Women of less melanin/more privilege, use your POWER! By L.N.

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The women’s march on January 21st was AMAZING. I took my eight year old daughter, and was in awe of every one of the females I witnessed, listened to, and met. (And the men supporting them.) I came home with a warm buzzing throughout my entire body and mind for the rest of the day, and into Sunday. I even wrote a post about my daughter and my experience.  And a month later, I can still feel the energy of that day. But another feeling is begging to be noticed as well. Familiar complacency. Because up until now, my caucasian, somewhat privileged life has been pretty easy. Routine,even. Drop offs/pick ups at school, afternoon coffee breaks, family movie nights, the whole shebang. And although I never tolerated hatred and bigotry around me, (you can read about this on my last post) Since adulthood, I rarely ever witness, or even read about it. But after the election (and before), it is so out, relevant, and in.my.face. (As well it should be.) It seems to get worse everyday. And with every story I read, or incident I witness (Last week while at a stoplight, I heard an older white male scream threats and profanity at a young black man who was attempting to cross the street) I not only feel sorrow for the death of my previous assumptions about how “far” we have come in this country, (we elected an educated black man as president for crying out loud! Twice!) and for how naive I was,  I also feel something else. RAGE. Like a small spark that began as a unnoticeable twitch in my gut, it is growing into a full blown blaze that threatens to consume me from the inside out. And so my “Stop, Drop, and Roll” instinct is kicking in, along with burying my head in some ice cream and stop reading. This is not the answer, so now, I am working on not extinguishing it, but rather using it to continue to make my voice heard above all of the hatred and helping others’ voices that have been muted in the past to rise as well. I am learning to contain it until the moment is right to let it out. Like when fire departments use flames to burn old brush away to allow for regrowth.  ALL women have this power. But we as white women who currently have a stronger chance of being heard,  MUST imagine the regrowth after our combined burn. If we KEEP this image in our minds, the nagging complacency doesn’t stand a chance.

I know where some of those old racists are now… By L.N.

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WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO ALL THE OLD RACIST WHITES FROM THOSE CIVIL RIGHTS PHOTOS? by Johnny Silvercloud (from afrosapiophile.com)

This article was unbelievably uncomfortable for me to read. But it is one of the the BEST, most well written, and informed pieces I have read since my despair, anxiety, uncertainty and outright terror began to manifest in the early morning hours of November 9th, 2016. When I say it was uncomfortable, I say this because 1. I am a white american, 2. I DO NOT feel represented by a large majority of white America and 3. I come from a long line of southern bred racists. (It actually made me a little sick to write that last reason.) When this article’s author, Mr. Silvercloud writes “while we as black people are trying to discover our ancestors, white people are stuck trying to forget and bury their klancestors.” he is more right than he may even realize. And to acknowledge this for myself, to know it, to feel this truth deep down, to wear it like a old overcoat that reeks of months’ old urine- causes me tremendous shame. For I cannot say, or do anything to change it. Although I never identified with any of this hatred, and learned long ago that hatred is a symptom of fear, and decided even before adulthood that I would never make any choice out of fear, but rather love (these are the only two areas we make both conscious and sub conscious life choices, and they do not co-exist), I still cannot undue the massive amount of trauma that my lineage has created, left dormant, and now is attempting to revive in the name of hate (fear).  All I can do is to dedicate my life to helping those being targeted by standing with them, teaching my children, and all those in my world how to change by choosing Love over FEAR. That, and to say to anyone who themselves or someone that they care about lives have been effected by my race (then or now), the hatred is over. I do not, nor will ever carry it in my heart, nor will my children, and hopefully nor will their children. And also this: I am sorry.