Esoterica's avatar

Esoterica

sinidentidades
sinspookycosas:

On the Amtrak from Boston to New York City
The white woman across the aisle from me says, ‘Look, look at all the history, that houseon the hill there is over two hundred years old, ‘as she points out the window past meinto what she has been taught. I have learnedlittle more about American history during my few daysback East than what I expected and far lessof what we should all know of the tribal storieswhose architecture is 15,000 years olderthan the corners of the house that sitsmuseumed on the hill. ‘Walden Pond, ‘the woman on the train asks, ‘Did you see Walden Pond? ‘and I don’t have a cruel enough heart to breakher own by telling her there are five Walden Pondson my little reservation out Westand at least a hundred more surrounding Spokane, the city I pretended to call my home. ‘Listen, ‘I could have told her. ‘I don’t give a shitabout Walden. I know the Indians were living storiesaround that pond before Walden’s grandparents were bornand before his grandparents’ grandparents were born.I’m tired of hearing about Don-fucking-Henley saving it, too, because that’s redundant. If Don Henley’s brothers and sistersand mothers and father hadn’t come here in the first placethen nothing would need to be saved.’But I didn’t say a word to the woman about WaldenPond because she smiled so much and seemed delightedthat I thought to bring her an orange juiceback from the food car. I respect eldersof every color. All I really did was eatmy tasteless sandwich, drink my Diet Pepsiand nod my head whenever the woman pointed outanother little piece of her country’s historywhile I, as all Indians have donesince this war began, made plansfor what I would do and say the next timesomebody from the enemy thought I was one of their own. 
                                  — Sherman Alexie

sinspookycosas:

On the Amtrak from Boston to New York City

The white woman across the aisle from me says,
‘Look, look at all the history, that house
on the hill there is over two hundred years old, ‘
as she points out the window past me

into what she has been taught. I have learned
little more about American history during my few days
back East than what I expected and far less
of what we should all know of the tribal stories

whose architecture is 15,000 years older
than the corners of the house that sits
museumed on the hill. ‘Walden Pond, ‘
the woman on the train asks, ‘Did you see Walden Pond? ‘

and I don’t have a cruel enough heart to break
her own by telling her there are five Walden Ponds
on my little reservation out West
and at least a hundred more surrounding Spokane, 

the city I pretended to call my home. ‘Listen, ‘
I could have told her. ‘I don’t give a shit
about Walden. I know the Indians were living stories
around that pond before Walden’s grandparents were born

and before his grandparents’ grandparents were born.
I’m tired of hearing about Don-fucking-Henley saving it, too, 
because that’s redundant. If Don Henley’s brothers and sisters
and mothers and father hadn’t come here in the first place

then nothing would need to be saved.’
But I didn’t say a word to the woman about Walden
Pond because she smiled so much and seemed delighted
that I thought to bring her an orange juice

back from the food car. I respect elders
of every color. All I really did was eat
my tasteless sandwich, drink my Diet Pepsi
and nod my head whenever the woman pointed out

another little piece of her country’s history
while I, as all Indians have done
since this war began, made plans
for what I would do and say the next time

somebody from the enemy thought I was one of their own. 

                                  — Sherman Alexie

(via deliciouskaek)

blackfashion

The STUDY Vol.1.3 | The Envy of the world

blackfashion:


By. TamonGeorge @tamongeorge

“as much as they want to be LIKE us, they have no desire to BE us” – Ellis Cose.

Ellis Cose - The Envy of the world, on being a Black man in America

In response to the overwhelming number of notes to last weeks edition featuring Black Women, I would like to share a book of contrasting theology on Black men. A book depicting the ambiguous state of what it means to be a Black man in America and how that struggle has changed throughout the ticks of time. The quote above places a marker on the key points held in this book. Men of color are seen through a kaleidoscope that changes their appearance depending when you catch a glimpse. The difficulties confronting Black men have been well documented in recent research conducted throughout America. It would appear that Black males must coexist in many worlds to wage a decent path in life. A path that often holds blockades from external and internal sources, not to mention the personal sabotage created by self-doubt.

