Category Archives: Uncategorized

In the days after the election, I was unsettled.

I was full of righteous anger, but my thoughts were all over the place. It was hard to cobble together enough cohesive thoughts for an essay (or a newsletter update), and I often found myself opening my Notes app, just jotting down thoughts as they came to me.

Here, I’m sharing some of those uncensored thoughts — from November of 2024:

(1) I believe in myself. I believe in doctors and scientists. I believe in logical thinking, and in support networks, and in thoughtful, organized efforts to effect change. But we are all imperfect, and we can only do what’s within our ability, our skill set. We certainly have our work cut out for us.

(2) I see women with fried hair and thick makeup and painted-on smiles, with red-rimmed eyes, fueled by gleeful anger. They’re celebrating in the comments sections of various Instagram posts — posts written by liberal and left-leaning celebrities and influencers. But there’s something especially sinister about this behavior, something these women don’t want to own up to:

If these gloating tradwives were truly happy, they’d be spending time with their families — their “wonderful” husbands, their little cherubs — and not arguing with random 20-somethings on Instagram.

(3) I do think some people will starve to death. I think we got lucky — we, being the non-Trump supporters — the first time around, when the pandemic killed more of his own (anti-mask, anti-vaccine, anti-science) fanboys. This time, they’ll make sure that whatever comes violently kills us instead. We will be deprived of tools to protect ourselves, so that everyone — even informed people! — will have the means to suffer.

(4) I have to force myself to be kind to some of my more odious relations, who tend to be supportive of Conservative causes, because I have to have some form of stability. I have to ingratiate myself, sometimes, to stay “non-threatening” and to have a chance to make a grab at a piece of the family’s pie. It sounds cruel, but it’s the same type of pragmatism that these types value. (Because money is God to these sorts of folks, if you can ingratiate yourself, you can occasionally earn their trust/their coins. It feels weird to try to play their game, though.)

(5) If I absolutely have to, I will make General Sherman look like Mickey Mouse. I’m not afraid of fighting back.

I can either spend the next 1,462 days dreading life, or I can be an activist. I can prioritize my own survival, and then prioritize the needs of others who need help — and then I can leave the rest of the bullshit behind.

(6) I’m not going to change — I’m not going to become any more conservative in four years’ time. I will always be looking out for me and the dolls and Black women, and the oppressed and the marginalized and other progressive people — and that essentially covers it.

(7, a similar thought) I simply … I’m like Don Draper’s quote:

I don’t think about them (the sore winners) at all. When I say that, I mean it — because I’m too busy thinking about oppressed, marginalized, and progressive people who need our help.

(8) I was already having a crisis of faith, but this made my doubt deepen. If Heaven exists, it’s probably a field of stars. But I’m not so sure there’s an afterlife. I think it was just a privilege to get to know people — family and friends — while we were/are here.

… I admit that I’m kind of afraid of “the idea of heaven,” considering some of the cruel and hateful people who believe that they’re going there. Why would anyone want to be in an infinite afterlife with people who are unapologetic about their cruelty?

(9) I look to my ancestors for inspiration.

I think of the man who left Barbados and became a Quaker — knowing that the Quakers opposed slavery. I think of the Central African-descended woman (and her own ancestors) who survived the Middle Passage. I think of my North African and Andalusian ancestors, who managed to flee the Inquisition. I think of my Southern ancestors who fought for the Union instead of the traitorous Confederates.

I wear my ancestral altar on a chain around my neck: the Congo, Tamazgha, and Barbados.

I am here because I am made of stronger stuff.

To people who have time to say negative things to say about marginalized people:

Bud, just keep scrolling, or keep looking the other way.

It’s clearly not that hard for you to do.

You do it when it’s homeless people.

You do it when it’s homeless veterans, even though you brag about donating to the Wounded Warrior Project. Once. Eleven years ago.

You do it when it’s a hungry child in your own community.

You do it when your own kid comes to you to tell you that your boyfriend/girlfriend hit them or slapped them.

You do it when it you neglect your own needs out of a selfish desire to drag other people down with you.

Just keep looking away, though. It’s what you’re good at.

If you are intolerant, then it shouldn’t be a surprise that it’s hard to tolerate you.

I try to not criticize someone’s appearance — but sometimes I stumble.

Please let me stumble one time and say this:

Pete Hegseth’s wife looks exactly like someone who would put up with being some chump’s third wife.

If you know me in real life, then you already know that I have posted about my disappointment — and my deep disgust — regarding the state of things right now.

I have written a ton of guides, rants, and mini-essays, which I’ve posted all over Instagram, Threads, Bluesky, and TikTok.

I’ve also drafted an essay for Medium that I plan on posting this weekend. (If you follow me over there, be on the lookout for that.)

