Cosimo Galluzzi

izzy's playlists!

⁂
Sade Olutola
almost home

@theartofmadeline
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
h
trying on a metaphor
Peter Solarz
No title available

shark vs the universe

PR's Tumblrdome
wallacepolsom
todays bird
No title available
Cosmic Funnies

ellievsbear

roma★

No title available
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from South Korea

seen from Spain

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Iraq

seen from Iceland

seen from United States
@thehalfbreednation
One more time. In case it’s still unclear.
400 years ago white people brought black people over here and enslaved them. And sold them. And treated them as less than human. For 250 years. While white men built the country and created its laws and its systems of government. While 10, 15 generations of white families got to grow and flourish and make choices that could make their lives better.
And then 60 years ago we made it "legal" for black people to vote, and to be "free" from discrimination. But angry white people still fought to keep schools segregated. And closed off neighborhoods to white people only. And made it harder for black people to get bank loans, or get quality education or health care, or to (gasp) marry a white person. All while another 2-3 generations of white families got to grow and pass their wealth down to their children and their children's children.
It DOES mean that we need to acknowledge that the system our ancestors created is built FOR white people.
It DOES mean that we aren't disadvantaged because of the color of our skin and it DOES mean that we owe it to our neighbors-- of all colors-- to acknowledge that and work to make our world more equitable.🖤
BLACK LIVES MATTER!🙏🖤🙏
(Copied and pasted), please do the same!
Rape Culture, U.S.A.
I’m. Fucking. Mad.
This is not the original idea I had for my second piece, but as life so often does when you make plans, certain events have unfolded to make anything I meant to say before seem pretty fucking irrelevant. I’m hurting. I am hurting to the point where I can barely see straight or think past my next move, because if I let my guard down for even a minute, I think I’ll probably lose any semblance of control I have gained on my emotions. I’m done. I am done pretending to be OK.
Rape Culture USA
Show of hands how many women currently reading this have been raped or sexually assaulted? Probably quite a few of you. I have. I have been molested, I have been taken advantage of when I was too drunk to see straight, and I have been coerced into consent for fear of my safety. In fact, according to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center 1 in 5 women have reported being the victim of some sort of sexual assault. That’s 20% of the women you know. Twenty fucking percent.
We live in what is affectionately known as a “rape culture.” What does that mean exactly? According to the Marshall’s Women Center rape culture can be defined as:
An environment in which rape is prevalent and in which sexual violence against women is normalized and excused in the media and popular culture. Rape culture is perpetuated through the use of misogynistic language, the objectification of women’s bodies, and the glamorization of sexual violence, thereby creating a society that disregards women’s rights and safety.
Flattering description, huh? But all too accurate. All over the country we learn about different college campus scandals, from MSU to Penn State. Coaches and students who are successful or have high potential get their transgressions swept under the rug in order for a winning season. Brock Turner was given a light sentence for intentional drugging and raping an unconscious girl because he had “an outstanding previous record, and a very bright future.” Our teen movies and dramas highlight partying in excess as the golden rule of youth and acceptance. The idea that “boys will be boys” is overused and often oversimplifies the things we let our young men get away with. Our concern in society is not for the trauma of the women and victims, but for the young men who were swayed to act so foolishly out of ignorant adolescence.
And it doesn’t end there. Did you know the average woman who goes on a first date plans it with coordinated precision of a black ops mission? It’s not about the date. We could care less where you take us, we just want to get home alive. Someone knows when I arrive, will check in through out to make sure I’m still breathing, and I will text again when I leave and finally when I arrive home and have locked the door. These are the precautions the AVERAGE American female has to take to protect herself. All over the US bars have secret menu’s for women in distress, so that they can ask for help without alerting their would-be attacker.
Is it any wonder the president of the United States of America has been elected despite his obvious lack of respect and objectification of women? He is the walking validation every man needs to believe he is well within his right to use and abuse a woman without a thought to the potential consequences.
Victim Shaming
I recently had a friend end up in a date rape situation. While out with friends, and under the influence, she was taken advantage of. What’s sad is, that even as I write this, I can think of multiple women I’ve met who this story applies to. Myself, among them.
The first thing out of her mouth was, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have put myself in that situation.”
Fuck. That.
No. No. No. I should be able to get drunk off my ass and do the Macarena naked while walking backwards in the middle of street without having to worry about getting assaulted. Is that behavior appropriate? Of course not. But does that behavior give anyone the right to put their hands on me in a way that I don’t consent to? Absolutely fucking not. But we hear it. Every. Day.
