omo-elegua asked:

this is coming from a cuban about desi arnaz... desi came from an affluent white cuban family of very recent spanish heritage. most of the cubans who came to america in the fifties and sixties were from the white middle and elite class of cuba and many of them were even people born in spain who were moved to cuba or the children of spanish immigrants like desi. in america he was viewed as white in the same way as other white immigrants like italians or poles were which is why [ill continue]

Tay's story-**may be triggering****

This is extremely long. But it is my life. These are things I never told anyone. And it feels good to finally let it out.

I was born in September, to my mother, who was a German immigrant and to my father, who was an Italian immigrant. My mother and father have 4 children together. I have older brothers who are twins, their names are Ryan and Bryan. I have a younger sister named Natalie. My brothers were born in Germany, where my parents met, married and settled down. My parents were young. My mom was 14 when she had my brothers. My dad was a lot older, he was 20. Although many would say that their relationship is wrong, I have yet to see a woman love a man as much as my mother loved my father. My parents came to the United States when my brothers were 2. My mom wanted to become a doctor and the U.S. Medical school system was her dream. My parents had no trouble adjusting to American life. They both were fluent in English already. My mother had an older sister who lived in Leesburg, Virginia. So this was my families first home in the U.S. My mother went to high school and graduated top of her class at 18. She was accepted into University of Virginia, Charlottesville that fall. Shortly after her acceptance they moved to Waynesboro, Virginia. A quite town relatively close to Charlottesville. She graduated as an honors student with a bachelors in Biology at 22. A few months later she gave birth to me. She had no idea. A year later she was accepted into University of California, San Francisco for med school. So there we go moving to Sausalito, CA. Both of my parents came from money. My mother never once had to take a loan out for her schooling.

During this time not only did she find out she was pregnant, she also found out I had cancer. My mother was scratching my back one night when she was tucking me in and felt 2 softball size lumps on my back. Lumps that weren’t there before. She immediately took me to the hospital were I had testing done. Shortly after my parents were told to meet with an oncologist at UCSF. That’s where they were told that their daughter had T-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. During her second year in school she gave birth to my sister Natalie. Now she had a daughter going through chemo and radiation treatments as well as a new born. This is where my father stepped up and took care of the kids while my mother struggled to balance personal life as well as school. But she did. And in her 3rd year I went into remission. My cancer was gone. And I was healthy again.

My mother graduated about 5 years after starting at UCSF. She was now a doctor, an ophthalmologist for children with retina disorders. She was a 28 year old with two 13 year olds, a 6 year old and a 3 year old. Talk about a hectic household. My mother got an offer to be a part of a group pediatric center in Memphis, Tennessee. We moved there shortly after she graduated UCSF.

I talk about my mom a lot, later it’ll make more sense. Where she worked was a 24 hour center. Since she was new, she got all the crap hours. I felt like she was never home in reality she was home from 10 to about 6am, me being so young I would usually always be sleeping. I felt lonely. I missed my mom. My brothers were in high school, playing football and other various activities. They weren’t ever home.

This is when my life changed. This is when my father started abusing, molesting and raping me. I was only 6 years old. We lived in a ranch style house. It was beautiful. We had a huge lawn with a lot of room to run and play. This is how my father explained the bruises I would have. He would say I had fell. I became the “clumsy kid”. And no one really questioned it. There were no typical child abuse signs. I never had bruises on my face. Never broke a bone as a kid. (Other than a broken finger my brother gave me when he opened his door and I was standing obvious to it). My mom believed him and I was too afraid to say anything. He would threaten another rape of i told anyone. So I didn’t. In hopes it would stop. But it didn’t. This is when my father became a hard core drug addict. Heroine, crack cocaine, pcp, ecstasy, you name it he did it, along with alcohol.

