The Alt-right Pipeline Is A Real And Dangerous Thing That I Think Needs More Awareness. Heres Some Videos

the alt-right pipeline is a real and dangerous thing that i think needs more awareness. here’s some videos that can help you learn about it

the pewdiepipeline: how edgy humor leads to violence by noncomplete

pewdiepipeline 2: how to shut it down by noncomplete

how i fell down the alt right pipeline and escaped by xanderhal

joe rogan gateway experience (into the alt right) by the serfs

how to fall down the anti-sjw rabbit hole by three arrows

the alt-right playbook: how to radicalize a normie by innuendo studios

decrypting the alt-right: how to recognize a fascist by contrapoints

pewdiepie and the problem with (fake) racism by the serfs

how the far right weaponizes nostalgia by thought slime

In unequivocal terms, the UK is a police state. We have just lost our right to protest (if they are deemed ‘annoying’ - which will be interpreted to be any protest the government doesn’t like). This means anyone in the UK might face prison for exercising our right to protest. 

Please, please I’m begging non UK folks- to simply know this.

If the right to protest was lost in the US it’d be all over the internet. But nobody is here for UK folks. 

This is just as trans people and gay people and marginalised races and poor people are being hit with economic and social harm and are more likely to protest. 

Know about us- make sure the UK government is shamed for what it is doing. In the meantime, the UK citizens have some violence to plan. 

Finally, a 'Florida Man' story of merit.

The thing about “the LGBTQ community” is that it has always been an explicitly political coalition. We didn’t all just come together and hug one day.

As a cis bi man, I have nothing individually at stake in political attacks on lesbians and trans people (sometimes I don’t even have anything at stake with certain attacks on gay men!) But I treat an attack on any of those groups as an attack on myself, because basically anyone who wants to target those groups also wants to target my group. This has always been the case: there is no inherent reason why gay men would form a community with lesbians, or lesbians with bisexuals, or bisexuals with straight trans people. But historically we know that an attack on one of us inevitably precedes an attack on more of us, so there was a choice made to unify under a shared umbrella.

The right knows this, and in recent decades has been investing in highlighting wedge issues to divide the coalition and weaken its collective power even as it grows larger. Attacks on trans people from cis LGBQs need to be understood as a form of support for these efforts at disempowering all LGBTQ communities (ex. those TERF orgs that signed on to a legal briefing opposing a comprehensive anti-LGBTQ discrimination law because it included trans people)

Born in Flames (1983)

dir. Lizzie Borden

An unfinished nonfiction essay about being transgender that I don't think I want to finish but I thought that Tumblr might get something out of it:

    An old teacher of mine once said that there comes a time when one is ready to write about something. Whether that be immediately or ten years down the line, you will know.

    However, I have recently come to the realization that gender is a subject I will never truly have the space to think on, breathe on, drown in ink and spit it back out again.

    I do not know what delusions the cisgender people think I am suffering under. I am living quite close to the question of my body every day. The small yellow ring in my blue eyes, the strange shape of my hairline and the wonder if it’s getting shorter or darker or if that’s just my imagination, my stomach too large to allow my breasts to be replaced with the scars I’ve been waiting for, the hives gathering in streaks along my skin after I make the mistake of biting into an avocado.

    There is no relief in a second puberty. Not like taking a drink of water, anyways. More like pulling out a thorn over a period of months, or taking a painkiller and not noticing that your pain has been missing for hours. Slowly realizing you can access all of the depth of your own emotions. A thing that was not permitted of you before.

    How does one explain being transgender? Many have tried. It’s a lot like trying to explain why one is left-handed, only worse. It is a thing so deeply tangled up in the understanding of the self that it is difficult to see even when it is standing right in front of you. Like trying to explain why you know that lemons are sour except in matters of the soul.

    I had all of these thoughts one morning as I rinsed my face after sudsing it up with an orange goo. I am too close to certain aspects of my own existence to ever feel “ready” to write about them, in essay or poetry form. And yet somehow I feel some sort of obligation to write down these things, as if I must capture this moment in history for future generations. I am living in the middle of a civil rights struggle, after all. I lived to see the legalization of gay mairrage, after all. Shouldn’t I leave behind some artifact for my children to sift through?

    So far my job has been survival. And what does one write about that? It is a thing that all humans do, but for the transgender person it is, unfortunately, a political statement. A powerful show of sticking it to The Man.

    To be perfectly honest, I often tire of waking up in the morning to be a living breathing political statement. But I have no choice in the matter. Every bite of Raisin Bran is supposed to be charged with some sort of either pain and torment or outrage and determination. Going out to the grocery store in the middle of the night without a bra on must be a harrowing fight for my life.

    My art can’t be about being transgender, because in practice being transgender is quite dull. It consists of rubbing the cleaning goo on your face in the mornings, shoving raisin bran down your gullet, idly wondering what is so intimidating about your existence that you occasionally get yelled at in public restrooms, peeling off your chest binder like you’re a snake shedding off its skin, watching tv before bed, and doing the whole thing again tomorrow.

    Really, I may as well write about cooking dinner. I am transgender when I do that. I am transgender when I run, when my feet hurt, when I clean out the fridge. I am transgender when I go to church, when I call my father, when I dust off my bookcase or bite into a cherry tomato. I am just experiencing sweet existence. That is all.