Forget Blake

Rebellions don't need leaders, just scapegoats

949 notes

"I'll fucking cut you." Behind the scenes of the 1491s' segment on "The Daily Show"

abloodymess:

nikatronz:

jessehimself:

devices of power and privilege

The next morning, football Sunday, the three of us went to FedEx Field as part of the show. “The Daily Show” taped us wandering around the “Redskins Nation” tailgate, though that never made it on air. I, rather naively, thought maybe we’d be able use our presence at the tailgate as a way to showcase our humanity, and let the Washington Team know that there are Native Americans out there who are among them—real people not relegated to the eternal myth of history. Maybe we’d change a mind or two. Or, at least, maybe some ignorant hilarity could be caught on camera. It was worth a try, so with a camera crew following us, one little, two little and a third big Indian struck out into FedEx Field’s Redskin Nation tailgate.

That did not go as I’d hoped.

There were points during that hour-long experience where I actually was afraid for my life. I have never been so blatantly threatened, mocked or jeered. It was so intense, so full of vitriol that none of the footage ended up being used in the segment. I’m a big dude—6’1”, and a lotta meat on the bones. But a blonde little wisp of a girl completely freaked me out as I waited in line for the bathroom. “Is that shirt supposed to be funny?” she asked motioning to my satirical “Caucasians” T-shirt. And then she said, “I’ll fucking cut you.” Actually, she didn’t scare me so much as the wannabe linebackers standing behind her who looked like they wanted to make good on her threat.

On one level, I get it. I’m walking around with an ironic T-shirt on, being a Native in the middle of FedEx Field with a camera crew from “The Daily Show” nearby. But amid the jeers, mocking and threats, did I cry, and accuse them of ambush? No, because I knew what I was getting myself into. It’s “The Daily Show.” I know the format. More than that though, I didn’t back down or break down because I knew in my heart and conscience I was doing the right thing, as silly as the method may have been.

I think back to the tailgate: the man blowing cigar smoke in my face, the man who mockingly yelled, “Thanks for letting us use your name!”, the group who yelled at us to “go the fuck home,” the little waif who threatened to cut me, the dude who blew the train horn on his truck as I walked by the hood. I think of all of that, and I think back to O’Dell crying and trying desperately to get out of the room full of calm Natives. I thought she was crying because she was caught unawares and was afraid. But I realized that was her defense mechanism, and that by overly dramatizing her experience, she continued to trivialize ours. It was privilege in action. And as I realized these things, something else became incredibly clear: She knew she was wrong.

Don’t read the comments. 

(via willnobilis)

286 notes

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neutrois:

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(via theartoftransliness)

82,377 notes

thecatalier:

flagget:

keatonpickles:

trevorabarber:

deltasandshields:

wat

I love this toss so much. And it’s actually really easy to do.
You lay the silk flat on the ground and put the (in this case paper/glitter) on the silk near the pole. Then roll it up until it’s all covered by the rolled part.
When you toss the silk will unroll and release what you put in it at the peak of the toss.

wat

things go in flag, roll flag like burrito, clench tight until you toss, burrito goes poof, things rain down, pretty

thanks science side of tumblr

thecatalier:

flagget:

keatonpickles:

trevorabarber:

deltasandshields:

wat

I love this toss so much. And it’s actually really easy to do.

You lay the silk flat on the ground and put the (in this case paper/glitter) on the silk near the pole. Then roll it up until it’s all covered by the rolled part.

When you toss the silk will unroll and release what you put in it at the peak of the toss.

wat

things go in flag, roll flag like burrito, clench tight until you toss, burrito goes poof, things rain down, pretty

thanks science side of tumblr

(Source: iwhaleventually, via gryphynshadow)

172,468 notes

stem-cell:


rosalarian:

pourquoi-nutmeg:

nortonism:

The thing about this is that sculptures like these in art history were for the male gaze. Photoshop a phone to it and suddenly she’s seen as vain and conceited. That’s why I’m 100% for selfie culture because apparently men can gawk at women but when we realize how beautiful we are we’re suddenly full of ourselves…

YES.

Girls don’t let anyone tell you loving yourself is vanity.

“You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.” ― John Berger, Ways of Seeing

stem-cell:

rosalarian:

pourquoi-nutmeg:

nortonism:

The thing about this is that sculptures like these in art history were for the male gaze. Photoshop a phone to it and suddenly she’s seen as vain and conceited. That’s why I’m 100% for selfie culture because apparently men can gawk at women but when we realize how beautiful we are we’re suddenly full of ourselves…

YES.

Girls don’t let anyone tell you loving yourself is vanity.

“You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.” ― John Berger, Ways of Seeing

(Source: nevver, via tricolorarts)

100,044 notes

gryphynshadow:

First, they can’t be arsed to give the name of the “female writer”, who let us remember, has no other identifying characteristic other than what’s between her thighs. And then, I want you to watch the women staged around the clapping man. Look at their body language, look at where they look, how they hold their hands, how they lean over, how they keep their legs crossed so demure…

The hand over her mouth, to remind herself not to speak, the leaning forward, rocking over the arm across her stomach, the looking towards the other women to see what reaction to give, the overblown obvious laughter, the joining in on the clapping.

Look at the staging, this man standing surrounded by women, evenly spaced around him, as though he were the center, the gravity, the alpha and omega the opinion to set your course by.

They do not contradict him because to do so is unthinkable. They are arranged to compliment him, to flatter and support, not to have opinions of their own, not to speak their own words, but to echo and reinforce whatever he says. The “Female Writer” isn’t in the room, and she never will be in the room, because there is only Him, and his handmaids, and they will only say what has been approved ahead of time.

Even if they have to stifle their own voices, sit all in a row with legs crossed to constrain that evil femaleness between their thighs, even if they can only rock and applaud and agree…

Yes, we are here to be ogled, to be seen, to be consumed by you, the male; yes we are here for you, not for ourselves, not for our sisters, but for the male. 

Yes we are here to lie with a smile because the truth is too dangerous. The truth may set us free but the truth will also cut, and we can’t trust the men in our lives with our real opinions or our real thoughts so we just smile and sit and applaud.

(Source: sandandglass)