the movement toward a new america

Tomi Lahren pretty much lost the entire debate with Trevor Noah when she said “what did the KKK do”

I mean they lynched blacks, bombed black churches, killed 3 civil rights workers during the civil rights movement, burned crosses and did night rides to terrorize people, and kept a new form of slavery alive for decades in America after the Emancipation Proclamation, and was fundamentally founded on the idea that blacks are an inferior race to whites.

But apparently that’s not anything according to Tomi Lahren.

Fifty years ago, thousands of young people organized the Mississippi Summer Project, a historic attempt to register black voters in Mississippi, which, at the time, had the lowest black registration rate in the country. Some civil rights workers were killed. Hundreds were beaten. But Freedom Summer, as it’s now known, transformed the national narrative surrounding civil rights by ushering in a new wave of laws that would guarantee equality at the ballot box.

Today, America is at another crossroads in civil rights. People of color represent two-thirds of our incarcerated population. Gun homicide is the leading cause of death among black teenagers. Schools are again re-segregating. Race is still a roadblock in America. We face a stalled Congress, unable to protect our founding values that we are all created equal. And we sit in the looming shadow of a Supreme Court, whose blind eye toward race is equally blind to our inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, as shown from recent decisions limiting contraception coverage, hurting public employee unions, rolling back voting rights, and increasing the influence of big money in politics.

We, the millennial generation, cannot be “colorblind.” We must choose the path of change.
May 22nd, 2014 - Monsters In My Head

AUTHOR: supershinywords

May 22nd, 2014 - Monsters In My Head


The wood of the house walls was raw compared to the wood of England’s home, smelling of the forest and varnish in equal amounts even as the gaslight stretched shadows along the cracks of the walls and created a deep well of darkness under the cabinet beside the desk where England was working on the write-up of his dust-up with the Netherlands for the new Lord Protector.

He was describing the Battle of Portland when his study door slammed open. Pushing himself back from his desk, England’s brow furrowed with the start of anger. “America! What have I told you about run – ”

“I’m sorry, England!” America shouted, barely slowing as he barreled around the desk despite England’s temper. “Don’t let the ghosts get me!”

“Ghosts?” England asked, breath forced out of him as America jumped into his lap at full speed and wrapped tiny arms and legs around him so tightly he could feel the embroidery from the front of America’s bedshirt through his own clothing. “What on earth – America, are you crying?”

“No!” America shouted, voice muffled where he’d pressed his face into England’s side. His shoulders shook faintly under the white linen of his bedshirt. Each small heave drove the rising irritation away, displacing it with a wave of bemused tenderness to which England was helpless.

“Ah, of course… It was time for a break anyway,” he murmured, wrapping one arm around America’s shoulders while he rubbed his back gently with the other. “There now, it’s fine. I’m here. Let’s just sit together for a bit. Did you have a bad dream about…ghosts, was it? Where did you hear something like that?”

After a moment where all England could hear was the gentle creak of the house settling and the occasional muffled sniff, America’s tight grip around his neck loosened and he leaned back. England was finally able to see his face, flushed and tear-damp with his eyes gone red and blurry from fright and what looked like anger. “Spain told me about the g-g-ghosts in New Orleans…”

England’s eyes narrowed. “Spain told you that, did he.” I should never have let that tomato-loving bastard anywhere near America!

“Uh huh.” America lifted one of his hands from England’s shoulders to rub away the tear tracks over his cheeks, face still flushed red from his tears and embarrassment. “He said they couldn’t stay asleep because of the all the groundwater… Is it my fault? Are they going to leave me? All I’ll have left are the ghosts! I don't want ghosts in me!”

“Oh, dear heart, no. No,” England murmured, tugging America closer once more and tucking him under his chin. “I can’t answer for France, but I’m not going anywhere. The English settlements here love you. And ghosts take a lot more than simple flooding to rise, so don’t worry about that, all right?”

America sniffled wetly again, but willingly tucked his head back into England and nodded against his shoulder. England continued stroking America’s back and after a moment, began to tell him about the life of Henry VII. He’d barely gotten past the young hopeful’s convoluted and somewhat frowned upon claim to the throne when the grip around his neck loosened. He pulled back slightly to check and smiled when he saw America’s face gone slack in sleep. “I guess you can sleep with me tonight,” he whispered. “It’s no good if you have more nightmares, hm? Let’s go on to bed.”

And I’ll figure out a way to make that bastard Spain pay…maybe France will help. They’re already fighting, aren’t they? He’d be willing to side with the frog for the chance to grind dirt into the eyes of the man who’d made his colony cry.



England rubbed at his temple, trying to stave off a headache. “America. Not that I’m not thrilled to be spending…so much…time with you during this conference, don’t you want to…sleep? It’s getting late, after all.”  

America flinched. He covered it up immediately, of course, and England wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been staring, hoping desperately that the other country would crack and finally leave England’s temporary quarters in favor of his own. But he had seen it, and his hand fell from his forehead to his knee, where he braced it to lean toward America, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch where he’d been in the middle of describing his new musical movements (or something, England had stopped listening several minutes in). “America?”

America laughed loudly and stood with a shrug. “I guess you’re right! Heroes need plenty of sleep and I guess old guys like you need a lot of sleep too, right?”

England could see misdirection even when it wasn’t so blatant and he stood. “Yes, yes, very droll. I’m sensing you had another purpose here tonight other than to educate me on your burgeoning popular…culture.”

“I don’t know what you mean…?”  

England arched a brow and observed America for a long minute, categorizing his behavior over the day and checking it against what he knew of the nation. “Really. So you haven’t been tense and hyper since you barged in after dinner?”

America’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed even though his voice was steady. “No way, dude. I think you’re seeing things again.”

“I see.” England crossed his room to his door and opened it. “In that case, have a wonderful night and I’m sure I’ll find you well rested tomorrow morning, then.”

America seemed to teeter on a precipice for a long minute before he looked at England with wide eyes and whispered, “This place isn’t built on a cemetery, right?”

England blinked. “I’m sorry? A…cemetery?” America nodded quickly, eyes wide behind his glasses. “How should I know? Why don’t you just ask – America. Are you crying.”

“No!” America said, forcing a thick laugh as he quickly turned and began scrubbing. “I’ve just got dust in my eyes!”

“America…were you watching scary movies again?”

America turned watery blue eyes on him and England realized no matter how he fought it, he knew exactly how this night would go.