Even before Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo carved it in blood, the 224-mile border dividing the island of Hispaniola between Haiti and the Dominican Republic was complicated. Tensions between the two countries stemmed back to a 19th century war. But in many ways, the border, which existed mostly on paper, was a notably seamless site: Children crossed back and forth freely to go to school on one side and home on the other. Sprawling cattle ranches spanned the divide, and Dominicans and Haitians mingled and intermarried frequently.

That ended on Oct. 2, 1937, when the Dominican military, under Trujillo’s orders, began to execute Haitian families as well as Dominicans of Haitian descent. The killings, many of which took place in the border region, were mostly carried out by machete to help sell the regime’s official account that the massacre was a spontaneous uprising of patriotic Dominican farmers against Haitian cattle thieves.

The killing lasted between five and eight days. Afterward, there was a moratorium on newspapers covering the massacre, and Trujillo refused to publicly admit his government’s role or accept responsibility.

After the dictator was assassinated in 1961, researchers began to investigate what had been an off-limits subject, conducting interviews, digging through documents and putting together the pieces of what happened. Estimates of the number of dead still vary widely — from less than 1,000 to 30,000. Mass graves were never found.

Commonly known as the Parsley Massacre — Haitians and Dominicans pronounce the Spanish word perejil differently and, according to a popular though unconfirmed story, this was used as a litmus test of their origins — the killings are now acknowledged by Dominican society at large and taught in schools. But in many ways, the massacre remains a historical footnote, seen as an uncomfortable reminder of a brutal past.

80 Years On, Dominicans And Haitians Revisit Painful Memories Of ‘Parsley Massacre’

Photos: Tatiana Fernandez for Latino USA


FANCAST: Tonia Sotiropoulou as CLEOPARTA VII

( aka it’s about time a Greek and/or Persian actress plays Cleopatra)

An oft unknown fact is that Cleopatra VII (she would have spelled it as ‘Kleopatra VII’, being a Greek name) was indeed a mostly Macedonian Greek woman with a pinch of Persian. Her dynasty, the Ptolemies, were descended from Ptolemy, right hand of Alexander the Great, and refused to intermingle with the Egyptian population, instead inter breeding and occasionally marrying Persian nobility (one example of a Persian ancestress of Cleopatra VII is Cleopatra I Syra); they set themselves up above the Egyptians and created Alexandria, a Greek center of learning. Indeed, none of the Ptolemies spoke Egyptian, until Cleopatra herself decided learn the language to further appeal to the people.

“Well she descends from one of the generals of Alexander the Great who are Greek Macedonians. So there is no question there that she comes from a line of Greeks. It gets a little bit more certain because they tend to…they intermarried. The 13 or 14 marriages in her dynasty, ten of them were brother-sister marriages. So there’s really no foreign blood whatsoever in this dynasty, they are truly Greek Macedonian to the hilt. There may have been a Persian princess who slipped in there somewhere, but otherwise you’re really talking about a woman who was as Greek in terms of ethnicity, in terms of culture, in terms of education, as you could be in that world.”

Historian Stacy Schiff

“Cleopatra VII was born to Ptolemy XII Auletes (80–57 BC, ruled 55–51 BC) and Cleopatra, both parents being Macedonian Greeks.”

The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt

“For ten generations her family had styled themselves pharaohs. The Ptolemies were in fact Macedonian Greek, which makes Cleopatra approximately as Egyptian as Elizabeth Taylor. The word “honey skinned” recurs in descriptions of her relatives and would presumably applied to hers as well, despite the inexactitudes surrounding her mother and paternal grandmother. There was certainly Persian blood in the family, but even an Egyptian mistress is a rarity among the Ptolemies. She was not dark skinned.”

Cleopatra, A Life - Stacy Schiff

“Cleopatra (69- 30 BC), the Greek queen of Egypt, belonged to the Ptolemaic family, the Macedonian Greeks who ruled Egypt during the Hellenistic Age.”

Western civilization: ideas, Politics, and society by Marvin Perry, Margaret C Jacob, Myrna Chase, James R Jacob

“The colour of her hair and her complexion are unknown. There is a tradition popular in some circles that she was black, but there is not a shred of evidence to support this. The Ptolemies were Macedonians, though there was some Greek and, through marriages to Seleucids, also a little Persian blood in their recorded family line.”

Caesar: Life of a Colossus - Adrian Goldsworthy

(source compiled by @tiny-librarian here )

anonymous asked:

Would you consider it to be bittersweet if jonerys ended up having a baby but not being 'together' due to being related? not sure how that dynamic would work

Can you picture either Jon or Dany leaving their child because they find out they are aunt and nephew, which is not even a big deal at all in this universe?

In ADWD, Dany actually thought sadly that if her brother Rhaegar’s son, Aegon (yep, Rhaegar already had a son named Aegon before Jon. It’s a big wtf for me, too), had lived, she might have married him. She thought that if only things were different, she could have married her nephew, as Targaryens magical, fictional people, did for hundreds of years. Since we now know that Jon is also her nephew named Aegon, I don’t think we are going to have a problem here. 

Jon might feel momentarily squicked out but I doubt it considering his grandparents (to his knowledge–he still thinks he’s Stark/Snow) were cousins (Rickard and Lyarra Stark–parents of Ned, Lyanna, Brandon, and Benjen), and considering that his actual grandparents on the Targaryen side are SIBLINGS. Additionally, Jonnel Stark married his niece Sansa Stark and Edric Stark married his niece Serena Stark. Jon would have been aware of this. He is educated and likes history, especially Targaryen history. 

Also, major show AND book character Tywin Lannister was married to his cousin, Joanna. Yep–Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion’s parents were cousins too. 

Even Sansa was betrothed to Robin/Robert Arryn–her first cousin.

We really need to stop applying the social values of the real, non-magical, modern world to Westeros where everything is different. 

Cersei and Jaime are not the barometer by which to judge the morality of other incestuous unions. Sibling incest =/= uncle/niece or aunt/nephew or cousins. Sibling incest was practiced by the Targaryens (who have magical Valyrian blood and are not like regular Westerosi) and even that would probably still be somewhat taboo for our characters now. 

But Jon and Dany are not siblings and they ARE Targaryens–who intermarried for centuries for a reason. This does not cause madness. Aerys II is the only confirmed “mad” Targaryen. 

So the family relation is not this big deal people are making it out to be.

Even if for some reason it was, I will personally shave my head if Dany is pregnant and Jon breaks up with her, leaving that child a bastard because she is his aunt. It’s just not in-character for either of them. At all. 

:D more character doodles! This lovely young lady needs a name! She is a nonbender bodyguard / Dai Li agent. Post your ideas!

