brown feminism

Why I need Chicana feminism

Because I was taught to stay away from certain styles because they were too “mexican”. With phrases like “the bigger the hoop, the bigger the hole” when I loved wearing big earrings. Being told that red hair against my brown skin looked “ghetto” instead of fierce and bold. Wearing stylish flannels like the pretty pastel haired girls on tumblr and being told I look like a “chola”. Working hard to get rid of my slang because society taught me that it was “unflattering”. That bright red lips were too much. That my natural intense brows are now a makeup “fad”. When in reality all this shit was made up by people that want to put us down for claiming our own identity. 

shoutout to all the girls who have ever felt like the ugly one in their group of lighter skinned friends, shoutout to all the girls that have ever purchased skin bleach products to make their skin lighter, shoutout to all the girls who have watched diy videos on youtube just to find a way to be light, shoutout to all the girls who have been told they were ugly bc their skin was darker than others, shoutout to all the girls who don’t go out in the sun anymore in fear of getting darker, shoutout to all the girls that wear sunscreen, long sleeves, etc. to avoid the sun from touching their skin, shoutout to all the girls who are dark-skinned, bc they are beautiful & deserve better

To be black and female in a society that is both racist and sexist is to be in the unique position of having nowhere to go but up!

Rosemary Brown (1930-2003): Canada’s first black woman to be elected to a provincial legislature & the first black woman to run for leadership of a federal political party in Canada. She belonged to the New Democratic Party (NDP), Canada’s major left leaning party; she narrowly lost to Ed Broadbent for leadership of the NDP. 

At the encouragement of my dad…

Do you like the idea of punching literal nazis? So do I.

I’ve made these in feminist pink, Jewish blue, neutral grey, POC browns & blacks, LGBT rainbow, and American red white and blue.

Get your set or your favorite at my etsy shop.

Please reblog to let your fellow nazi punching friends know!

Black, brown, Asian, and First Nations people, for a multitude of reasons, have made their way across the entire globe. In seeking the future or fleeing the past, we have had to emigrate, assimilate, change our names, learn new tongues, abandon customs, forget our histories, leave behind our religions.

Forgive your brothers and sisters who may not speak the language. Be patient with your brothers and sisters who speak with Western accents and stumble through traditional greetings. Love your brothers and sisters who don’t know their cultures and have forgotten their ancestors. It has never been their fault.


by Andre De Leon

Abuelita in the kitchen with her skin like wet sand

Covered in skin tags like teabags soaking in her sweat

Her dish soap damaged hands holding a knife, chopping cilantro rhythmically.

Abuelita with ojos de caramelo and wrinkled from old jokes

stands in front of a tall bronze pot filled to the brim with pozole

occasionally spilling over like tears after some salsa cabrona.

Abuelita in the kitchen slaving herself away to keep us all plump and happy

Her heart as sweet as cooking chocolate,

Her spirit as spicy as burnt chiles,

Her laughter as lingering as the taste of menudo,

Her words as soft as avocado,

Her love as permanent as the magenta stains from a juicy beet.

Abuelita has had experiences, tart, like a good ceviché.

Abuelita wears her smile often like an ear of corn.

Abuelita has sayings, dichos, that pour from her throat like lime juice from a juicer.

Abuelita has stories to tell that float in her mind like frijoles de olla.

Abuelita tells the tale of how she met grandpa

How there were butterflies and sugar lips

How there were hairlines and smaller hips

How grandpa married her for her cooking

“The fastest way to a man’s heart is his stomach.” she says

And although she displays a grin,

I know she regrets ever touching the stove

that touched his heart.

Abuelita in the kitchen, enslaved to a culture

Where a man’s hunger is the fastest way to a broken heart

Where the only thing she feeds is his machismo

Where if there’s too much spice in life, you can’t dab it off,

you just eat it and cry.

Abuelita in the kitchen with pots and pans

like chains on her hands

With burned fingers like charred meats

With sweat drops like salt crystals

With years of cooking, only to taste his pride.

Brown girl, 
be quiet, quieter,
softer. Dumb 
yourself down, read less,
don’t think so much
about the knots in your belly. 
How it hurts when they 
tell you brown girl
don’t laugh too loud,
don’t say too much.
Brown boys don’t want it,
don’t like it. 
All your dance, all your giggle. 
Your spine or your knuckles, 
those boldfaced ugly opinions. 
How dare you, brown girl, 
put your chin up, meet their gaze
head on? 
Where is your shame? 
Who will want to marry you,
with that attitude?
With that snake tongue?
With all your fire and your venom.
Brown girl keep your eyes down,
brown girl keep your legs shut,
brown girl, disappear,
slowly, gently,
so they don’t see you dimming. 
Turn in on yourself.
Switch the lights off, 
cast your eyes down. 
Brown girl, listen.  
When your auntie tells you
when your mama says 
your hips are too big, 
your mouth is too wide, 
and those words, the bite of them, 
how could you, brown girl, 
be more than that, how could you?
—  Azra.T., “Brown Girl” After Meghan Falley’s ‘Fat Girl’ and all my endless disappointment and frustration at my culture and what it does to our women