Sans titty

By which I actually DON’T mean that the average white would call me a nigger to my face outside the lofty confines of a reasonably anonymous account or an anon ask in my inbox. They find themselves too vulnerable and me far too scary for that in most situations. And after all, they’re a GOOD person, who has evolved past racism! In fact, I bet they’re fixing their mouths to say that I’m ACTUALLY racist towards whites, no matter how well spoken I may be (and then to slap on anon to call me a spearchucker, pedophile, and whatever else they can reach for to make themselves feel better).

No, the average white finds themselves beyond such base defoulments of their mouths such as “the n word”, such things that leave them open to the potential of losing jobs, social standing, a few teeth if they get punched out, and more (if caught in 4k, anyway). And yet,

The average white is racist.

The average white will avert their eyes and walk faster as cops harass us, the average white gets uncomfortable when we don’t know our place, the average white would’ve voted for Obama a third time, the average white ignores resumes with “ethnic” names, the average white gets the same jobs with a high school degree as a Black person does with a master’s, the average white just thinks that Black woman was being a bit aggressive, the average white person just thought that group of Black kids were thugs scoping out their neighborhood, the average white votes against ending slavery in California, the average white is very concerned about the Black jogger caught on camera looking around an open construction site, the average white actually votes overwhelmingly Republican, the average white says they aren’t racist because they haven’t called anyone a nigger since they were 12, the average white just thinks that Black trans woman dressed to go out might’ve been a prostitute soliciting in their neighborhood, the average white trans person just thinks that Black trans woman might be a danger to her siblings, the average white doesn’t know why only one Black person attended this 30 person meeting in a 50% Black city, the average white is attending a very very sad vigil for us while making sure to intimidate the Black girl they hate who showed up, the average white is very offended that you brought up Emmett Till because they’re an antiracist from Mississippi, the average white isnt sure about the details but reblogged the third harassment campaign this week like their grandmama took picnics at lynchings, the average white thinks the police serve a needed function in society beyond “slave catcher”, the average white thinks they’re one of the GOOD ones who might’ve done a bad thing here and there, the average white thinks they don’t benefit from the structures of white supremacy that have subsumed the world and are choking the life out of everyone else,

The average white is REAL fucking racist and too terrified of what that means for them to do jack shit about it. Too scared of the ostracization, the potential loss of even a fraction of privilege, the fear of experiencing even a modicum of what the rest of us go through if they betray white solidarity, white supremacy.

The “teachable moment” is to get off your ass and start doing shit. If you can’t be the new John Brown, fucking copwatch, read abolitionist/womanist/transfeminist literature and figure out how to apply it to STOP JOINING FUCKING DIGITAL LYNCH MOBS YOU FREAKS, do you have any idea how much WE could do if we didn’t have to deal with you LITERALLY CONSTANTLY doxxing us, harassing us, trying to SWAT us, driving us to literal insanity? Fuck, sending a racialized disabled and/or trans person other than me $10-$20 to eat a real meal or get meds is more praxis than like 90% of what y’all do.

And no most of y’all ain’t any lower on the list than white benefit, don’t play now.

You know what it feels like to be in a community of

135 million

And the only people who answer my fundraisers are people more poor and broke than me?

There are MILLIONAIRES on this fucking site. ONE of you motherfuckers could make it where I never need to ask for money again. I'm so fucking close to standing on my own two feet it's not even funny and yet my fundraiser sits empty unless I come here screaming and starving to death

And when I do get donations I feel like shit because it's usually from people who can't afford to give and they're starving themselves.

MEANWHILE THERE ARE FUCKING MILLIONAIRES ON THIS SITE WHO DON'T DO SHIT

"Oh but if I give to you, I have to give to everybody"

If you hit me with that shit, you are showing yourself to be living fucking proof of my claim that rich people are fucking stupid.

You could give to me and NOBODY else. Let me get on my feet and I'LL fucking give to people when I'm selling more books.