Written in 2002 Cose creates a dramatic collage built using memories of his childhood, anecdotes from colleagues and stories from other Black men who have navigated the muddy waters of what it means to be Black in a place that loves you and hates you. Among the many topics addressed, Cose elegantly outlines the destruction caused by societies classification of what is, and is not black activities and interests. A Black mans presence in athletics and entertainment make him king while his presence in academics is far from the ordinary.

This book addresses fundamental flaws in the mindset of both Blacks and Non-Blacks that create a racial juxtaposition leaving people of color constantly behind the eight ball. They want us, but dont want us, they need us, but dont need us. The personal struggle within is in direct relation to the systemic struggle. Cose goes to great lengths to convey the mindset if millions of men who want to achieve and succeed, but feel left behind.

I suggest this book not as a sob story for the plight of the Black man but as reinforcement that there is hope for all men of color to achieve heights previously thought unattainable.  

Why has so many Black males been left behind?

blackfashion

THE STUDY

blackfashion:

by Tamon George

Time is against us, So I Must be brief …

It is simple, we are all inspired. What changes is how that infinitesimal piece of inspiration is created and how it burgeons itself into an astronomical exhibition of uniqueness and self-expression. The fact remains that each form of inspirational creation has an origin, it has a moment of inception as it captures us and manifests itself in our minds and from there we display it for the world on our backs, chests, legs and feet.  Interestingly enough as our fashion is constantly in a state of unfettered change and cyclical exuberance other things stand the test of time to construct inspiration in our intellect as we decipher and examine the stimulation around us.

Books. Articles. Poetry. 

I welcome all of you to column aptly named The Study.  I bring you this column as an avid reader, a world traveler and a soul craving knowledge and wisdom. My name is Tamon George; a 25 year old foreigner spending time in America. I would tell you more, but we’ll learn about each other as we go.

My column is simple, each week I will examine and bring to you the excerpts or an overview of a book or article and share with you whys it’s worth reading. Black content of course as I’m sure you could have guessed. Literature that inspires uniqueness the same way fashion displays it.  There is and always will be a delicate yet powerful link between that which moves us, and how we show the world we have been moved. In this column we will bring to light the balance of mental inspiration and visual stimulation.

I encourage anyone submit their own choices to Blackfashion caption THE STUDY. Tell me about a piece of work. Ill read it and write on it and ask questions based on a theme from that piece of work.

But to open up the lines, I want to ask a simple question.

Who’s your favorite Black author?

-don’t feel bad if you don’t have one… you soon will-

girljanitor
girljanitor:

One of the most whitewashed characters in Fantasy/Science Fiction literature is Ged of the fantasy standard Earthsea series by Ursula K. LeGuin.
Ged and literally everyone except Tenar of the Ring in the entire frickin series has either brown, red-brown, or black skin.
EVERYONE.
Whitewashed on book covers:



Whitewashed in fanart:



Whitewashed most egregiously in the American Sci Fi Channel miniseries:


PLEASE READ URSULA K. LEGUIN’S AMAZING REACTION TO THE WHITEWASHING OF HER WORK : A Whitewashed Earthsea: How the Sci Fi Channel Ruined My Books.
And on the issue of Gedo Senki, studio Ghibli’s production based on the Earthsea series, and the issue of race being slightly more complex and ambiguous considering it is an entirely Japanese production.
Some stills from Gedo Senki:



I found out Leo and Diane Dillon, of whose art I am a huge fan of, did a cover for Earthsea at some point, and it is one of the few that comes close to resembling his skin tone the way it is described in the books:

girljanitor:

One of the most whitewashed characters in Fantasy/Science Fiction literature is Ged of the fantasy standard Earthsea series by Ursula K. LeGuin.

Ged and literally everyone except Tenar of the Ring in the entire frickin series has either brown, red-brown, or black skin.

EVERYONE.

