#StopAllHumans2k16, UU 203, across from #StopWhitePeople2k16 UU 202

There comes a point in every blogger’s career that she must step back for a moment and remind herself of the beginning. Granted, my first three posts on this website were rather sickening in my eyes, so I would like to get back to the dry humor, sarcastic banter, and industry bashing cynicism. With all of the recent stress I haven’t had a chance to have a good laugh.

So I would like to give a shout out to Binghamton University in New York for making it a possibility for the spark in the ten facial muscles specified to stretch my mouth into a small smile.

“StopWhitePeople2k16”.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

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Let’s stop and think. How big are their balls to name a course that?

Obviously they’re coming under a lot of fire; I hope they’re located near a fire station.

I wonder if this course is available through Distance Learning online courses?

Anyway, the point of the class besides bragging rights of having one of their classes listed in the news is apparently to provide students with a deeper understanding of prejudice, privileged, and diversity. It’s for Resident Advisers–you know, the people who help squash issues in the dorm halls.

The administrators are defending the three RA’s that are instructing the course. They said they verified the class is not Anti-White and that the name was taken from a common, ironic hashtag on Twitter.

Twitter is now creating college level courses.

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How many signs does the Bible say we will see before the Apocalypse? This is probably one of them.

Critics say it’s creating more of a divide, more segregation, that it’s simply “counterproductive at best”.

To that I say, well, welcome to the world. Everything we seem to do is counterproductive at best, when you get down to the bottom of the barrel. Someone, somewhere is always going to take something either up the ass or opposite of how you intended him/her to take it. For example, my boyfriend and I were discussing this on drive last week. He is of Mexican descent, and by now you all know my ethnicity is mixed.

If we were to have children, they would have a bit of the entire world in them.

We went to different high schools. His high school had, for the first time, a Latino Graduation separate from the regular high school graduation to recognize all of the Latino/Latina students who managed to get a diploma. Obviously the intention of the school was to honor those students who may have had it harder than other students due to economic status, due to language barriers, or due to working/supporting the household with their family.

The intention was good. Through the eyes of those who are Hispanic, it was great to feel honored. And I think that is okay.

Through the eyes of someone like me, through the eyes of a mixed student who was completely ignored, who was placed into college prep only because they assumed I was hispanic, who was only one of two ethnic students in all the advanced placement courses, I see it as another form of racial segregation.

If you want to do a race specific graduation, do it for all races that attend your school.

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Hey, wait, . . . wouldn’t that just be a regular graduation?

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If your focus is instead on low income students, on students who have troubling family lives or language barriers, don’t just do it for those who are low income, troubled, hispanic students. Don’t just do it for those who are low income, troubled, black students. Don’t just do it for those who are low income, troubled, white students. And yes, those exist.

I learned in my college prep course that students from all walks of life have family troubles, mental health issues, and low income families, and it wasn’t from a diversity textbook. My senior year of high school my college prep course got its first two white students. One girl I know had a bit of a rocky home life, the other shared with me her mental health struggles with anxiety and depression as well. Both were very talented; one was a wonderful people person and great at theater. The other was academically gifted I felt, with her AP calculus and physics and English and history and everything.

They weren’t ethnic, but both have their story of struggling. It made me wonder how many fucking kids in this race-obsessed system get left behind, thrown under the rug, disregarded, because some administrators want to pay attention to the statistics related to race rather than taking a true, unbiased look at the real students in front of them.

So to Binghamton University I will say yes, the course name is another way of segregating people. But races are segregated within each other. We have a lab at my college with a name in Spanish, I don’t know what it means, but it’s really encouraged towards Hispanic high school students to join. They get field trips, help with classes, and accommodations.

It’s open to every race.

It’s encouraged towards Hispanics at every possible chance, including high school.

I’m not calling my college racist because they aren’t. Their intentions are good. But there are many more people, not just ethnic people, who could use the help that they  encourage towards specific races.

So before we start pointing fingers at Binghamton University, let’s first take a moment to understand what they’re doing isn’t very different from what everyone else is doing. The only difference is “white people” is in the title. 

We’re Gunna Free The Shit Out Of You

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I reserved today as a perfect day for a writing binge.

I’ve had a short story in the back of my mind for quite some time now and throughout the weeks I’d been jotting characters, quotations, ideas . . . you know, anything that came to my mind randomly that I could squeeze into the story. Some people plan their story, some people just write them, I do both. I scribble a rough skeleton on about seven different pieces of paper, pieces that are usually meant for something else, and occasionally I’ll jot them down on my phone, then when the time comes to write I have to scrounge them up.

I’ve never lost one of those papers. Never. Until now.