I’m exhausted. But I’m still choosing to be active. I’ve done all sorts of productive things — donating to UNRWA, canceling my Amazon Prime membership, canceling my New York Times subscription (and blessing them out on my way out the door), donating to refugees, donating to farm workers, and donating to reproductive health coalitions.

And I’m going to keep doing more. I won’t back down.

But … I’ve come here today to rant.

Everywhere else, I’ve posted information on what we all can do to uplift marginalized people. I’ve also posted messages of support and solidarity for folks who are marginalized — and I’ve told them to take time to grieve and to rest, and to never let any of the Sore Winners guilt them into pity.

What I’m trying to say here is that, within a year or two, some of the people who are celebrating now will be on their knees, begging us more sensible folk for help. And grace. And forgiveness. And money.

I have said, time and time again, that Black women, disabled people, trans folks, single women and single mothers, neurodivergent people, and migrants will be the first ones who Sore Winners beg for help — because the Sore Winners expect marginalized people to have endless reserves of sympathy.

I have encouraged marginalized people to think carefully about who they help — because, much like a drowning victim pulling their would-be rescuer down with them, you have to watch out for danger, anger, and retaliation.

If you are marginalized, and you are put in a position where you can help a Leopard-Face-Eating victim, I encourage you to prioritize your own safety, first. You can still help the leopard-attack survivor. But don’t let them make you do it at the expense of your safety.

This week, I have written and read and listened and reflected and opened my wallet and shared information and …

I have done a lot, already. But I’m going to pace myself and work hard, to keep doing more. We’re running a marathon, now, and we can’t sit down now. The race is about to start, and I’ve done my stretches this week — so I’ll be ready to run. But we can’t afford to get worn out. We have to pace ourselves and do good work.

In the meantime, I’ve been thinking about how I’m disappointed, but not surprised.

Living in the upper part of the mid-south means that I hear lots of lunacy on a daily basis.

Recently, I had a conversation with someone in my extended family network. This person is a stereotypical rural Kentuckian. Now, for some reason, the conversation turned to Walmart.

I mentioned that Walmart once had a snack bar where they “served up disgusting shit, like Frito Pies and Skyline Chili.”

Their Economix Anxiety senses must’ve tingled when I said that!

But I made it even worse when I (needlessly) added something about how that’s the kind of stuff heavyset people from Ohio like to eat.

I had my own Charles Barkley churros moment. Not proud of it — but it happened.

Now, for the record, I think mocking people because of their weight is punching down, a cheap shot, generally unnecessary, etc., etc.

But in that moment, I made a surface-level statement. I pictured a clutch of heavyset men in NFL jerseys gathered around a kitchen table piled with nearly-empty casserole dishes and cans of Natural Light.

At no point in time did I say any of these words: Republican, white, conservative, Christian, working-class, middle-class, or MAGA.

I don’t think I even mentioned NFL dude-bros or midlife crisis munchies, though I was surely thinking both of those things.

And get this:

As soon as I said that bit about Ohio, this Rural White Voter had the gall to (1) call me a Reverse Bigot and (2) managed to incorporate the n-word into their “takedown” of me and mine.

I didn’t argue. I sighed and walked away.

I have a feeling the next four years are going to be filled with Sore Winners taking Angry Victory Laps, and then “coveting our prayers and grace and understanding” when things go poorly for them.

My advice — as mentioned above — is to protect your peace, salvage your sanity, secure your safety, and help people within your community.

Help the most vulnerable people. Help disabled people. Help Black women and femmes. Help Black children. Help neurodivergent people. Help trans and 2-spirit people. Help international adoptees. Help homeless people. Help migrant farm and factory workers. Help Indigenous women and femmes.

Help all of the people who are going to be overlooked and hurt — people who are already hurting.

And help other like-minded Progressives.

If you have any energy left after doing all of that, you may choose to extend some grace to the people who chose this bullshit.

But never feel obligated to help someone who would kick sand in your face simply because your existence as a marginalized person makes them feel Economically Anxious.

So … that’s where I’m at, right now. I needed to rant, I needed to remind y’all to help each other, and I needed to remind y’all to protect yourselves.

Oh, and while I’m at it? Cancel the damn Amazon Prime membership. You won’t even miss it.

looking up Beggars in the OOH /

can’t find the median annual wage

I have a feeling that the occupational outlook for Pick-Mes will sharply increase over the next few months, followed by a steady decline when (1) those who were chosen realize they’d rather have been chosen by someone else and (2) those who did the choosing start doing the cheating.

Oh, so it’s you doing the bending cheating? Ah, well.

Back in the spring, or maybe just before the arrival of spring, a group of racists gathered in a neighboring town.

This group — a group that explicitly promotes violence and racism — marched in front of a historically Black institution. This “demonstration” was terrible and disheartening.