Whitewashed on book covers:

Whitewashed in fanart:

Whitewashed most egregiously in the American Sci Fi Channel miniseries:

PLEASE READ URSULA K. LEGUIN’S AMAZING REACTION TO THE WHITEWASHING OF HER WORK : A Whitewashed Earthsea: How the Sci Fi Channel Ruined My Books.

And on the issue of Gedo Senki, studio Ghibli’s production based on the Earthsea series, and the issue of race being slightly more complex and ambiguous considering it is an entirely Japanese production.

Some stills from Gedo Senki:

I found out Leo and Diane Dillon, of whose art I am a huge fan of, did a cover for Earthsea at some point, and it is one of the few that comes close to resembling his skin tone the way it is described in the books:

(via moniquill)

nudiemuse

Self Promotion Tuesday. Support your Indie writer friend.

nudiemuse:

ALL THE LINKS.

So y’all.

I have not been able to get my shawl thing up and running yet. SO many reasons.

That being what it is how about some writings by yours truly?

For .99 cents a month you can subscribe to my regular blog Nudiemuse..Daily Nattering on your Kindle. Holy crap right? More? YES much more. You can also get my writing Blog on your kindle for wait for it…99 cents y’all.

Want something to read right now?

I got what you need.

You can get my first tiny collection Wayward Words Vol I right here. Already have that one? But WAIT you can get Vol II as well, holy shit! 

In the mood for the special tingle in your pants? I got something for you too. Right this way a hetero flavored smutty story. Holy crap? Want a tidbit?

I do what she says and lace my fingers behind my head. Her brown body gleams in the early morning sun slanting through the window, when the fan passes her nipples pucker and she tilts her head back.

YEAH baby there’s more where that came from and you can get Morning Heat right here for how much? .99 cents. 

Can’t buy right now?

Totally okay.

Feel free to signal boost, send the links to your friends who like a little smut with their literature. Share on yer social media if you want. Go nuts!

Thank you as always for your support.

I am working on a new non smutty release for Smashwords. A little retelling of the Siren myth. Want a bite of what’s to come?

Fuck getting her a record deal he wanted to marry her and start his own label.  He wanted to worship at her boot-clad feet.  Hell he’d have killed every bastard in the place including Magus for just one more song. 

 

littledirtyprettythangs
littledirtyprettythangs:

