Joseph Weinberg & Michael Biernbaum, Conversations of Consent: Sexual Intimacy without Sexual Assault (via cocknbull)
Unsurprising food for thought..
Dear White People (2012)
DEAR WHITE PEOPLE follows the stories of four black students at an Ivy League college where a riot breaks out over a popular “African American” themed party thrown by white students. With tongue planted firmly in cheek, the film will explore racial identity in “post-racial” America while weaving a universal story of forging one’s unique path in the world.
So here for this.
[This is like the sixth draft of this. The first draft was the best, but when I tried to post it Tumblr was all like HAHA NO FUCK YOU, YOU DON’T GET TO SAY THINGS and I lost it. Lost drafts a few times because of site glitches. Anyway, here we go.]
I am white. I am really, really white. Most of my ancestors come from the British Isles; those who didn’t came from Germany and France and Norway, and were all also very white. I can get a sunburn in December with 85 SPF slathered fucking everywhere.
I don’t discuss race very often, because frankly I don’t think about it much. I don’t worry about whether or not I appear racist because I assume that my actions will speak for themselves. I don’t give a fuck about your ancestors. I don’t give a fuck about what you look like. All I care about is who you are; what you do and how you do it and what you say and how you say it. But since this is titled “Dear White People”, and I am white, I am forced to conclude that you are addressing me.
So, I’ll respond to all of your statements in order:
I currently have no close black friends. I happen to live in a place where whites and Hispanics greatly outnumber any other ethnicities, so I am statistically more likely to find white and Hispanic friends. As it turns out, my closest friends are white (one is half Jewish, so there’s a little diversity). This was not a conscious decision, merely how the dice landed. I have never specifically sought out someone black so I could make friends with them. Does that make me racist?
My weed comes from many sources, none of whom are black or named Tyrone. Your automatic association of black people, named Tyrone or not, with illegal activity is actually pretty racist in and of itself.
I would never touch someone without their express, or at least implied, permission. People do that? What the fuck? If your hair is different from mine, yeah I might be fascinated by it, but that’s not racist. Lots of people find all sorts of hair fascinating, and wanting to get acquainted with the texture is not a sign of condescension. It’s a sign of being interested in hair.
Anyone who claims that any kind of music makes them practically whatever is a moron and I do not appreciate being lumped in with morons. “Ooh, I listen to Aboriginal music, I’m practically an Australian native myself! Ooh, I listen to country/bluegrass, I’m practically white!” No. If some white people do claim this, I hope you’re slapping them. If black people are claiming that country makes them whiter, I hope you’re slapping them too.
The only kind of people who piss my family off are the kind who steal, rape, murder, or use drugs irresponsibly. If they were to get pissed off about me dating a black person, however, that would in no way delegitimize my relationship with that person, because I would never date someone for the sole purpose of pissing off someone else. That’s not dating, that’s using. Plus, just because someone’s parents are racist doesn’t mean they are. Assumptions, people.
I will NEVER STOP DANCING. So fuck you.
[EDIT: Someone messaged me and said “Someone’s going for the special cookie award. The film isn’t an attack on white people.” I would like to clarify that I am not attacking the film, I haven’t seen it and don’t know anything about it, it could be the greatest thing ever. I am just responding to the GIFs, which I interpreted as less of an attack on white people and more as an open letter, and honestly I wouldn’t have said anything if the last one hadn’t said “Stop dancing.” If you don’t like the way I dance, don’t watch me. Telling anyone not to dance is fucked up.]
um the bolded paragraph.
let me just tell you something. this weekend, as in TWO DAYS AGO, i was sitting in my mother’s kitchen and my sister’s white friend, WHO HAS MIXED CHILDREN, walked up behind me and said “ohh can i touch your hair” AS SHE TOUCHED IT. clearly not actually wanting permission because she did it anyway before i could say a damn thing. yes this actually happens. it happens a lot. and it’s not a compliment. its a sign of a reality in which my personal space is negated by white people’s morbid curiosity with the other. that’s not a sign of being interested. it’s insulting. the fact that you don’t do this doesn’t dismiss the fact that this is a reality for many black and brown people.
Yeah, people touch my hair all the time.