It was important for me to include Black / African-American / African characters in my version of the Avatar universe. My headcanon: when the water tribe split, some groups went south along the western coast of the Earth Kingdom, but another group went east and landed on the eastern-most peninsula/islands. They were welcomed by the indigenous population (a people with a black/African phenotype and a culture based very loosely on the Xhosa, the Maasai, and the seafaring Moken & Bajau peoples). Eventually, the waterbenders intermarried with the peninsula’s population. This has resulted in a unique mix of tribal customs, as well as a population that has earthbenders and waterbenders naturally born in the same communities. They are a minority in the Earth Kingdom though, and their relative isolation from the rest of Earth Kingdom society has allowed them to retain and preserve their unique culture.

…so, planes and cars fuck me up bc of the conflicting ways they talk about things

For one, ‘that’s just how they were made’ and ‘they were separated at birth’ are said in the same movie

>Some planes and cars are made BAD ‘lemons’ deliberately?

>Even though certain cars and planes are still existing in the world, they discontinue making parts for them? Like… their vital organs can fail and they just have to die?

>Some of them seem to age/be elderly, some young, but how the fuck

>There’s a Pope?

>What degree to which do they feel? Like, they literally spend all night pulling bits off the plane (dusty), and he seems to not notice at all, but being knocked aout by wind or burned (like the helicopter) elicits pain responses

>they can be knocked out?

>fuel is everything, food and drink and blood?

>they have love in the universe, marriage (there was a hint of a new couple getting a bridal suite) which implies… more than i care to eaborate on… so where do little cars come from?

>why do they have mouths if they can put petrol pumps in their petrol tanks directly?

>how do they digest anything? i mean, they plainly state they eat other stuff, mater tries wassabi, the gas truck talks about deep-fried corn…

>where did the first cars come from… 

>how the fuck do half of them do anything?

>what if they dn’t want to be what they are?
Like, trains, big trucks and big planes are born to be servants, whether they want it or not???? what the fuck???

>some cars are made to be more effective, better, higher class, and others deliberately the opposite???

>there are diseases in this universe including rust? Or is that a metaphor for acne/hemorrhoids?

>cars pee… but only in one of the movies… everyone else apparently doesn’t?
cars can be incontinent, too? cars have bidets that shoot under the boot

>do you know we never actually see any f the characters’ homes?
Like, the most ‘indoors’ we see any of them, is in motels and hotels… we have NO IDEA how their houses work, what amenities exist, etc. did you ever notice? bc i just did and it’s fucking me up?

>where do cars learn? are there schools? they have doctors and mechanics and shit, but where did they get the degree?

>mater sleeps in, what is basically, a medical waste pit? he’s surrounded on all sides by pieces f rusty old cars? is he a serial killer and no ones addressing it?

>Tractors are cows in this world? do they get eaten or…?

>cars have body issues? like, they’re legit built a certain way… but the best they can change is their colour and tires?

>what’s… inside… the cars…
I mean, they have all the right windows and shit but like… they wouldn’t need seats or any of the normal stuff you’d expect

>the winnebagos…? are they… like, what is in there? are they considered fat?

>what about the little forklifts? are they considered a servant class? like, you see them doing a lot of manual shit, compared to the others, who swan about…

>what else exists in this world? fast food places, libraries? are the cars even literate to the same extent as humans? we see a few newspapers but that means fuck-all… 

>boats exist, like… we need more info on that…
there was that fuck-ass huge military base on the ocean, how does that dude feel about people using him as a landing pad? 

>if a boat capsizes, how the FUCK do they help them? 
none of the other boats have arms?
Are they ‘missing, presumed drowned’?

>are boats beholden to their land car counterparts? like in cars 2 we see that they need someone to get them out of the water (and then they just hang there waiting for deployment)?
and in planes 2, that boat in a trailer (friend, family, partner), who was almost left to die in a fire by their panicking car buddy

is everyone the same kind of car or can you be related to a train, two aircraft carriers and a plane? 

>are hybrids the result of two different car types intermarrying?


>are there prejudices? like ‘oh, you’re marrying a HONDA?’ or ‘oh, how generous, they adopted a BOAT’??? or ‘no, no, we’re not hiring a Ford… can’t trust them’???

>why do neither of the cars movies or indeed the planes movies, pass the bechdel test?

>do cars even have the same concept of gender as humans, or is it like… whatevs be what you want?


The logistics of this whole universe are just????

I have so???? many??? questions??????

Where Did Stone Age Farming Come From?

For a long time, scientists believed that one group of farmers – the first group of farmers – came up with this great new way of getting enough food, then slowly spread out and out-competed all the hunter gatherers they came across. But new genetic research says this is probably wrong. A genetic study looked at some of the world’s first farmers, in the Zagros region of Iran. And to the researcher’s surprise, they discovered that these first farmers were not related to the genomes of early farmers from the Aegean and Europe. In other words, these first farmers were not from a single, genetically homogeneous population, as had previously been believed. So what likely happened?

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I am interested in the Sicilian and Italian traditions! Can you direct me as to where to learn more about this/explain the basics of this practice? Thank you so much- your blog is great:)

Italian Witchcraft and Folklore

Hey! That’s wonderful! They’re surprisingly difficult to find any accurate information on!
My best resources are the article by Sabina Magliocco titled Witchcraft, healing, and vernacular magic in Italy, a less reliable article (that mixes witch-lore and folk magic all together) by J.B. Andrews called Neapolitan Witchcraft, and Carlo Ginzburg’s book The Night Battles about the benandanti in Friuli (Northeastern region of Italy).

If anyone knows any other sources feel free to list them!

Italian witch lore is very old, as there have been legends of witches in this region for a very long, accountable period. The word strega (witch) most likely comes from the Latin strix (screech owl) which witches were thought to take the shape of in the night. The practice of witchcraft is called stregoneria, a male witch is a stregone, and a female witch is a strega.
There are more legends of Italian witches in the south (particularly near Naples). One of the most famous is the story of the witches of Benevento, who convened beneath a walnut tree on a hill therein, and danced and worshiped the Devil. This tree was supposedly cut down.

There is a popular image of a witch who arises among Christian tradition in Italy, even still today. This witch is called Old Befana or Bella Befana(Bruta BefanaBella Befana or Vecchia Befana) who is a good witch who lived alone in a small cottage. One day, three wise men knocked on her door. “Behold! The child of God is born, (yada yada) we’re going to find him and bring him gifts! Will you join us Old Befana?” Now, Old Befana was glad to hear the news and excited to meet the new babe and give it what gifts she could. However, she was not one to shuck her responsibilities so she said she would have to wait until her chores were completed. They agreed and she saw them off, before finishing her cleaning. Once her duties were completed, she packed up her presents for the babe, hopped promptly onto the broom she had just finished sweeping with, and flew out the chimney into the cold night. However, they had not told her how to find them again! Not wanting to deny the boy his gifts, she decided to give some to all the little children she passed on her way, as any might be the new born child of God. Every year on that same night, Old Befana rides out on her broom and deposits gifts for little children, in hopes that one day she will finally find the baby Jesus and give him the presents she has been holding all this time.

