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some forest speedpaints i did, all referencing a photo
i love , love , love drawing forests
So the fact that entire continents only get one princess to represent them wasn’t enough, these crackers decided to make even those princesses white too.
But ya know, just like they said about white princess Tiana “its important for girls, regardless of race, to feel represented in movies for kids” which is why we need to change every woc princess to white. Yep. Thats right. White girls are under represented. Change all woc to white. That is how you make young girls feel represented
what the fuck is this bullshit
are they going to ignore aurora and snow white and ariel and the whole bunch like fuck that noise
wtf they legit made all the most beautiful disney princesses ugly :/
I swear whites feel the need to take over everything and ruin it.
So upset because the fucking captions are pulled directly from the article and I just. Fucking really?
…I nearly screamed, this actually scared the HELL out of me. Boggarts I shall encounter in future will step out of their hiding places wearing one of these weird faces and I will be unable to think of how to repel it…
And here’s a question, if they’re all ‘caucasian’, why are they only ne specific white and variations of blonde? Feels like someone has a fetish they needed to fulfil here…
No, but this is wrong… in a way that kind of reaches into your chest and twists about until you feel like screaming. How the fuck do any of these princesses make sense as white? Why is Mulan wearing a fucking crucifix?
'It's important for all girls, regardless of race, to feel represented in movies'
…that’s what it was DOING, up until you made all of them WHITE and BLONDE.
I don’t understand people… I will see these faces in my nightmares, and that fleeting flash of something in the corner of your eye in a darkened room because they are actually terrifying; how can anyone call them beautiful?
Mulan’s ethnicity was CENTRAL to her story, depicting the time and world she lived in so that it was clear that she was challenging the dominant discourses in order to do the right thing -for herself, her family and her people. The crucifix is a confusing addition, and rather insulting; there’s a strong belief in ancestors and spirits clearly shown in the movie and real life tale… to try and shove a different belief system in there with some random little piece of jewellery is adding insult to injury.
Esmeralda… the whole reason for her persecution WAS that she was a Gypsy, a minority population in France who tried to combat the racist attitudes perpetuated by the dominant power (eg the Church). A POC female willing to put her life on the line to help others, and especially her people, get out from under the mad scrutiny of Frollo’s gaze… and her people loved her so much they’d rather be locked up than tattle upon her.
Jasmine was the daughter of a Sultan, and they lived in the desert. What the hell is lily-white skin going to do for her but ensure perpetual sunburn? No, but on a serious note, she is as intrinsic to the story as Aladdin himself. Rebelling against accepted cultural norms by refusing to marry someone because her father has stated it will be so…
Pocahontas… now that one… that one gets the ‘are youfuckingkiddingme’ award. The whole fucking point of that movie was showing that the native peoples of America were doing JUST FINE prior to the colonists arriving there to set up shop and destroy the land for greed-driven purposes. Her ethnicity gave her a close spiritual tie to the land her peoples had lived upon for untold generations… to whitewash her is… actually the greatest insult to Pocahontas I can think of. Hell, there’s an entire second movie where they tried to do that, and she pretty much flipped the metaphorical bird and went, ‘Nope’.
And Tiana… I left her for last because she is the one most of us are sitting there in disbelief about. The entire movie was actually VERY MUCH about the colour of her skin… the contrast between her (working several jobs) and her white friend (who while lovely, simply couldn’t understand due to the higher socio-economic status of her family, she’s never NEEDED something that hadn’t been provided instantly, before), and the cultural difference, specifically pertaining to the time-period in which the movie is set.
In short… how could someone do this?
What did this gain them? What was the actual, definitive purpose and result of these disturbing things?
I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t much care for their initial reasoning… because it’s not okay. You can’t destroy the handful of positive non-stereotypical role models that POC have… because you have a weird kink for blonde, fucked-up-eyed caucasians…
Little girls and boys need to be able to watch shows, movies, read books and comics, and be able to see themselves… not as a stereotypical POC villain (popular in old-timey movies, ironically, they never let ACTUAL POC play villains, it was always a white dude in stereotypical getup, watch a few… it’s terrible)…
You going to repaint the new Ms Marvel (Kamala Khan) as a white, skimpily outfitted white female with long blonde hair and a crucifix about her neck… because you think her being an aberration to your apparent need to ‘equalise representation’ by making all POC white?
I just… ugh. How do people sit there and think this sort of shit up?
How do they go ahead with their shitty ideas…? Why can’t they sit there and go, “Well I have an idea… but would Hitler approve?”
In this instance, a resounding ‘Yes’ would be the answer… and if that didn’t snap them out of it… perhaps they need to be tossed into mount doom for an eternal timeout.
Psst, guys, that website is satirical.
Fuck this post so much.
Do not tell me
your best friend
would not sit in at your lunch table
for three fucking days
just staring blankly at your old seat
wishing that you were there
to fill the space with laughter.
