“Online activism changed me from a woman who actively put down other women to one who actively uplifts them. Online activism changed me from a white woman with unchecked privilege who actively oppressed people of color to a woman who has lost friends because she tells them to shut their racist mouths. Online activism has changed me from a woman who hated her body, to a woman who realizes just how beautiful she is. No one EVER tell me online activism isn’t good for anything.”—
The above quote though. My gut reaction is to cringe at the phrase “online activism” but when you really think about it everything these online communities provide — free information/literature sharing, community building, consciousness raising, and the free exchange of ideas and critiques are all (more within the self, more passive) forms of activism.
One of my favorite rebuttals of some asshat saying the usual “SJ blogs don’t even do anything because it’s not in real life” was when someone said "If it wasn’t for online activism, I’d still be calling women sluts and whores."
Early on in high school, I would slut shame, make racist jokes, etc. And now I’m a sociology major and I go to a women’s college and constantly read/think/write about intersectional feminism. So fuck anyone who thinks online social justice conversations and blogs don’t “do anything.”
“We all want to be good allies. We all want, so desperately, to do the right thing—above all, to be useful. I just want to put forth that being an effective community worker and a good ally is most effective when we work from within our own communities—with nuance, with intention, and with love. If we instead give in to our ego, if we instead insist on being the ‘exceptional’ Asian activist and participate in divide-and-conquer, where we point fingers at our own communities from outside of it and say we wish Asians were more radical, why can’t Asians be more down for the cause like us—if we indulge our self-righteousness rather than work from a place of love and nuance – we are not effective, to our own people or anyone else. Community activism isn’t a competition—it is above all an act of love. Peace.”—Bao Phi on Solidarity from Within (via buzzlightyearsu)
“Not all toxic people are cruel and uncaring. Some of them love us dearly. Many of them have good intentions. Most are toxic to our being simply because their needs and way of existing in the world force us to compromise ourselves and our happiness. They aren’t inherently bad people, but they aren’t the right people for us. And as hard as it is, we have to let them go. Life is hard enough without being around people who bring you down, and as much as you care, you can’t destroy yourself for the sake of someone else. You have to make your wellbeing a priority. Whether that means breaking up with someone you care about, loving a family member from a distance, letting go of a friend, or removing yourself from a situation that feels painful — you have every right to leave and create a safer space for yourself.”—Daniell Koepke (via spitswap)
Ever since the day I was born, I grew up with a temperamental father. I never knew when he would raise his voice, or strike up an argument. He was never physically abusive but he was definitely verbally abusive. My mother, she always got the end of it. “you are stupid!” “how can you be so crazy!” So like my mother, we both sat in silence absorbing those toxic phrases into our minds, and our bodies. I would lock myself in the restroom inside my room because I knew that was the safest place that I could escape.
I realize now that I can cry so easily; I cry listening to stories, I cry when I can’t get my point across, I cry because I can’t argue back, I cry when I get triggered. So I wonder how much of that is because I’m simply an emotional person or because it’s due to years and years of internalizing that silence.
Because I’ve kept it quiet for so long, sometimes when I see men in positions of power or people who raise their voice, my heart clenches, I can’t breathe and I become vulnerable again.
So much of my own understanding of resistance, social justice and decolonization has emerged at personal and interpersonal levels, yet the work that happens at this scale often goes unseen. Since we’re talking about allyship, I think it’s important to talk about the various scales of activism. I have seen a lot of people claiming to be ‘Indigenous allies’, highlighting their involvement in public actions such as going to rallies, writing articles, or participating in protests. I don’t want to minimize the importance of these, but equating this type of activism with allyship can render invisible the quiet interpersonal work that is also needed in order to be a good ally. And, importantly, it can reproduce the idea that activism only happens at the highly visible, public scale of protests, rallies and actions, where many of us engage in activist work in our daily lives but it goes unseen, unacknowledged and untheorized as ‘activism’.
great commentary on allyship and intersections of oppression.
I’ve been using pronouns including ya’ll and folks to address more than one person not because it’s some hip vernacular but because I want to become a better ally and respect gender pronouns.
I urge my friends who consider themselves “allies” to stop slut shaming: bitch, slut, whore outside of safe spaces; thrown around without being considerate of the gender violence that others have internalized.
over the years, i’ve experienced something in my vietnamese family’s that i call “fierce love”. it’s what i would imagine if my mom, a petite cute rooster zodiac woman, met beyonce.
it’s the love that i don’t necessarily experience with hugs, kisses, and constant verbal and physical affirmation, but through assertive discipline, passionate judgement, resilience, and lots and lots of making food and me eating it.
i’ve combined this concept of fierce love with one of my favorite things to do - writing love letters. dedicated to the mothers, daughters, grandmothers, and fierce food females who’ve nourished us.