In southern Italy, many of the tales of witches (streghe) and folk healers (fattucchiere, or ‘fixers’) tell of the songs they sing to work their magic. Unfortunately, this seems to be all anyone knows on the subject, and I can’t find any references or information on these songs!
In lore, the witches of both benevolent and malefic natures are closely related or interchangeable with more faerie-like spirits. The Janare of Naples/Janas of Sardinia (lit. followers of Diana) are magical women said to live in Neolithic shaft tombs and are expert weavers and spinners. They sometimes intermarry with humans, but are very different from the cogas  (or little cooks) of Sardinia, who are malefic witches that cook and eat their victims.

Most folk magic in Italy has died out, even in many of the rural areas. What is documented and what remains is all, unsurprisingly, Catholic magic. Much of it draws to saints, prayers, and Catholic holy tools. One name for this form of magic is benedicaria. However, much of it seems more agricultural or magical and less religious in nature. There is no point assuming this other source is pagan, because we could never prove where almost of any of it originated.

Most witchcraft you will find today in Italy, especially in urbanized areas, is of a New Age or Neo-pagan persuasion. Neo-Wicca is about the best you can hope to find, and even that is comparatively rare to that found in Great Britain, Australia, and the U.S.

In conversations about Italian magic and witchcraft, Raven Grimassi’s book Italian Witchcraft tends to come up. THIS BOOK IS UTTER BULLSHIT. HOGWASH. STUFF AND NONSENSE. It’s almost literally just Neo-Wicca with different names and some made up information. I’m not exaggerating. If you have this book, it’s better off as kindling than on your bookshelf. Just saying.
Charles Leland’s book Aradia: The Gospel of the Witches is a pretty piece of poetry, and perhaps has some truths in it, but it can never be relied upon. His source is not credible, and the information doesn’t add up well. It is a beautiful book, but not an accurate account of Italian magic or witchcraft.

Here are a few blog posts I have made relating to Italian witchcraft and folk magic:

The Curse of the Lemon and Pins

Neapolitan Flying Ointment

The Use of Stones in Italian Folk Magic

Charm Against the Evil Eye

To Cure Jaundice

To Cure Worms

To Bind an Eagle from your Flock

To Keep Birds from the Crops

isn’t it interesting how dornish characters always get their ethnicity commented on and how wanton or aggressive or whatever they are

but no one ever comments on arthur dayne’s, or the daynes’ in general for that matter

isn’t it interesting how the guy revered as the greatest knight ever was a moc but no one ever mentions it, not once

isn’t it interesting that hbo cast a white man with an english accent for arthur where they cast poc for every other dornish character and gave them spanish accents

isn’t it interesting how ashara gets sexualized by everyone like other dornish characters but her ethnicity is never remarked upon, only her beauty, because how could white characters lust after and respect a woc? in a world with ice zombies, that’s just going too far

isn’t it interesting that joncon, who despises and disparages and insults elia for being dornish and having rhaegar’s ear, thinks neutrally of arthur despite arthur also being dornish and on top of that having known rhaegar longer and better than anyone else

isn’t it interesting how arthur, ashara, allyria, and edric are never said to have the infamous dornish tempers or outspokenness when clearly their fellow mountain houses possess those traits, since the lord of kingsgrave, his brother, and both his heirs went with oberyn on his revenge mission, along with larra blackmont, lady of her house, and her heirs

isn’t it interesting how grrm and fandom never talk about how the daynes are not white and that they would have had accents and wouldn’t “freckle or burn” every time they stepped outside because fucking dorne and that their skin wouldn’t be lily-white especially given that their house most certainly has intermarried with other, darker, dornish houses

isn’t it interesting that it’s never mentioned how arthur would have hated having to go help rhaegar take off with lyanna and later being commanded to stay at the toj instead of fighting alongside his countrymen, considering his house was a vassal of elia’s and his actions would be a slap in the face to his entire homeland


Tatterdemalion Dreams

This is a coda to Ragtag Heroes, not really intended to become a separate thing but my attempt to get into Sirius’s head. Excuse me while I upend my drabble bin over your heads. :D

Sirius’s little brother has always been just that—little. Regulus was a slight and slender child, and has grown into a lean and lithe man, a little too thin and rawboned from constant stress but still pretty in the way that their parents always despaired of. Sirius can admit, despite his hatred of her, that Walburga Black was an absolutely stunning woman, and Regulus takes after her very much in looks.

Not so much in personality, though, regardless of what Sirius thought as a child. Not after what he’s managed to accomplish.

Slumped in a dusty old armchair, Sirius watches his brother wander around Grimmauld Place’s library, touching covers, stroking long fingers over worn spines. This is Reggie’s element and always has been—Sirius was honestly astonished that he ended up in Slytherin rather than Ravenclaw, during the Sorting. Regulus as a child, in Sirius’s mind, was forever clutching a book, sometimes as big as himself, and wandering around with a dreamy, distant expression. He thinks of it with a bit of a pang, now, because at some point during his first year at Hogwarts that warm burst of fondness at the sight of his little brother, forever trying to please everyone, transformed into something sneering and derisive and passively loathing.

Regulus being sorted into Slytherin was the final straw, and Sirius, already immersed in being different from their parents and surrounded by Gryffindors who held the same beliefs, had turned his back on Regulus, not about to associate himself with a sniveling follower.

Never mind the fact that Regulus was eleven. Never mind that their parents had always leaned harder on Regulus, who was never nearly as willful. Never mind that Regulus adored Sirius since birth, as the only one who spent any amount of time with him outside of the house elves. Sirius had turned away, found a new brother in James who suited him so much better, and left without a backwards glance.

Their parents were never kind, even to the family favorite, and Sirius watches Regulus meander through the shelves with something like guilt roiling in his gut. Should have known, he thinks, and the vague, distant regret he’s felt since learning of his brother’s death is back in full force, because Sirius had run away from the family and left Regulus behind. It doesn’t matter that they were at odds at the time; Regulus was always a gentle soul, always tried to please their parents no matter what. Sirius could have easily taken him along to James’s, could have convinced him to abandon their parents’ ideals if only he’d remembered the sweet little boy Regulus had been, rather than looking at the distant, aloof Black prince he’d been forcibly molded into.

But he didn’t, hadn’t bothered, and something in Sirius is—

“Leo Prince,” Regulus says unexpectedly, making Sirius jump.

“What?” Sirius asks, blinking.

