My day on Tumblr today
- Me: "PoC have a right to have their own sanctuaries without white people permeating everything, and white people don't have a right to try to infultrate our sanctuaries or cross our boundaries no matter how 'nice' they act."
- Crackers: "How DARE you say I can't have the black friends I want because I'm nice? That's wrong and absurd and YOU ARE THE RACIST HERE!"
- Me: "lol"
- Crackers: *uses passive-aggression and emotional manipulation* "There! Now will you stop staying stuff I don't like hearing?!"
- Me: "lol"
- Crackers: *acts like creepers and continues to harass* "I'm not racist though!"
- Me: *rolls eyes, sips diet coke*
- Crackers: "Why do you think you can act so HORRIBLE and be so ACTIVELY degrading towards us just because you're a black woman?! You can't do this to us -- we're white! We're totally the victims here!"
- Me: *blinks* "lol"
How I dealt with Harassment
Bullying and harassment have been going on forever—no matter which country you live in. I’m from Poland and I was one of the victims of the constant bullying while growing up. I want to share my story to help others fight the bullies and give hope that it will get better!
When I was 11 my family decided to move. I had to say goodbye to all my friends and make new ones in my new neighborhood and school. On my first day at school I received nasty looks and mean comments because I was new, and had a very nice backpack which was a gift from my uncle in the USA. Kids already assumed that I was a horrible person so they started laughing at me. “Cover your head with the backpack since it is prettier than your face.” I didn’t say anything I was shocked. Why were they so mean? Unfortunately, it got worse. Kids would constantly laugh at me all the time calling me fat, ugly, useless, and stupid. It even got to the point where a group of boys would wait for me after school to spit, throw spiders at me, and push me around.
I didn’t tell anybody about my experience at school. I was embarrassed and didn’t want my parents to get involved. I would stay at home most of the time watching cartoons (Cartoon Network in English, hell yeah, Dexter’s Laboratory and the PowerPuff Girls).
I picked up English words very quickly, so my mom decided to sign me up for private English classes. I loved those classes, since I had something to look forward to twice a week. I met cool people who were nice and didn’t bully me at all. I made a very good friend Marta who apparently was living very close to me. We would hang out a lot and play volleyball. She was the first person I told about my school problems. She would cheer me up and told me NOT to care. Her words helped me a lot. Marta also encouraged me to attend volleyball classes after school. I joined the volleyball team and practiced a lot. I would train 4 times a week. My coach was extremely tough and had a lot of expectations. He made me train very hard. I would take out all of my school frustrations on the volleyball court and believe me I smashed those serves ;]
I stopped caring about people at school I was so busy with volleyball and English I simply didn’t have time to worry about it. I lost a lot of weight, became very flexible and fast. I had the best grades in my class. My classmates were asking me for help with Math and English, since I did they would protect me from the bullies. After a while I became a little famous for my volleyball skills. The bullies stopped harassing me, I guess I impressed them with my skills.
Overall, it is not easy to deal with harassment, you need to find the strength in yourself to just NOT CARE. Focus on your hobbies, goals and dreams. Education is also a key to success. I put a lot of effort in my education and it paid off ——> I am working at Tumblr how cool is that <————-
in other words, i had the opportunity to do a bunch of things many of you do not and so you need to stop caring that people tell you they want you to kill yourself, or die, or that you’re a nigger or that you’re the destruction of the world, etc. haha. i’m getting my bachelor’s degree on saturday and yet… that doesn’t prevent this from happening.
and as someone else said, i think it’s cute this man is GETTING PAID to handle harassment claims and yet, he doesn’t want to work for his money. white dude entitlement anyone? he wants us to all stop caring and educate ourselves (you know because education is just so cheap and easy to attain) and then he won’t have to deal with annoying people like us complaining about the death and rape threats we receive regularly. and then this man can collect a salary for literally NOTHING because we all learned not to care about our harassment and therefore, we don’t need him. but wouldn’t that then make your job irrelevant and they would have no point for you?
ok, cool. now i get it. hey everyone. STOP CARING ABOUT YOUR HARASSMENT AND THEN THIS MAN WILL NO LONGER HAVE A PURPOSE. IF WE ALL STOP CARING, HE CAN GET FIRED CAUSE THERE WILL BE NO REASON FOR HIS JOB ANYMORE. HOW’S THAT SOUND?
[image description: PSA poster from Riot Grrrl Omaha; drawing shows a person kneeling in front of a person dressed as Wonder Woman; text reads “WATCH OUT Because next time you tell Hey Baby you might be left WONDERing what hit you.”]
TW for racism, harassment. Racist policemen doing the harassment.
Walking around Covent Garden last Tuesday, I found myself nearly knocked over by a speeding police car with no sirens or lights down a small street. I thought it was strange: such hurry and no warning system.
