The Democratic senator from New Jersey called the Supreme Court nominee his “harbinger of hope.”
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The Democratic senator from New Jersey called the Supreme Court nominee his “harbinger of hope.”
Rare Photos of Black Rosie the Riveters
During World War II, 600,000 African-American women entered the wartime workforce. Previously, black women’s work in the United States was largely limited to domestic service and agricultural work, and wartime industries meant new and better-paying opportunities – if they made it through the hiring process, that is. White women were the targets of the U.S. government’s propaganda efforts, as embodied in the lasting and lauded image of Rosie the Riveter.Though largely ignored in America’s popular history of World War II, black women’s important contributions in World War II factories, which weren’t always so welcoming, are stunningly captured in these comparably rare snapshots of black Rosie the Riveters.
Claudette Colvin would be known as the original 'Rosa Parks' before she would later be forgotten in history for a number of reasons.
As liberation movements bloomed, they offered a vision of reproductive justice that was about equality, not just “choice.”
Moynihan was criticized for essentially blaming Black women for the poverty and hardship that shaped the lives of their families. In a speech a year after the report was published, the sncc leader Stokely Carmichael said, “To set the record straight, the reason we are in the bag we are in isn’t because of my mama, it’s because of what they did to my mama… . We have to put the blame where it belongs.” But, for many other Black men, Moynihan provided a framework in which they could understand their marginalization and attempt to repair the damage—by reasserting their rightful positions as patriarchs. Assuming this role meant denouncing birth control and abortion as tools of genocide that compromised the future and freedom of Black families. In 1971, the comedian and activist Dick Gregory wrote a cover story for Ebony that began, “My answer to genocide, quite simply, is eight kids—and another baby on the way.” Gregory, who never quotes his wife in the article or even mentions her name, goes on to claim that birth control and abortion both had been designed to “limit the black population,” describing them casually as methods of genocide. Speaking to the U.S. Commission on Population Control, in 1971, the Reverend Jesse Jackson said, “Virtually all the security we have is in the number of children we produce.”
For Beal, a single mother of two children, and other Black feminists, reproductive freedom, including access to birth control and abortion and the right to have children on their terms, was the most basic element of self-determination in a society where their choices were heavily circumscribed by racism, gender, and class position. As a result, Black women activists not only took up the immediate questions concerning reproduction but they also raised issues about child care, employment, welfare, and the other material necessities that could help women take care of their children and choose to bring them into the world. By focussing on the plight of poor women, they made it easier to see that the struggle for abortion and reproductive freedom was about equality, not just privacy or even “choice.” Their insights into the ways that poverty and other forms of oppression limited their life chances compelled them to demand reproductive justice—which also involved the right to raise children in healthy environments where their and their parents’ basic needs could be met. It is a standard that certainly was not achieved with Roe, but is needed now more than ever.
This week I’m talking about Pretty Privilege…the afterthoughts. Mostly about the definition of beauty that centers whiteness ...
It started with a simple tweet and grew into one of the largest (and most peaceful) protests this week.
Eva Lewis is someone you should know. She and three other black teenage girls were the driving force behind Monday’s massive sit-in protest in Millennium Park and subsequent march to protest gun violence and police brutality in Chicago.
The event to “break the divide between communities, and bring youth from all areas of Chicago in solidarity with Black Lives Matter,” drew more than 1,000 people and the attention of local and national media—not bad for a group of 16- and 17-year-olds who organized the whole thing on social media.
The silent sit-in was followed by poetry and other performances, and the group gained steam as it left the park and closed down the streets, marching toward Federal Plaza to meet up with another, unaffiliated group of protesters.
Though the two rallies were spurred by the same news events of the previous week—the police shootings of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling, and the subsequent attack on police in Dallas—they differed in both their focus and their methods, Lewis explains. More on that later.
When the 17-year-old rising senior at Walter Payton College Prep is asked to describe herself, she first identifies herself as a member of Bomic Sans (“You know, like the font Comic Sans?”), Payton’s team in the Louder Than a Bomb youth poetry competition.
She’s an artist. An activist. And advocate.
She ticks off an impressive list of achievements—among them, being asked to speak in front of the United Nations during the Commission on the Status of Women earlier this year.
