts of queerphobia (or even just the anxiety of being queer in public in Texas), the fun time of trying not to talk about my religion cause I don’t like conflict, living life below the poverty line, and the associated classism from that) but I’m used to all that. That’s just life for me. I have a lot of privilege too (I’m white, sometimes straight passing, sometimes cis passing, got approved for disability benefits, if in emergency have friends and family I can rely on for tangible assistance (aka I for sure will have food and housing even if I end up dead broke with no income on the way)). All that said (Idk I felt it a necessary background).

Today is the first day of 2020 I feel genuinely scared because of current events. Where I’m afraid for my friend’s lives (Idk who is for sure participating in protesting but I have friends who are definitely going out if able). And I’m afraid at the turn this is all taking. Police are responding to calls for justice with violence and brutality, and any provocation is retaliated against with hostile and vicious action. The law enforcement isn’t deescalating, they are fanning the flames and attacking civilians.

I’m scared. It helps a little to write it down. The pandemic was at a distance. I could take precautions, wash my hands, wear a mask in public. The virus was terrible and plenty of people were making it worse (trump and associated people), but ultimately the virus killing people wasn’t malicious in and of itself. The problem originated in a natural phenomenon. Something neutral of intent in its harm.

This chaos, the police firing rubber bullets and tear gas on protesters, and daring to claim that those are the people they “protect and serve”. The president threatening military actions against civilian protesters. This is not neutral. This is malicious harm. Bigoted harm. This has intent and it is a glaring example of the capacity for such terrible immorality and evil in people. Not just Trump. Not just the police. The houses in the neighborhood with “this house backs the blue” signs on their lawns. The complacency of the masses. Those who see it, turn off the news, sigh, say “how dreadful” and do nothing more. The white people who sit by and watch acts of racism silently, hoping someone else will say something and stand up. the bystander effect.

I’m scared because if a friend dies of covid I’d be sad. I’d be devastated. If a friend dies in a protest. I will be devastated but I will be angry. A part of me I try to see and dismiss without judgement (can you tell I’ve been in therapy for years) will call for blood. And I will cry and scream and keep donating whatever I can spare, share information, and step up and be the one to say something when I see racism or bigotry. But it will never feel like enough.

I’m scared because whatever I do, it will never be enough. Racism won’t get solved because of me, or likely ever because of anyone. Racism (and indigenous genocide) is the foundation of this nation and we won’t be rid of it with our current system. If we ever rise above it, I’ll probably be long dead.

I’m scared because I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep fighting even knowing I’m one speck of dust pushing against a mountain, a monument built and erected over hundreds of years by millions of people. and it will suck. I’ll probably get backlash, and some of my privilege may disappear (friends and family, ability to hide my queerness, income from disability benefits) and I may have to take risks. It’s necessary to fight. It sucks to fight. It’s dangerous to fight. It’s not about me.

This post is about me. It’s a rant I’m writing, just stream of consciousness to vent out some of my feelings. to feel less terrified and anxious. I try. It’s not enough. It’s scary. I have to keep trying. I keep looping around this over and over. I feel like I can’t even consider just stepping back and not caring for once. I can’t cut myself off from the terrifying onslaught of reality. In the core of my identity I care about compassion. I care about fighting for not just myself and my own interests, but the needs, rights, and interests of anyone who is fighting for their rights and needs and who needs anyone on their side. I recognize my limits but who I am means I have to do what I can.

I think I’ll share this with my therapist. When I get one. after the pandemic isn’t as much of a threat. after I find one who takes medicaid.

I feel better. Just having gotten this out.

#personal #rant #you can read but don't expect coherency #stream of consciousness #Do not reblog

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