Book Review: “They Tell Me Of A Home” by Daniel Black
I haven’t written a book review in ages but I felt like I needed to say a few words about this novel I just finished yesterday. Not because I loved, but because I hated it. This book is only the 3rd book I’ve EVER given one lonely ass star to on my Goodreads account, which I’ve had for two years. It was a laborious and frustrating read. I haven’t suffered so much through an entire book since I read “The Help” last year. Let me break it down:
“They Tell Me Of a Home” is a story about a young Black man, Thomas Lee “T.L.” Tyson returning to his small Arkansas town after being gone for ten years. He left to go out into the big world and get a college education and to escape a suffocating and abusive childhood. While T.L. was gone, he didn’t have ANY contact with his family and friends back home in Swamp Creek, Arkansas, save one letter to his baby sister Cynthia, whom they all called “Sista”. Sista was his best friend growing up and he made her swear not to tell anybody about his letter to her.
When we met T.L. he has just earned a doctorate degree in Black Studies and is hopping off the Greyhound bus on the edge of town to go see what’s going on with his family and “find himself”. T.L. arrives home to his cold and distant mother, his older brother Willie James, the family workhorse, his steely and emotionally unavailable father. Sista is dead and buried in the backyard and nobody seems to know how she died, or so they say. It ALL goes downhill from there. 
I’m not going to give away any spoilers here, just in case somebody wants to waste a few hours finding out what the hell happens to these crazy ass people, but let me tell y’all what I found SO DAMN problematic with this story:
The overly ornate language drove me up the proverbial wall. This language was like looking at gaudy Christmas tree from 1975. The flowery prose detracted HEAVILY from the story. Just because you can FIND that many words in your damn thesaurus doesn’t mean you have to USE THEM ALL. Mr.Black’s thesaurus has to be tattered, worn and hanging on by a thread at this point. I felt like he was trying to prove to anybody and everybody how smart he is. That also would explain the excessive name-dropping of Great Black Authors. The way he talked about the Literary Luminaries of the African-American Canon you’d think he himself sprung forth fully formed from the Harlem Renaissance. It was irritating and embarrassing in the same way your friend that takes tickets at the 9:30 Club thinks they’re personal friends with every artist that headlines there and can’t stop talking about them like they know them for real. Ugh.
This story was extremely MELODRAMATIC. Mr.Black had T.L. and everybody else in Swamp Creek doing more whoopin’/hollerin’/pacing/crying/collapsing/screaming/shouting/rolling around in the dirt than the law should allow. Not even going through the stuff that they went through does anybody do that in real life! That brings me to my biggest point of contention with this novel…
This story read as WHOLLY inauthentic because T.L. was clearly a gay Black man but Mr. Black couldn’t be bothered to write him as such. I wasn’t through the first chapter before my Gaydar went off. I kept expecting T.L. to “come out” at some point but it never happened. BUT IT NEEDED TO!! I mean damn…his relationship with his best friend George was CLEARLY one of partners. Straight men don’t talk to each other like that and write what amount to love letters to each other. T.L. was given ONE scene with a woman, after an alleged sexual encounter (because I still don’t believe they did it) and you know what that turned into? That turned into a 10 (Kindle) page discussion on Feminism from what I can ONLY attribute to a gay man! I can’t believe that heterosexual person would say that “If men could bear children, men would chose to procreate with other men because they prefer to deal with their homies instead of the shit they go through to be with women.” Nah, son. You can’t tell me T.L. was straight. And T.L.’s “almost gay” experience in college. Boy, bye. I know gay when I READ GAY. He even spent several pages describing a dream T.L. had in which a male monster and a female monster battled it out for his soul! WHAT??? I felt insulted by that character because if Mr.Black wanted some DRAMA (which he CLEARLY did), making T.L. gay (or at least questioning) would have been perfect and made the story a lot more believable. But he didn’t, so I spent 3 days last week cussin’ at my Kindle as I read the book. This book seems to have served as nothing more as a platform for Mr.Black to work out his issues he has with Black folks’ basic issues: religion, family, homosexuality and the church. 
Man, write another kinda book for all that. I’m not checking for your soapbox soliloquies in the middle of a “novel”. 
I will give Mr.Black full credit for this: He has a MASTERFUL grasp of the skill it takes to write Black American Southern vernacular and dialect. He did an impeccable job at that and I appreciate it. I hate when writers try that and get it wrong. It feels insulting. He also did a good job at resolution, but even that came off as more of his preachy, Go-Tell-It-On-The-Gay-Ass-Mountain, Chile, Lissen To Yo’ Mama life lessons. And they were administered from yet ANOTHER character who should’ve been gay. 
My Book Buddy Nakia of ZoraTonyMaya.tumblr.com said she gave the book 2 stars on Goodreads because the author is Black. Hell no. He gets ONE STAR for simply having the gumption to write a book. Other than that, I ain’t got nothin’ for Daniel Black. That’s including time to read anymore of his books. 
~pbg

littledirtyprettythangs:

Book Review: “They Tell Me Of A Home” by Daniel Black

I haven’t written a book review in ages but I felt like I needed to say a few words about this novel I just finished yesterday. Not because I loved, but because I hated it. This book is only the 3rd book I’ve EVER given one lonely ass star to on my Goodreads account, which I’ve had for two years. It was a laborious and frustrating read. I haven’t suffered so much through an entire book since I read “The Help” last year. Let me break it down:

“They Tell Me Of a Home” is a story about a young Black man, Thomas Lee “T.L.” Tyson returning to his small Arkansas town after being gone for ten years. He left to go out into the big world and get a college education and to escape a suffocating and abusive childhood. While T.L. was gone, he didn’t have ANY contact with his family and friends back home in Swamp Creek, Arkansas, save one letter to his baby sister Cynthia, whom they all called “Sista”. Sista was his best friend growing up and he made her swear not to tell anybody about his letter to her.

