Sunday blogging against racism #10b–“Elbow Room”, my @$$!

Folks, we have been lied to.

You have to understand–I LOVE Schoolhouse Rock. Saw the play on Broadway (and still own the sweatshirt!), bought the CD, etc. And I still am not ready to let go of my love of Grammar Rock classics like “Unpack your Adjectives” and the fabulous Skee-lo re-interpretation of “Mr. Morton“,  or Math Rock favorites like “Figure Eight” and “Three is a Magic Number“.

But this is the most blatant twisting of our nation’s history that I have ever seen, and recent discussions about “reclaiming untold stories” reminded me again of the multitude of ways that I’ve been lied to.

If you need help spotting the lies, I’ll be happy to help you out–just let me know. But here’s your first clue: ask yourself who might have been under those elbows as they happily elbowed their way across the nation, or whether the people we “bought” the land from in the first place had any right to sell it.

Sunday blogging against racism #10a–multicultural dolls, again

I like to think that I write fairly well, but far too often, someone else comes along and says what I was trying to say, only they say it with far more skill and eloquence than I ever could. 

This was the case this week, when I came across a great post about the subconscious messages we get from the unbearable whiteness of most of the dolls that are created for children today. I could definitely relate to the author’s  recollection of her childhood:

When I was about eight or nine I found a doll that I wanted and the reason I wanted her is that she had dark brown hair (like me) and blue eyes (like me). It really bothered me that all the dolls back then – the 70s – were blondes.  (keep reading . . . )

Malibu Barbie book cover

I also grew up as a white, brown haired/brown eyed girl in the Malibu Barbie era, and I am convinced that I remember my one blue-eyed, blonde-haired friend either saying or implying that she was superior because SHE looked more like Barbie. I can’t be sure of this, but I do know that there was a song in this friend’s family organ’s songbook called, “Beautiful Brown Eyes”, the words of which I recall with perfect clarity even to this day–“Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes; I’ll never love blue eyes again.” It was definitely an issue, and part of what has fueled my own unwavering insistence on equality for non-blonde dolls . . .

it’s just nice to know that I’m not alone in this.

“why are you so sensitive about a little old noose?”

News from Louisiana about how some of the local boys responded to this week’s protests.

But there aren’t race problems there; it’s just the big, bad media and those awful folks on the internet riling people up. At least that’s what Tio Tomás had to say about it . . . he seemed to have a lot of compassion for the poor little white boy who was attacked . . . I almost puked when he made a statement about how it can really hurt when someone is stepping on your face with their sneaker . . .

Right. Because black folks don’t know ANYTHING about THAT.