India: Not a Prop Bag

At a peaceful protest outside of Jack Trice Stadium in Iowa where Donald Trump was to make an appearance, a young Latino holds up a sign that reads: “Our lives end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Two white girls decide to walk through the crowd, and one unleashes her barbaric behavior and gets cheered. She should’ve got her fronts snatched that day.

A white poet used an Asian pen name to get published

“This wasn’t the start of another Internet spat. What Minaj did was necessary and even radical. She was refusing to apologize for wanting to be visible and rewarded like her peers. She was calling bullshit on the audacity of a white woman, who has, in the past, responded to people of color with indifference while she bastardizes their language, hair, dance, and visual aesthetics. Minaj did what a lot of black women want to do: call out people when they try to render you invisible, when they try to render your pain insignificant.”

For members of the “Lion King” generation like Swift, African landscapes continue to embody this rich tapestry of flora and fauna, where Africans only occupy the periphery of complex portrayals of lions, elephants and their white saviors. But I can’t blame Swift for following a long history of Hollywood’s obsession with white settlers in colonial Africa.

From Academy Award-winning films such as “The African Queen”  and “Out of Africa” to Vogue style spreads like the “Chronicles of Keira,” Western pop culture rarely offers any insight into Africa’s colonial past beyond the common trope of white colonial romance. Rarely do films, fashion or pop music problematize these scenes of privilege, or portray the complex ways Africans resisted and ultimately overthrew racial colonial hierarchies.

Hijras of Pakistan, Bruno Morandi

That’s actually a very good question. Is some random white YouTube blogger looking at their old B2K poster, and then decide to incorporate it in to their look?