Do not tell me
your younger brother
would not break down
in the middle of class
because you guys started talking about
your favorite type of subject
Do not tell me
would not stare into the mirror
with trembling lips
wishing she could be
bringing you home from the hospital
rather than having to escort you away
in a casket to the nearest graveyard.
Do not tell me
would not begin working
the night shift
to distract himself
of the silence at home
because you’re not up
until the ungodly hours of the night
talking to what’s-his/her-face
on the phone
because you guys are so in love.
Do not tell me
would not go into your room
and put on the last hoodie you wore
trying to desperately imprint
your scent onto their skin
so they never forget your smell.
Do not tell me
would not stare blankly
at the gymnasium wall
after the principal has announced
to the entire school
making no sound
trying to convince themselves
this is just another one of
your impractical jokes.
Do NOT fucking TELL ME
this bullshit line
of how the stars would still appear
the sun would still come out
the earth would still rotate
and the seasons will still change
because without YOU
you lil beautiful piece of human being
none of these people will want
ANY of that to happen.
Fuck this post so much.
Reblogging for the comment because damn
Sometimes he’ll tell me about his college days, about an Afghanistan I have never known and very few people would believe ever existed.
"In the College of Engineering, there was this lecture hall, with seats for 1,000 students," his says as eyes begin to get bigger. "At the end of the lecture, the seats would move. The whole auditorium would shift as you spun along the diameter. The engineering of the building itself was very interesting." He continues to describe the construction details, then sighs. "I wonder if it’s still around?"
There is a pause. For 25 years I have tried to fill that silence, but I have never quite figured out what to say. I guess silence goes best there. He is the next one to speak. “You see, even your old-aged father was once part of something important.”
When he says things like that I want to scream. I don’t want to believe that the years can beat away at you like that. I don’t want to know that if enough time passes, you begin to question what was real or who you are. I am unconcerned with what the world thinks of him, but it is devastating to know that he at times thinks less of himself.
We are the same, but we are separated. People don’t see him in me. I wish they would. I walk in with a doctor’s white coat or a suit or my Berkeley sweatshirt and jeans. High heels or sneakers, it doesn’t matter, people always seem impressed with me. “Pediatrician, eh?” they say. “Well, good for you.”
I wonder what people see when they look at him. They don’t see what I see in his smile. Perhaps they see a brown man with a thick accent; perhaps they think, another immigrant cabdriver. Or perhaps it is much worse: Maybe he is a profile-matched terrorist, aligned with some axis of evil. “Another Abd-ool f——-g foreigner,” I once heard someone say.
Sometimes the worst things are not what people say to your face or what they say at all, it is the things that are assumed. I am in line at the grocery store, studying at a cafe, on a plane flying somewhere.
"Her English is excellent; she must have grown up here," I hear a lady whisper. "But why on earth does she wear that thing on her head?"
"Oh, that’s not her fault," someone replies. "Her father probably forces her to wear that."
I am still searching for a quick, biting response to comments like that. The trouble is that things I’d like to say aren’t quick. So I say nothing. I want to take their hands and pull them home with me. Come, meet my father. Don’t look at the wrinkles; don’t look at the scars; don’t mind the hearing aid, or the thick accent. Don’t look at the world’s effect on him; look at his effect on the world. Come into my childhood and hear the lullabies, the warm hand on your shoulder on the worst of days, the silly jokes on mundane afternoons. Come meet the woman he has loved and respected his whole life; witness the confidence he has nurtured in his three daughters. Stay the night; hear his footsteps come in at midnight after a long day’s work. That sound in the middle of the night is his head bowing in prayer although he is exhausted. Granted, the wealth is gone and the legacy unknown, but look at what the bombs did not destroy. Now tell me, am I really oppressed? The question makes me want to laugh. Now tell me, is he really the oppressor? The question makes me want to cry.
At times, I want to throw it all away: the education, the opportunities, the potential. I want to slip into the passenger seat of his cab and say: This is who I am. If he is going to be labeled, then give me those labels too. If you are going to look down on him, than you might as well peer down on me as well. Close this gap. Erase this line. There is no differentiation here. Of all the things I am, of all the things I could ever be, I will never be prouder than to say that I am of him.
I am this cabdriver’s daughter.
It’s been four years and this piece still moves me to tears every time.
The real problem with people fussing over Pluto all the time is it represents the priorities of the public - preserving traditions rather than accepting facts. The pursuit of science is about building a sustainable catalog of truths, and there is no advantage in altering truths to appease nostalgia.
The sun isn’t bright just because I say it is. It just is. It was bright before I even knew the word for bright. I didn’t decide what it is, I acknowledged what it is.
You aren’t worth something just because I say you are. You just are. You were worth something before I even said anything. I didn’t decide that you are, I acknowledged that you are.
This is what I mean when I say “You are worth it.”
This is great.
I have no words.
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