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.
Blogs I Follow
- Pamela Roberts et Ezechiel Lopemba de SIL en visite à FAVL-BF
- Someday you might like this song by Jason Molina, Farewell Transmission, but don’t go down his dark path no no
- Why did the South support the Federal income tax and the 16th amendment? because they understood the Progressive movement all too well
- Who I Am & Why I Am Where I Am by Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith
- Kathryn Schulz in The New Yorker, on WIlliam Kelley, a fantastic short essay
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