We spoke with Lewis after she finished her day’s work as an intern at Stony Island Arts Bank to find out how Monday’s protest came together.
Have you noticed how many stereotypes about bisexuality relate to the harmful gender norms of rape culture? You will after reading this.
Here are some common ways you may be stereotyping bisexual people – and how those stereotypes feed into rape culture.
1. Bisexual People Just Want to Have Sex with Everyone
This goes along with the above quite common assumption that we’re down for threesomes – especially women and femme folks.
It promotes the idea that if you’re bisexual, you’re “easy” and will have sex with anyone.
There are bisexual folks who want to have sex with multiple partners and those who don’t (including those who are on the asexual spectrum, and aren’t really interested in sex).
But the bottom line is: It’s our choice to consent, every time. And we deserve to have our boundaries respected.
This stereotype, however, is usually based on the idea that just because someone is attracted to multiple a/genders, they’re open to sex all the time, with everyone.
This comes up a lot in the kind of scenario I described above, where a straight man is using bisexual or queer women or femmes as sex objects.
In these cases, it’s not about the bisexual person’s boundaries, desire, or consent. They’re simply a part of a sexual fantasy in which women and femmes are openly available for men and for the male gaze.
This situation could be empowering and exciting for a bisexual person who’s into it, since there are plenty of folks who really enjoy sex with multiple partners at once. But instead, it’s just for the benefit of the men involved.
Even in commonly portrayed fantasies of groups with more than three partners, the sex is usually all about the male gaze, and women’s sexuality is little more than a convenient plot point.
We’re allowed to be “bisexual” in the sense that we’re having group sex with other women, but it’s not about our desire for those women – it’s about the male desire for women’s bodies.
And non-binary people are usually completely left out of this binary view of sexuality.
2. Bisexual People Will Return to Men Eventually
I’ve heard the idea that all bisexual people want to “return to men” from both femmes and masculine bisexual folks.
In this stereotype, bisexual men are “really just gay,” and bisexual women are simply straight.
So, I have been engaged in discussion on the black female body and contemporary rape cases for the past few weeks.
In an attempt to dissect most of the conversations, I want to further the dialog to get a grip on the common misconceptions of rape culture and black female victims of rape.
In doing research, I found that 13 out of 14 black female rape victims NEVER report their rapes to authorities and only 3 out of 100 sexual assault suspects EVER serve time for their crimes.
So, the question is why?
Why in a society that tells us to “not be afraid” and the “community will rally around you” and “it is not your fault” do we still have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy around sexual abuse, specifically, sexual abuse of the black female body?
Could it be that historically, black women in America did not have the right to deny nor consent to sexual encounters and their bodies (specifically their reproduction) were used as a means of capitalistic profit?
Could it be that some state laws SPECIFICALLY denied black women the right to protest sexual abuse and even went as far as to say “rape of the black female body is merely assault and NOT rape”?
Or could it be that black women were never encouraged to speak out about sexual abuse even within their own communities?
Countless black women have recalled the shame and guilt that was casted upon them once they spoke of sexual violence or attempted to remove themselves from the sexual abuse they had to endure.
Could that be the reason that even in this new millennium black women remain silent about their sexual abuse?
Let’s switch gears in an effort to bring this full circle.
Bored and on quarantine so gonna make a masterpost about some research I’ve been working on cause I’m sick of hearing the “Radfems are all white and racist” lie
Radical Feminists of Color masterpost
Flo Kennedy is hardly ever talked about but she was an incredible activist and organizer. She’s pictured here advocating for 1975 to be recogmized as the first ever Year of the Woman. She grew up in poverty, lost her mother young, graduated top of her high school class, and then was denied admission to law school. Here’s a quote from her about it:
“The Associate Dean, Willis Reese, told me I had been rejected not because I was a Black but because I was a woman. So I wrote him a letter saying that whatever the reason was, it felt the same to me.”
So she threatened to SUE the school until they let her in. She was the only black woman in her graduating class.
You know that 1968 Miss America protest that second wave feminists are known for? Flo Kennedy was one of the major organizers of it! She was actually in charge of recruiting black women to join in. She then served as the attorney for all who were arrested at the protest.
