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Dear Trolls: Write Your Own GD Post

February 2, 2019 by Tess Leave a Comment

I write about racism and sexism quite a bit, and the touchiness of the subjects only seem to underscore why these are still such pervasive problems for us in this country. It’s always amazing to me that anyone living and breathing today can deny the existence of racism or sexism, but plenty of people do (why, hello, privilege, you oblivious devil, you), which is most of the reason I choose to feature these topics so consistently in my writing. Also, spoiler alert, I’m a black woman, and the intersection of gender and race happens to be my particular jam. Write what you know, as the old cliche advises.

As you might imagine, I get some pretty fun responses to my articles. In this case, fun is a convenient euphemism for disgusting, rude, racist, sexist. Etcetera. These less than witty replies are normally short and sweet, an attempt to devastate my argument in a way that normally just ends up proving my original point. Reading these kinds of responses always makes me cackle with self satisfied glee, because the commenter really doesn’t get it, and I find that level of absolute obtuseness amusing beyond reason.

But there exists another class of responses entirely. To be honest, I don’t actually read these responses in full, mostly because of how long they are. A short, grammatically incorrect insult that aims well high of the mark is hilarious and fun to read, mostly because it doesn’t waste that much of my time and provides much needed laughter. But a response that goes on for paragraphs — some seeming to closely follow the five paragraph model of writing persuasive essays that I learned as a freshman in high school — astound me. Why? To what end? Did you honestly expect me to read this novella and respond? Because most of my thoughts on the matter are in the original post, which you can reference to your heart’s content if you didn’t properly track my argument during your first reading.

Seriously, y’all, if your nasty response to my article or blog post is longer than the 700 words I originally wrote, how about you write your own goddamned post?

In light of this odd tendency, I’m just going to go ahead and put everyone on notice: I write because I have something to say and I want to share it. I actually do enjoy vigorous dialogue — in person — but the beauty part about writing is that I get to launch my opinions out in the digital ether and you can either read them or not read them. What you can’t really do is argue with what I’ve written down. You can let it simmer and change the way you think about the subject, or you can disagree with what I’ve said and move the fuck on, taking absolutely nothing with you when you go. But if you reply to something I write with an article of your own, you’ve just wasted your time. That’s a big fat TL;DR from me.

Ain’t. Nobody. Got. Time. For. That.

If you find that upsetting, don’t despair too quickly. There’s still a wonderful upside to the magical medium that is the internet: you can write what you want, whenever you want, and maybe someone will actually read it. How fabulous is that?!

If your impulse upon reading my 1,000 words is to reply with 1,000 snarky, densely packed words of your own, I invite you to kindly follow these steps:

Fully assess if this is the best place to leave such lengthy commentary.

Unless and until you perform step number one, don’t begin to reply to my original post.

Calculate the probability of your response actually being read (Spoiler: it’s 0%).

Kindly compile a list of pros and cons before you place itchy fingers on keyboard.

Only continue writing when you are sure you can keep any response well south of 100 words.

Fully edit your response to eliminate all spelling and grammatical errors.

Finally, highlight all and delete.

By carefully following my trademarked FUCKOFF method, you can save yourself so much unnecessarily wasted time and energy. Think of the free minutes suddenly opened up in your schedule that you would have spent throwing poorly chosen words into the wind.

You might be asking yourself what you should do if, after following my FUCKOFF method you still feel compelled to let loose a stream of noxious online commentary in hopes of putting an uppity black feminist in her place? Well, as aforementioned: WRITE YOUR OWN GODDAMNED BLOG POST.

It really is that simple. If I can do it, you can do it — maybe not as elegantly, but, you know, we can’t all be wordsmiths.

And if something I’ve written about racism or sexism has really hit you so hard that you find yourself enraged to a level that makes it impossible for you to let it go, maybe take a nice long look in the mirror. Sounds as though it was written with someone like you in mind. As always, reflection is your friend, as is personal growth…

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Filed Under: Activism Tagged With: activism, feminism, racial justice, racism, sexism, toxic masculinity

The Whitewashing of Dr. King

January 21, 2019 by Tess Leave a Comment

Over the past few years, I’ve been thinking about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. a great deal. Not just his legacy, though that’s part of it, but how that legacy has been received, how it’s been manipulated to fit a rapidly reconfiguring status quo.