“She obviously wants that attention if she’s dressed like that.”
“She was all over him, how did you think he would react?”
“She was asking for it.”
“Who would honestly put themselves into the position for her.”
And my personal favorite, “If it was so bad, why didn’t you leave?”
Until recently in Washington state you could use fear and disgust as a defense to get out of killing a trans-person. In most of these cases, the trans-person who was murdered was transitioning from male to female. I often wonder, how many of these women, after being violated question their transition? It’s hard enough to live in this world as transgender, without realizing as a woman you are subjected to a whole different subset of violations and rules for safety.
Doctors offices have coded pens for women who are doing urine samples. If you are in a domestic violence situation, and your partner is present, you can use a different color pen to quietly alert the staff. Recently a woman in Florida was being held hostage by her boyfriend and was only able to get help by convincing him to take their dog to the vet. While checking in, she slipped the receptionist a note asking her to the call the cops and explaining that her boyfriend was armed.
And why do we have to go through all this secrecy? Why do we have to have a secret network of friends and/or entrust our safety to strangers? Because we live in a rape culture, women are guilty until proven innocent. From Supreme Court Justice Kavanaugh to the teacher in the Midwest who mentally and emotionally abused his victim by placing love notes in her dogeared version of Twilight, again and again we watch society tear apart these women before thinking twice about the transgressions of the men involved. Again, and again we see these women’s character put under the microscope even more so then the accused. And for what? A slap on the wrist if there is a conviction? The humiliation of being dragged through court process and potential media attacks, regardless if you see justice or not.
Is it any wonder so many women remain silent?
And please don’t forget the men and children, too
Currently the Epstein story is getting rave reviews on Netflix. There’s also a current movement to get MAP’s, or Minor Attracted Persons, added to the list of different sexual orientations. The same 2010 study that found 20% of women had been victims of sexual assault also found that 1 in 71 men are also victims. Again, with children and men, these cases are often not reported. Not only because children have so few people to turn to, but in culture that shames victims of rape both children and men are often too afraid to speak up. Too ashamed. It is not just women who are victims of abuse and sexual violence, we’re just the most common.
Change must come. NOW
All around us groups are uniting to fight the systematic racism and oppression of different minority groups and classes in the U.S. In order for us to reach a state of true equality, WOMEN MUST HAVE A VOICE IN THIS FIGHT. Not just for our protection and safety, but also for the rights to our bodies. For the right to speak and be heard when we are victimized. To rid this country of the idea that a woman is only worth what her body has to offer, not her mind or her character.
There can be no equality, unless we are all equal. That includes ALL women, regardless of how you were born or the color of your skin; the size of your dress or the years you have earned through your willingness to survive in this hateful world. I see you, beautiful. I hear you, and I fight for us, too
No Justice. No Peace.
End Violence Against Women Now.
Domestic violence and sexual assault are not OK, and it’s not your fault. Free resources for those of you so desperately needing help:
https://www.rainn.org/about-national-sexual-assault-telephone-hotline
https://www.nsvrc.org/organizations
https://www.thehotline.org/
Major Sources Cited:
Three Women, Book by Lisa Taddeo
https://www.nsvrc.org/statistics
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minor-attracted_person
https://www.marshall.edu/wcenter/sexual-assault/rape-culture/
https://www.cnn.com/2018/05/27/us/florida-woman-escape-note-trnd/index.html#:~:text=Woman%20slips%20note%20to%20veterinary,rescue%20from%20boyfriend%2C%20police%20say&text=A%20woman%20in%20Florida%20is,staff%20at%20an%20animal%20hospital.&text=The%20note%20that%20Carolyn%20Reichle,read%3A%20%22Call%20the%20cops.
Say Their Names
First there was George A black mothers son "I can't breathe," he gasped Then there was one
Second was Rayshard Again film held the clue Shot for resisting and then there were two
Please don't forget Robert Lynched from a tree The Confederate fruit and then there were three
They are blessed to be named Millions of victims are not Murdered by the system Beaten, raped, lynched and shot
The country is DYING Racism; a festering disease Black. Lives. Matter. No Justice No Peace
White Enough
“You can’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not white.”
I was sixteen, in a Planned Parenthood, when I heard those words. I was filling out a medical form for the first time without adult supervision. To say I was terrified is an understatement. As they typically do, the form asked my race. Unthinkingly I checked the box for white. The girl I was with, we’ll call her Jane, was an Aryan wet dream. Blonde hair, blue eyes, Christian, and the only person I trusted to go with me on this rite of passage. My best friend. I have no doubt that as Jane corrected me, she was only looking out for my best interest and health. That her concern was genetics and not fueled by racist beliefs. Yet, I sat there, dumbfounded, and very, very, confused.
