Trigger warning: if you google her name, you will come across some hateful, racist, disgusting comments.

I got this via DRUM (Desis Rising Up and Moving):

• When: Monday, October 1st, 2012 at 6:00 pm
• Where: Corner of Broadway and Moss St. in Chula Vista

This is a blog post from kittiekattie on livejournal:

You know, some people will start with the basics. Some will start with the negatives. Some will start with fandom (and when I get into that, oh the rage will fly). I’m going to start with the flip side. The positive stereotypes.

See, a lot of people ignorantly seem to think that racism only flows towards the bad things. That racism only involves when people are calling people bad names, and cursing them, and the like. But there’s a just as insidious version of racism that people seem to neglect a lot. The positive stereotypes. The “good racism.” The “Oh, you should be this, and that’s good,” racism. And the problem with positive stereotypes is that they lock you down just as bad as the negative ones, if not worse with some.

We know the one about the Asians: They’re smart, and bright, and good at math, and they work hard and achieve well, and are quiet, and blah. They get a lot of praise, in fact, as America’s Model Minority. (And this is used to hold down other races, but that’s part of the Interracial racism shtick). But what if you’re Asian and you know, you don’t want to be an overachiever, you just want to be you? What if you’re shitacular in math? What if you’re loud, and bouncy, and boisterous? What if you (gasp!) HATE anime? What if you actually open your mouth and say the shit on your mind? What if you’re not grateful to have been adopted at the age of 2 and raised in the US by Bobby and Sally Whitebread? What if you’re sick of being the model minority that comes over and does so good (because boy, those Asians are just so hardworking and smart)? What if you don’t like rice, and you don’t like sushi, and you are getting sick and tired of having people ask you how to say their name in Chinese (and what the fuck is with that anyways, because you’re Korean)? You’re just as held back by people giving you GOOD stereotypes. By people thinking that Latino men are macho and willing to take on work (any work, even dirty shit). By thinking that Black men are strong and intimidating.

And there’s the sexual ones. Not all Latinos/Latinas are hot blooded sexy masters of the bedroom. Not all black men are hung like horses and like their women big and thick. Not all black women are freaks or sexless, sassy women—some of us need hugs and kisses and gentle love too. Asian men aren’t sexless geeks or walking yaoi boys. And the Asian women get a lot of shit. You get dumb white mofos who complain that American women are too uppity and loud and liberated, and they go and try and seek out Asian women to make their little submissive wifie—and then they run into one that will cut a bitch for trying to make her into their pinkerton fantasy and they think she’s not really Asian.

As for the title, that’s me. I’m not the strong black woman. I’ve had depression at least 4-5 times in my life I can pinpoint. At one point, I attempted suicide on a near ritual basis for damn near four years. I was a cutter—and not the show off kind like some are. I wore sweatshirts and cut where no one could see, you know, because I was ashamed of my shit. I was emo before emo was cool and people thought you were just weird when you sulked around all emo and shit. I have a maelstrom of crazy in this head of mine, and not all of it is the nice crazy. Some of it is the stuff that I swear, if I saw myself on tape when I have my freak outs, I’d be scared of it. I’m getting better. But before—did I ever get help? Did I ever consider psychiatric help, even when it was free on my college campus? Did I talk about my problems, my sexual abuse, anything like that? No. I swallowed my pain and pushed it inside and I snapped under the pressure and had something very akin to a nervous breakdown.

And one major reason I never sought help? Because the message in society is that psychiatric is for those “weak ass white people” and a “real” black woman can make it without any of that shit. Because black women are strong. They don’t need to pay no one a shit load of money to talk about they problems, they just need to get up and deal with it (with Jesus, even, cause you know black women are godly like that). And so, when my mind finally snapped at the age of 16 or so, and stayed snapped til I met Brent, I just suffered under my crazy. I didn’t think I could get help.

Because black women are supposed to be strong. We’re the backbones of black society. We raise the boys to men and keep the girls in line, and take care of our men, and we’re the good parents and the care takers and the ones who take on the burdens and what does that sound like oh that’s right, that’s a PACKMULE. Black women don’t need emotions, they’re too busy dealing with REAL problems. Because you know, it’s not that the mind isn’t real or anything.

So you have generations of black women, with crazy in the mind, and no one will help us up because they act like we’re too strong to have emotions. There have been times where I cried myself sick, and people ignored me because they though I was handling it, and I was crying because I was begging people to help me, to get me out of my despair, and they wouldn’t even notice. Because I’m supposed to be strong. Strong meaning “you can do it yourself, no one cares when you cry.”

And then when I break, people look around me and go “Whoa, didn’t see that coming” when I’ve been screaming out signs the whole descent into Batshit City. Maybe if you weren’t too busy telling me what I’m supposed to do and what’s so good about my blackness, you’d have noticed that I’m hurting.

It’s just as racist to call a Latino man “macho” and “passionate” as it is it say they’re stealing our jobs and won’t speak English. It’s just as racist to say an Asian person is a hard worker as it is to say they can’t drive.

And it’s just as fucking racist to tell me I’m a strong black woman who doesn’t hurt as it is to call me a nappy headed ho.

—Tasha

From here.