Daily OpusEverything I write is freely rebloggable. Just keep the source and tell people about my books :D [Until I decide otherwise, my pronouns are Ze/Hir/Hirself. As in "Ze went to the shops to get hir medication hirself". Thank you for the respect.]
Knowing that trans women of color started the movement in the united states and were literally immediately erased and excluded from what they started is the most deeply jading knowledge.
It is the original sin of the so-called queer community and it damns it from the cradle.
no white gay boy will ever reblog this, watch:
no white gay will reblog this
no white lgb person will reblog this
Without Stonewall, without the efforts of Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, the LGBTQ Community wouldn’t be where it is today. Don’t forget the roots, don’t forget the catalyst.
and then TERFs wanna be like, “hmm well the LGBT community existed before Stonewall!”
but like…Becky, of course LGBTQ+ people existed before Stonewall. We’ve all existed since the beginning of time. But the movement got a shock to its senses, a jump-start, a rocket-into-space when that glass shattered via Marsha P. Johnson, and when Sylvia Rivera was up on-stage protesting guess who was on the sidelines heckling her?
The same fuckers who won’t ever reblog or acknowledge this
My apologies to the original poster as I photo captured this post to add to the thread-I reposted this last year for pride and expect to repost it every year I have left-it’s our history people.
Marsha P. Johnson allegedly died of suicide in 1992, and her death was never investigated. Even I, a mere prole, could catch the “she was murdered” vibes from the circumstances surrounding the discovery of her body.
Without a trans black woman, LGBT+ rights would not exist. Never forget. Never “pay it no mind”.
Genders are like the twin towers; there was two of them, now it’s a sensitive topic. – Anon Guest
[AN: Oh boy, am I glad you’re an Anon or I’d track you down and logically explain how this is so wrong on multiple levels]
There were rainbow flags everywhere. People wore their identities on their chests, on their faces, around their wrists and draped over their shoulders like a caped hero. Dave only knew what half of those colour combos meant, and was afraid to ask about the other half. Still, a party was a party and Dave was never one to turn down discounted booze on account of who was partying.
This bar was relatively quiet, and Dave welcomed that. It was the kind of place where people gathered to get away from the noise a little, though it was still jumping. He picked a spot next to someone who was apparently not part of the party crowd and said, “Genders are like the twin towers; there was two of them, now it’s a sensitive topic.”
The person who turned had a flag-striped bow in their hair. Blue, pink, white, pink, then blue. Dave had no idea what that one was, but he knew that this one was one of the party people after all. “Excuse me? Is that an attempt at a joke?”
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