In the 1970s she vegan touring with Gloria Steinem to give speeches. In 1972 she filed a tax evasion case with IRS against the Catholic Church because of their anti-abortion views violating the separation of church and state. She was also a lawyer on the first case that used victims of illegal abortions as testifiers while trying to repeal strict abortion laws in NY. This set the groundwork for Roe v Wade to do the same.
She was famously against marriage and never had children. She was also an atheist.
If you want to read her work, I highly recommend "Institutionalized oppression vs. the female,” her essay from 1970, or the book “Sex Discrimination in Employment: An Analysis and Guide for Practitioner and Student” which she co-wrote.
My fav quotes by her:
"It's interesting to speculate how it developed that in two of the most anti-feminist institutions, the church and the law court, the men are wearing the dresses.”
“ A lot of people think I'm crazy. Maybe you do too, but I never stop to wonder why I'm not like other people. The mystery to me is why more people aren't like me.
We don’t talk a lot about Native American second wave feminists but they were very active in their own communities! The photo above is from the Native American Women’s Right Conference held in 1975. These conferences were the result of the forced sterilizations inflicted on native women in the 1970s. They got their healthcare through federal programs such as the IHS (Indian Health Service), HEW (the department of Health Education and Welfare) and the BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs). These programs would perform tube ties without permission, and rehome native children with white foster families under false pretenses, sometimes separating the mother from her children as soon as the child was born. This was flat out eugenics. In the late 1960s, President Nixon appointed John D Rockefeller to be the chairman for the Commision on Population and the American Future. They were concerned that there weren’t enough resources for the growing population, so they pushed for limits on family size and sterilizations. In 1973, two black girls aged 12 and 14 were sterilized through HEW, which funded 90% of the sterilizations on poor and minority women. Their illiterate mother was told she was signing permission for the girls to get shots that would prevent them from having teenage pregnancies.
Sterilization for women increased 350% between 1970 and 1975, with one million American women sterilized each year. Some native women reported going to the doctor for a headache, being told it was a “female problem”, and then being advised to have a hysterectomy. Others came in to have their appendix removed and were sterilized as well. Marie Sanchez, the chief tribal judge for the Northern Cheyenne Reservation, tried to organize a lawsuit for the victims, but they were too traumatized to come forward.
Many Native American women began holding rallies and asking for investigations into the practices.
Native American women teamed up with second wave feminists to fight the Hyde Amendment, which cut 98% of federal funding for abortions but still covered 90% of sterilization costs, causing physicians to continue pushing sterilizations on Native American women. Further, there was no funding for translators to explain to Natuve women what they were signing, and doctors routinely did not offer them access to birth control, according To a study done in 1971.
Sooooo when you hear someone say that second wave feminism and talking about vaginas/uteruses/wombs etc is “white feminism” please remember the Native American women organized and gathered solely around these issues.
You are not helping Native women by refusing to talk about women’s reproductive healthcare.
The Boston Women’s Health Book Collective and the National Women’s Health Network appeared at congressional hearings to advocate for Native reproductive right and fundraised for translators for Native women who had to see a doctor. WARN (Women of All Red Nations) was formed in the 1970s by Native American women to advocate for their reproductive rights, as well as the loss of their children and the destruction of Their land. At their first meeting, lead by three Native American women, women from over 30 Native tribes gathered to organize. They started a newsletter and began attending speaking gigs to educate the public. Decora Means, one of the founders, specifically thanked the “feminist movement” for having the “political clout to bring about federal regulations to protect women against further sterilization abuse.”
These are women’s liberationists marching in a Black Panther parade in Connecticut in 1969. They were in a particularly segregated area that did not allow blacks or Jews to own homes.
According to the Black Panther Sisters, an organization for female Black Panthers, women were regularly deligated roles such as organizing mailing lists, and other office and clerical roles. The Black Panther Sisters advocated for women to take on roles like writing articles, public speaking, and community outreach. They also pointed out that when females were appointed into leadership roles, males beneath them still treated them like less-thans or equals.
My fave quotes by the Black Panther sisters:
“In a proletarian revolution, the emancipation of women is primary. We realize that the success of the revolution depends upon the women. (For this reason, we know that it’s necessary that the women must be emancipated.)”