When we met T.L. he has just earned a doctorate degree in Black Studies and is hopping off the Greyhound bus on the edge of town to go see what’s going on with his family and “find himself”. T.L. arrives home to his cold and distant mother, his older brother Willie James, the family workhorse, his steely and emotionally unavailable father. Sista is dead and buried in the backyard and nobody seems to know how she died, or so they say. It ALL goes downhill from there. 

I’m not going to give away any spoilers here, just in case somebody wants to waste a few hours finding out what the hell happens to these crazy ass people, but let me tell y’all what I found SO DAMN problematic with this story:

The overly ornate language drove me up the proverbial wall. This language was like looking at gaudy Christmas tree from 1975. The flowery prose detracted HEAVILY from the story. Just because you can FIND that many words in your damn thesaurus doesn’t mean you have to USE THEM ALL. Mr.Black’s thesaurus has to be tattered, worn and hanging on by a thread at this point. I felt like he was trying to prove to anybody and everybody how smart he is. That also would explain the excessive name-dropping of Great Black Authors. The way he talked about the Literary Luminaries of the African-American Canon you’d think he himself sprung forth fully formed from the Harlem Renaissance. It was irritating and embarrassing in the same way your friend that takes tickets at the 9:30 Club thinks they’re personal friends with every artist that headlines there and can’t stop talking about them like they know them for real. Ugh.

This story was extremely MELODRAMATIC. Mr.Black had T.L. and everybody else in Swamp Creek doing more whoopin’/hollerin’/pacing/crying/collapsing/screaming/shouting/rolling around in the dirt than the law should allow. Not even going through the stuff that they went through does anybody do that in real life! That brings me to my biggest point of contention with this novel…

This story read as WHOLLY inauthentic because T.L. was clearly a gay Black man but Mr. Black couldn’t be bothered to write him as such. I wasn’t through the first chapter before my Gaydar went off. I kept expecting T.L. to “come out” at some point but it never happened. BUT IT NEEDED TO!! I mean damn…his relationship with his best friend George was CLEARLY one of partners. Straight men don’t talk to each other like that and write what amount to love letters to each other. T.L. was given ONE scene with a woman, after an alleged sexual encounter (because I still don’t believe they did it) and you know what that turned into? That turned into a 10 (Kindle) page discussion on Feminism from what I can ONLY attribute to a gay man! I can’t believe that heterosexual person would say that “If men could bear children, men would chose to procreate with other men because they prefer to deal with their homies instead of the shit they go through to be with women.” Nah, son. You can’t tell me T.L. was straight. And T.L.’s “almost gay” experience in college. Boy, bye. I know gay when I READ GAY. He even spent several pages describing a dream T.L. had in which a male monster and a female monster battled it out for his soul! WHAT??? I felt insulted by that character because if Mr.Black wanted some DRAMA (which he CLEARLY did), making T.L. gay (or at least questioning) would have been perfect and made the story a lot more believable. But he didn’t, so I spent 3 days last week cussin’ at my Kindle as I read the book. This book seems to have served as nothing more as a platform for Mr.Black to work out his issues he has with Black folks’ basic issues: religion, family, homosexuality and the church. 

Man, write another kinda book for all that. I’m not checking for your soapbox soliloquies in the middle of a “novel”. 

I will give Mr.Black full credit for this: He has a MASTERFUL grasp of the skill it takes to write Black American Southern vernacular and dialect. He did an impeccable job at that and I appreciate it. I hate when writers try that and get it wrong. It feels insulting. He also did a good job at resolution, but even that came off as more of his preachy, Go-Tell-It-On-The-Gay-Ass-Mountain, Chile, Lissen To Yo’ Mama life lessons. And they were administered from yet ANOTHER character who should’ve been gay. 