When he looks up, Regulus is giving him that nostalgic you’re-a-moron-Siri-and-must-I-lower-myself-to-your-level look. He’s seen it quite often—usually from the child Regulus used to be, excited about some obscure spell or ritual or potion, some little-known aspect of ancient magical theory that lost Sirius completely about twelve words into the explanation. Not that he’s an idiot, academically—Sirius has always been proud of his grades—but Regulus is something entirely different. Even their parents never quite knew what to do with him, beyond shipping him off to Voldemort in a gift-wrapped package.

“Yes, Reggie?” Sirius grins at his little brother, for the sole reason that the nickname drives him batty and nothing gets his ire up like pretending to be stupid. “What was that?”

Regulus rolls his eyes so hard Sirius wonders how he doesn’t strain something. “My name,” he explains, tone long-suffering, “for teaching at Hogwarts.”

Sirius turns it over in his head for a moment. “Leo?” he repeats dubiously, because outwardly Regulus is the perfect Slytherin, and whenever he’s not being Slytherin he gives a damned good impression of being a born Ravenclaw. Nothing leonine about him, really.

That gets him another roll of Regulus’s eyes, though it’s subtler this time. “The star Regulus is the brightest heavenly body in the constellation Leo,” he says, and his mouth quirks in a wry smile. “Also called ‘the Heart of the Lion’.”

Sirius snorts at that, wondering what twist of fate gave Regulus the one Black name that suited him exactly. ‘Heart of the Lion’ indeed. “And Prince?”

“From the literal meaning of my name.” Regulus turns back to his books again, plucking one off the shelf and adding it to the already sizeable pile he’ll be taking to Hogwarts with them. “’Little King’. It’s a name I’ve used before, in parts of the Continent. So if a particularly overprotective parent should try to trace my movements, there will be a trail. Leo Prince spent two years in Italy and then Eastern Europe, studying blood rituals from ancient times.”

Of course he did, Sirius thinks with a roll of his own eyes. He’s spent several weeks already with Hermione, and even she can’t hold a candle to his little brother. But rather than say anything—although it’s tempting, because Reggie being defensive over his rituals and spells is easily one of the more amusing things Sirius has ever encountered—he just asks, “And disguises? It’s more than likely that Peter told Voldemort about my Animagus form, and I hate to say it, Reggie, but you—”

“Yes, yes,” Regulus cuts him off, clearly annoyed. He’s always been easy for Sirius to rile. “We look very similar, I’m aware. Harry thought I was you, at first glance.”

Sirius blinks and fights a frown. Regulus is pretty, and Sirius has always considered himself—not without corroboration from other sources—to be handsome. Then he glances up, catches the tail end of Regulus’s wicked grin as the younger Black turns away, and huffs. “Oh, go on, rub it in,” he growls, chucking a cushion at his smirking brother. “At least I take after Father rather than dearest Mother in looks, pretty boy.”

That earns him a rude hand gesture and a scowl. “Anyway,” Regulus says forcefully. “I won’t use charms to change my appearance—they’re too easily detected and broken, even by the simplest of wards or spells. But…” He trails off, rummaging in a cupboard for a moment, and then, with a victorious sound, emerges holding a pair of glasses with delicate silver frames. He slips them onto his face, then pulls his hair from its loose tail and twists it into a messy braid falling over his shoulder.

They’re simple changes, but they’re able to highlight the differences between them. Sirius sits up straighter, taking in the way the glasses manage to entirely change Regulus’s face, and the hairstyle gives him a bookish, distracted, professorly air. With a change of clothes—good-quality robes, he thinks, maybe a little tattered, quiet colors, slightly too large—Regulus will be all but unrecognizable. Oh, there will be similarities, but there used to be a pureblood Prince family, and they intermarried with the Blacks enough to write off the resemblance as a result of typically tangled pureblood genealogy.

Regulus is giving Sirius the same look in return, but his is faintly distracted. “You, however,” he murmurs, “will need a charm or two, if only to keep from giving any of the more superstitious students a heart attack, looking like a Grim.” He trails off, muttering under his breath, his gaze absent, and Sirius realizes that this is his contemplative look. He’s no doubt running through every glamour charm he knows, cataloguing faults and weaknesses.

Such a Ravenclaw, really, Sirius thinks, and doesn’t even bother to fight the fond smile that rises. Good old Reggie, the walking encyclopedia of spells.

Then Regulus looks up at him and smiles that singularly angelic smile that means he’s about to show how he and Sirius really are related. He taps long fingers against his lips to hide the beginnings of a smirk, and murmurs, “Well, you’re the size of a bear, so there’s no way we’ll actually be able to pass you off as a normal dog, but…white, I think. Yes, white will do nicely. Maybe with a touch of tan?”

Sirius only has a moment to feel horrified before Regulus’s wand is out and moving.

“Well?” his little brother demands, sounding unnervingly like McGonagall. “Change already, we haven’t got all day.”

It’s going to be a very long year indeed.

It’s been a near age since Regulus last set foot on Hogwarts ground. He stands just outside the gates, staring up at the vast and imposing castle—strangely comforting, a home more than Grimmauld place could ever be, and he wonders if it’s like that for everyone. Perhaps only those from broken homes, if the Black family can count as such. Sirius, at least, had the Potters, but Regulus was always a distant, aloof child with few acquaintances and fewer friends. He had no one.

Unconsciously, his fingers curl into the thick fur of the beast standing at his side, higher than his waist and as big as a bear. White fur now, rather than black, but it’s still Sirius, still his brother brought back to him. Maybe everything isn’t entirely easy between them yet, but they’ve been strangers longer than they’ve been family, and they’re readjusting. Sirius whines softly and bumps against his hip, and Regulus musters up a smile for him.

“I’m fine, Siri,” he murmurs, although his fingers stay buried in pale fur. “Just…overwhelmed, a little.”

Normally he’d never admit to such a thing, but this is Hogwarts and he’s coming back and there’s absolutely nothing in the world he’s dreamed of more than destroying the Dark Lord with his brother at his side and the Light at this back. This is a step closer, the fifth out of seven, and then there’s only the snake left to find. Regulus has thrown out his net already; there are many people who owe him favors by now, with his knowledge base and skill set and Slytherin cunning, and Nagini will be found soon enough.

Just Ravenclaw’s artefact now, and then Harry. Their goal is so close, so achingly close that Regulus can almost taste it, and after sixteen unwavering years, he’s ready. Ready for a normal life, a death not at the hands of his former master, days not spent running from even the vaguest chance that Voldemort could discover him or his plans. It’s been too long.