We all have an idea of the kind of man Dr. King was, reinforced by the slow parade of teachers - from elementary to high school - discussing the salient points of his most widely known public address in which he talks about his dream for the nation and its black citizens. These formative years ultimately develop the lens through which we reflect critically on history. The old cliche is true, in that those with the power to write our history also have the power to shape how it will be packaged for future generations. Words are so powerful, even more so than memory, because once memory fades, words are all that remain to make sense of our communal past.

I’d submit that the view we have of Martin Luther King, Jr. is largely framed through glasses that have been whitewashed by those wielding the words through which history is passed down. We aren’t encouraged to see him as a revolutionary, as the radical catalyst of social change, as an end in and of himself. Instead, this formidable man is neutered and made safe by the way we’ve learned to view him today. He has become a means to society’s wider, and less noble ends. Even his words are dulled to suit purposes that are antithetical to the spirit of the movement he championed.

We never speak of Dr. King’s radicalism, which underpinned everything he did. We only speak of his civil disobedience, and only in a way in which that benign turn the other cheek mentality is indicative of his inherent humble nature. To accept violence without responding with violence is a heightened form of self control, a heightened form of obedience to the law, we’re told, from the time we first learn to read until the time we begin to formulate our own arguments, and society values an obedient negro above all else. A negro who knows his place. In this way, Dr. King’s words - sharp enough to cut through the complacency of his era when he uttered them - lose their meaning, and with it, their power.

A funny thing happens then. The microscope of history tightens its focus, eliminating the more troublesome aspects of Dr. King’s persona, and zeros in on what is most palatable to the wider - i.e. whiter - audience: a man who dreams of brotherhood, togetherness, and a world in which his little black children can hold hands with little white children. A world in which his very color can be whitewashed out of existence.

In retrospect, Dr. King is conceived as a benevolent figure, one behind whom every like minded white person would have proudly rallied. But this is disingenuous at best, straight up lies at worst. We only have to look towards the Black Lives Matter movement to see how the bulk of white folks would have responded to a throng of black people demanding freedom. We only have to look at the way Colin Kaepernick’s nonviolent actions are received by the general (white) public. These are protests that fully embody Dr. King’s call for nonviolent direct action, the kind of action that cannot be ignored. The kind of action that forces society as a whole to fully face the existence of systemic racism festering in all facets of American life. In this way, nonviolent action feels like a slap to the face. But Dr. King understood that this tension was necessary to create change, that waiting for equal rights to eventually arrive was a fool’s errand. Complete disruption of the status quo was essential because “freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

Change is born through upheaval. It isn’t comfortable, and it doesn’t fit the timeline of the oppressor. The March on Washington culminated with Dr. King’s most famous speech, and if I had a dollar for every time a white person told me that black people today should take what they mistakenly believe was Dr. King’s advice in the I Have a Dream speech, I would have enough to open a money market account with a competitive interest rate. These are the people who seem to forget that Dr. King’s protests often led to arrests. They forget that his protests were often met with brutal violence from the police. They forget that the boycotts for which Dr. King advocated brought entire cities to their knees. The man didn’t just have a dream, he had a plan, and white America hated him for it.

There are those who say Colin Kaepernick should just shut up and play. There are those who look disdainfully at Black Lives Matter activists, writing them off as criminals, thugs, ingrates. There are those who scoff whenever a person of color points out the network of systemic racism snaking up from the very foundation of this country to infect every institution, every social interaction. There are also those who see the injustices with clarity, but are content to remain silent as long as they are not directly affected. Many of these people hold Dr. King in high regard. Because he’s safe to venerate through those whitewashed glasses. He’s no longer a threat to the current social order. He has been fully assimilated into white American culture. His radicalism has been erased from our collective memory, leaving only the palatable parts of his legacy behind.

And, yet, Dr. King’s words in another, less widely quoted piece of writing still resonate, as though he wrote them only moments ago:

“I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: ‘I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action’; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a ‘more convenient season.’ Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”

I have paraphrased the above sentiment in many a conversation with all kinds of white folks, telling them that I was less concerned with the outwardly racist and more concerned with those who can’t understand the urgency of the current situation because they themselves are not at risk. Why stand with Black Lives Matter activists when you don’t have to worry about your black son, husband, or father being stopped by police and beaten or shot without cause? Why be uncomfortable for the seconds it takes a black NFL player to drop to one knee during the Star Spangled Banner when you can simply continue to exist within a cushy, disaffected bubble?

