i honestly thought everyone was just joking about this “selfie as a form of decolonization” article but i just came across it and it’s truly breathtaking….
The way the internet has cheapened decolonization to a buzzword and stripped it of all meaning to validate their liberal, individualistic everyday actions is so fucking demeaning to people who struggled and sacrificed for decolonization and obscures how it’s a concrete praxis for liberation.
Sorry for reblogging your post, but this rant was stirring in me… Selfies are the epitome of individualism. There’s nothing wrong with them, and they can be rehabilitative for women struggling with self-image, but people need to stop throwing around “revolution” as if selfies of all mundane things are fucking revolutionary.
yaaaass goin in! too many american “radicals” have no functional or coherent understand of what colonialism is or what anti-colonial struggles and decolonization entails. i came across an awesome post about this a while back that i need to find.
It’s not punk to antagonize minimum wage workers.
Like writing shit on bathroom stalls, making messes in grocery and big box stores, trashing hotel rooms, yelling at actual workers about how horrible their capitalist employers are. Stop doing this shit. You are making life harder for those you claim to identify with and want to help.
Cities are smells: Acre is the smell of iodine and spices. Haifa is the smell of pine and wrinkled sheets. Moscow is the smell of vodka on ice. Cairo is the smell of mango and ginger. Beirut is the smell of the sun, sea, smoke, and lemons. Paris is the smell of fresh bread, cheese, and derivations of enchantment. Damascus is the smell of jasmine and dried fruit. Tunis is the smell of night musk and salt. Rabat is the smell of henna, incense and honey. A city that cannot be known by its smell is unreliable. Exiles have a shared smell: the smell of longing for something else; a smell that remembers another smell. A painting, nostalgic that guides you, like a worn tourist map, to the smell of the original place. A smell is a memory and a setting sun. Sunset, here, is beauty rebuking the stranger.
But to love the sunset is not, as they say, one of the attributes of exile.