"Oh there's just so many, I don't know who to choose to give to"

Fucking SOMEONE

"Oh but I already give to charity"

Those charities don't go to fucking NORWAY because everybody assumes Norway has all kinds of money, but they don't fucking take care of their people AT ALL. You gotta fucking beg the government just like you gotta beg on Tumblr with the same arguments. Except they want all your personal information too because they won't believe you on your word. As if they don't already know what the fuck the truth is while they're fucking SPYING ON EVERYBODY.

This shit is intentional. And holding black people down is STILL part of the system even by the very people who swear they want to tear the system down.

AND IF YOU'RE DEAD BROKE, YOU'RE NOT THE ONE I'M TALKING ABOUT

Because those are always the only fucking people who respond. "I'm sorry Mihai. I would give more. I really would. But I'm starving. Please don't be mad at me."

I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU

I'm talking to the fucking actual celebrities here. I'm talking to the heads of industries. I'm talking to actors and publishers and writers who have already been far more successful than me. I'm talking to engineers who are project managers and executives sitting your ass on Tumblr I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS.

THAT'S who I'm talking to. Stop hiding behind "I don't know who to choose" and choose fucking SOMEONE.

A few weeks ago, a small but higher-than-normal number of accounts were mistakenly suspended. The suspensions were quickly reversed, but our response wasn't good enough, and we want to say more.

We're sorry it took us this long to address this. Trust and safety issues are difficult to discuss publicly, and we can’t share details about specific individuals or how our systems work without exposing Tumblr to bad actors. But caution led us to say too little, too late.

We’ve heard from members of the trans community on Tumblr that they were disproportionately impacted, and that deserves a direct response. According to 3rd party researchers, Tumblr’s userbase has the highest proportion of LGBTQIA+ folks on social media, so it makes sense that when something goes wrong, those communities might feel that disproportionate impact.

One thing we want to emphasize is that we do not moderate people's identities. We moderate behavior. We know that identity shows up across a Tumblr profile in many ways, from followed topics to the flags people put in their bios, and more. However, these signals play no role in how our moderation systems make decisions. We monitor those systems for evidence of bias and take corrective action when we find it.

We understand that the communications sent to affected users, and our broader silence to the community, didn't meet the standard people expect from us. That feedback is fair, and we apologize. We've updated the messaging sent to people impacted by these incidents. We are also overhauling our process with a goal of responding to mistaken suspension appeals within 24 hours, and have instituted an ongoing internal review of how suspensions and appeals are handled.

Going forward, we're committed to finding a better balance: being more transparent with our community about issues that matter, even when we can't share everything.

Tumblr belongs to everyone. We take that seriously, and we intend to earn back your trust. We are not afraid to have tough discussions with you or make updates based on your feedback, though on occasion, it might take some time.

To the people whose accounts were affected, and to the members of our trans community who felt targeted: we are truly sorry.

a small but higher-than-normal number of accounts were mistakenly suspended

Two hundred within five minutes.

The suspensions were quickly reversed

Some suspensions were reversed.

We’ve heard from members of the trans community on Tumblr that they were disproportionately impacted

Correction. All members harmed but one were trans women, specifically, not just "members of the trans community".

We moderate behavior.

All members terminated were terminated after following one specific blog, created a few hours before. The "behavior" you moderated was following a trans woman's new blog.

However, these signals play no role in how our moderation systems make decisions.

Then explain why trans women are disproportionately banned on false grounds. What happens if someone gets mass reported by transphobic userrs? Why have you chosen to restore the account of a kiwifarmer, known hate group, and ban yet more trans women? Explain your decisions.

We are also overhauling our process with a goal of responding to mistaken suspension appeals within 24 hours, and have instituted an ongoing internal review of how suspensions and appeals are handled.

Going forward, we're committed to finding a better balance: being more transparent with our community about issues that matter, even when we can't share everything.

Since this event, trans women have been terminated at greatly accelerated rates, on more and more openly false grounds. Their appeals have been denied often without any human oversight, recieving a denial within seconds, or not recieving any answer.

To the people whose accounts were affected, and to the members of our trans community who felt targeted: we are truly sorry.

Every white is white before they’re anything else. People of color get taught this as a warning from as early as we can understand it, like how for Black folks we get taught the cops ain’t there to help us. When the chips are down, whites WILL betray us for white solidarity unless they’ve done more active training against it than most whites have ever thought to do.

