Not all oppressed people are aware of their oppression. Also, the tone in which white-people cast non-white in their videos is the issue. Are the non-whites being used as props? Are the whites appropriating a culture they don’t belong to?

Thank you for replying Mel! It makes more sense now!



pas-ti-che said: Hey. I saw your question. the problem isn't that they were non-white dancers. The problem was that the artists that you named used them more as props in their videos/performances. Does that make sense? I can send you some links with sources to explain further.

I understand what you mean! I was wondering if it was something like that. Sort of like objectifying them as a race? 

Thank you for replying! :) 

Can someone explain to me how/why a white performer having non-white dancers in their videos is racist? (ie. Miley Cyrus, Gwen Stephani, Jessie J., etc.)

I’m not trying to say it isn’t. I’m just trying to understand why it is. In my head I think, if a non-white person is asked to perform/dance/etc. in a video, and they consent to it, then how is that bad? If the person knows what they are being involved in racist, why would they even be in it?

Like, if someone asked me to perform in something, and I thought it was showing something ableist, I wouldn’t agree to do it.

I’m obviously missing something, and I need an explanation, so I can understand!


mellonmaddow:

thereclusivenomad:

The City is Dead. 
It’s like the prickling at my skin is the murmur of the city and the weight on my back is the sound of the train speeding by. The lights are out of focus and the faces all blur together and I walk down the street with no place in mind, just the kind of aimless walking that happens when you suddenly feel alone in a city with millions of people crawling over you like ants on a fallen piece of candy on the sidewalk. I don’t belong here anymore. None of the people I see look familiar. Everyone wears upon their bodies the mold they slowly constructed for themselves while they watched television shows about the city they dreamed of moving to in whatever shit town they called home in Middle America. Now they’re all characters in the deleted scenes they’ve created for themselves and there’s no one to yell cut so they continue the pretense that they fit and no one knows the truth about them—that they’re all a bunch of bland field folk living on a dime just to say they live in this town… this god-forsaken piece of shit town. The door is my enemy. The key is my killer. I wield it, and I don’t want it. The press of the outside on my chest, the mocking glint in the eye of the sky that knows how weak I am, the taunting looks of the pigeons that can fly away, the judgment of these faceless, nameless, artificial people who crawl over the city like the decay they announced with their arrival. This city hates my guts. I hate it in return. I hate how easy it rolled over and got fucked over. I hate how fast it whored itself out for cash and a cute smile. It’s a carcass filled with white shit and delusions and I have no use for it and it has no use for me. The weight on my back is the sound of the train speeding by. The prickling at my skin is the murmur of the city as the faceless masses walk by. I don’t belong here anymore.

New post on my writing blog.

mellonmaddow:

thereclusivenomad:

The City is Dead.

It’s like the prickling at my skin is the murmur of the city and the weight on my back is the sound of the train speeding by. The lights are out of focus and the faces all blur together and I walk down the street with no place in mind, just the kind of aimless walking that happens when you suddenly feel alone in a city with millions of people crawling over you like ants on a fallen piece of candy on the sidewalk. I don’t belong here anymore. None of the people I see look familiar. Everyone wears upon their bodies the mold they slowly constructed for themselves while they watched television shows about the city they dreamed of moving to in whatever shit town they called home in Middle America. Now they’re all characters in the deleted scenes they’ve created for themselves and there’s no one to yell cut so they continue the pretense that they fit and no one knows the truth about them—that they’re all a bunch of bland field folk living on a dime just to say they live in this town… this god-forsaken piece of shit town. The door is my enemy. The key is my killer. I wield it, and I don’t want it. The press of the outside on my chest, the mocking glint in the eye of the sky that knows how weak I am, the taunting looks of the pigeons that can fly away, the judgment of these faceless, nameless, artificial people who crawl over the city like the decay they announced with their arrival. This city hates my guts. I hate it in return. I hate how easy it rolled over and got fucked over. I hate how fast it whored itself out for cash and a cute smile. It’s a carcass filled with white shit and delusions and I have no use for it and it has no use for me. The weight on my back is the sound of the train speeding by. The prickling at my skin is the murmur of the city as the faceless masses walk by. I don’t belong here anymore.

New post on my writing blog.


7 notes | Reblog
1 day ago

The Killers, I repeat, THE KILLERS are coming to my city in July!

You don’t even understand the significance of this.

I’m excited.


4 notes | Reblog
1 day ago

I hate having anxiety. I want t just feel normal, but it’s feeling so impossible lately.

I started crying yesterday when I had to decline an invitation to have dinner with my family, because, in my head, if I left my apartment I would have a panic attack.

I KNOW my anxiety is irrational, but at the same time it’s still there telling me “don’t go you’ll have an attack”.

It’s just so frustrating.


This baby does not care that he’s a royal. I love it!

(Source: obsessedwiththeroyals)


134,475 notes | Reblog
2 days ago

(Source: sensible-swag)


45,806 notes | Reblog
2 days ago

Ruby Bridges.

In 1960 (54 years ago) when she was 6 years old, her parents responded to a request from the NAACP and volunteered her to participate in the integration of the New Orleans School system.

Bridges describes it, “Driving up I could see the crowd, but living in New Orleans, I actually thought it was Mardi Gras. There was a large crowd of people outside of the school. They were throwing things and shouting, and that sort of goes on in New Orleans at Mardi Gras.” Former United States Deputy Marshal Charles Burks later recalled, “She showed a lot of courage. She never cried. She didn’t whimper. She just marched along like a little soldier, and we’re all very very proud of her.”

As soon as Bridges entered the school, white parents pulled their own children out; all the teachers refused to teach while a black child was enrolled. Only one person agreed to teach Ruby and that was Barbara Henry, from Boston, Massachusetts, and for over a year Henry taught her alone, “as if she were teaching a whole class.”

Every morning, as Bridges walked to school, one woman would threaten to poison her;because of this, the U.S. Marshals dispatched by President Eisenhower, who were overseeing her safety, only allowed Ruby to eat food that she brought from home. Another woman at the school put a black baby doll in a wooden coffin and protested with it outside the school, a sight that Bridges Hall has said “scared me more than the nasty things people screamed at us.”

The Bridges family suffered for their decision to send her to William Frantz Elementary: her father lost his job, the grocery store the family shopped at would no longer let them shop there, and her grandparents, who were sharecroppers in Mississippi, were turned off their land.

She has noted that many others in the community, both black and white, showed support in a variety of ways. Some white families continued to send their children to Frantz despite the protests, a neighbor provided her father with a new job, and local people babysat, watched the house as protectors, and walked behind the federal marshals’ car on the trips to school.

She is now chair of the Ruby Bridges Foundation, which she formed in 1999 to promote “the values of tolerance, respect, and appreciation of all differences”. Describing the mission of the group, she says, “racism is a grown-up disease and we must stop using our children to spread it.”

In 2007 the Children’s Museum of Indianapolis unveiled a new exhibit documenting her life, along with the lives of Anne Frank and Ryan White.

image

On July 15, 2011, Bridges met with President Barack Obama at the White House, and while viewing the Norman Rockwell painting of her on display he told her, “I think it’s fair to say that if it hadn’t been for you guys, I might not be here and we wouldn’t be looking at this together.

(Source: mellonmaddow)


40 notes | Reblog
3 days ago
sophiecash:

Cake face #makeup #Macmakeup #macface #bluehairdontcare #bluehair #pinknouveau #photoshoot

sophiecash:

Cake face #makeup #Macmakeup #macface #bluehairdontcare #bluehair #pinknouveau #photoshoot


249 notes | Reblog
4 days ago

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