“But my mom’s white.”
My mother’s family can all be traced back to regions of the former Confederate States of America. Growing up in upper middle class, she wanted for nothing and lived a life of relative comfort and privilege. When she met my father through mutual friends, a Muslim merchant marine from the island of Sumatra, her Southern Baptist upbringing was not a concern. He was brown, Asian, and most important, not black.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean you are.”
Their relationship ended a few years after my birth. Due to my father’s profession, custody was never a question, and I lived a majority of my life with my mother and her parents. Although it was never spoken aloud, I’m sure my appearance was a relief. Despite being the spitting image of my father, my complexion was much closer to my mothers.
White enough, if you will.
And that’s how I was raised. I never questioned my whiteness as a child because for the most part, I looked like the people raising me, who were white. I accepted it as fact, as children do when they are taught by the adults they love and trust. It was this very love, trust, and acceptance that was exploited the first time I became aware of the racist undertones in my household and demanded an explanation.
By second grade most American youth have heard the names Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks. We are conditioned from a young age to believe that the Civil Rights Movement ended racism in the United States for ALL minorities, not just African Americans. So, while watching the 90’s sitcom classic, Family Matters, I was mortified to hear my grandmother question the networks ability to find so many talented colored people. I ran to my mother in tears because I was mortified. If my grandmother was racist, did that mean she hated my dad?
This is when I learned the word prejudice. My mother explained that my grandparents weren’t racist. Racists hated everyone. That was a word reserved for Neo Nazi’s and the KKK. My grandparents were prejudice, and only against black people. I was told it wasn’t their fault, that they were raised that way, and that they were too old to learn anything different. I distinctly remember feeling a deep pity for them. How could I be angry at them for their prejudice? They were raised that way. It wasn’t their fault. So, I accepted it and learned to look the other way. I looked away when my black friends weren’t allowed to sleepovers. I looked away every time I heard the work nigger from a mouth that was unaware of my presence. I conditioned myself not to see these things because if I didn’t acknowledge it, and it wasn’t hurting anyone, why embarrass them?
“Then what am I?”
In true human fashion, it took being directly impacted to make me open my eyes. As I got older it became more and more common for people to question my ethnicity, nationality, or just rudely ask “what are you?” More and more often my reply, “white…” got stranger and stranger looks, prompting me to explain that I was bi-racial. Typically, this would cause the other person to relax considerably and exclaim that they knew I wasn’t just white. It took only a few of these awkward occasions for me to simply tell people it wasn’t any of their business, or that I was a mutt, to avoid it. By my junior year, being spoken to in a myriad of different languages upon introduction was no longer “weird,” just embarrassing.
“I don’t know, but you’re not white.”
At home, it was what was on the inside that was being questioned. After the 9/11 attacks the atmosphere in my home changed overnight. Growing up, politics weren’t discussed. My grandmother worked as her pastor’s secretary for over 30 years and would only vote for pro-life politicians. As a firm Democrat, my grandfather was constantly frustrated that she wouldn’t look at the other issues. Now politics were discussed often, openly, and were pointedly anti-Muslim. I never thought that these issues applied to me personally, but to my father. When I defended him as not only a good man but an American citizen, I would always get the same speech. The same patronizing smile and evasive, vague explanations. My father, clearly, was the exception to the rule. I was too young to understand. Pushes for religious freedom in schools and a call for the removal of “God” in the pledge of allegiance seemed to only confirm my families growing belief that the liberals were trying to oppress white Americans and destroy the Christian faith. I blamed the internet.
“What should I write?”
With the election of President Obama things reached a fever pitch. My email was constantly filled with anti-liberal, anti-Muslim, pro-Republican articles and memes. While most of these were strictly propaganda or false news, several made very racist jokes or satire, and they all shared a single theme: That the Republican party was the only party that was willing to protect white, Christian, American values. After reading a lengthy, hateful, theory on how the president was a Muslim spy with aims to take down the U.S. from inside and murder all white infidels in their sleep, I had enough. I wrote him, sobbing the whole time, and begged him to either reconsider his opinion or to no include me in his hate mail.
“Just mark other.”
His response? That not only would he not stop sending them, but that he was afraid I had been lost to left agenda and needed to read these things and understand the risks to my country. That I was naive, and it was his job to educate me. That my personal feelings on the topic didn’t matter. When national healthcare was brought to the forefront of politics, I was constantly attacked for clearly not seeing the communist agenda to undermine our glorious American Capitalism. Although it was never spoken aloud, I could feel the resentment towards me building in my family. Gatherings, phone calls, all communication became more and more strained as I tried to respectfully keep my thoughts and opinions to myself to save face and remain an accepted member of my family.