With a huff of very un-canine impatience, Sirius shoves at him again and then heads up the road, strides sure and confident. Regulus only hesitates for a moment longer before hurrying to catch up with him, careful of his baggy robes. He hates them, if only for Sirius’s teasing at how he looks like a waifish scholar who thinks too much to eat. Not that Sirius is one to talk, really—he’s changed from looking like a Grim to looking like something out of Norse myth that’s about to devour the sun.

But Sirius is happy to be out of that dreary and rundown house, and Regulus can’t blame him. About the only good thing remaining there is Kreacher, and the elf is getting on in years. He’d been overjoyed that Regulus returned, but as much as Regulus missed him he hadn’t been able to bring himself to stay. He’d packed everything he needed in a day and headed out to Hogwarts and his new post, Sirius in tow. They’re quite a pair, really.

McGonagall meets them at the main doors, still regal and authoritative in a way Blacks can only dream of being, but she smiles faintly at Regulus. “Professor Prince,” she says. “How good to have you back. If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your chambers.”

This is happening, Regulus thinks suddenly, as his heart stutters and leaps forward into a gallop. This is real.

Professor, she called him, and that’s what he is now. No longer a nameless, fleeing face but a person, a figure of some standing, with a name and a past even if it isn’t his own.


“Well she descends from one of the generals of Alexander the Great who are Greek Macedonians. So there is no question there that she comes from a line of Greeks. It gets a little bit more certain because they tend to…they intermarried. The 13 or 14 marriages in her dynasty, ten of them were brother-sister marriages. So there’s really no foreign blood whatsoever in this dynasty, they are truly Greek Macedonian to the hilt. There may have been a Persian princess who slipped in there somewhere, but otherwise you’re really talking about a woman who was as Greek in terms of ethnicity, in terms of culture, in terms of education, as you could be in that world.”

Historian Stacy Schiff

“Cleopatra VII was born to Ptolemy XII Auletes (80–57 BC, ruled 55–51 BC) and Cleopatra, both parents being Macedonian Greeks.”

The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt

“For ten generations her family had styled themselves pharaohs. The Ptolemies were in fact Macedonian Greek, which makes Cleopatra approximately as Egyptian as Elizabeth Taylor. The word “honey skinned” recurs in descriptions of her relatives and would presumably applied to hers as well, despite the inexactitudes surrounding her mother and paternal grandmother. There was certainly Persian blood in the family, but even an Egyptian mistress is a rarity among the Ptolemies. She was not dark skinned.”

Cleopatra, A Life - Stacy Schiff

“Cleopatra (69- 30 BC), the Greek queen of Egypt, belonged to the Ptolemaic family, the Macedonian Greeks who ruled Egypt during the Hellenistic Age.”

Western civilization: ideas, Politics, and society by Marvin Perry, Margaret C Jacob, Myrna Chase, James R Jacob

“The colour of her hair and her complexion are unknown. There is a tradition popular in some circles that she was black, but there is not a shred of evidence to support this. The Ptolemies were Macedonians, though there was some Greek and, through marriages to Seleucids, also a little Persian blood in their recorded family line.”

Caesar: Life of a Colossus - Adrian Goldsworthy

(compiled by @tiny-librarian)


In Old Norse the Aesir are the principle gods of the Norse Pantheon. These Norse gods are understood to dwell in Asgard. There are 22 Aesir:

  • Baldr - god of innocence and beauty
  • Bragi - the bard
  • Forseti - god of justice
  • Frigg - chief goddess
  • Heimdallr - the watchman and guardian
  • Hermóor - a messenger for Odin
  • Hoor - blind god of darkness and winter
  • Idun - goddess of youth, fertility and death
  • Loki - the trickster, foster-brother of Odin
  • Meili - the mile-stepper
  • Mímir - the god of knowledge
  • Nanna - wife of Baldr
  • Odin - chief god, of wisdom and war
  • Sif - gold-haired wife of Thor
  • Thor - god of thunder and battle
  • Tyr - one-handed, self-sacrificing god of law and justice
  • Ullr - the hunter, tracker, and archer
  • Váli - the avenger
  • - brother of Odin, who gave men speech
  • Vidar - god of silence, stealth, and revenge
  • Vili - brother of Odin, who gave men feeling and thought

As Norse deities the Aesir belonged the a complex religious, mythological and cosmological belief system shared belief shared by the Scandinavian and Germanic peoples.

Within this framework, Norse cosmology postulates three separate “clans” of deities: the Aesir, the Vanir, and the Jotun. The distinction between the Aesir and Vanir is relative, for the two are said to have made peace, exchanged hostages, intermarried and reigned together after a prolonged war. In fact, the most significant divergence between the two groups is in their respective areas of influence, with the Aesir representing war and conquest, and the Vanir representing exploration, fertility and wealth. The Jotun, on the other hand, are seen as a generally malefic (though wise) race of giants who represented the primary adversaries of the Aesir and Vanir. the Aesir, though immortal, were somewhat more “perishable” that their Indo-European brethren. Not only was their eternal youth maintained artificially (through the consumption of Idun’s golden apples), they could also be slaim (for instance, many were preordained to perish at the cataclysmic battle of Ragnorok).

The multifarious forms of interaction between the Aesir and the Vanir present an oft-addressed conundrum for scholars of myth and religion. Unlike other polytheistic cultures, where families of gods were typically understood as “elder” or “younger” (as with the Titans and the Olympians of ancient Greece), the Aesir and Vanir were portrayed as contemporary. As described above, the two clans fought battles, concluded treaties, and exchanged hostages. given the difference between their roles/emphases, some scholars speculated that the interactions between the Aesir and the Vanir reflect the types of interaction that were occurring between social classes (or clans) within Norse society at the time. According to another theory, the Vanir (and the fertility cult associated with them) may be more archaic than that of the more warlike Aesir, such that the mythical war may mirror a half-remembered religious conflict.

The infectiousness of language is so fascinating.

Take the McElroys for example.

Talking to anyone who’s consumed enough McElroy content, you can notice a distinct increase in how often the word “boy” is used. Just one little word, but holy shit does it start showing up so much more often. Other little phrases and habits (ie. “Unless – unless?”) sneak their way in. Even more niche things, like the way Justin says “my dude” as Taako on TAZ. Anyone who’s been in enough contact with them almost exclusively uses the word “goofs” for a whole blanket of jokes, bits, and oddities.

It’s just there.

But almost more fascinating is picking up where media has infected the boys’ speech patterns as well. Particularly, casually using terminology from “Stranger in a Strange Land”.

It’s an old book, and some bits of it are definitely dated (after all, the 2000′s were never going to stand up to what science fiction thought they would be in the 1950′s to 1980′s.) But some of the ideas presented in the book were the kind that could stick with you. I read it back in middle school or high school, borrowed from my dad’s vast personal science fiction library. I think it took me between three days and a week to finish it entirely, and when I finally did I remember setting it down in my lap and just having to stare forward. My dad noticed and asked what was wrong, and I told him ‘nothing’. I told him I’d just finished the book and needed to digest it, to Grok it in Fullness.