My blood boils every new story I hear of another trans woman of color who’s gone through what I have, knowing how close we already are to each of us being just another Black girl, Latine girl, Native girl, Asian girl, gone. No lasting memory of us beyond a vigil and a news article with the wrong name and pronouns.

Individual whites might put in the work, but I will never forgive whites as a whole for everything they’ve put us through even when they knew better, when they knew what they were doing, when they decided their comfort was worth–Poof! Another Black trans girl gone.

(cw blood)

he/him for the mouse boy, Hitch.

"don't ask us what happened to that black neighborhood in 1985"

The “last” non-prison chattel slaves known to be released in the US were released in the 1960s. Like 5 years before the civil rights movement. My (Black, tbc) dad was born while other Black folks were still enslaved. I’m only 29.

Speaking of my dad, he was part of bussing and desegregation as a high schooler. Note again, I’m only 29.

There are still schools being desegregated as recently as the past decade. Not just redlining, etc. literal “we don’t let Black people in these parts” type segregated schools.

I’ve met multiple Black folks, including myself, who were functionally enslaved to a white at some point during their life. We weren’t legally their property via contract/deed but that didn’t stop her from hunting me down like a fucking dog across fields and through alleys while I tried to escape her with nothing but the clothes on my body.

At least 200 sundown towns are known to still exist in the US. For those who don’t know, cities where “the sun better not go down on you in (city)”. Because if you’re Black you won’t be seen again. Lotta Black folks outside cities know at least one family member or friend’s family member who got caught near one and disappeared.

MOVE Bombing in Philly, 65 predominantly Black homes destroyed to kill 13 Black separatists, half of them kids. In the past decade it was discovered two of the bodies weren’t returned to the families and ended test cadavers in multiple universities.

Tulsa race massacre

I was not originally invited to speak, but heard last minute that someone else had fallen ill and was giving up their slot, and begged white organizers through the grape vine to let me speak as a Salvadoran migrant and union steward who came to the US at age 7.

I have long been soured of going to so many rallies and felt alienated that they were allegedly for or about my people, but that no one had thought people /like/ me exist - we are still here! There are migrants in your work spaces and neighborhoods and organizations, we have stories and labor songs and speeches to share, we are marxists and labor organizers and have reasons to speak out too.

But seldom if ever do you hear our music or faces or voices near the banners. Instead of Tigres Del Norte we heard Bella Ciao, and none of the singers knew the Italian words or bothered to even translate them, so they sang nanananananana, instead of the powerful lyrics that maybe meant something once to someone somewhere. Instead of Somos Más Americanos we heard Don’t Worry, Be Happy.

Instead of a Salvadoran woman who wanted to speak to the American union workers about the Banana workers unions, we heard from a dozen white people about democracy, and justice, and the constitution, and no one was warned about what would happen if they marched down the street from the park to the ICE facility. They fully expected everyone to come back and complete the second half of the rally.

Instead, marchers with their dogs and children were tear-gassed to hell and back the second they dared get close to the facility, maybe at best 1/3rd of the marchers returned while the rest were bottlenecked towards ICE. There was little to no water to treat the untrained protestors. I returned to the rally quickly realizing I could not get caught up at ICE, knowing who I am and what awaits me.

When I got back a chorus of smiling white faces sang a silly song like a Christmas carol with their heads bobbling, reading the lyrics from some handed out papers. White people with upside down flags cheered. Then a black woman in overalls abruptly got on the mic and said “Well thank you everyone but we have to close the program early because people are getting tear-gassed, please get home to safety righty away,” - and I swore I couldn’t believe my ears.

They had brought us all here, marched all these people down to the ICE facility, and expected us all to march back without encountering teargas? And then when some people had made it back they had them sing a little jingle but turned the one migrant away? I begged them to let me speak for the three minutes I had allotted, noting that I had put myself in serious danger to come out here today. That I needed to be heard just this once, and that all the white people had their fair turn to say many unrelated things, and to sing many unrelated songs.

She said, “you don’t understand, there are children down here,” and I had to say “you don’t understand, there are children in the camps.”

