Why All Lives Really Don’t Matter Right Now

All lives matter is a distracting end-around justice

There is a fundamental why the ongoing situation is so offending to African Americans concerning “All Lives Matter”, as a response to “Black Lives Matter”.

When someone says that Black Lives Matter, they are meaning it with an expectation that those responsible for the problem accept ownership of the problem.

This is one of the many irritations that offend African Americans (and me too) when people respond with all lives matter—it is blatant virtue signaling and another distraction to sidetrack a cause that should have resolved years ago—and like telling them to clean up after someone else’s mess in an area they have not had access.

Of course all lives matter—but not as much as this does right now. Maybe today the iron is hot enough to make a lasting difference?

Like pro-life is to women’s rights, the counter-movement all lives matter, is an endaround to maintain control and saddle black people with fixing a problem they didn’t create.

And don’t forget, blue lives matter—now, signing up for a dangerous job to stroke your ego is the same as facing down the barrel of those sworn to serve and protect—now serving and protecting themselves by abusing the oppressed? All lives matter is fundamentally racist to the core of white denial.

Justice uneasily reasoned—2020 By LP

Shedding Colonialism

Insights of a Filipino-Panamanian working in religious small town America.

The double insult of colonization from my experience in just one week of work.

I can’t speak for everyone, I only speak for myself and my point of view.

As I went to work, I centered myself for the upcoming chaos of being the new local high school secretary. Many things to learn and handle at once, with minimal training and a large dose of survival tactics.

I open the doors, make the coffee and enjoy the quiet ritual of gently waking our building up so that it may have a welcoming atmosphere.

One by one the teachers arrive and we have genuinely pleasant banter of our evening and the plans for the day.

Then the buses arrive. The students with their chatter and questions.

I love these moments.

As my day progressed I was speaking in Spanish to a student. She was concerned that her lack of being able to speak to anyone in Spanish was making her forget her words. Then a staff member walks in and interjects. “Isn’t it wonderful that our local school has provided you with someone to speak in Spanish to?” The student and I lock eyes and flinch. The staff member goes on, “ I’m sure you are very grateful for this opportunity. How does it make you feel to be able to speak in Spanish here in our little town?”

By then she and I are in a full side conversation just using out eyebrows and pointing with our noses. The student stops and puts her hand to her jaw and searches for the word she wants to share with the staff member. She voices without a doubt, “Awkward “

I knew she was talking about the situation and was not answering the questions being asked. The staff member told her she should not feel awkward about her English skills. I shook my head because this situation was way to big to handle and the phones were ringing.

I dismissed the student and told her not to pay any mind to what had just happened. She was welcome to come back and we’d talk about this situation later.

The student returned and was asking me a question—it was a silly one about her day and we giggled. As we did, another staff member walked in and slammed her hand on the counter repeatedly and yelled, “Speak English!! We live in America!”

The student and I were not pleased. I really wanted to ask her, “Why does it matter if I speak in another colonizers language?” I held my tongue. I apologized to the student on behalf of the staff member’s ignorance and she went back to class. Turning to the staff member who sat there with a huge grin as she celebrated her dominance and superiority, I said to her, “ I spoke to her in Spanish in a private conversation. Her shirt was not buttoned correctly and she would have been embarrassed if I had pointed it out in front of everyone in English.”

I felt weak, small and frustrated. How does one combat ignorance? My whole life has been confusing. Brown skin, white mind. I am a square peg trying to fit into a circular hole. I work twice as hard to get half as far as my Anglo coworkers. I try to convince myself that it’s just my work ethic. This is a whole other subject. The serviceable brown lady stereotype. Ugh.

I continue to navigate through life and find my footing, my voice and my strength. As I shed the colonization mindset that I was cloaked in as a child, I’m working on being kind and patient. It’s hard. I’m tired of making excuses for white privileged people and excuses for being me. This is going to be an interesting journey.

Racist or a Product of Survival?

How does racism affect you?—A story of my wife.

Am I a racist? For as long as I can remember I have just kept quiet when people vented their hatred of my skin color at me. Being quiet meant being safe in the sense that I’m not allowing the situation to escalate further.

Being spat on and having the people spit on the floor and tell me to eat their mucus as they called me a spic, beaner, wetback amongst other names. Called a dog and chased down hallways at high school, bullied for having brown skin, eyes and hair. Enduring the hate in the eyes of extremists as I help them at the local emergency room. Being overlooked and when noticed, looked down on and dismissed at my local church for being the “Latina” by my “sisters in Christ”. Being spoken down to, spoken over and dismissed while presenting new ideas as I Co-chair a local coalition that is completely Caucasian. I feel like the brown speck in the white chicken crap. Should I shoulder on and stand my ground—or just accept the invitation to join my brothers and sisters at the local Reservation?

I did not understand what my offense was. When I walk out the door at home I don’t check my skin color. I just am—soy yo.

Now I’m older, still have my skin color and ethnicity. Those insults that I endured all my life may have affected me.

I chose to marry and have children with Caucasian men. Divorced by 22, widowed by 36 and finally at peace with final husband. My question is why did/do the men I chose have green eyes, fair skin and light hair? Was I hiding my DNA or an unknowing product of my evolution? Did I want to spare any potential children from enduring what I have lived with?

I’m glad to be who I am. An Asian/Latina with many talents and gifts. I will no longer hold my civil tongue as those who chose to throw venom at me continue their ways.