One of the ideas from the book that stuck with me was the concept of “to Grok in Fullness”. In the book, the main character is a man who was born and grew up on Mars with no human influences and is brought to earth as an adult, “rescued” from the martians he’s come identify as family. In coming to earth, he had to adjust to the difference in atmosphere, gravity, society, but mostly language. A running theme in the book is the importance of how language shapes how we think and understand the word. How the simple fact that one language might have a word for something another doesn’t can change how something is perceived or how the world is viewed. The idea is a valid one, though the book takes this idea to an extreme. As the main character understand our world and language more, he attempts to share his own world and language with those around him, by teaching them Martian. One of the main things he teaches them is the concept of to Grok in fullness, something there was no english equivalent for.

From the book:

Grok means “to understand,” of course, but Dr. Mahmoud, who might be termed the leading Terran expert on Martians, explains that it also means, “to drink” and “a hundred other English words, words which we think of as antithetical concepts. ‘Grok’ means all of these. It means 'fear,’ it means 'love,’ it means 'hate'—proper hate, for by the Martian 'map’ you cannot hate anything unless you grok it, understand it so thoroughly that you merge with it and it merges with you—then you can hate it. By hating yourself. But this implies that you love it, too, and cherish it and would not have it otherwise. Then you can hate—and (I think) Martian hate is an emotion so black that the nearest human equivalent could only be called mild distaste.

”'Grok’ means 'identically equal.’ The human cliché 'This hurts me worse than it does you’ has a distinctly Martian flavor. The Martian seems to know instinctively what we learned painfully from modern physics, that observer acts with observed through the process of observation. 'Grok’ means to understand so thoroughly that the observer becomes a part of the observed—to merge, blend, intermarry, lose identity in group experience. It means almost everything that we mean by religion, philosophy, and science and it means as little to us as color does to a blind man.“

In the book, to fully Grok the concept of being able to Grok in fullness, is to be able to understand an object or concept or person to the point where you are one with it, to the point where with a thought you can un-make it.


More then a dozen times in the book, this is used by the main character, and others who eventually learn from him, to be able to banish things or people in to non-existence. Which is probably trippy as fuck to witness, in honesty.

Ok now I’m just rambling. Its hard to explain the concept of how to Grok without just straight up reading the book itself. I can try to talk my way through it and explain it, but I know things would be left out. But reading the book allows you to Grok it in fullness. And to Grok it in fullness is to realize there are few other ways to explain to someone what you truly mean when you want to get the point of Groking across.

The McElroys grok in fullness, however. And just… Thank them so much for giving us an opportunity to attempt to Grok them as well, even if not in fullness.

anonymous asked:

So just how much Native ate you? You identify as Metis, so that makes you about 1/2 Caucasian. Do you even qualify for status? I am also assuming you do not consider our father in this equation of "aboriginality" I often find it amazing how people will go through all these mental gymnastics to try and rid themselves of all whiteness as if being of European (Caucasian) decent is automatically a bad thing!

It takes a lot to make my bypass my default mode of polite-and-assuming-the-best-of-people, anon, so that makes you special. Congratulations. Now sit down while I learn you some things. I’ll keep it point form for you.

  • In Canada, the Métis people are recognized as a distinct aboriginal people group in Canada.
  • Métis does not mean “part native”. Some people do use lowercase-m “metis” or “métis” to indicate being part settler/white/European and part Indigenous. This is particularly common in Ontario and Quebec. See the link at the end of this post to read more about pan-Métisism
  • But note the capital M when I talk about myself? See the bright red sash in my latest video? That’s ‘cause I’m Métis, with a capital M, as in—
  • The Métis people are a distinct people group.

  • We have our own language (Michif) with regional/geographic distinctions. Both historically and today we have our own distinct spiritual beliefs and religious practices. We have distinct traditional music, food, hunting practices, social events, ceremonies, holy days, and community beliefs and values.
  • We are a unique, distinct people group with a strong cultural identity and pride in our historical, traditional, and daily culture, lifestyle, and beliefs.
  • So now don’t you look silly? This is why we should not assume.

  • “You identify as Metis, so that makes you about ½ Caucasian.” Ha, no. That’s not how it works. See the other link at the end of this post to read more about that. In the meantime, let me learn you some more things.
  • Canada wanted to know how to define Métis people too, and to everyone’s surprise they didn’t just assume out of ignorance like yourself. They did the right thing and actually asked the Métis community.
  • What the Canadian government/Métis community came up with a three facet method of identification in 2003 (see R v. Powley)
  • In Canada, to be recognized as the government as Métis and to receive a Métis status card (which is a little different but very similar to the more well-known “indian status” card) you need to fit three criteria:
  • You need to personally identify as Métis (check)
  • You need to be accepted by a Métis community (check)
  • You need to have verifiable ancestral connection to a historic Métis community (check)

  • Oh look, I’m Métis!
  • That last point is the tenacious “blood quantum” thing you mentioned. And isn’t blood quantum a tricky thing? The great Métis leader, revolutionary, and poet Louis Riel said,
  • “It is true that our Native roots are humble, but it is right for us to honour our mothers as well as our fathers. Why should we concern ourselves with the extent of our European blood or our Indian blood? If we have any sense of appreciation or filial devotion to our parents, are we not obliged to say, “We are Métis.”? (translated)
  • Louis Riel argued that identity isn’t boiled down to race, or blood quantum. I agree. It’s about culture and identity, and it’s the same for métis people too.
  • A Métis person who is half native and a Métis person who can’t even be sure of blood quantum because of generations of intermarrying between Métis people are equally as Métis, so long as that is how they identify and live.
Shame on you for trying to invalidate my identity. 

Shame on you for pulling the reverse racism, “it’s okay to be white!!~”, “it’s not bad to be of european descent uwu” nonsense. As if I didn’t know that.

As if being Métis isn’t having as much pride in the parts of our culture that was handed down to us by our first European fathers as the parts of our culture that came from our Indigenous mothers.

And shame on you for thinking you can correct or educate a Métis person about themselves when you don’t even know who the Métis people are.

If you would have asked politely, coming from a place of at least a little humility, I would have been happy to link you some things to read and left it at that. But no. You had to be absolutely ridiculous and now here we are.

I hope you’ve learned something, anon. For me, this kind of ignorance is nothing I haven’t heard before.

For your further consideration:

You’re Métis? So which one of your parents is an Indian?

