Latest Posts by supportourgoddesses - Page 3

Dear Allies, 

Thank you for helping others. Thank you for supporting the people with less than you. Thank you for supporting gays as a straight person. Thank you for fighting racism as a white person. Thank you for being a feminist when you’re a dude. Thank you for caring about deprived communities when there’s no one else to help. Thank you for caring, and acting on that compassion, when you could easily turn your back. Thank you for helping when you know the risks the haters pose. Thank you for knowing you have to do something when no one is telling you there’s a fight you must join. Thank you for reading and listening and helping our fight for a better world.

Don’t listen to people who tell you that you don’t have a place, that you’re ignorant or appropriating. You are learning and you are trying and that goes farther than you think. You are helping those who have been shut down because their own efforts sometimes aren’t enough. You are aware of where you’ve been placed in society, and you are aware of the position of others - not everyone has all the rights you may have.  You are everywhere, and it’s your job to use your voices for good. Make our world a safe space. Thank you for loving - it does not go unnoticed.

Bayard Rustin was an American civil and gay rights activist, a leader in the social movements of socialism and nonviolence, and the founder of organizations such as the Congress of Racial Equality and the March on Washington Movement. He was an openly gay black man, Martin Luther King Jr.’s right hand man, a pioneer for equality even before the Civil Right’s movement - and he has been erased from history.

Bayard was born in Pensilvania in 1912. He was raised by his grandparents, only later learning that his older “sister” was actually his mother, having gotten pregnant at 16. In the 1930s, he studied at two historically black colleges, and briefly joined the Young Communist League. During World War II, he fought for racial equality in war-related hiring, and was sentenced to two years in jail for refusing to register for the draft. In the ‘50s and ‘60s, he played a huge role in the Civil Rights movement, the organization of the March on Washington, and advising MLK. He died of a ruptured appendix in 1987. 

Bayard was arrested over 20 times in his life for both his work in activism, and for being openly homosexual. Throughout his career, he faced backlash from allies and enemies alike for being open about his sexual orientation. He is an inspiration to us all for his work as an activist, organizer, and leader, never apologizing for being who he was.  In 2013, President Barack Obama granted him the Presidential Medal of Honor for his groundbreaking work - Bayard’s lifelong partner, Walter Neagle, accepted the award on his behalf.   

October 11 is National Coming Out Day! Happy day to all those in or out of the closet - you are valid no matter what. I’m grateful we have a day to recognize these milestones, both in our lives and as members of the LGBT+ community.

 (P.S. I know I’ve posted like three times in less than a week, but allow me to lower your expectations to once a week updates. For my sanity, il mio amore)

Happy Monday - I hope you’re enjoying your day off. This weekend, I was with my mom and brother up in Wells, Vermont, staying in our modest family cabin for a few nights. On Saturday night, the nearby Larson Farm hosted their annual Columbus Day weekend party, with friends and townspeople coming in for a potluck, dance, and auction. My family and I have been going up for years. 

After everyone had grabbed some dinner and apple pie, the patriarch of the farm, Rich Larson, stood up on a wagon and explained to us the premises of the auction. He’s told the same story every year as long as I can remember: Over a decade ago, a young man from Uganda had come to live with him and his family. One night at dinner, Rich was asking him about his home, and the Ugandan education system came up.Their guest explained that school in Uganda is free - however, a family would need to purchase a school uniform and basic supplies to actually be able to enroll their child. For primary school students to get the necessary goods, that’s 35 US dollars; for a secondary school student, that’s around $60; for university, it’s $100. With those steep expenses, most families were unable to send their child to school. (Those prices have gone up in the past decade. These are relevant to the story, though with my addled memory I might be getting them wrong too. Go do some additional research if you’re interested.) 

  Rich and his family wanted to do something about that. So they joined the Uganda School Project, and every year since they’ve had an auction to send the money to families and students in Uganda. Paintings, farm antiques, plants, hats - it’s all on the table, and Rich’s son does that entertaining auctioneer voice. I stood with my mom in the crowd, still not allowed to bid, but watching with excitement.  At one point, Rich’s daughter and someone else got into a bidding war over two floral watercolors - the price went up to $250 dollars before the friend at the back of the crowd won. That night, over $3,000 were raised - all to go directly to the fund. 