When i was 8 I had a relapse with my leukemia. This relapse lasted almost 2 years. Fast forward to when I was 10. My father still hadn’t stopped and I still never said anything. Around this time is when he started making Natalie watch. And would threaten her and say if she was a bad girl this would happen to her. I had a short relapse again wen I was 13. But it lasted about 3 months. Doctors don’t consider it a relapse but I had chemotherapy. So I count it. My mom got a full time job during the day. 7am-7pm. So I got to see her more and when she was home I was safe. She became my protector. I knew when she was home my dad wouldn’t threaten me. He would just her high and go to sleep.

When I turned 14 I met a guy. A guy who soon became one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. He truly knew me. We began dating. And he caused me to forget my home life. When I was with him I didn’t have a care in the world. I felt like we were the only people on earth. But when I would have to go home, it was back to reality. My dad got me pregnant at 14. Due to my cancer my cycles have always been irregular. So I figured when I missed my cycle it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t know until one morning I was having extremely bad cramps. And I was bleeding a lot. I told my mom and she took me to the hospital and they told me I was 9 weeks pregnant and that I was going through a miscarriage. I’ve never seen such a look of disappointment then the look I saw on my moms face. She never asks who the father was, she assumed it wast boyfriends. And after that he wasn’t allowed in the house.

My father still didn’t stop. We moved to Virginia again for a job my mother got. My boyfriend was in college and transferred for me. Fast forward to me being 16. This was absolutely the worst year of my life. I had shoulder surgery and my mom wanted to go to the store one night. It was December and it was cold and there was snow on the ground. We were driving in a northbound lane in a Honda Accord, and we were hit head on by a truck who spun out on black ice. It launched our car into the shoulder were we must’ve rolled a few times. The car was upside down when I woke up. My mom was in front of me. She had reached over on impact to try to save me. She was pinned in front of my face. She was dying. I was too. But she was worse. There was blood everywhere. I couldn’t feel my legs, or my arms. I couldn’t breathe deep. I had blood coming from my mouth and nose. And my mom, I can’t even describe. Other than glossed over eyes. Pale skin and gasps for breath. I panicked and started screaming and crying, and all my mom could do was say “I love you.” She said it 5 times before she stopped, her stare went blank. And I knew in that moment, my protector was gone forever. She died not knowing things. And a piece of me died with her. I faded in and out of consciousness. I woke up hearing sirens and men talking. There was light shinning on the car but not at me. I heard a paramedic say there’s no point in looking for people in the car because they wouldn’t have survived, that’s when I started screaming, or at least I thought I was. But I wasn’t making much sound. The medic heard me though. And all I could say was that I’m alive and my moms dead. About 25 minutes later I got out. They had to cut the car into pieces. They took a piece off of where my chest was and I passed out. The next thing I remember is waking up in an empty hospital room, with a calendar date that was in February. I had to relearn how to walk and how to use my arms. I had no visitors while I was gone, other then my boyfriend who never left my side. He took my home and when I got there I found out my father had remarried the day after my mothers death. And my new step mother was 23 years old. I walked up 2 flights of stairs to my room and when I walked in it wasn’t my room anymore. My father had gotten rid of all my stuff. Told me he thought I should’ve died too. He let me stay for 4 days. And then I had to leave. This is when I tried to kill myself. I drank, took over 70 high dose pain pills blasted music and got a gun. I was so sick and drunk that I didn’t know where the trigger was. I had shot guns since I was 7. My brother happened to stop home and ran into my room just as I was messing with the gun. He saved my life. I was taken to the hospital and had my stomach pumped. I had surgery to clean out my intestines and stomach to make sure I didn’t die. I spent a lot of time on suicide watch. And that whole time I was just planing on what I could do next. When I got out. Luckily I had the opportunity to move in with my boyfriend. And I did and I got better. I was happy.

I could say all the other horrible things about my father. And what he has done even since then. But I feel like this has been super depressing as it is. So I will leave those things out. My boyfriend I loved so very much was killed last year. And since then I’ve broken apart. I’m still grieving. And I honestly probably will always hurt.