I lost one of the most important pieces I could have lost.

That is why I am now blogging. If I were not blogging, I’d be punching a wall or perhaps sitting in quiet rage. I hate loosing things. I do it all the time and I still hate it.

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Dramatic, right?

I have a leather bound notebook (100% leather, got it on sale for $70) where I have my most important writing and usually I’ll fold little scraps and slip them in between those pages because I take a great deal of care of that notebook. When I saw my little folded scribbles weren’t in there, it was panic mode. I’ve trashed my room and I’m not putting it back together. Not until I find those pages.

Of course the beautiful thing about the mind is that I can just make up more shit.

However.

I really liked what I started.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

There’s a very strong bond between myself and what I write. Loosing those ideas is like a bank robber dropping three bags of bills while running from the cops. Those are my feelings at this moment.

My memory is also shit when it comes to stuff like this. If I tried to remember what I’d scribbled, I’d pop a brain vessel.

Sigh. Time to think about something else before I blow a gasket.

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Yes, This Is Completely Irrelevant

Last night my professor was telling us about how impoverished the Lakota people’s reservation is. He considered them the poorest people in this country and I’m inclined to believe that. The government has told them time and time again that, as “compensation for our ancestors disrespect and current government’s blatant stupidity” they’d give the people monetary benefits. A bunch of a money. Money, money, money.

The Lakota people refuse. They want their land back. They want to be able to run things how they want; they don’t even mind the white people living there as long as they abide by tribal laws.

Obviously the American government isn’t going to have any of that.

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So the Lakota people live in squalor and poverty and probably alcoholism and addiction, with an unemployment rate of about 80% for the sake of integrity and dignity and culture. We talked about how if they let the U.S back them into a corner and succumbed to the monetary relief, it would be an example to reservations everywhere. An example of submission and defeat.

As a community of people, they understand that being together is how you strengthen individuals and strengthening individuals is how you strengthen a community. 

I was obviously raised non-traditional. I don’t go to ceremonies (although I’ve always been interested) and I don’t know any stories of creation or morals besides what I’ve learned this semester. I was raised with fried chicken, hot water corner bread, black eyed peas, greens, barbecue rips, James Brown, mayonnaise, and every once in a while a dash of Polish food. Food raised me apparently. James Brown wasn’t food but whatever, you get my point.

_DSC0284 (2).JPGHowever, my father knew a Tsalagi couple who had a giant wolf dog and house in the mountains and that’s where I learned to swim. They gave him hand crafted flutes and they listened to Walela together and watched nature and they designated him the name “EagleHorse”. So he has a bunch of stuff with eagles and horses. And Buffalo. People always gifted me Dream Catchers and I was taught that both God and the power of Dream Catchers protected me and my dreams at night. I understood spirits and interconnection from a young age–ever since I can remember. It’s always been with me. I never liked talking about it because other kids didn’t get it and when people talk about spiritual things around here it’s either tied to the Christian religion or ghosts and it’s never talked about with feeling, just knowledge and “facts”.

I’ve been in the closet for quite some time about my true beliefs. Throughout this class I felt like I was a fake–these things I should have known. I should have been apart of. And now that they’re here I’m suddenly embracing them.

But the truth is it isn’t my fault I wasn’t raised like that. That part of my culture has been desecrated over hundreds of years. How could I expect to be taught anything about it in a country that can’t even acknowledge they’re the reason for it?

If anything, I feel like I’m finally being given the chance to be true to who I am. Yes, I’m Polish and African American but I’m also Tsalagi and I never had a chance to celebrate that part of me. We talk a lot in this class about how Blood Quantum doesn’t matter, the way of life, the belief system, the value system does. I don’t care if the government ever recognizes me as indigenous. I don’t want their handouts or their “benefits” in college. I’m already African American, I’ll fill the diversity quota for all the universities. My professor is English and Irish and Tsalagi–but he was raised Tsalagi and even though he’s white, he’s indigenous. He’s lived it since childhood and I have to say, I’m jealous as hell.

If you go by stereotypes, I look “more Indian” than him.

But stereotypes are the reason white people tell me I’m not black enough to be black, as if they know what it means.

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I’ve never met anyone from a Lakota reservation but I stand behind them. Finally, there’s a living example of why I refuse to disgrace my integrity and dignity for a job. You know, the application I ranted about here.

When I talk about that kind of stuff, people are like “wow, that’s stupid, it’s a job. It’s for money. It’s work. Suck it up.”