Pan-Indianism, Pan-Métisism

And, why you shouldn’t say “caucasian” when you mean white:

Speculation about Undertaker’s ring

I was recently talking with @midnight-in-town about the origin of Undertaker’s ring, and found a great post by @thedarkestcrow that addresses it here. Coincidentally, I visited the München (Munich) Treasury exhibit and found something there that could possibly be relevant. Note that this is all speculation and in no way has been confirmed.

The character guide (linked in the post above) gives us a little insight into the ring’s construction. What sticks out to me, aside from the fact that it’s apparently funeral jewelry like his locket chain is that the stone is supported by two lilies. This isn’t unusual because lilies are fairly common funerary flowers. However, in the early middle ages they were also symbols of the nobility. Most interestingly…

The fleur de lis is a stylized version of a lily and was moulded into many of the crowns and jewelry of both the French and English nobility. This would have been between 1050-and 1200 AD. Historically, the noble families at that time period intermarried with some frequency.

And if my hunch about Undertaker’s age is correct (assuming that he’s a relatively old reaper), that would put him in the 700-900 year range which seems appropriate if the younger generation is roughly around 150-250. The question would then be if the ring is original, because if so it would be extremely old, or if Undertaker had another commissioned for himself at some point, similar to the individual lockets.

Considering the frequency that French is brought up or referenced in the series, I wouldn’t be surprised if Undertaker might have some French origins, himself. I’ve suspected for a while that he might have started in a different chapter of the reapers and possibly been transferred at some point during his service. Again, I might be completely off the mark but it could be plausible.

I still find the fandom rage at GoTs incest a bit baffling. I understand the discomfort many might feel (I mean I’m not a huge fan of the Cersi and Jamie scenes myself), but the anger and blatant disregard for context is a bit crazy. For a massive portion of human history it was relatively common for families to intermarry, especially cousins; European nobility was riddled with modern concepts of incest. In some parts of the world cousins still do marry. I’m not advocating for it, but I still find it strange that a story clearly set in a medieval era is being consistently taken out of context. To be honest, if there were not at least cousins hooking up in GoT, especially at the nobility level, it would seem out of place for the time period it is meant to be emulating.

Genesis 1:27
So God created human beings in his own image.
    In the image of God he created them;
    male and female he created them.

Acts 10:28
Peter addressed them, “You know, I’m sure that this is highly irregular. Jews just don’t do this - visit and relax with people of another race. But God has just shown me that no race is better than any other.

Racism makes no sense whatsoever from a Christian point of view. No true Christian can ever support the idea of one race being "superior” to another. The only people that could’ve possibly had a legit claim at being the “better people” would’ve been the Jewish people because of their standing as God’s people back in the Old Testament days, but because of our Lord Jesus Christ’s death at the cross, we are now all equals in the eyes of God.

I find it particularly interesting when I see someone saying “kill the Jews!” and they wear a cross around the neck to show that they are “Christians”. Don’t those people realize that Jesus was a Jew? Are those people screaming to “kill the Jews”, are they saying they wish they could’ve been born 2,000 years ago and perhaps be one of the Roman soldiers that spat on Jesus’ face, flogged Him, mocked Him and finally killed Him? I honestly don’t understand how can anyone be against the Jews and the nation of Israel.

Psalm 122:6
Pray for peace in Jerusalem.
    May all who love this city prosper.

The Lord wasn’t white like the movies portrait Him, and when Jesus returns He will rule the world from Jerusalem. Scripture tells us that there was nothing special about how He looked and He completely blended in with the people. Mary was a descendant of King David (through the bloodline of Nathan) and Jews back in those days didn’t really intermarry with other races, so He would most likely be just a normal-looking Middle Easterner for that time (the type that would be “randomly” selected by the TSA). But the truth is the color of His skin really doesn’t matter, as Martin Luther King Jr once wrote, “The color of Jesus’ skin is of little or no consequence because what made Jesus exceptional was His willingness to surrender His will to God’s will.”

Supporting racism means you don’t believe in God, because racism implies you don’t believe God created Adam and Eve, therefore you don’t believe in the Bible; or perhaps you are picking and choosing what parts of the Bible you are choosing to believe. By accepting God’s Word as truth, you are also accepting the fact that we are all descendants of Adam and Eve, and subsequently of Noah after the global flood.

I read something that really caught me by surprise the other day. What it seems to be a pretty nice blog, lots of religious images and all that good stuff, but then some posts about how whites are “superior” to blacks. That’s just some sad stuff. I’m white but I surely don’t think of myself better than anyone based off my skin color. I’m not even better than anyone because of my faith in the Lord. We are all equals, in every aspect of the way, in the eyes of the Lord while we are alive on this Earth, the only difference will be after our deaths when Christians will be allowed into Heaven and the lost (non-believers) will be cast into Hell. There is absolutely nothing that makes you better than anyone else while on this Earth. Beauty fades (Proverbs 31:30), family doesn’t matter (Matthew 10:35-37), wealth is a snare (Matthew 19:24), being physically fit doesn’t matter (1 Timothy 4:8), being good looking doesn’t matter (1 Samuel 16:7) and nationalities don’t matter (Acts 10:28). The only aspect in our lives that actually matter is our devotion to the Lord.

Romans 15:7
Therefore, accept each other just as Christ has accepted you so that God will be given glory.

We are a whole new nationality. We are new creatures in Christ Jesus. We are a new creation, a new race of people. You are no longer simply North American, South American, European, and so on, you are now part of God’s people when you embrace the Lord Jesus as your Savior and decide to follow His perfect rules and regulations. We’re not related to whatever ethnic group we came from anymore. We now relate to a new source. You are now part of a new race of peoples in our Lord Jesus Christ. Who you were will never compare to who you are in Christ.

There is only one race, the human race. God does not show partiality or favoritism (Deuteronomy 10:17; Acts 10:34; Romans 2:11; Ephesians 6:9), and neither should we. James 2:4 describes those who discriminate as “judges with evil thoughts.” Instead, we are to love our neighbors as ourselves (James 2:8). In the Old Testament, God divided humanity into two “racial” groups: Jews and Gentiles. God’s intent was for the Jews to be a kingdom of priests, ministering to the Gentile nations. Instead, for the most part, the Jews became proud of their status and despised the Gentiles. Jesus Christ put an end to this, destroying the dividing wall of hostility (Ephesians 2:14). All forms of racism, prejudice, and discrimination are affronts to the work of Christ on the cross.

All human beings are created in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26-27). God loved the world so much that He sent Jesus to lay down His life for us (John 3:16). The “world” obviously includes all ethnic groups. Galatians 3:28 tells us, “There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus.” We are all one in Christ.

Being a racist simply means you haven’t accepted our Lord Jesus into your heart. If you are unable to love your neighbor (whether it be someone across the street or someone in another part of the world) because they have a different skin color than yours or because they come from a different ethnic group, how can you really expect to think Christ resides in your heart? God is love and by discriminating someone based on their skin color shows God isn’t a part of your life, yet.