“it’s important that within the context of that struggle that black men understand that their manhood is not dependent on keeping their black women subordinate to them because this is what bourgeois ideology has been trying to put into the black man and that’s part of the special oppression of black women. Black women as generally a part of the poor people of the US, the working class, are more oppressed, as being black, they’re super-oppressed, and as being women they are sexually oppressed by men in general and by black men also.”
(They certainly weren’t afraid to acknowledge sex based oppression and it’s Wild that white people today claim it’s racist to talk about men as oppressers!! )
We HAVE to talk about the incredible organizing OWAAD (the organization of women of African and Asian descent) did during the second wave. They produced newsletters to further the growth of the Black Women’s Movement with articles, letters, poetry, etc. They held their first conference in the 1970s in London for black women to discuss their oppression as females and to exchange ideas and compare experiences. They ended up holding four conferences in total throughout the 1980s, focusing on domestic violence and reproductive rights. One of their most notable activist activities included sit-ins at the Heathrow Airport to protest virginity tests on Asian immigrant women who were applying for residency, and protesting against testing contraceptive drugs on women from marginalized communities.
The founders of the organization were two black women, Olive Morris and Stella Dadzie. Olive was also a member of the British Black Panthers. She died of lymphoma at the age of 27... Stella, however, is still alive today, and went on to write “The Heart of the Race: Black Women's Lives in Britain,” which I highly recommend reading.
It is important to note that Dadzie does not identify as a “feminist” because she feels the word has been taken over by “white ideologies.” (Could she be more right?) You can watch her explain this a little more to Germaine Greer on the tv program “The Last Word.”
A vital player in the second wave women’s movement was The Third World Women’s Alliance, a women of color socialist organization focusing on female oppression. They started in NY and then spread to Oakland and SF. Their main goal was to unite women of color in fighting capitalist exploitation, global imperialism, and female oppression.
In their first newsletter, pictured above, they declared:
“the struggle against racism and imperialism must be waged simultaneously with the struggle for women's liberation.”
They organized around the specific issues of the sterilization abuse of women of color, infant mortality, welfare rights, and low-wage work- women’s issues that particularly affect low income women and women of color. They spoke often about the intersectionality of race, sex, and class in women’s oppression.
TWWA also reached out to Women’s groups in third world countries to learn about the affects of US foreign and military policy on women in other countries. They believed that women in the US need to foster a “global sisterhood.”
In 1979 they reorganized to become the Alliance Against Women’s Opression, and in 1989 they founded the Women of Color Resource Center.
Chicana and Mexican American Women’s contributions are often overlooked in the second wave which is ridiculous because they did a LOT of activism, but separate from the mainstream whiter movements we often hear about.
This book was published in 1971 by Mirta Vidal. She was the national director of the Young Socialist’s Alliance’s Chicano and Latino branch. She and Elma Barrera, her co writer an an abortion rights activist and writer, organized the first national Chicana conference, attended by over 600 Chicanas. The two largest workshops they help were “Sex and the Chicana” and “Marriage- Chicana Style.” They wrote resolutions such as “We deserve 24 hour childcare facilities in Chicano communities” and “We have a right to control our own bodies”
My favorite was:
“Chicana motherhood should not preclude educational, political, social, and economic advancement.”
Some areas they were particularly criticial of were the role of the Catholic Church in keeping Chicana women oppressed and discrimination in education opportunities.
This woman is a little more well known but did you know that Maya Angelou marched with Gloria Steinem for women’s equality day? I see a lot of revisionists claiming Maya Angelou would agree with the state of feminism today- and they couldn’t be more wrong. Here’s the background of her life:
After being raped by her mother’s boyfriend when she was 7 years old, she was mute for five years. Eventually, at the insistence of older women in her community, she began writing.
Her poems frequently touch on male domination over women. She fell pregnant when she was a teen after sleeping with a boy to prove she wasn’t a lesbian, and started young motherhood in poverty. She had to turn to prostitution at that time, which she describes as a “skeleton in her closet” and a “rough time” in her life.
She was married over two times, but never for long.
Here are some of my favorite excerpts of her poetry:
“Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or build to suit a fashion model’s size.
It’s the fire in my eyes,
and the flash of my teeth.
The swing in my waist,
and the joy in my feet.
Men themselves have wondered
What the flash see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.”