Yes, it’s a job for money. That doesn’t mean I’m going to dishonor myself. I have the ability to find a job that isn’t degrading. It’s not about ego. It’s not even completely about integrity, it’s about truth and it’s about everyone. If I choose to answer those questions in a way that’s untruthful, in a way that makes me look like 1) a submissive rat or 2) a robot, than I’m saying it’s okay for companies to treat their employees as such and I’m saying it’s okay to let ourselves be treated as such.

And in my mind, none of that is okay. Therefore, if I don’t find it okay for anyone to be treated like that, I don’t find it okay to let myself be treated like that.

Can you tell I’m not a capitalist?

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Capitalism In One Picture

The people who have that sort of thinking that I’m “being ridiculous” have the sort of thinking that is the reason Donald Trump gets away with as much as he does. They have the thought pattern that allows poverty and racism and allows people to never focus on the reasons why poverty and racism exist, other than shallow reasons like “it’s natural for humans to judge”.

It’s the thinking that lets us talk about how racism needs to end but not doing the work in our past and present that needs to be done to end it.

That’s not a personal attack if you find me being ridiculous about the job shit. It’s an attack on the massive, national, illusionary thinking that is in American air today.

Ugh.

I have to find those papers.

Rant: END.

 

 

Unmasking The Enemy

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It’s rarely a time where I can say I’ve had great success.

But tonight, I’ve made great strides.

I TALKED.

That’s right, I sat my ass down in a group of two and I fucking talked and I had a conversation and my anxiety was at an all time low!

I shared ideas like your average Joe!

I know the two people I sat with usually sit with another girl, so at first I felt I was invading. I reveled in humiliation for the first ten or fifteen minutes of class but when we all turned inward to share the quotes we’d collected from this weeks book, I ignored the pounding of my heart and the flushing of my face and jumped over the first hurdle by saying one of the quotes I liked and explaining my idea behind it. It sparked a conversation between the three of us and the flushing got worse and the heart beat palpitated and I ignored it all because I was determined to make this night a success and dethrone my anxiety.

A little tiny piece of my personality shone tonight and that’s a huge accomplishment. They laughed with me and I could tell they were surprised I spoke more than five words and backed up my idea with concrete facts.

At the end of it all, I sat there in my chair and found myself thinking: It’s this easy? Are you fucking kidding me?

That’s right, I called talking with people EASY.

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I don’t know what’s sparked this confidence. I’ve been reading so much about my native ancestor’s culture, I’ve been learning more about who I am, and I’ve been so amazed at how all the native traditional ideas  I’ve been learning in this class were things I was taught as a child from my father that my father probably never knew were native traditions. They were always loose ideas, general rules for life I was taught, and I’m certainly not like the natives on the reservation, but I identify more with this culture than I do the others in my family lineage.

Coming to these realizations, identifying with a people who base themselves on community and giving myself a reason for my social anxieties other than “family troubles” or “genes” or “chemical imbalance”, and realizing that I can heal has given me this confidence, I think. I didn’t even have that much trouble forming the words in my brain as I usually do. They just came and I said them and I stumbled a bit at the beginning, but once I got going I couldn’t stop.

o-success-facebookThis is the first step of a very, very long healing process. I told you all at the beginning of this semester that this class was going to change my life and I wasn’t lying. It has. Tremendously. It’s reminded me of myself and my spirit. I thought I lost them in the hustle and bustle of puberty and homelessness, and addiction, and the transfer into adult life and the depression, but I didn’t. They’ve been with me this whole time, just hidden, covered, blanketed.

I remember watching documentaries on “gifted” children as a teenager. I was always amazed at these toddlers doing calculus and growing into teenagers who graduated college and worked in laboratories and were sensations in their scientific and professional communities. And I followed some of them into their young adult life and I wondered why, if they had such a large “IQ” and so many opportunities, why they didn’t tackle politics. Why they didn’t tackle government or worldly affairs. Why they huddled in isolated in labs in a corner of the earth.

I don’t think it’s because they realized tackling the world was too arduous of a task. There are many ways you can effect the world without being some magic savior.

I wondered all this because many claimed their gifted children sat in front of the news and cried over wars and poverty and all the sad things in life. They’d cry for hours. The documentaries had specialists claim that feelings for the whole of humanity were indicative of spectacular genius.

Is that another way to separate a love for humanity from the average population? As a child I was always sensitive to such things. I didn’t cry over these events because I was sad for the world, I didn’t cry because I should be sad for the world, I didn’t cry because of the horrors, I cried because I could feel the pain of those people. Not in a shallow way, not in the way we feel pain for others everyday. Not the way you sympathize with someone when they fall and break their leg and you recognize that hurt. No, this was a special way. This was a spirit to spirit, human to human connection, I knew this at age 5. If I told the average psychologist growing up that I was feeling others pain through the television, that I was connected to those people in a way they didn’t understand, they’d get wary of my mental state.