  Rich told us in the barn that “The way we’re going to reach world peace is if everyone in the community is self-reliant and self-sustainable, and the best way to get to that point is to provide everyone with a good education.” Everyone cheered, and that was definitely a source of motivation that evening. Even better, one of the items actioned off was actually made by a university student from Uganda - after graduating, the young man had started his own business weaving prayer rugs, and making sandals out of old tires. The best part? His $100 tuition was payed by the money raised at the auction a few years back. Rich climbed up on the wagon next to his son to tell us that we were responsible for that young man’s success. 

  When people near and far get together to help others and better their communities, what is achieved benefits everyone. Rich Larson was absolutely correct in his message about world peace - education is the single most powerful weapon that can be used to better the world. And for those of us already blessed with that tool, it’s our job to give that same gift to others - just what the Larsons and their guests have been doing for over a decade. If a single farm in a tiny Vermont town can put dozens of kids in school each year, what impact can this blog have? Or you, for that matter?

The Netherlands - 2001 ~ Belgium - 2003 ~ England - 2003 ~ Wales - 2003 - Spain - 2005 ~ Canada - 2005 ~ South Africa - 2006 ~ Norway - 2008 ~ Sweden - 2009 ~ Iceland - 2010 ~ Argentina - 2010 ~ Portugal - 2010 ~ Denmark - 2012 ~ New Zealand - 2013 ~ Brazil - 2013 ~ France - 2013 ~ Uruguay - 2013 ~ Luxembourg - 2014 ~ Scotland - 2014 ~ Greenland - 2015 Finland - 2015 ~ Ireland - 2015 ~ USA - 2015 ~ Colombia - 2016 ~ Germany - 2017 ~ Malta - 2017 

A recap of which countries have legalized same-sex marriage and when. Did some of these nations surprise you in their decision? Maybe you were thinking of some of these countries as more culturally conservative - sometimes, for better or worse, politicians misrepresent their people’s real wants or interests. I know that’s true, such as the misrepresentation of Americans by our new administration - but I told myself I wouldn’t get political. 

Same-sex sexual contact is illegal in 74 countries, and many others still contain stigmas against the LGBT+ community. While progress is always being made, certain examples of homophobia divide us even more. The murders, tortures, and outings of gay men in Chechnya have continued. On October 4, the United States sided with Saudi Arabia, Egypt, China, and other countries to vote against the United Nations act to ban the death penalty for homosexuality. In Egypt, on September 26, a group of young concert-goers held up a rainbow flag to represent homosexuality. They were later charged with “public indecency” and “contempt for religion”, among other things. 

  People, these hateful and homophobic actions must stop. Homosexuality is not, and must never be, something that is scorned or punished in such brutal and horrendous ways. Stories like these are all over the news these days, and it is absolutely our job to discuss them and their causes. October is LGBT+ History Month, and as compassionate, conscientious members of society, we have to stay aware not only of dates and places, but of what the community has to say about itself and it’s members. 

  We love. We are literally being imprisoned and murdered for loving people. How dare this glorious world call itself all that it is, when such hate and ignorance are filling my feed? What must we do so our children will feel that much more comfortable to love the people they do? 

  Educate yourself. Speak up for others. Stop the hate.

“Words have the power to change the world, and that realization inspires me everyday.” ~Amanda Gorman

I went to a mosque! We took a tour, saw some cool architecture and rooms and stuff, and asked a Muslim woman a bunch of questions. We sat and listened to her explain stuff in a room dedicated to prayer, with rugs and everything. Really interesting, I recommend that everyone try and learn about Islam at a mosque if you can. The woman talked for a while, about the five times of prayer, about Ramadan, about the Quran and a lot of very interesting facts and tidbits about the religion in general. I wish every Islamaphobe could hear what she had to say: Islam truly is a beautiful and peaceful religion. I felt very calm and attentive in the quiet, airy, open-door room. 