With the Trump nomination and eventual win in 2016, I knew I was on borrowed time. The hate fueled campaign messages echoed the same fear of white oppression that I had read over and over in countless emails throughout the years. Trump winning the election single handed validated not only white nationalism, but the irrational fear of the Democratic agenda to oppress white, Christian, values. Each new Trump era atrocity was a point of near fanatical pride. When I raged about Hispanic children being torn from their mothers arms their responses were cool, calm, often repeated, regardless of the issue.
“If they didn’t break the law, it wouldn’t be an issue”.
“We have to protect American values from the radicals.”
“You’re white, too. Remember?”
While this may seem disturbing for some, for mixed children these conversations and experiences are all too real. Bi-racial and multi-racial children and adults all over the country, and the world are being forced to choose between the families who created, loved, and molded them. Choose, or risk becoming pariah for your lack of convictions.
On one side, the belief that all men are created equal regardless of race, origin, gender, or religion.
The other? Your blind obedience to the call of white, “American values” in the name of patriotism.
Shamed into silence, this is growing up mixed in America.
Welcome to the Half-Breed Nation.
All Parts Matter
It was the middle of the night, in a normal town, in a normal body, that the meeting took place.
As the body slept, a meeting was called to support the Breasts. They had recently undergone surgery to remove a large tumor and radiation was soon to follow.
As the different parts of the body congregated together, everyone took time to express their love and offer support however they could.
The Ears listened sympathetically as the Breasts recalled the traumas of surgery.
The Eyes assured the Breasts that they were still beautiful and always would be.
The Feet pledged to tread lightly in all things.
The Heart said simply: I love you.
Then the Pancreas spoke:
Yes, Breast Cancer is terrible, but it’s treatable. All Parts Matter.
After a long silence the Lungs replied: But we’re here to support the Breasts. They are in danger.
To which the Pancreas replied: Yes, but we are all important. All Parts Matter. We should be talking about Pancreatic Cancer. That’s a bigger problem. They’re just Breasts, anyway.
The Lungs, often jealous of the attention the Breasts received, nodded in understanding: It could be much worse really. Lung Cancer for instance. All Parts Matter.
After another pause, the Liver (who was quietly opposed to the new lifestyle restrictions enacted due to Cancer) spoke up: And Liver Failure. All Parts Matter.
The Brain, not willing to be out witted in any debate cried: DEMENTIA! You fools, if we should be afraid of anything, it is Dementia. We would be lost without my leadership! All Parts Matter, but really, I am the HEAD of this body. I do support the Breasts. I love the Breasts, really, I support you all. All Parts Matter, but don’t forget, that I am the Head. We will get nowhere without me.
Soon no one could be heard.
Chaos ensued. No one could agree which affliction was the most important, which cause in most need. In the uproar, The Breasts were soon forgotten by all but one.
Finally, the Heart spoke up: Yes, I agree, we are ALL IMPORTANT. However, the BREASTS are in danger. We need to support...
But before the Heart could finish, the Throat whispered
Conspiracy… Can’t you see? This all a plot to distract us from what’s really happening. The Anus has been trying to take over this entire time! He wants to discredit the Brain and sow discord in order to take over the Body and subject us to his shit! Don’t believe any of it!
There was a ROAR from the Central Nervous System. How could ANYONE attempt to dispose the Brain!
The Digestive Tract’s Waste Representative assured the body this was nonsense. If anything, the Throat was working for the Brain. Anyone can see that. Look how closely they were connected.
The debate raged on, and all the while the body slept.
One by one the Systems began to stop working together:
The Brain, fearing revolt, sent waves of pain and terror throughout the nerves, hoping to bring the other Systems to heel.
In response, the Digestive Tract went on Strike. The Senses, overwhelmed, quickly went into hiding.
Resources needed to battle the Cancer and the Infection were used by the different Systems to fight each other. As the resources dissipated, the different Parts all weakened.
One by one, each system broke down. One by one the Parts began to die. The Respiratory System, backing The Brain, did not even realize their own failure until the battle was all but over.
At last, it seemed, only the Breasts remained. Speaking quietly, for who was there to listen, they wept:
I only wanted the chance to live.
From the quiet dark, the Heart replied:
I see you and I hear you. Until the end I support you and love you. I’m sorry I could not save you, but I am here.
And together, united, the Heart and the Breasts watched the Body’s last dawn.
I am old enough to remember Asians being attacked in the streets for bring COVID to america. These are the SAME people who now believe wearing a masks is oppression.
For those who believe #BlueLivesMatter: Profession is a choice. Ethnicity is not. Until I can remove my skin color to stay safe, these things are not the same.
Anonymous
#BlackLivesMatter #HalfBreedNation #MixedInAmerica #SilenceIsViolence #EndRacismNow