For those who don’t know what this person has done, she has taken the names, addresses and other personal info of LGBTQ people, and is sending this information out to the whole world, and outing these people against their will.
My name is Edward Lucas, and I am putting a stop to her, I am standing up to her, and I will end it. Reblog this, all of you, I don’t care if it makes your blog “ugly” or whatever. This is peoples lives at risk.
How can you get out of your truck against police advice, instigate a fight, get your nose bloodied in said fight, shoot the person you were fighting with, and claim self defense? If anyone was defending themselves, wasn’t it Trayvon Martin?
Would police have been so forbearing had Martin confronted and killed an unarmed George Zimmerman?
Of course, the most pressing question is this: What exactly was it that made this boy seem “suspicious?” The available evidence suggests a sad and simple answer: He existed while black.
The manner of said existence doesn’t matter. It is the existing itself that is problematic. Again: Sometimes, they do not see you.
That’s one of the great frustrations of African-American life, those times when you are standing right there, minding your business, tending your house, coming home from the store, and other people are looking right at you, yet do not see you.
They see instead their own superstitions and suppositions, paranoia and guilt, night terrors and vulnerabilities. They see the perpetrator, the suspect, the mug shot, the dark and scary face that lurks at the open windows of their vivid imaginings. They see the unknown, the inassimilable, the other.
They see every damn thing in the world but you.
And their blindness costs you. First and foremost, it costs your sacred individuality. But it may also cost you a job, an education, your freedom. If you are unlucky like Trayvon Martin, it may even cost your life.
He lay bloody and ruined in wet grass with nothing in his pockets but $22, a can of lemonade and a bag of Skittles, not a type, not a kind, but just himself, a kid who liked horses and sports, who struggled with chemistry, who went out for snacks and never came home.