"Colonialism is when bees bust their asses to make honey but all the bottles look like bears!"

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Kim Crosby’s Facebook page(which quoted me yesterday!)

Holy shit, best quote fucking ever, holy shit.

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OMFG I don’t LOL often but Goddamn.

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Perfect analogy is perfect.

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Daamn.

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1 day ago 6,522 notes

designersofthings:

Turning Trash Into Treasure with 3D Printing

A Seattle entrepreneur wants to take recycling to a whole new level. Working together with a local inventor, she has developed a machine that turns plastic bottles into 3D printing filament allowing makers to literally turn their trash into newly created treasures. 

Read More

YESSSSS!!!!!!

1 day ago 222 notes

Peep this cooler designed by the talented @provokeculture #artalwayswins #samkirk_provokeculture #canvascooler #samkirk

6 days ago

"White Americans always think racism is a feeling, and they reject it or they embrace it. To most [white] Americans, it seems more honorable and nicer to reject it, so they do, but they almost invariably fail to understand that how they feel means very little to black Americans, who understand racism as a way of structuring American culture, American politics, and the American economy."

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Jane Smiley, Say it Ain’t So, Huck: Second thoughts on Mark Twain’s “Masterpiece” (Harper’s Magazine, 1996)

This is perfect.

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6 days ago 11,282 notes

gelopanda:

thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”

“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”

Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”

“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”

Kenya (Atlanta, GA)“Black”

“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”

Marianna (Baltimore, MD)“Black“

“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”

Ariel (Brooklyn, New York)“Black”

“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”

Soledad (New York, NY)“Black Latina”

“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”

Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”

“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”

Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”

“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”

Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”

“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”

Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“

“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

I still feel some type of way that Dr. Yabba Blay never used me for her (1)ne drop project. Pero I still love her. I miss seeing her around.

The politics of being black in la comunidad.

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1 week ago 1,438 notes

thinkmexican:

Stories From the Real Coachella

Below is an excerpt from “How the P’urhépechas Came to the Coachella Valley,” an oral history of Pedro Gonzalez, one of thousands of P’urhépecha farmworkers living and working in the Coachella Valley of California. In an interview, he recounted the history of the P’urhépecha migration that created the Duros and Chicanitas labor camps located on the Cahuilla Indian Reservation:

I grew up in Ocomichu, Michoacán, which is a P’urhépecha town. When I was growing up, nobody knew how to speak Spanish. When you asked something in Spanish while they were working in the fields they would run, because they didn’t understand what you were saying. You suffer when you don’t know the language. My father wasn’t P’urhépecha, though, just my mother, so he taught us Spanish when we were young.

I first came to the U.S. in 1979. When I first arrived in Riverside I didn’t get a paycheck for two weeks. We survived off tortillas and oranges. We were working in the orange fields, and ate them for every meal. Someone lent us a couple of dollars and we would buy a package of tortillas. We needed to help each other, even when someone just needed a dollar. I just felt like crying back then, not knowing what to do.

Today in Duros or Mecca you can practically go anywhere and speak P’urhépecha with anyone. It wasn’t like that when I got here. I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I lived with an African-American man in Palm Springs for two months and felt very lonely. Nowadays the younger generation says our memories of what we suffered are exaggerated. That makes me feel bad. We walked two nights and two days crossing the border back then. Now it costs as much as $3,000 to cross the line. You have to work for more than two or three months to earn that much. It used to be that you didn’t have to pay another person to help you cross. Now it’s much harder and the coyotes charge so much. I used to help people cross for $300, and it was no big deal. I’ve helped others cross and they’ve never paid me. They forget.

I would say we have about three thousand P’urhépecha people in this area now. There are a lot of us. In Riverside alone I think there must be fifteen hundred people. Our hometown in Michoacán has also grown a lot. It used to be a small town, but it’s now a lot bigger. A few years back, they conducted a census in Mexico and determined there were about eight thousand indigenous people living in the hills of that area of Michoacán. I would say most are still there, but there are many of us now all over the U.S. We’re spread out in Palm Springs, Coachella, Indio, and Riverside.

Here in the Duros trailer park, there were only four trailers when I came in 1999. Slowly, people started arriving and everything started growing. Now I think there must be hundreds of people in these two parks, Duros and Chicanitas.

Most of us here work picking lemons and grapes, depending on the time of year. I like working the lemon harvest the most, because it pays piece rate (and not by the hour). If you work by the hour, it’s just over $7. On piece rate you can make about $1,550 every two weeks. If we do odd jobs here and there, it’s enough for us to live on. But piece rate makes you work fast, and some people don’t like it because they don’t like to work hard. For example, today I finished nine rows while some others only did five.

The owner of the park is a good man, a Native American. He even helped me fill out the immigration paperwork for my family, and only charged $500 when others would have charged $2,000.

But we used to have a lot of problems before the state took control of the park. A big one was the lack of security. Once, my wife heard knocking right after we’d left for work. She thought we’d come back, so she opened the door. It was an intruder. She yelled and he ran off, but the security guards wouldn’t do anything to protect us.

Rent on the trailer here costs us about $250, and with garbage, water, and security it goes up to $300 a month. If you’re getting paid $7 or $8 an hour, that’s hard. Gas prices keep going up and our wages don’t. Food prices are high. I spend more than $300 every time I buy food. If people got together and decided not to work for one day, it would have a tremendous impact on the economy; but people don’t do that because they are in need of money. We participated in a strike once. But there were other people who really needed work. They went into the fields to work even though we told them not to.

My kids are here legally now, and I’m in the process of obtaining legal residency for my last child. They all speak P’urhépecha, which is what we speak in the house. My wife doesn’t speak Spanish too well. She refused to learn it in the beginning because she said she wouldn’t need it. But now look at how necessary it is to speak English in this country. When my kids were young we had such a humble life in Mexico. They used to run around with holes all over their clothes. But our life has changed. Now if they have a little tear, they want to throw the clothes away. They even waste a lot of food. They don’t know how to value things. My family still has land in the ejido. My brother sold his plot when the land reform law changed, but I still have mine. My father died but my mother is still alive, and my wife’s mother is as well. We never forget about them, and send them money continuously. I don’t think my kids will return to Michoacán to live, though. Even though some were born over there, when we go to visit they always want to come back. But I don’t think they will lose their language and culture living here. We hold onto the P’urhépecha traditions with dances, weddings, baptisms, and quinceañeras. We all help each other out. There are many P’urhépechas here so everyone feels at home. I might go back to Mexico to live someday, but I don’t know when. I haven’t been there in years. I don’t even have my voter card. I’ve never voted in my life.

Read more at New America Media

Photos and interview by David Bacon

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1 week ago 924 notes

kendrawcandraw:

Never apologize for loving yourself. Self-love is power

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1 week ago 139,094 notes

gozamos:

Playing games United Latino Pride’s Loteria Joteria. http://ift.tt/1jzshaf http://ift.tt/1kEtGzP

LA DAMA - La Mas Mejor!

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1 week ago 18 notes

designersofthings:

Google Glass Getting Ready for Kit Kat Update, Goes on Sale To Public Today for One Day Only

If you are in the US and have been waiting for the chance to become a Google Glass Explorer then today is your lucky day. For the first time since its announcement two years ago, Google is selling its first wearable tech to the general public on a first come, first serve basis. 

Read More

after my nightmare, not sure if I want google glass, but still very tempted… we’ll see…

1 week ago 61 notes

i’m in love with this song.

1 week ago