I noticed something very different today, as someone who’s regularly attended rallies and marches since the age 13.
White femininity’s perceived peacefulness is intrinsically linked to how the State views and treats nonwhite femininities and masculinities. It’s very interesting how a predominately white women march today received the least intervention and suspicion from state apparatuses like the police.
Identical political marches with identical demands for autonomy, dignity, mobility and reproductive justice (a political term coined by black women scholars) have been led by black women but the State response to such assemblages is starkly different. Much harsher. The level of scrutiny and penalty goes above and beyond that which predominantly white assemblages face.
So while, yes, there is strength in numbers and other pleasant axioms, there is also strength in rigorously questioning why you are not viewed as a threat, why your default status is not seen as a deviance from the norm, why you receive such kindness and others don’t.
Well this whacked me right in the face, in a way I needed to be whacked.
I want to find this picture in my grandchildren’s history books. I want to tell them that I watched her accepting the nomination and I watched her gracefully concede to Donald Trump. I want to tell them how much she got humiliated and criticized but somehow managed to stay strong while she watched Donald Trump take everything she had ever worked for away from her. Why? Because nobody loved their country more unconditionally than her.
May history be kind to this woman❤
And went to an inauguration with a crowd there who had supported not just her opponent, but a man who had threatened to “lock her up” and mercilessly treated her with indignity. A woman who has faced political assaults and feminizations from the GOP for years.
The other day I answered the door to my postman. I was signing for stuff, like you do, when my kid came downstairs with only his underwear and a t-shirt on.
Now, the postman couldn’t see him from the front door, and I scribbled my signature and said, to my son, “You need to put some trousers on.”
My postman, very slowly, looked down at his trouser-clad legs with a mixture of confusion and horror, and then looked back up at me.
When I explained I was talking to my little boy out of his line of sight, he gave a very solemn nod and said: “I thought I’d put trousers on this morning, but suddenly when you said that, I really wasn’t sure.”
Years after this, I still have the same postman. He still always wears trousers, but every time I answer the door, I’m pretty sure we both remember this incident.
I am Silver Tongue, I am an artist. I have many characters and you can check out my art in the art tag. I occasionally practice witchcraft though I don't do anything too complicated. I am girl 2 and don't know what else to put here.
