Until I read your article, it had not occurred to me that there would be people who wouldn’t see the value in instilling a sense of pride in a child’s racial identity… least of all, parents who were adopting transracially. I can only hope those parents heard the message from that class – racial mirrors are essential in helping a child form a secure sense of identity.
So you’re headed home for the holidays. Leaving Los Angeles, or New York City, or D.C. or another city where numerous men have recently been accused of sexual harassment – so really any city. You’re used to the usual questions from Uncle Arnie: “What celebrities have you met?” “How can we get on the Ellen show?” “Castle was cancelled. Do you know who I talk to about that?” But this year’s going to be different. This year Uncle Arnie wants to know if you’ve ever been in a hotel room with Harvey Weinstein
John Grisham doesn’t write about this shit. The gripping murder mystery about the young black man shot multiple times in his car by a police officer doesn’t become a New York Best seller. It does not become a best seller because there is no happy ending. There is no climax. The jury doesn’t find the defendant guilty. There is no justice. There is no peace.
Rockette Women's resident photographer, Erica Djafroodi, chronicled the Women's March on Los Angeles in photos. For more of Erica's photos check out ericadjafroodi.com.
On Saturday, almost 4 million people in more than 600 cities in the United States and across the globe gathered to tell the Trump administration, “We are watching. We will not sit down. We will not shut up.” The Women’s March on Washington and its sister marches were the biggest inaugural protests in history. The crowds were bigger than anyone expected – even the organizers.
The crowd, the solidarity, the tongue-in-cheek signs gave each of us a much-needed jolt of hope. For many this was the first time since Election Day that despair and disappointment were not the primary emotions aroused in response to the election. There was an enormous amount of positive energy in the crowds yesterday. It was palpable. It was electric. It was nourishing.
As your final days of your presidency come to a close, I have been conflicted with many emotions. I’m uncertain where the time has gone and what the future holds. One thing I am certain of is how thankful I am for you. You see, I’m not very good at sending thank you notes (hello 2017 resolutions!), and I’m sure you’ve received so many, but here’s my shout into the void.
They tell me
the air in Syria smells like blood.
That with each breath,
you feel the hands of martyrs wrap themselves around your neck.
You choke on their lost lives.
Taste the chemicals that slayed them,
the bullets that killed them,
the fires that burned them,
the knives that stabbed them,
the bombs that ripped their bodies apart,
spreading their limbs into the corners of your own body as you breathe
in and out, in and out.
I’m white. I grew up surrounded by white people. So when it came to learning about race in America and my role as a member of the privileged race, not only did I have no opportunity to stumble into awareness by interacting with people who were different then me, but none of the white people around me were in a position to teach me either. Fast forward a couple of decades, and I’m a 28-year-old that tries every day to explore my biases and understand my privilege. I’m woke. But I have no idea how I stumbled into wokeness, because I had no one to teach me. So many of the people I grew up with did not get woke, and it seems like complete luck that I encountered the people and experiences that taught me what I needed to know about race in this country. If I can understand my own journey, perhaps that will help me speak convincingly to less woke white folk.
No more. I'm coming out. I'M A GODDAMN DEMOCRAT BLEEDING HEART LIBERAL AND I'M MAD AS HELL. I spent this entire election shaking my head and saying "this can't be real. This will never happen". Welp. It's here. It happened. A man who doesn't believe in global warming, a man who publicly mocked a disabled reporter, a man who has intimidated and harassed women for the entirety of his career has been elected as president of these great United States.
“What it would mean to you to see the first woman president elected?” I asked my mother. “It would make me proud,” she simply replied. She described how important it was to her grandmother, a woman who was in her mid-20s before she legally gained the right to vote, that women exercise their right to vote. With her grandmother’s voice in her head, my mother instilled in me that we have a duty to honor the work of our foremothers by voting and protecting this right for future generations. I vote because my great-grandmother wasn’t born with the right to vote. I vote because women died fighting for my right to do so.