 Here are some things our tour guide explained to us, which I thought I’d share with you: yes, they are about feminism. 

 When people pray at a mosque, which is optional, there are separate rooms for men and women. This isn’t because women aren’t allowed to interact with men as inferior, but to protect them from *cough* unwanted attention. If not in the same room, women usually have their own rows or sections: not b/c they aren’t allowed to interact with men, but because when kneeling and praying, you are shoulder to shoulder with the people next to you. No woman necessarily wants to be that close to an unknown man during prayer. Women usually are behind the men as well. That isn’t b/c they are inferior, but because no woman wants a guy checking her out while she kneels or places her forehead to the floor. It’s to protect them, not prove they have less of a worth. 

The Hijab isn’t a symbol of oppression for women, contrary to popular belief. It represents modesty, which applies to both men and women. They are humble if they wear a headscarf, though not all do. I can see some nitpickers like myself argue “Well, why do women have to show their modesty with the hijab when men don’t have to wear anything extra?” I don’t know, but that presumed inequality is countered by the Quran phrase "Say to the believing men that they should lower their gaze and protect their private parts. This is more purer for them. Indeed Allah is Well-Aware of what they do.”(Sarah Nur: 30). So really, neither sexes are permitted to flaunt their sexuality. It’s all good, people. Most muslim women cover themselves head to toe in thick, flowing clothing, so that no skin shows. This isn’t b/c they aren’t supposed to show themselves or flaunt their sexuality, though that is part of it. When women go out in such an outfit, they are telling men that they are not to be judged for their body. Their physical form is reserved for their family members, and outside men have no right to it. It’s Muslim feminism.  

In the darkened corner of a spicy club, two people. Green skirts and navy tees. He ought to be focusing on his band members, the drums and claves and maracas and musicians with the music in their soul, pumping out a rhythm that sparks those high-up lights meant for Navidad. The noise will wake the neighbors’ kids, whose mother works long hours in a bustling sweatshop, the noise and voices holding no joy like the sunshine of the meringue band. She works hard for the children she has raised, and to keep them away from the fascination of her home in La Vibora.

The lights are bright and warm: not blinding, calm like a happy day. He can just avoid the spotlights shining on him and his friends, who practice long and play longer, drink and have fun and remember what their mothers taught them. The women on the block, the one’s too young to be raising a child or a husband, scoff and assume they will flirt. Uncertainty.

It is loud and hot and sexy, but no one feels threatened. It’s just fun, and those who know each other know. Xenophobia, like in the rest of the neighborhood, where all are foreigners in La Ciudad de Nueva York.

In the darkened corner of a spicy club, two people. He leans in, singing along to her. His cowbell sharp and sassy like the slips and flicks of her fingertips. She pays him no mind, her curls and lips and hips smiling for no one but herself. Dark chocolate shards and caramel brooks. Bubbly and laughing, taunting him. Caution, but intelligent humor.

Quick feet, flashing eyes. Wink, smirk, arched brow, blissful eyelids.

She is dancing fast beside him, her movements all her own. He will not contain her, and she will not indulge. The hard-working Mexican, her eyes bright as the muddy mangoes her father brings home to her, telling her the stories and memories of his childhood with the family’s orchards, lush before fire took them, and his family starting new and happy until fire took her, and left him with a daughter who is slipping away to a better future, that girl who is slender in a green dress, her long curls churning, her feet outpacing his self-esteem. Friendly, platonically, and he doesn’t take the blow.

Her voice clear, singing along to the rhythms, she won’t give him any satisfaction of hearing her voice compliment his cultures’ words, the sunshine of a music that others mistake for merengue, when Puerto Ricans have a culture all their own, and stereotypes are easy, especially for a young man who wanted more as a descendant of slavery, who felt trapped in a place like that, whose differences keep her wondering. Wondering like the histories of his skin that differs from the music that is like sunshine. Subtle in the darkened corner of a spicy club.

Sleeveless green like los flores, navy tee shining behind eyes like estrellas. Loving wisdom hidden by twinkling humor, shining down on simple happiness.

Xenophobia, racism, hostility, friendzone? Feminism, she dances.