There were two things that immediately made me upset:

1. This institution, a church, is one of the rare churches in our area that closely follows the “hands and feet” example. They set up warming centers, they feed people of all background and all ages, they have a community garden, and they do all sorts of things for the benefit of the entire community. To have a hateful parade right in front of their church is so cruel and disrespectful.
2. The day before this happened, my mom and I were driving around that town. We paused outside of the A.M.E. Church, and we commented on how beautiful their stained glass windows are, and then we drove away. We aren’t members of either of these churches — they’re two different churches in two different neighborhoods — but we appreciated how obviously cared for both of these churches are. To see someone else’s devotion and to belittle it — to show hate and disregard instead of respect — made me mad.

In the months since this incident, I haven’t heard of the hate group coming back to town — but I have heard that the church has continued to provide all kinds of support for all sorts of folks in the community.

Just as they always have, just as they’ll continue to do — they’re still there, still standing strong.

And since they’ve stood strong for the benefit of the whole community, we should continue to stand up for them.

From time to time, I regret taking French classes when I could’ve taken Spanish classes instead.

My French teachers were kind and sympathetic, but I realized in my second semester of college French that I had absolutely zéro interest in the French language.

I was interested in learning about Francophone countries in Africa — and I still have an interest in those countries, particularly in Congolese culture and history — but I didn’t connect to the more humdrum components of French culture.

I’ve been learning Spanish over the past couple of years, and I’ve become fairly competent, when it comes to reading and listening. But I wish I had tried learning Spanish at an earlier age!

That being said, I also wish I could keep making progress, now that I’m trying to get back in the saddle and learn more Spanish. I wish I could learn a lot — and quickly. ¡Ojalá!

I want to learn Spanish and Irish and Lingala. I … I have some serious studying to do.

I’m a capital-L Leftist, so I feel like I’ve earned the right to post about this, and I’m just going to let it fly. I don’t even care if I’m “punching up,” or “punching sideways,” or just “punching the air.” Because I don’t feel like this is something that needs to be said nobly. I think this is something that needs to be addressed with sincerity.

As a left-leaning person, I feel like one of the biggest things dissuading (potential/likely/future) working class leftists from embracing the cause is this:

There are so many “well-meaning” neo-liberal academics — many of whom are ▫️ women of a certain (read: privileged) class background — who post ridiculous rants online, or argue online, or bicker online. And because these rants are actually closed-minded, or actually biased, or actually mean-spirited, hard working, open-minded, progressive people don’t want to be associated with these folks.

These people are Ivory Tower schoolmarms, shouting into the void about superficial and pedantic things that most people wouldn’t notice or feel angry about.

I don’t mean that the Ivory Tower Schoolmarms (ITSs) are writing or speaking out of, like, normal and righteous anger. They aren’t posting rants about urgent crises, or about keeping people safe in the face of violence and discrimination.

These people are posting rants that wouldn’t be out of place in the New York Times’ opinion section. These people are writing and sharing Pamela Paul-y and David Brooksian rants about things like Why can’t I talk about my ski trip to Squ*w Valley? and If your son turns out to be trans, then who will my beautiful daughter date?!

There are actually important rants to be posted. I want to make that clear — that sometimes you do need to rant and rave about an issue. It’s one thing to be extremely mad about the situation in Gaza, to call for a ceasefire, to use profanities while you’re writing about the inhumanity and hopelessness of that situation.

But it’s another thing for a grown woman with a bad haircut and hideous glasses to be arguing bitterly about Harry Potter books with trans teens, or Black teens, or disabled teens. They’re punching down, and then they act like they’re the victim when the teens start to laugh at them.

I mention the “bad haircut” thing because it seems like many of them have a certain kind of haircut, meant to telegraph intelligence, coolness, or sophistication. Instead, it seems like they all have the same stylist. A stylist who should’ve retired fifteen years ago.

It’s galling when these angry neoliberal folks are shouting at younger people to be grateful that we stood up to The Cheeto for you, that our pussies grabbed back. These are the type of women who consider wearing a hat activism — which isn’t a stretch for them, considering that (some of) their granddads wore hoods as a, um, different way of making a statement.

I went there. And by “there,” I mean, “I am accusing their grandpappies of being members of a racist organization that could be found under the Ks in the phone book.”

These neoliberal schoolmarms aren’t posting thoughtful rants about how we need to do better for the victims of war, for the victims of famine, for the victims of prejudice. These ISTs are the smug type — the type who have read the Wikipedia articles on Toni Morrison and bell hooks, but have never read one of their books. These are the type of smug academians who pat themselves on the back for retweeting a picture of the March on Washington.

These smug intellectuals only care about theory — not practice. And I …

I don’t have the answer(s). But I think that they need to pull it together.

If they really want progress, then they will also have to take it upon themselves to actively become more progressive.