I have had white people tell me there are more important causes for which to fight. That racial justice can wait while we figure out these other, more vital matters. They seem willfully resistant to Dr. King’s ‘fierce urgency of now’. Because for those of us struggling beneath the heavy burden of systemic racism, there is no better time than right now to act, to fight, to demand the rights promised to all men and women in this country’s founding documents.

How can you read Dr. King’s words and not see his disappointment in the apathy of so-called white allies? In their unwillingness to truly invest in the struggle for freedom and equality for all? I feel that disappointment every day, and I worry it will turn into frustrated hostility, though Dr. King warns against that too, bidding us to never “satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.”

Dr. King kept from sinking into that pit of listless despair through his abiding faith that change would come, that people of color would be delivered to the Promised Land, though he might not live to see it himself. He advised: “oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself.” But this doesn’t come without struggle, without people willing to fight, even if it means losing their jobs, their freedom, their lives.
And the struggle continues to this day.

We don’t live in a post-racial society. The very idea is absurd, despite so many claims to the contrary. And a post-racial society is not what Dr. King was dreaming of in his famous speech. His dream was a country in which his blackness was no longer a liability, a barrier to access, a reason for him to be mistreated, jailed, beaten, or killed.

Those in charge of the present are also in charge of history, and they bend it however they like, weaving a narrative that suits the needs of the current era. In the here and now, the safe, whitewashed version of Dr. King is celebrated and oft-quoted. He receives his own day on the calendar filled with marches, breakfasts, and sermons in houses of worship.

Memory fades, and carefully curated words move in to fill the gaps.

Unless we decide to never allow ourselves to forget who this man really was. A member of the resistance. A revolutionary. An enemy of the status quo, creating such tension and discomfort that white America had no choice but to act.

And he paid with his life.

Honor Martin Luther King, Jr. by seeing him for what he truly was. And then see this country for what it truly is. A work in progress. A place where racism still runs rampant, though it wears many clever disguises. And accept that the fight for equality is ongoing, the torch passed from Dr. King to activists rallying under the Black Lives Matter banner, to those fighting for criminal justice reform, to those demanding to be seen and heard.

You can stand in the way of progress, or you can join the fight.

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Filed Under: Activism, Racial Justice Tagged With: activism, casual racism, racial justice

Good Riddance: On the Death of 2018

December 31, 2018 by Tess Leave a Comment

As the end of another year looms, I feel the familiar urge to reflect. You know, for the sake of auld lang syne. If, as the worn cliche states, life is a journey, this year was the part of said journey in which I veered from the road less traveled and into the actual wilderness. Here I am, bedraggled, checking the sky for familiar stars by which to orient myself, stumbling through the underbrush, thorns tearing at my clothing, smeared with dried blood and dirt. But I’m still pushing forward, powering toward 2019 as I contemplate the death of the old year and the impending birth of the new.

As always, approaching the precipice of a new year triggers deep reflection of the year that’s passing. This, in turn, triggers the desire to share what I learned, my struggles, and hopes for the days and months to come…

You can’t win them all.

I spent the year working on political campaigns, toiling for 80+ hours a week to get folks elected that I truly believed could change my state and country for the better. These were people for whom I was willing to bleed, sweat, and cry. After the fire that was this election cycle went out and the ashes settled weeks past election day, it turned out that there was more losing than winning, and some of those losses were crushing. I understand that this isn’t the type of work you do for a short while, that it takes a lifetime to create the lasting change you want to see in the world, but the losses still land like a sucker punch to the gut. After you recover your breathing, however, there isn’t much to do besides learn from what went wrong, celebrate what went right, and get on with the next initiative.

When all else fails, read.

I’ve been an avid reader from early elementary school, and, as I grew into adulthood, it was normal for me to read 75+ books per year, devouring them as soon as I could get my hands on them. There isn’t much I value above a well formed collection of words, and I’ve fallen into many a book that has left me breathless with the author’s fantastic prose. Even less earth shattering books will do, provided they can hold my interest.

In 2017, however, I found myself so nerve-shatteringly busy that I only read 2 books all year. I haven’t read so little for pleasure since I learned how to read. I was ashamed, dismayed, and determined not to repeat the mistake in 2018. I knew I’d be busy, so I set a modest goal of 30 books. I’m happy to report that I surpassed that goal by 7 books (working on number 38 right now). Next year, I’m shooting higher, and I plan to make reading a little every day (and not just articles about how the country is on fire) a priority. Reading calms the chaos in my head. I need it to live well. That’s something I had to relearn this year.