1 John 4:8
Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.

xnotadamselindistress  asked:

Kris what do you think about all this antis saying that Emilia and Kit now hate Jonerys after years of loving the idea and Emilia actually saying that that was Targaryen did, long ago.?

I think that they are just trolling and lying, much like Kit did when he wanted us to believe Jon was dead for good. 

Much like Emilia started the season by saying that Dany had no time for men.

Much like Kit said they filmed fake scenes to throw people off. 

Or like he joked around saying he hates Sansa and stuff. 

We can’t take it seriously! And as for Emilia saying that’s what her family did long ago, her parents were literally siblings so… not long ago haha. 

And more people than just Targaryens intermarried anyway.

anonymous asked:

Are Jews actually a race or no? I keep seeing conflicting information, and lots of sources saying they're only considered a race for the sake of legal protections.

We’re a separate ethnicity.

Please believe me when I say that I’m not annoyed at you, but I am going to be very blunt because this is one of the topics that really, really gets to me.

Anyone that denies that we’re a separate ethnicity or spins Jews as “just white people” or “just black people” etc are antisemitic.

Anyone that uses the, “But non-Jews can religiously convert to Judaism and call themselves Jews, so checkmate!” argument can go and screw themselves, because when those non-Jews convert and ethnic Jews treat them like adopted family members? Those converts still end up being abused for being presumed to be ethnic Jews by outsiders, not because they practice a faith that others don’t agree with.

Serious answer: long discussion into the creation of the diaspora and Jews staying in our own communities, intermarrying and bringing outsiders into our communities to make more children so different groups of ethnic Jews look black/white/Arab/Asian/etc and long discussion about different hereditary illnesses that are different in Jews and non-Jews.

Bitter, short answer: non-Jews have been treating us like an entirely separate race for a long time, plenty still treat us like an entirely separate race where a white-looking Jew being with a white person is still considered as “contaminating the white race,” so they can go stuff themselves for suddenly deciding that Jewishness means nothing to delegitimise what we go through and who we are.

And you want to know why this “discourse” appeared?

To denounce every Jewish person our identity so that they can either foist “white privilege” onto Jews, to deny that antisemitism is a serious issue today, and to excuse highly antisemitic “anti-Zionist” conspiracy theories like the “white Jews are really Khazars” antisemitic nonsense.

That’s it. That’s the discussion. There are no other answers.
Descendants Of Native American Slaves In New Mexico Emerge From Obscurity

Every year in late November, the New Mexican village of Abiquiu, about an hour northwest of Santa Fe, celebrates the town saint, Santo Tomas. Townfolk file into the beautiful old adobe Catholic church to pay homage its namesake.

But this is no ordinary saint’s day. Dancers at the front of the church are dressed in feathers, face paint and ankle bells that honor their forebears — captive Indian slaves called genizaros.

The dances and chants are Native American, but they don’t take place on a Pueblo Indian reservation. Instead, they’re performed in a genizaro community, one of several scattered across the starkly beautiful high desert of northern New Mexico.

After centuries in the shadows, this group of mixed-race New Mexicans — Hispanic and American Indian — is stepping forward to seek recognition.

Genizaros are descendants of slaves, but not Africans who crossed the Atlantic in shackles to work in Southern cotton fields. They are living heirs to Native American slaves. In the 18th and 19th centuries, Native American women and children captured in warfare were bought, converted to Catholicism, taught Spanish and held in servitude by New Mexican families. Ultimately, these nontribal, Hispanicized Indians assimilated into New Mexican society.

“Who is the genizaro?” asks Virgil Trujillo, a ranch manager in Abiquiu. “We know who the Apache are, the Comanche, the Lakota. We know all this. Who’s the genizaro? See, in our history that was suppressed. Spanish people and white people came in. [They said] ‘bad Indian, bad Indian.’ ”

Ranch manager Virgil Trujillo wants the world to know that “the genizaro people of the pueblo of Abiquiu are alive and well.”

The name genizaro is the Spanish word for janissary,war captives conscripted into service to fight for the Ottoman Sultan. Some New Mexican genizaros gained their freedom by serving as soldiers to defend frontier villages like Abiquiu from Indian raids. By the late 1700s, genizaros comprised one-third of the population of New Mexico.

The territory changed hands from Spain to Mexico to, in the early 20th century, the United States. Genizaros intermarried with Hispanics, and their identity as Native Americans was effectively erased, at least in the historical record.

“Today we have a little tiny opportunity to get our word out,” says Trujillo. “The genizaro people of the pueblo of Abiquiu are alive and well.”

The Santo Tomas fiesta moves from the church grounds to the home of the festival chairman. A trio of musicians entertains. People sit at outdoor tables in a chill wind, eating bowls of steaming pozole, or hominy stew, with red chile.

One of the dancers is Gregorio Gonzales, a 28-year-old man in a black skullcap with a red arrow painted on his cheek. If asked, he says, he would say he is a genizaro.

Today, genizaro is a neutral term. But it wasn’t always so, Gonzales says. He’s a Ph.D. candidate in anthropology, writing his dissertation on genizaro identity.

“Genizaro, the term, was actually used as a racial slur by people, especially here in northern New Mexico, the equivalent of the N-word,” he says.

Gregorio Gonzales, 28, is a dancer in the Santo Tomas festival as well as a Ph.D. candidate writing his dissertation on genizaro identity.

What’s happening in New Mexico today is a sort of genizaro renaissance.

There have been recent symposia on genizaro history and identity. A pair of scholars at the University of New Mexico is putting out a book. The working title is Genizaro Nation.

“There was a lot of Native American slavery going on. It’s just an eye-opener to the average Americans when they discover this,” says co-editor Enrique Lamadrid. He is a distinguished professor emeritus of Spanish at the University of New Mexico who has done some of the groundbreaking scholarship on genizaros.

While Native American slavery was commonplace, New Mexico was the only place where free Indians were called genizaros.

They were often Comanches, Utes, Kiowas, Apaches and Navajos taken as slaves by each other, and by colonists.

“In the 1770s, if you were going to get married, one of the best wedding presents you could get is a little Indian kid who becomes part of your household. They took on your own last name, and they became part of the family,” says Lamadrid.

One thing the new genizaro scholarship does is smash the conventional notion that New Mexican identity is somehow defined as either the noble Spaniard or the proud Pueblo Indian.

“The Spanish fantasy is a myth,” says Moises Gonzales, an architecture professor at UNM and co-editor of Genizaro Nation. “I think it’s great that we’re finally having a very elevated conversation about what it means to be genizaro in contemporary times.”

In the 300-year-old villages tucked in river valleys of New Mexico, the genizaros are finally telling their stories.