I’ll wrap this up with my favorite quote by her:
“I am a feminist. I’ve been female for a long time now. I’d be stupid not to be on my own side.”
Audre Lord is already pretty well known as a lesbian radical feminist but I want to speak about her positions a little more in depth! I want to post the full version of her iconic quote, which I read a lot in rf circles:
“Those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older – know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths. For the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master's house as their only source of support.”
Lorde was born to an immigrant couple in NY, and legally blind.
She shared this quote about her upbringing:
"Let me tell you first about what it was like being a Black woman poet in the '60s, from jump. It meant being invisible. It meant being really invisible. It meant being doubly invisible as a Black feminist woman and it meant being triply invisible as a Black lesbian and feminist.”
In the 1970s, after spending most of her years working as a librarian, she began working with the Women’s Institute for Freedom of the Press, a non-profit that connected women and woman-owned media. She then helped found SISSSA (Sisterhood In Support of Sisters in South Africa) to help black women affected by apartheid.
She shared these interesting quote about the problems with “feminism” which I think really rings true today:
“There are three specific ways Western European culture responds to human difference. First, we begin by ignoring our differences. Next, is copying each other's differences. And finally, we destroy each other's differences that are perceived as "lesser.”
“Women are subject to particular assemblies of oppression, and therefore all women emerge with particular rather than generic identities."
In 1981, Lorde helped found the Women’s Coalition of St Croix, which offered assistance for women who survived sexual assault and domestic violence.
Here are more of my favorite quotes by her:
“We can sit in our corners mute forever while our sisters and ourselves are wasted, while our children are distorted and destroyed, while our earth is poisoned; we can sit in our safe corners mute as bottles, and we will still be no less afraid.”
In one of her last books, she wrote this about the importance of calling herself a lesbian:
"If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive."
It must be noted that Lorde had strong criticisms of aspects of the second wave movement. She pointed out that “the literature of women of Color was seldom included in women's literature courses and almost never in other literature courses, nor in women's studies as a whole.”
When asked later In life if she still felt that way, she stated:
“Things are slowly changing and there are white women now who recognize that in the interest of genuine coalition, they must see that we are not the same. Black feminism is not white feminism in Blackface. It is an intricate movement coming out of the lives, aspirations, and realities of Black women. We share somethings with white women, and there are other things we do not share. We must be able to come together around those things we share."
These difficult conversations are more important than ever. Here’s how to overcome the roadblocks.
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In America, approximately 3 women are killed by a spouse, lover, or partner everyday.
In recent years, 53% of these women are black.
Black women are 4x more likely than their white peers to be murdered by a lover and 7x more likely to be killed when pregnant than white women.
Why is this? How do race, class, and gender intersect to create this reality? Let's discuss black women and intimate partner violence
Officer Daniel Holtzclaw who, after having been convicted of 18 counts of counts of rape and sexual battery has been sentenced to 263 years in prison.
Women, particularly women of color, are too often on the receiving end of abuse – not just from men in general, but specifically from men claiming to love them, or men who are supposed to be protecting them.
For thirteen women in Oklahoma City, that man was Officer Daniel Holtzclaw who, after having been convicted of 18 counts of counts of rape, sexual battery, and assorted other crimes against black women he was targeting, has been sentenced to 263 years in prison.
And the world rejoiced. Actually – the world hasn’t done much of anything, which is a huge problem. According to a BBC News story on the trial from November 2015:
The story was huge when it broke, so local FOX25 reporter Tom George was surprised when he walked into the courtroom for the first day of Holtzclaw’s trial last week.
“The first week, it was almost empty,” says George. “I think there was an assumption that it would be packed.”
There has also been minimal national media attention for the trial, as pointed out many times on social media, sometimes with the hashtag #BlackWomenMatter.
Some of these are meant as compliments to black women — but they've got roots in some awful stereotypes. It's about time we put an end to all of the ignorance.
1. ‘You’re so pretty for a black girl.’
Just three years ago, an evolutionary psychologist at the London School of Economics claimed that black women were naturally unattractive in a blog post at Psychology Today.
Despite the obvious pseudoscience related to “testosterone levels” and fat-shaming black women for having curvier figures than average, the author isn’t alone in this line of unfortunate reasoning.
In fact, this attitude still pervades many aspects of society, especially regarding dark-skinned black women.
