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Michael Brown’s dad before the burial. 

The emotion and all of the sweat…. shit is hard to look at, even if its only a picture

I didn’t want to reblog this because it’s hard to look at, but people SHOULD see it.

We SHOULD see a father mourning his teenage son.

We SHOULD see how a killing like Mike’s can take a toll on not only a community, but a family.

It’s as easy for young black men to become martyrs as it is for them to become victims. They can never just be humans. 

We can never just be.


Haytham was out on a minor mission and Little Connor soon became restless and so asked Charles to go out for a stroll.

A few moments and they were out of the house enjoying their walk but Connor got distracted by a small little dog that had been barking in a nearby alley. He usually held hands with Lee but alas, the man had been talking to another and subconsciously let go of the boy’s hand.

Moments later, Lee had been frantically searching for the boy as he knew if the grand master found out that he lost his son he would certainly lose his head. Hickey came along and also helped out on finding the lost boy.

Meanwhile, Connor was standing in a place he was never familiar with. The boy panicked and walked in any direction and soon he was running from nothing. Hoping he would somehow find his way home but to no avail, gives up and realization dawns on him. He was lost.

Little Connor begins to cry. Men and women would avoid him as his color was different despite wearing clothes that would signify his British blood. It began to rain and soon, little Connor was soaked to the bone, cold, helpless and hungry.

Suddenly a huge shadow was cast above him and heard that voice that gave him complete clarity.

"Are you lost, son?"

He turned to face his father who was smiling at him, using his coat to shield his child from the chilling rain. Connor hugged his father so tightly, sobbing into the coat. Haytham picked up his son and headed for home, trying his best to hide his anger towards his templar brother who could barely look after a small child.



I hope that this image travels the world …

“While newspapers and television talk about the lives of celebrities, the chief of the Kayapo tribe received the worst news of his life: Dilma, “The new president of Brazil, has given approval to build a huge hydroelectric plant (the third largest in the world). It is the death sentence for all the people near the river because the dam will flood 400,000 hectares of forest. More than 40,000 Indians will have to find another place to live. The natural habitat destruction, deforestation and the disappearance of many species is a fact.”
What moves me in my very bowels , making me ashamed of being part of Western culture, is the reaction of the chief of the Kayapo community when he learned of the decision—his gesture of dignity and helplessness before the advance of capitalist progress, modern predatory civilization that does not respect the differences …

But we know that a picture is worth a thousand words, showing the reality of the true price of our bourgeois “quality of life”.

When I was 12 boys slid their hand up my thigh and slapped my butt. I smiled and took it because I didn’t know it was okay to say stop. I didn’t know that I could say no. So, when the principal calls telling me my daughter is suspended for punching a boy who wouldn’t stop touching her, I will cook her favorite meals. When she tells me how she cursed at the boy who wouldn’t move his hands off her knee even though she asked him to, I will smile and pull out her favorite movie to watch together. I will celebrate the fact that she accepts her body as her own and knows she has the right to say no. I never want my daughter to think her body belongs to men, because it is her own and my god should she be proud. I will teach her it’s more than okay to say stop, something I wish I had known when I was that age.

don’t be soft, let the world know you exist // 5-26-14 // 9:01AM (via restrictedthoughts)


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(Source: restrictedthoughts)

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