My Book Buddy Nakia of ZoraTonyMaya.tumblr.com said she gave the book 2 stars on Goodreads because the author is Black. Hell no. He gets ONE STAR for simply having the gumption to write a book. Other than that, I ain’t got nothin’ for Daniel Black. That’s including time to read anymore of his books. 

~pbg

(via notesonascandal)

tsisqua

velocicrafter:

alunasa:

These photographs show my dialogue with dennisrenaissance about his edited version of the infamous Two Wolves story which as I’m sure you all know by now, is incorrectly attributed to the Cherokee and in fact, originated with Billy Graham.

I’m posting this here because I’ve been sick over the last few days and wanted your feedback on how to further approach him on this issue, and if I should even keep trying for that matter.  I’ll not include my opinions here so that you can draw your own conclusions from the conversation alone.

Oh and for full context, here is the post that I was referencing.
http://dennisrenaissance.tumblr.com/post/21315455847

  1. since it’s fiction, it won’t harm him to arbitrarily assign it to a completely made-up group of people
  2. “it’s art” or “it’s fiction” are not licenses to perpetuate stereotypes & misinformation. Actually, it’s creative laziness, if anything.
  3. the fact that you gave him factual information, he read it & then chose to disregard it—all of this makes him an arrogant colonialist ass & are not marks of a creative individual. It would be completely different if he were creating an entirely new fictive world to place this in, but he’s marking it as a traditional story from a group of people that actually exists.
  4. his one “Cherokee Friend” does not speak for all Native Americans, or even all Cherokees. Also, we’re gonna need receipts on that one friend’s Cherokee-ness.
  5. a badly written character is a badly written character, no matter the author’s intentions.

(via dammitcaleb-deactivated20130328)

venusinthefifth
venusinthefifth:

In the summer of 1860, more than fifty years after the United States legally abolished the international slave trade, 110 men, women, and children from Benin and Nigeria were brought ashore in Alabama under cover of night. They were the last recorded group of Africans deported to the United States as slaves. Timothy Meaher, an established Mobile businessman, sent the slave ship, the Clotilda, to Africa, on a bet that he could “bring a shipful of niggers right into Mobile Bay under the officers’ noses.” He won the bet. This book reconstructs the lives of the people in West Africa, recounts their capture and passage in the slave pen in Ouidah, and describes their experience of slavery alongside American-born enslaved men and women. After emancipation, the group reunited from various plantations, bought land, and founded their own settlement, known as African Town. They ruled it according to customary African laws, spoke their own regional language and, when giving interviews, insisted that writers use their African names so that their families would know that they were still alive. The last survivor of the Clotilda died in 1935, but African Town is still home to a community of Clotilda descendants. The publication of Dreams of Africa in Alabama marks the 200th anniversary of the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade. Winner of the Wesley-Logan Prize of the American Historical Association (2007) - Sylviane A. Diouf

venusinthefifth:

In the summer of 1860, more than fifty years after the United States legally abolished the international slave trade, 110 men, women, and children from Benin and Nigeria were brought ashore in Alabama under cover of night. They were the last recorded group of Africans deported to the United States as slaves. Timothy Meaher, an established Mobile businessman, sent the slave ship, the Clotilda, to Africa, on a bet that he could “bring a shipful of niggers right into Mobile Bay under the officers’ noses.” He won the bet. 
This book reconstructs the lives of the people in West Africa, recounts their capture and passage in the slave pen in Ouidah, and describes their experience of slavery alongside American-born enslaved men and women. After emancipation, the group reunited from various plantations, bought land, and founded their own settlement, known as African Town. They ruled it according to customary African laws, spoke their own regional language and, when giving interviews, insisted that writers use their African names so that their families would know that they were still alive. 
The last survivor of the Clotilda died in 1935, but African Town is still home to a community of Clotilda descendants. The publication of Dreams of Africa in Alabama marks the 200th anniversary of the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade. 
Winner of the Wesley-Logan Prize of the American Historical Association (2007) - Sylviane A. Diouf

(via blueklectic)

nakedgirlsreading.com

You and me, we’re both hag-ridden, haunted
by past and present specters of razor hair girls
who looked so soft when we wanted to touch them,
who leaned in close, got sado-artistic, left legacies of
whip-thin scars that show through clear in the light

of five a.m. Elvira when we’ve talked since ten
the night before. I’m scared of girls, you say
and we understand each other perfectly, ‘cause I know
however soft she looks, she can cut you.

from “Razor Hair Girls” by Elizabeth R. McClellan, the 2011 Naked Girls Reading Literary Honors Award winner.