WATCH OUT, IT’S ATTENUATED PSYCHOSIS SYNDROME, QUICK A MILLION MILLIGRAMS OF THORAZINE, STAT! GO, GO, GO!!!

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Anyway, my professor and guest speakers often speak on this type of feeling and that’s how I learned I wasn’t alone.

In this way I am different from the people around me. I say it’s different because when I feel these things I don’t ever forget. I don’t move on with my life and forget. I don’t set out an annual day to take a moment and remember and “respect” what happened; I’m always aware of them. I’m always aware of the grief others feel because I feel it beside them. I believe it disrespect to think you can take horrible events, traumatic events, set a day aside or a moment in time to mourn them, then go on with your life like nothing ever happened. That’s not recovery; that’s the shallowest form of sympathy.

To me that’s barbaric. You learn to carry those horrible events with you and you remember them because in remembering them, you remember yourself. Those events that happen around you, that happen to you, are apart of you and your community and this giant spinning ball we all inhabit. If you act like they don’t happen then you’re ignoring part of yourself.

I choose not to ignore the pain in my life or the pain of my ancestors. I’m not going to “let it go”. I’m going to learn to carry it properly and I’m never going to forget what it’s taught me.

No wonder we can absentmindedly start wars and absentmindedly put ads 2-army-strong-adon television for you to join an army that fights for a purpose it doesn’t even understand.

Don’t be blind. If you can’t see with your eyes, feel with your spirit. It never lies. Your eyes can deceive you; they only see what people want them to see. With what I’ve experienced, your spirit is connected to the Earth and the universe, two things humans will never be able to manipulate as well as they do Google Ad Sense.

Do I sound like a loon to you? To some of you I might. And that’s okay. Just remember that science and math and western philosophy and all that fancy stuff has spent the last few hundred years proving native beliefs right. We’re all in the same boat here, we just have different grasps on the same concepts.

Some sooner than others.

Sorry math/science geeks. I’m one of you as well, but I can’t deny the facts. You were all a little late.

But anyway, while you’re reading about the latest Celebrity Botox and Butt-Lift and watching the latest music video of Taylor Swift singing about some dude no one gives a shit about, or video of rappers telling you to fuck bitches and get money, take a little moment out of your day to think about this:

One in three native women are raped on reservations today.

Ninety three percent of those abusers are non-native.

There’s a court case underway right now that you know nothing about because Nicki Minaj’s ass is blocking your vision. You want the full explanation, you can read it here.

But basically it goes like this: Dollar General is a chain on a Choctaw Reservation. Reservations are outside of federal court jurisdiction. People within Dollar General have been abusing workers. The story in that article is of a boy who, when he was thirteen, signed up to get work experience and ended up being sexually abused. His parents sued Dollar General in a tribal court because their son had been violated sexually by a grown man. Dollar General said fuck you, you can’t sent up a civil case against us for sexually abusing your son, we’re not part of this reservation, we’re within federal jurisdiction. Dollar General then took the family to federal court and sued the family for trying to sue Dollar General in a tribal court because their son was sexually assaulted several times by the store manager.

Why the emphasis you ask? Because a kid was sexually assaulted! And what does Dollar General care about? JURISDICTION.

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People there are afraid of the U.S court ruling in favor of the corporation (and they have historical evidence for reason to be afraid) and allowing any non-native operations inside the reservation to never be tried in a tribal court.

So if you want to commit a heinous crime, go work for a non-native corporation on a reservation and you’ll never see the walls of a prison in your life or the sting of a punishment on your wrist.

Or become a priest and snatch you some young boys.

People adore blindness. Nicki Minaj is much easier on the eyes than men of God dicking and breeding and bleeding innocent asses of young, crying, flailing, alter boys and corporate retail staff shoving their grimy, fat, sausage fingers into the virgin holes of little girls, don’t you think?

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Look At All The Pretty Glitter

 

So go ahead and forget what I just told you. It’s okay, it’ll be easier for you.

This class has not only given me a few tools to take away the power of my anxiety, but it’s helped me realize there’s a cause for my anxiety. It’s historical and generational and environmental and biological and genetic, it’s everything you want to call it. And I don’t want it to leave me. I want to embrace it and live with it side by side.

I’ve never complained over my depression or my anxiety or any other mental health issue. I’ve grieved over it and I’ve felt the pain and it’s sucked some royal ass, but I’ve never cursed it or wished it away because where the fuck would it go? Where am I supposed to wish it away to? It’s got no where to go. It’s part of me; am I going to rip myself in half and throw myself into the atmosphere?

What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do other than learn and live?