- comes online for some casual reblogging
- accidentally joins a raging feminist movement
White people get so angry at the phrase, “You cannot be racist towards white people.”
I will never understand why.
Why are you so angry that you are being treated as actual human beings? You are not reduced to caricatures, but portrayed as characters. You are treated fairly, judged not by your skin tone, but by the ways that you carry yourselves, by your actions.
Why do you want to experience racism so badly? It is not fun to be mocked, dehumanized, attacked, killed, incarcerated simply for daring to exist. It is not fun to know nothing of your history or family because it was torn apart, whether through distance or death. It is not fun to hear, at every turn, comments reminding you of your lesser status as humans.
Do you really want to turn on the tv, open a magazine, watch a movie, play a video game, and not see yourself? Or, even better, to only see yourself as a criminal, as a drunk, a mocking stereotype, or as someone to be killed off? Or would you rather see fleshed out, well-written characters with lives and personalities and feelings? I know which I’d rather pick.
If I were a white person, the phrase, “You cannot be racist towards white people,” would be the best thing I could ever hear.
NORMAL ADVENTURE # 1:
So today I left work at 12:00 to get the bus back home (it’s an hourly bus and takes hours to walk home) and as I was just walking around the corner the bus drives past ten minutes early.
Two options went through my head.
1) Wait an hour for the next bus in the boiling hot sun and no shade.
2) Go back to work and beg someone for a lift.
I did neither because my brain doesn’t work like that. Instead I start sprinting (head-body dissconnection because I’m legit think-shouting at my body that I’m never ever going to catch up with a bus on a clear road ever) up the hill and towards the bus. There are traffic light and they’re red as I appear up the hill but I’m still 200 meters away and it changes within a couple of seconds. A man walks out of his house and jumps back as I run by. I run.
Hell, I ran faster than I ever could run again.
Just as I reached the bus at the bus stop, the door shuts. He starts pulling off. I bang at the window like a man woman because I flipping ran for this. He isn’t going to stop. An old couple at the front tells him to. He begrudgingly reopens the doors and slams the change for my fiver down on the desk. As I sit down, I notice the entire bus beaming at me, and the elderly couple nod in approval.
I am lightning. I am proud.