(I am so honored and blown away right now, y’all have no idea. Sitting here with ashleyfullstop grinning so hard my face hurts.)

(via popelizbet)

africanabibliophile
africanabibliophile:

1890s Blacks were tortured in German concentration camps in Southwest Africa (now called Namibia) when Adolph Hitler was only a child. Colonial German doctors conducted unspeakable medical experiments on these emaciated helpless Africans decades before such atrocities were ever visited upon the Jews.
Thousands of Africans were massacred. Regrettably, historians neglected to properly register the slaughter—that is, to lift it from the footnote in history that it had been relegated to—until now.
In an attempt to give the incidents their rightful recognition in the historical context of the Holocaust, Dr. Firpo W. Carr has authored a new book entitled, Germany’s Black Holocaust: 1890–1945. In it, he reveals the startling hidden history of Black victims of the Holocaust. The mayhem and carnage date back to the turn of the 20th century, many years before there were ever any other unfortunate victims—Jew or Gentile—of the Holocaust.
Carr conducted three incredibly revealing interviews with: (1) a Black female Holocaust victim; (2) the Black commanding officer who liberated 8,000 Black men from a concentration camp; and (3) an African American medic from the all-Black medical unit that was responsible for retrieving thousands of dead bodies from Dachau. (White medical units were spared the gruesome task.)
“Kay,” the Black female Holocaust survivor, laments: “You cannot possibly comprehend the anger I have in me because of being experimented on in Dachau, and being called ‘nigger girl’ and ‘blacky’ while growing up.”
Testimonials from the Black commanding officer and African American medic are memorialized, for the first time ever, in Carr’s book. The research is based on voluminous documentation, and more.
If you are like most people, you simply have never heard the unbelievable story of Black victims of the Holocaust. You are invited to read about the human spirit’s triump over events that occurred during this horrible piece of hidden history.

africanabibliophile:

1890s Blacks were tortured in German concentration camps in Southwest Africa (now called Namibia) when Adolph Hitler was only a child. Colonial German doctors conducted unspeakable medical experiments on these emaciated helpless Africans decades before such atrocities were ever visited upon the Jews.

Thousands of Africans were massacred. Regrettably, historians neglected to properly register the slaughter—that is, to lift it from the footnote in history that it had been relegated to—until now.

In an attempt to give the incidents their rightful recognition in the historical context of the Holocaust, Dr. Firpo W. Carr has authored a new book entitled, Germany’s Black Holocaust: 1890–1945. In it, he reveals the startling hidden history of Black victims of the Holocaust. The mayhem and carnage date back to the turn of the 20th century, many years before there were ever any other unfortunate victims—Jew or Gentile—of the Holocaust.

Carr conducted three incredibly revealing interviews with: (1) a Black female Holocaust victim; (2) the Black commanding officer who liberated 8,000 Black men from a concentration camp; and (3) an African American medic from the all-Black medical unit that was responsible for retrieving thousands of dead bodies from Dachau. (White medical units were spared the gruesome task.)

“Kay,” the Black female Holocaust survivor, laments: “You cannot possibly comprehend the anger I have in me because of being experimented on in Dachau, and being called ‘nigger girl’ and ‘blacky’ while growing up.”

Testimonials from the Black commanding officer and African American medic are memorialized, for the first time ever, in Carr’s book. The research is based on voluminous documentation, and more.

If you are like most people, you simply have never heard the unbelievable story of Black victims of the Holocaust. You are invited to read about the human spirit’s triump over events that occurred during this horrible piece of hidden history.

(via lolagetslife)