But I am no longer suicidal. If it wasn’t for my brother on that night I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have gotten to see my half sisters born. I wouldn’t have been able to help all you people with the same situations that I’ve lived through. My life has been hell. I am still living with cancer, I am still having to live with my fathers disgusting being. I’m on my own. And this is my story. And I will make it happy. And I will live to be happy. Just like you all should. I’ve learned how to dance even in the worst of rain.


anonymous asked:

Off topic but I don't understand some people (regardless of race) who say all while people contributed to slavery. My ancestors were Irish, poor, and immigrated after slavery was technically abolished. My Italian side immigrated here more recently (I'm 4th gen). I know regardless of that I'm still a white American but my ancestors had nothing to do with slavery as terrible as it was...

My family got here long after slavery ended.

-the Polish one

Honestly: I don't give a fuck about the oppression white ethnic minorities suffered while in Europe or in America

because the moment these same minorities were able to immigrate to America or gain some political power they shat all over Black people.  It’s like the experiences and torments they went through didn’t mean anything, it didn’t translate to “hey maybe we shouldn’t treat other people like shit for arbitrary differences”

This is why many believe that in general white people lack empathy, that in general they display psychotic traits. For while they can experience oppression and can sympathize and empathize, it is only with people who look like them. 

So fuck the fake ass jews and their fuckin holocaust and progoms

fuck the the irish and their goddamn potato famine

fuck the gypsies

fuck the pollacks and the wops with their bullshit ass bootstrap immigration story

In short every 3rd generation or fob ass mothafucka who comes to america to escape their specifc brand of oppression or ostracization, but find room in their hearts to look down on Black people, to believe that we are somehow beneath you or unfit to be associated with.

Go fuck yourself,  I have no sympathy for whatever you went through because it’s obvious you didn’t learn the cosmic lesson.

I came to America because I heard the streets were paved with gold. When I got here, I found out three things: first, the streets weren’t paved with gold; second, they weren’t paved at all; and third, I was expected to pave them.
—  Italian Immigrant, 1900s

More Art Monday: America

The good ‘ol US of A, The States, 'Merica. Whatever you call it; this country has been an inspiration for artists since it began. Here are a few of our favorite America-inspired images from the collection.

Brooklyn Bridge,” 1910, by Alvin Langdon Coburn

Italian Immigrants Seeking Lost Luggage,” 1905, by Lewis W. Hine

Woman’s Sweater“,” 1989, designed by Ralph Lauren

Giant Redwood Tree,” c. 1890–1900, possibly by Frances(?) Judd Catterlin or William H. Catterlin

Shoe Rosettes,” c. 1824, artist/maker unknown

On this Day

Italian immigrant and co-founder of the Planters Peanut Company, Amedeo Obici was born on July 15th, 1877 in Veneto, Italy. Amedeo settled in the Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania region and co-founded the company with another Italian emigre, Mario Peruzzi. The company’s iconic logo of an anthropomorphic gentleman peanut was created by fourteen year old schoolboy Antonio Gentile in 1916.

Bookmark from the Collection on the 1939/1940 New York World’s Fair, Queens Museum, 2011.1.117WF39.

Vendredi 26 juillet | Eugenia Corriés | Rotonda

Once, when I was little, I spent the night at my grandparents’ house in Mar del Plata. The noise their clock made scared me, and seeing that I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep, I asked my grandmother to read me a story in bed. There were no children’s books at their house, except for an old Pinocchio in its original Italian version that I found, by being persistent, in the bookshelves. Since she was born in Italy, I thought that she would be able to translate it for me. I handed her the book, I brought her a chair, and I slipped into the bed and waited. She sat in the chair, nervously opened the book, looked at it, then looked at me with sad eyes. I understood in that moment that she wouldn’t be able to read it: she had forgotten her mother tongue.

Notice to Aliens of Enemy Nationalities, 02/09/1942

From the series: Public Relations Records, 1940 - 1954; Records of the Immigration and Naturalization Service

This is a Department of Justice notice directed towards aliens of German, Italian, and Japanese nationalities to apply for a Certificate of Identification by the deadline of February 28, 1942.