Not everyone on your side is a friend.

Democrats, y’all know how we are. We may be a big tent party, but say the wrong thing around the wrong group of Dems and you’ll be knocked out of that tent and onto your ass.

My home state happens to be one that had a very contentious gubernatorial primary, and, more broadly, many Dem incumbents were challenged in their districts by so-called ‘more progressive’ candidates. So, that created a perfect shit storm of division, hate filled rhetoric, grandstanding, prolonged character assassinations, and higher than thou pronouncements. Once the primaries ended, we were all supposed to go along to get along, and I think many of us did, but it damned sure wasn’t comfortable — like jamming your feet into a pair of shoes a size and a half too small. The constant sniping, back biting, and tearing down of other Democratic candidates created an environment similar to 2016. It would be a massive understatement to say that this was an extremely frustrating and exhausting experience.

I don’t know how we successfully move forward as a party, but I’m willing to commit myself to doing whatever it takes. However, I have come to understand that just because we are all Democrats doesn’t mean you give a shit about what would make life more equitable for black folks, for women, and for other marginalized groups. It’s depressing, but real. But the work must continue, even if the conditions make it difficult to stay positive and productive. That’s what happy hour is for, amirite?

Buy into selfcare or perish.

Selfcare isn’t some new age bullshit that can be written off with the roll of your eyes. I say that because I used to think of the concept in those terms. Being busier than I ever dreamed possible has quickly disabused me of those tired, narrow minded notions. There were many days that I woke up brittle and weary after a decent night’s sleep, simply because the exhaustion was all consuming and had settled into my very bones. To combat this, I created pockets of spaces that I used like temporary sanctuaries — dinner with friends, a movie with my folks, the quiet commute to the office or an event while I listened to an audio book in peace — and, next year, I plan to further carve out these pockets, to expand them into spaces large enough for me to fully occupy, if only for a short while. We need these spaces in order to go on being productive. And being an introvert only amplifies this need. This is yet another lesson I’ve learned the hard way this year.

You can figure most things out along the way.

How does a person go from never working on a political campaign to working on three in quick succession, the titles getting better and more responsibility-laden as she moves along? Well, there is a whole hell of a lot you can learn to do if only you’re willing to introduce nose to grindstone, set fire to your personal life (for a few months at a time), and jump all the way in, caution be absolutely damned. This is literally what I did this year, and, inexplicably, I found myself holding my own as I worked closely with people who have been doing this kind of work for years. I spent 2018 soaking up everything of value, pinpointing things that weren’t working, and then improving upon them. I believe a fresh set of eyes combined with the willingness to work 7 days a week for months on end created the space for me to grow much more rapidly than I ever believed possible. It also helped me move beyond the obstacle of my own doubt, and it’s a beautiful thing to see that stumbling block in the rearview instead of perpetually up ahead. Now I’m in this shit, and I have so many ideas for how to make things even better. More on that in 2019…

A sense of humor is vital.

In my family, you can’t hang unless you can crank up the sarcasm and crack jokes just about every 30 seconds. My sense of humor is very particular, and it’s not for everyone (their loss). So, I know I’ve found the right people when they get my sense of humor and, even better, counter it with their own. This year, I was fortunate enough to work with all kinds of funny, interesting, intelligent, irreverent people. Working fifteen hour days isn’t so bad if you’re laughing and trading jokes all day. I want more of that next year, and every year.

Changing the world is possible.

This is the best lesson learned over the last couple years, but this year I actually got to flex my skills and put them to focused use. Change is possible, and I can be part of what ushers it into existence. It might mean working for the rest of my life, but I’m okay with that. It beats the complacent alternative. I’ve had too many years of inactivity already. For me, the hustle will continue until the day hustling becomes impossible.

I’m not sad to see 2018 go (it’s last call, after all), and I value the lessons learned this year, including the losses, because there is more to learn in losing than in winning. I truly believe that. I want to slough off all the frustration that has built up over the last 12 months and enter 2019 with renewed spirit and fresh perspective. There’s so much work to be done, and I can’t wait to get started. Onward.