This supremely backhanded compliment first and foremost suggests that all black women are ugly.
Not to mention the condescending notion that the woman you’re speaking with is a rare exception to a rule that only exists in the first place due to prejudice.
Next time, just drop the qualifier and offer a genuine affirmation of a black woman’s beauty — without the racist tropes.
2. ‘I want hair like yours.’
No, you don’t.
How often do you get to see this? In the media, queer women of color are often invisible, and we know that's a shame. Boosting visibility can break down stereotypes, show the endless beauty of love between women of color, and empower more women to know they're worth celebrating.
So here are 25 stunning photos of black queer women to make you swoon.
If you are exhausting and hurting Black and non-Black people of color around you because you won’t take “no” for an answer when you request labor from us, you are no better than the “other white people” you are attempting to work against.
If you claim to be allies dedicated to fighting systematic and individual racism, you need to do better. Remind yourself on how to be an actual ally!
r questions to interrogate as you engage with people of color and their labor:
1. Are you asking or demanding?
Many white people who approach Black and non-Black people of color for labor do not ask for our labor — they demand it from us.
Asking someone to do something leaves it open-ended with space for the person to say no. For example, the question, “If you are available and able today, would you like to _____?” is entirely centered on the other person’s needs, ability, and desire to do the request.
Demands back people into a corner. Demands make people afraid to turn you down.
I’m sure you don’t want to make people feel that way, so here is a guide that breaks down the difference between asking and answering, the consequences of both, and how to do them.
The most common opening for a demand that most white people don’t even realize is a demand is, “I need.”
Of course you have needs, but is it necessary that you consistently go to people of color, who also have needs that are systematically denied to them, to help you? Are you potentially putting them into a corner where the labor they provide might inadvertently harm someone else?
With limited access to mental health services in most low-income communities, more than telling our kids we love them, we also have to normalize showing them.
Most times, subtle signs of trauma and even cries for help present themselves in the most inconspicuous ways. With a lack of mental health services in many communities, if we’re not paying attention, we can miss them.
The other day I figured I’d stop by my nephews’ Facebook walls to let them know I loved them. We’re a family full of Cancers. (the Zodiac sign known for being loving and nurturing). So, it’s not unusual for us to be all mushy on social media.
Under the “I love you” post on my oldest nephew’s page, one of my little cousins asked, “Did something happen to him?” and that immediately broke my heart because, to me, that’s a trauma response.
My little cousin is a 15-year-old Black boy, sweet as can be, and he spent a lot of time with my nephews during his childhood. For him to assume that something bad may have happened to someone he looked up to because of a loving social media post is problematic.
Behavioral health professionals and paramedics on Street Crisis Response Teams are handling non-violent mental health calls instead of police under a San Francisco Department of Public Health pilot program.
We need to outwardly express love to our loved ones
Let me get this out the way real quick–y’all, we have to normalize telling our people we love them, especially our young ones, especially considering the lack of mental health services in our communities.
Tenderness is often treated like “oversensitivity” or weakness – but these wonderful insights show how being tender with ourselves and others can be exactly what we need.
Whenever I come into a new space, there’s always a sense of nervousness and anticipation.
From the time I was small and up until now, I was painfully shy in new settings, took time to come out of my shell, and struggled to relate to other folks my age.
Finding community that looked like me was even more challenging, which made finally finding it that much more meaningful.
I remember the excitement of entering spaces with activists, artists, youth workers, and queer folks of color after a lifetime of not seeing myself reflected anywhere else. I came to realize that much of my earlier silence and shyness came from not being allowed to bring all of myself where I went. But when I discovered sacred community, walls slowly began to come down.
I have connected with fierce activists and chosen family in whose presence I am made better. Like most relationships worth having, being in community is not always (or often) easy. In my circle are people who challenge me to grow, who will collect me when I need to be collected, who expand my political and world views, and who actively live the principles of love and tenderness. (In other words, #squadgoals.)
“Tenderness” is something I write about a lot because I’ve always been called tender or hypersensitive, and up until recently I wanted very badly to change that part of myself.
Tenderness is often seen as frailty and as a weakness, especially in the violently oppressive context we live in. But when it comes to building true and sustainable communities of oppressed people, it is a virtue.