It’s dismissive to sex workers, LGBTQ people, “non-traditional” parents, intergeneration households, non-binary people … and on, and on. She reinforces gender roles that have harmed all genders for generations and makes sex transactional between married couples. The one-man/one woman/two careers/financially stable family structure she describes isn’t just rare, it’s outright unavailable to any family without the income privilege to make decisions about division of labor in the home based on anything other than math and on-hand resources.

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


hybrids (by flora-file)

why am I such a sucker for intergeneric hybrids? In a way they seem so wrong, like frankenplants, created through some forced and unholy union. But the progeny of such crosses are so unique and beautiful. Isn’t it amazing what sort of colors and shapes can pop up when the diferent genuses in family Crassulaceae get their genes crossed.

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.”

Keep reading