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Filed Under: My Exciting Life, Writing Tagged With: activism, campaign life, holidays, life, lists

Whiteness is Not Americanism

December 11, 2018 by Tess Leave a Comment

Throughout history, protest has paved the way for change, both the incremental and radical varieties. We’re all raised to revere the gumption of the Founding Fathers, with their “Live Free or Die” swagger. They stood up for their inalienable rights and, in so doing, led to the creation of this great nation. But not all forms of protest are equally revered.

A perfect example of protest that is nonviolent in nature, yet reviled, is the practice of kneeling for the National Anthem in order to bring attention to the disproportionate number of black lives ended by police officers. The act itself couldn’t be more nonviolent. The black athletes kneel when the anthem is played, and then the game goes on as planned, no disruption of regularly scheduled programming. But the backlash against this simple act was swift and immediate, with many outraged by what they called the blatant disrespect of the troops, the flag, and the nation itself.

But is that what this protest represents? Disrespect? And, if not, why is it so often framed that way?

The answer is pretty simple. In our culture, being an American is synonymous with being white. Therefore, white folks are the only ones both allowed to protest, and encouraged to do so.

Now before anyone jumps to the tired conclusion that, as a black woman, I’m just another ungrateful rabble rouser who hates this country, the flag that stands as its symbol, and the uniformed men and women who volunteer to fight and die for it, kindly slow your proverbial roll. I’m actually much more patriotic than you might assume, and there are many reasons why this is the case.

I grew up on military bases, meaning we said the pledge every morning, learned the words to every patriotic song ever created, and flew the flag 365 days a year, well before the sudden, nationwide popularization of the practice in response to the attack on September 11th. July 4th festivities brought the base to a screeching halt. Memorial Day was no joke, and it was spent honoring those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in defense of this nation and its ideals. Veterans’ Day was yet another opportunity to honor those who fought to secure the rights we take for granted on a daily basis. To say I grew up bathed in the red, white, and blue would be to utter a monumental understatement.

Growing up, I understood patriotism to mean a deep love of country, but not a blind love. Because love that isn’t paired with honest awareness of shortcomings isn’t really love. It’s a sweet form of denial that hurts the object of your affection only slightly less than it hurts you. I also understood that servicemen and women were to be honored for their willingness to put themselves in dangerous situations in order to uphold and protect the Constitution of the United States. But they are not the United States, and criticism of the government in no way equates to criticism of those who are prepared to lay down their lives for said government.

In light of all this, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I consider myself a deeply patriotic individual. I love this country and, because I love it, I know how deeply flawed it is, and how much it needs to change if it’s to offer life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness to all its citizens. This country can be better, and I want to help it become so, lovingly but firmly. I don’t see this love of country as mutually exclusive from the right to point out its flaws. I actually think that blind love is akin to no love at all. And I categorically refuse the popular idea that you can’t honor our troops if you critique the country they’re serving.

The response to black athletes kneeling during the National Anthem is really no different from white folks criticizing the nonviolent protests led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Or their disdain for Muhammad Ali’s unwillingness to fight in Vietnam wearing the uniform of a country that refused to afford him the same dignity that it gave its white citizens. These men are heroes now, because they are no longer a threat to the status quo, unlike Colin Kaepernick.

If you are black in this country, there is no correct way to protest, because this country is not yours to protest to begin with. It wasn’t built for you, though it was built by you. You were never meant to possess life and liberty, nor were you to pursue happiness. This country was created to belong to white people. It’s why a common response to a black person protesting is to tell him or her to return to Africa. The subtext is clear: this country is for white folks. If you don’t like the rules in our house, go back to your own.

And because this country was made for and belongs to white people, the natural conclusion is that whiteness equates to Americanism. So, it makes sense that when a person of color criticizes the hypocrisy of a nation that purports to stand for liberty and justice for all, yet doesn’t actually extend it to everyone, so many white folks are instantly apoplectic. Here is this uppity, anti-American negro messing up things in a white person’s house! How ungrateful, amirite?! That negro should be happy to even be allowed to set foot in a house that doesn’t belong to him.

The underlying message is very clear: black folks aren’t to speak up about the injustice built into the very foundation of this country. We’re lucky to be here, and we should be grateful. Period.

Well, actually, I am grateful. I live in a country that eventually did extend the right to free speech and peaceful protest to people who look like me. White folks protest daily, and it’s often seen as deeply patriotic and worthy of widespread applause. But this country was only built to revere protest when the folks doing it are white. It’s literally America’s origin story. It’s also why it’s so hard for us to talk honestly about the Civil War. Our minds work by forming knee jerk dichotomies, and you can’t celebrate one side without demonizing the other, but, in this case, both sides are white.

