Double-Sided Paige
I'm Paige, a fairy who has a life in DC.
Double-Sided Paige
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thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
thechanelmuse:

Anita (Ardmore, PA) | “Guyanese-American”
“‘Negro’ certainly is a passé term from way back when. We got over ‘Negro,’ we got to be ‘Black and Proud,’ and I’m still Black and proud. I always liked the term ‘Black’ because it doesn’t leave people out. I find ‘Black’ a more encompassing term than ‘African-American.’ ‘African-American’ leaves me out in a way.”
Rosa (Bronx, NY) | “Black Puerto Rican”
“You have a lot of incredible Afro-Latino activists who still don’t say that they’re Black. What they say is that they’re ‘African-descended.’ They say they’re ‘Afro-Latino.’ But a lot of people still won’t say that they’re Black. I think most of people’s issue with calling themselves Black is psychological. It’s fear. If you don’t have to be Black, why would you want to say that? In this country, everything Black is negative. I didn’t start calling myself Black until I was a sophomore in college. But once I learned about the power of the Young Lords and the Black Power Movement, I was like, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to say I was Black?’”
Kenya (Atlanta, GA) | “Black”
“As an African-American, many of us trace White blood in our lineage to slavery and my family background is no different. The bottom line is my parents are Black, their parents are Black, my great grandparents are Black, and that makes me Black. I know there are people who are looking and thinking ‘She’s not Black.’ And that’s fine too. At the end of the day, I’m Black because I’m Black.”
Marianna (Baltimore, MD) | “Black“
“I get ‘exotic’ a lot ‘cause people can’t really pinpoint. ‘Is she Dominican?’ ‘Is she Trini?’ ‘Is she Black and Filipino?’ ‘Is she Black and Japanese?’ It’s almost like they can’t tell so that’s alluring. All they know is it’s not ‘just Black’ and that’s all that matters. They think it’s ‘Black and something,’ but it’s that ‘something’ that they’re more focused on and that holds their attention a little bit more.”
Ariel (Brooklyn, New York) | “Black”
“In Cuba, some people don’t see me as Black. Even Black people will deny my Blackness. Since I was a child, people gave me different names like ‘el chino’ because when I was younger I was really looking more like a Chinese. And then they called me names connected with my race and my ethnicity like ‘mulatto’ or ‘moro.’ They tried to emphasize that I was different because my skin is Black, but my hair is ‘White.’ So for many people in Cuba, I am mulatto or I am interracial – they don’t consider me Black. I think it goes back to the plantation days when slaves had a child with the owner, and for being less dark, that child would have a better job and a better position in society. Cuba has a long history of Whiteness in that sense – many Black people consider themselves as moving forward in society when they marry somebody White or when their kids are less dark.”
Soledad (New York, NY) | “Black Latina”
“People ask me ‘What are you?’ all the time. People tweet me that question. I used to take great offense, like immediately get annoyed; partly because I didn’t think the question came from a very good place. I think I read it as questioning my value and my reasons for being wherever I was. But now, I think it’s two-fold: One, I think that because I’m a journalist, people are really just trying to understand who I am. ‘You’re somebody I see on TV, but I don’t know you in person, so who are you?’ So often, it’s not really about the question. It’s about ‘What side are you on?’ and ‘What perspective do you bring?’ Then two, I think that part of my job as a journalist is to educate people about stories and some of these stories I’m a part of. I’m part of ‘Black in America’ even in the context of who is the filter of the story.  So I’ve really gotten much better at taking that question and I’ve stopped hating it so much. It’s my job to elaborate and explain for people who I am. My mom is Afro-Cuban. My dad is White and Australian. I’m Black. I’m Latina.”
Malene(Brooklyn, NY) | “Black of Mixed Heritage”
“Trinidad is a cosmopolitan nation, probably more racially diverse than the rest of the Caribbean. We have descendants of European enslavers, freed Africans and enslaved Africans, Chinese and other Asian migrants, and a small East Indian population. You have all these mixtures and the mixtures are acknowledged. So I’m not Black in Trinidad; they consider me to be Chinese creole. They use all kinds of terms to identify people based on their racial makeup – ‘Indian,’ ‘negro,’ ‘creole,’ ‘Chinese creole,’ ‘Spanish,’ ‘coolie,’ ‘dougla.’ A ‘coolie,’ for example, is an East Indian. ‘Dougla’ is the mix of Black and East Indian. There’s really no difference between the two. It’s like saying ‘nigger’ and ‘nigga.’ To me, it’s all offensive. All of it comes from hateful places.”
Liliane (São Paulo, Brasil) | “Black”
“In Brasil, people of my color can be considered either Black or White, but it would depend on the situation, and it would also depend on the social and educational condition of the people who are seeing you. So what happens is that when someone of lower socioeconomic status sees me, they would treat me as White. But if I go to a high-class restaurant, where the people are of a higher status than me, people treat me as Black. Usually the general thought for Brasilians is that the place for Black people is in the kitchen or on the soccer field or in samba. So if you are not in one of those places, it’s like ‘Who are you and who allowed you to be here?’ And you can feel it.”
Adrian (Brooklyn, NY) | “Black Puerto-Rican”
“I think part of the misconception about Blackness is that it’s a skin color. For me personally, it’s just my way of life. Whether it’s my bloodline and family history, or the neighborhood I grew up in and the people I grew up with, or something as simple as the food that I eat, there’s so many different ways that I can identify with Blackness to where if somebody were to ask me, “Adrian, what makes you Black?” I would probably just counter the question with, “What doesn’t make me Black?” It’s not even something that I’m trying to prove. It’s just in me.”
Lauren (Philadelphia, PA) | “Black and Italian / African-American“
“The one-drop rule is not about letting society tell you who you are, but about understanding the structures around you that are already in place. It’s about understanding the complexities of Black identity and how you fit into that. At the same time, it doesn’t take away from your individuality and the beauty of your personal background or our collective history.”

Yes, Anita.
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eveningoutwithyourgirlfriend:

this will forever be my favorite tweet of all time
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"You’re in love with my mind. But sometimes, sweetheart, a woman needs a man who loves her ass."
Sandra Cisneros, Loose Woman  (via underageandunderpaid)
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Pigtails in the library.
Double the braid, double the research. 
Oh, and there are shoulder pads involved.
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Always
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misterw:

http://misterw.tumblr.com/
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