(Source: mamashug, via inquilabipoet)

@6 hours ago with 512 notes

standwithpalestine:

La Paz (AFP) - Bolivia on Wednesday renounced a visa exemption agreement with Israel in protest over its offensive in Gaza, and declared it a terrorist state.

President Evo Morales announced the move during a talk with a group of educators in the city of Cochabamba.

It “means, in other words, we are declaring (Israel) a terrorist state,” he said.

The treaty has allowed Israelis to travel freely to Bolivia without a visa since 1972.

Morales said the Gaza offensive shows “that Israel is not a guarantor of the principles of respect for life and the elementary precepts of rights that govern the peaceful and harmonious coexistence of our international community.”

More than two weeks of fighting in Gaza have left 1,300 dead and 6,000 wounded amid an intense Israeli air and ground campaign in response to missile attacks by the Islamist militant group Hamas.

In the latest development, 20 people were killed after two Israeli shells slammed into a United Nations school, drawing international protests.

Bolivia broke off diplomatic relations with Israel in 2009 over a previous military operation in Gaza.

In mid-July, Morales filed a request with the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights to prosecute Israel for “crimes against humanity.”

Photos: Bolivian ambassador to the UN Sacha Llorenti wears keffiyeh in solidarity with Palestinians, July 2014. 

(via inquilabipoet)

@7 hours ago with 9185 notes

"When we show you pictures of napalm victims, you’ll shut your eyes. You’ll close your eyes to the pictures. Then you’ll close them to the memory. And then you’ll close your eyes to the facts. Then you’ll close your eyes to the entire context."

RIP

@7 hours ago
#EternalFlames 
@10 hours ago

A Still Cling To Fading Blossoms

Saturday afternoon, August 2, Meaford Ontario


The performance is elegiac. It is the blues. I envision the performance intuited with purposefully random body gestures and gesticulations. Sway. Shake. Sway. Move back to move forward. I am dancing and stomping in the dust. The dust is the refuse of my nomadic ancestors. This is my space. It is akin to what post-modern dance theorists call “pedestrian movements” but I long to tear apart what bodies are presumed a priori when these words bleed from desirable lips. I will tear off the white petals. As I write this, free form and fluidly as it comes, I question the limits of riffing off these central/neutral white bodies because I must necessarily admit a kind of inferiority. Subversion is often contingent on perpetuating (or mirroring) the very stereotypes and violence you want to critique. We see this with Josephine Baker and the ways in which historians will undermine her agency and self determination. I long not to reinforce but to rupture. I am black. I am blue. Blackness is the absence of colour. This is a black and blue elegy. We will be on a hill near fields of tall grass on a vast farmland. I am daydreaming of a small procession where experiencers can engage with me and follow me. Do I begin to walk backwards so that I am always facing them? Facing my loves and tormentors? Will I trip? My foot is fucking broken (literally) and it aches. But bigger than the aching this fracture can ever be - I’ve been thinking about how I can charge my escalating, racing, sadness (and withdrawal from friends, lovers, would-be-lovers and family) on the harsh realities of global anti-blackness (and how other bodies might enter or connect to this pain whether that be through indigenous genocide, the migrant experience of displacement, or occupation elsewhere). What I endure is normal, it is everyday, it is clandestine and insidious precisely because it is everyday. I/We endure. We smile lightly. These are my “pedestrian movements”. They are “everyday movements”. Even the sweetest most perfect lips would agree. In the beginning of my performance I will face the audience with my mouth full of daisies and I will begin to sing an elegy. An elegy for my siblings in the struggles. As I sing, with my mouth full, I will proceed to take the flowers out one after the other. I will hold the first flower and pull off the petals one by one. Slowly. Slowly, I will still be singing. I’ll be singing and wailing the entire time until my mouth is less full and the words more clear. The blues will come out until I come to the last flower. The last daisy. I will pull the petals off…love me so, love me not, love me so, love me if only for a moment. Perhaps for a moment, in the world I daydream of, there will be reclamation and affirmation of love, self love and our bodies having value. To be less than human hurts. It kills. And maybe I don’t even want to be human. I wouldn’t understand it. Could you be loved? Could you be loved? That is all. Gestural. Not didactic. But haunting. Sensuous until we are all still… Until I fade. The way the blues must be.

@11 hours ago with 1 note

"Black is the colour of my true love’s hair"

Nina Simone
@6 hours ago with 2 notes

Appropriation versus Not Appropriation, a binary I accept.

@7 hours ago with 1 note

A taste
A test
A taste
A test

@9 hours ago

This has cheered me up so much. Growing up all the story books at school were of white children. But my mum and aunties went out of their way to find my sisters and I storybooks with brown, black and African bodies. The memories.

(Source: neoafrican, via fromonesurvivortoanother)

@11 hours ago with 14390 notes
#blackbeauty #ChildhoodWithTumuAndToza 

"When it hurts so bad, when it hurts so bad, why’s it feel so good?"

Lauryn Hill
@1 day ago with 1 note