intergenerational

Black Orchid - Fredclarkeara Black Lace ‘Baker’s Dark Angel’ 

In nature, black flowers are rare. The reality is that there is almost no plant in the world that is truly black in color. Most are shades of deep blue or reds or purples. This is also true about orchid flowers. Growers and hybridizers have tried many different orchid plants and hybrid orchid varieties to try to get to a truly black flower.

Among the most notable hybrids (since 2010) with truly black flowers (currently commercially available from Sunset Valley Orchids) you can find Fredclarkeara (Asparagales - Orchidaceae), an intergeneric hybrid between the orchid genera Catasetum, Clowesia and Mormodes. (Ctsm. x Cl. x Morm.).

The Fredclarkeara breeding produces flowers that are fragrant, have lots of color and are long lasting. As you can see on this one in the photo, the Fredclarkeara Black Lace 'Baker’s Dark Angel’ is indeed black.

References: [1] - [2]

Photo credit: ©Brent Baker | Locality: cultivated (2013)

trans/national

repeat after me: 
1. our immigrant families are not just ‘homophobic’ they are also 'colonized.’
2. our parents have histories, genders, and sexualities, too.
3. they are just as broken as we are (but we have the words – i mean the english – to say it)
4. the diaspora responds to racism with heteronormativity
5. trauma seeps through generations

“Somos las nietas de todas las brujas que nunca pudiste quemar” // “We’re the granddaughters of all the witches you never managed to burn at the stake”

Diseñado y distribuido por la Organización Autónoma de Mujeres y el Colectivo de Mujeres Libertarias Las Imillas, ambas agrupaciones de Cochabamba, Bolivia // Designed and distributed by the Autonomous Organization of Women and the anarchist women’s collective Las Imillas, both of which are based in Cochabamba, Bolivia

Paredes que Hablan // Walls that Talk

La Paz, Bolivia

Foto por La nepantlerA // Photo taken by La nepantlerA

My Movement Mom

By Ngoc Loan Tran 

The first time my mom saw me speak about social justice was on the 7 o’clock news. I was speaking about the effects of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell on young LGBT people looking for reflections of themselves in society. It was an important moment for my mother and I because it showed us the similarities and differences in how we were each transforming the world. Over the years, as I’ve developed my identity as an organizer, I’ve learned more about my mother’s history, and although it’s made me appreciate the vast differences in the context of our “activism,” it ultimately has made me feel like we’re a part of the same revolution—as movement moms and daughters. 

My mother grew up in Tra Vinh, Việt Nam. In the 7th grade, she quit school to work with her mother in the fields. When she was 16 years old, she moved to Sài Gòn, Việt Nam to make a living as a seamstress. She hasn’t stopped since. She was struggling with the effects of foreign military occupation and war before I was born: politicized through need to survive. 

When I do organizing work with immigrant, queer and trans communities, I think about this part of my mother’s identity and it reminds me that “the struggle” is political even in just trying to survive. Often, we feel that those of us who are “political activists” have no common ground with those who aren’t. Really, we are a community together, even if some of us have no time to be “political activists” and focus more energy on “getting by” than “taking down the man.”

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