And she tried again, “yes but the gas is spreading,” and I said “yes we have been down here being gassed for six months, don’t you understand?”

She blinked twice and told me they just had to break down. I watched from the sidelines as they continued to blare Caribbean Blue and smooth jazz while people filtered out, stood around talking, chatting - finally I said, “please let me speak, you still have speakers going, it’s been 20 minutes,” and the DJ, a white elderly man in a sweater vest who had a strict “only the classics” policy that seems to actually mean “no hip hop and no curse words,” - barked at me that he had to break down and to help him take down his canopy. I am no maid, so I did not listen. He then turned to my comrades and told them to take his canopy down, which they did not. Then turned to his two other labor organizers who were not paying attention, and they took a leg of the canopy and moved it somewhere without breaking it down.

And one looked at me and said quietly, “it’s okay, take that bullhorn no one will notice,” and we took it and ran.

And we ran to a firetruck which I climbed, and I gave the speech, which was in fact more than 3 minutes, sorry not sorry, to a crowd of workers who were slowly pouring out from the ice facility, some stopping, some going, some who heard me, some who didn’t. And I gave it there and it was the only speech most of these people will ever hear from a migrant in all of this, and I think that is tragic. But I firmly believe that had I not given it, had I not climbed the truck, had I not taken the mic, some people would have never heard this story at all. And I think very much you should hear it. And I hope you will share it, if you have the chance. And I hope I get to tell it again, someday, to people who actually listen, to the masses who came to actually support immigrants, and not just to the dredges after they’ve been gassed and are running for shelter while I’m coughing myself.

This is what I had to say.

Olivia: I came to the United States when I was 7 years old. And I became a citizen when I was 20. But I am on this stage to ask: if you will give me 3 minutes of your time, *cough* I will give you 300 years of American History that has been taken from you.

There are five crops that changed the world as we know it. Bananas. Coffee. Tobacco. Sugar. And Cotton.

First grown by slaves in the New World, these crops all happened to also grow in a little bean-shaped country that my parents lived in near the Caribbean called Cuzcatlan, ‘The Land of Precious Things.’ It would be renamed El Salvador in the 1800’s. 

But the precious things remained after the name changed. And the people were captured, and they were forced to work for pennies on the dollar to dredge the precious things from the soil, and the sea, and the mountains, and the sand. Cuzcatlan was not precious just to us, you see. It was coveted by the Americans. And once they saw our jewels, they would never be satisfied again. 

The people suffered. And how we suffered! Dying in the fields, raped by their masters, buried in the shining black volcanic sands, their blood fertilizing the crops.

Of Bananas. Coffee. Sugar. Cotton. And Tobacco.

Until one day, the people of Cuzcatlan said, ‘We can bear it no more.’ And they broke their shovels in half, and they plunged the stems into their masters, and they rode through the streets on their masters’ Spanish horses, and they cried out that Cuzcatlan would no longer belong to the American companies that demanded their precious things without paying precious prices. Perhaps, soon, those business leaders would learn to negotiate for the labor and crops they so needed.

And the Americans? The Americans could not stand it! They would not abide such a story be told. And so you never heard it! The American companies, and all of their corporate masters came down on Cuzcatlan, with a fury seldom seen before. They killed everyone.

Instead, you heard a story about “Communists” and “Terrorists” in Central America, spreading a disease that would destroy your country and families. You heard a story that we have no good will towards you. That we wanted you to starve, that we were lazy, and formed gangs, and were lawless, and wore weapons to sell you drugs and fund terrorism. 

But you never heard the story of Cuzcatlan, because it was a sad story, and sad stories do not sell fruit, and coffee, and cigarettes!

No, they came to my country, and they wiped out entire villages. The Archbishop, Don Remar - er, Don Romero, himself, was shot by the military during his Sunday Mass, for having dared to wonder whether the workers deserved some mercy. Assassinated for having dared to wonder, and he was left bleeding on the pulpit, even as worshippers bowed their heads. 

EVERYBODY was KILLED. 