Protest has a long history in this country. And, provided you keep it nonviolent, I’m all for the practice of standing up to make your voice heard and fight for what you believe in. I may not agree with you, but that’s your right. Here’s the thing, though: it’s also my right. Because whiteness shouldn’t be synonymous with what it means to be an American. There are plenty of us who love this country, but want it to be better. Not just for ourselves, but for all of us. I can’t think of a more American ideal.

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Filed Under: Activism, Racial Justice Tagged With: activism, racial justice, racism

Thankful AF

November 22, 2018 by Tess Leave a Comment

So, you’re sitting across the table from the aunt who voted for Trump and your nephew who might as well have been marching with a tiki torch down the streets of Charlottesville, wondering just what the hell you have to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. The country’s a dumpster fire of bigotry and ignorance and you can’t seem to escape the suffocating smell of everything you love going up in smoke…

I’m not here to tell you this country isn’t an absolute shit show, because it is. But, if it makes you feel any better, this is nothing new. It’s been a nonstop catastrophe since Columbus sailed the ocean blue and planted a flag in land that wasn’t actually up for grabs. Some of y’all are just now noticing for the first time. Things are getting better, though, slowly but surely as time marches on and more people start paying attention to what’s right in front of them.

This is honestly my favorite time of the year. Always has been. And the end of one year naturally leads to thinking about what the next one will bring. We had some tough election results here in Florida, but we also had some real wins. There’s so much work to do before the next cycle, but I actually feel hope for the future and what we can accomplish if we just get our shit together and keep it that way. So, today, because of the holiday and my enduring love of cliches, I’m going to name a few of the things for which I’m most thankful:

My Family

None of them voted for trump (PRAISE BE) and they’ve supported me throughout my entire life, including the last 2 crazy, action packed years. This campaign/activism life is a wild ride and I intend to keep seeing where it will take me. It’s good to know I have a soft place to fall and people who accept me, no matter what.

Friends Who Have Become Family

Y’all, making new friends as an introvert isn’t easy, but I’ve been waaaaay outside of my comfort zone since November 9th, 2016, and I can honestly say that actually leaving my house has led to meeting some of the hardest working, funniest, and best people around. These are folks I couldn’t imagine not knowing. They’ve enriched my life beyond what I thought possible. I’m honored to know them and to be in this fight together, shoulder to shoulder.

Doing What I Love and Loving What I Do

This sounds cheesy af, but it’s true. For the first time ever, I’m doing work that seems vital. Even when I’m too tired to bitch (admittedly, this is rare), I feel the importance of what I’m doing, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.

The Victory of Amendment 4

We worked so hard all last year to gather petitions and get this initiative on the ballot. 1.4 million Floridians now have the right to vote back. I’m humbled to have played a small part in dismantling a system of disenfranchisement in the state of Florida that was a remnant of the Jim Crow era. This is game changing. It’s historic. We did this, y’all. All of us, together.

Having the Freedom to Fight for What Matters to Me

Not everyone has this privilege, and I cherish the fact that, though I have certain disadvantages in this country based on skin color and gender, I’m free to voice my opinion, to fight for what I believe in, and to work hard to champion causes that will make this country better for everyone. Those of us able to speak out, to fight, to work hard, need to keep doing it on behalf of those who can’t. That’s our duty, because the freedom to do so comes on the backs of people who risked everything. Honor them with action.

I’m not going to keep y’all, mostly because the smell of turkey roasting is making it hard to concentrate. My guide to living a good life is simple: hug those close to you, cherish those far away, practice selfcare as often as you can, challenge white supremacy, and fuck the patriarchy. This country is becoming a better place every day because of you, because of me, because of all of us. I’m thankful for that too.

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Filed Under: Activism, Politics Tagged With: activism, holidays, introvert life, politics, voting

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About Tess

I’m a writer who spends her day making things up for pay. I also moonlight as a community organizer for free …

Recent Posts

  • What About White History Month?
  • Dear Trolls: Write Your Own GD Post
  • Let’s Talk About Consent, Baby
  • The Whitewashing of Dr. King
  • Racism 101: White Tears

My Books

© 2019 · Tess R. Martin ·