As I reached Tesco in Covent Garden, I saw six heavily armed police officers surrounding some-one. I walked past and saw a small, middle aged, Indian man. He was holding a white charity bucket in one hand. Two police officers were standing behind him telling him not to move and to spread his legs; they were going to search him. Another two officers were taking all his belongings out of his small beige rucksack and reading every piece of paper and asking him about its contents. At the same time another officer was asking him who he was, what his name was and why he was behaving suspiciously. Someone else was going through his wallet. The man spoke broken English and he did not seem to quite understand what was going on. He kept saying he was collecting money for charity and you could see from his body language and the way he was looking at them that he was stunned and very scared.
These men were tall, heavily built, all Caucasian, talking loudly, moving him around physically, going through his things and saying he had been reported for suspicious behaviour. Someone, they said, had seen him collecting money for charity outside Covent Garden station and had called the police saying they had seen a terrorist. You could feel the adrenalin rising in these men as they went through his bag and I remembered the terrible outcome with Jean Charles de Menezes six years ago.
If a Caucasian man or woman had been standing outside Covent Garden station with a charity bucket and a rucksack would someone have rung the police reporting a ‘possible terrorist’? Do people go around calling the police every time they see a Big Issue seller? Or one of those chuggers? They look more threatening half the time than this small framed middle-aged man. But then, Jean Charles had no padded jacket on and did not jump over any tube barriers, as was first alleged. He was not even carrying the dreaded rucksack. But he was the wrong colour. The colour of a terrorist.
They spotted me watching and I felt myself get worked up. I wanted to cause a scene. To let people know what was going on here. I said ‘Racists’ out loud. They heard me and none of the armed men could look at me in the eye. But an Asian bobby who had turned up couldn’t stop eyeballing me. I stared right back.
After reading all his personal papers, and telling him they thought he could be a terrorist, they had to admit they had found nothing. They formed a ring around him. They could see me watching, so they blocked my view. The biggest of them was laughing and asking where he should go next? ‘To the next brown man’, I suggested. He ignored me. People walked by but no one could see what was happening because they had ringed him in. It was clear now that he was not carrying a bomb- so now they formed a tighter ring around him- to hide what? The fact that they had been searching a man based on the colour of his skin, perhaps?
After half an hour the armed police officers left. Two plain clothes were left taking his details and the Asian bobby kept eye balling me. I had nothing to hide. I eyeballed him back. Eventually they walked away and the man was left crouching in the street putting his things away. I went up to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Asked him if he was fine. I did not want to scare him. I told him I had seen what had happened. He seemed wary and said yes he was fine. I said I would have been scared, I was scared because of how many men there were. And his eyes started to fill with tears and he said yes he was scared but he was okay. He asked me my name and where I was from. He said he did not understand why he had been stopped. I told him it was because he was carrying a rucksack, he did not understand what that word meant, and because he was brown. He understood that with resignation.
Just as I was asking him if he needed anything the Asian bobby turned up again. They had been sitting in the police car watching me. He looked down at where I was crouched with the man and asked me if I was okay. I said ‘yes thank you fine’. He would not move. He looked at my brown paper bag from the teashop in Neal Street. There was a terracotta tea pot in there and some jasmine tea. I told him I did not have a bomb and would he like to arrest me for being brown too. He said nothing. I said I am having a private conversation please would you go away. He said I heard you called us ‘racists’ and I wanted to explain that we are not and I am Asian as well. Good for you, I said. You stopped this man because of the colour of his skin. He started to say no and get quite pushy. Provocative, I would call it. I was not going to be riled. I told him I was exercising my human right to have a private conversation, he was disturbing this, he had no legal right to stop me from speaking to someone and to go away. He would not go away. He said he wanted to explain to me why they had stopped this man. Perhaps he thought I was from the press. Perhaps he thought this would go further. I turned my back on the bobby and finished my conversation with the man. I wandered dazed and upset into Tesco to get away from the meddling bobby, who would not even let me extend some generosity to the man they had just harassed.
After aimlessly moving through chillier cabinets and food aisles, I went to leave and there he was, resilient, by the entrance, with his white charity bucket. He was not making any noise. Just silently standing there with his bucket collecting for charity. We spoke some more. He seemed stunned but he thanked me for being kind to him.
This incident is a sharp reminder of what the so-called ‘war on terror’ has done to us. Take this incident and change a few variables. The man had a beard and was wearing Muslim dress. The man was younger, resented being stopped, and resisted the police. The man had no papers to prove who he was. The man didn’t speak any English. The man had a Koran on him and anti-war literature. The man knew people who wanted to teach him a lesson for annoying his neighbours, and who reported on him. All these and you are one step closer, perhaps, to cases like those of Baber Ahmad and Shaker Aamer, who is still languishing in Guantanamo Bay detention camp.
Wrong place, wrong time, and most definitely the wrong colour.
Really worthwhile read.