EVERYBODY! The women, with their children still in their arms. Anyone looking for cover; people who found cover, people who didn’t. People who worked, and people who had no jobs. Communists. Catholics. Those who didn’t know how to read, those who didn’t know what labor rights were. Simple folks. Smart folks. 

And they didn’t stop there. They went through the countryside, and they killed everyone they thought was hiding labor organizers or communists sympathizers. Banana union men and women, who they labeled terrorists. And in one village, we still only speak about in whispers, called “El Mozote.” The Americans tied women and children to trees, and they threw their babies in the air, and they shot them. Everyone was killed, to send one message, and that is: “A union is a threat to the American Empire. Not one union man or woman will hide in your village, or any other. And if you hid one here, now or ever, you will never breathe to hide one again."

And I tell you this because I am you from the future. You and I, all of you, are very much alike. You worked very hard to buy the precious things you have from the ground, the sky, the water, and the aether. You all wrote stories, you filed insurance policies, you taught children, you rung people up, you made sure whatever sorry system they had worked, not because you believed in it, not because you wanted it, but because it was all you could do. 

And in exchange, they offered you cheap bananas. Coffee. Sugar. Tobacco. Bananas.

But I will tell you a secret. They were never cheap. They were precious. And so are you. 

And they stole you, and they stole us, and they stole it all, and they told you: if you look the other way, you get to be satisfied and at least well-fed. But who can afford the luxuries of cigarettes or vapes or groceries anymore? Even that is being taken from you. And even if you have them, your food or your small pleasures won’t satisfy you. Not more than knowing the truth about Cuzcatlan, not more than knowing the truth about El Salvador. Today, where our precious land once stood, they built a concentration camp called CECOT. And not just for our precious things, our people, but yours. Your citizens, your dissenters, your unwanted disappeared into the hole that America built. 

And what will we do when they start building incinerators at the camps? What will you do when they open up mass graves? 

For our people, the most precious gift of all: do not take my warning lightly. The story of Cuzcatlan is not just from the past. It is from the future. The workers face the same enemy, and the enemy never had your interest in mind. From the moment they had you, the plan was to have a worker. From the moment you existed, it was to create another soldier against the people of Cuzcatlan and the rest of the world. You were a commodity to them. 

But we have written you a new future. One in which we no longer point guns at each other. One in which our billionaires fear the land of precious people from learning they are no longer precious things. 

Turn to me now! And tell me you will not forget the last three minutes. You will never again be ignorant of this story. And you will not let it happen here. You will close the camps. You will destroy ICE.

Spectator: Yeah! Olivia: You would rather have seasonal bananas or never see one again than have it covered in blood. 

Spectators: That’s right! Yeah! 

Olivia: You would rather trade fairly with other union workers than kill your fellow man, wouldn’t you? 

Spectators: Yes! Olivia: Tell me you love me, and that our fates are tied! Tell me you’ll stop them from dragging me down from this place, and I’ll never let them do to you what they did to us. I promise. El pueblo unido…

Spectator: JAMÀS SERÀ VENCIDO!

Olivia: Nunca será vencido. Amen.

I know I stuttered a bit, as I had just been gassed, as it took place not but 400 feet maybe from the Portland ICE facility.

One correction among many tiny ones:

“You worked very hard to /ply/ the precious things you have from the ground, the sky, the water, and the aether.” - And that work, it is very precious.

L + Minstrelry bc 90% sure this is a cracker pretending to be nonwhite via Yakubian Devil Vernacular English + come off anon privately OR publicly if you actually nonwhite and we can have a discussion.

I got other shit going on and I forgot about that entire kerfuffle same day bc my activity feed is hell. I literally typed it up while waiting for a train in the metro station and then went back to playing spider solitaire. Not every rebuke is a callout or someone seeking your death on the Internet, and I explicitly stated I didn’t think she was some horrible person or even being intentionally ableist in her arguments.

Sometimes you will just be wrong on the internet and that is ok. Sometimes you will say shit that hurts other people because you have not unpacked your own internalized shit, and that is ok. While the survival of transfemmes is often presented on a predication of perfection, we cannot truly be perfect and there is no level of respectability we can achieve that will save us. We *cannot* do no wrong and that is not a moral failing on our part.