#Crowism

[shrekyaoi]

i am going to use such obscure and specific symbolism evocative of shit next to no one has ever heard about then get frustrated when no one’s made the connection between this vague line of dialogue and a thirteenth century record of folktales that has only been translated in one book that’s been out of print for 108 years

[handeaux]

Wendell P. Dabney’s Lifelong Efforts To Preserve The History Of Black Cincinnati

Anyone who studies Cincinnati’s history owes a debt of gratitude to Wendell Phillips Dabney. Nearly one hundred years ago, Dabney published one of the most important books ever written about the Queen City.

“Cincinnati’s Colored Citizens” appeared in 1926 and is still essential reading for anyone who wants to understand the rich history of our city. At a time when Black people faced unrelenting persecution and segregation, Dabney compiled an exhaustive and almost encyclopedic record of African Americans in Cincinnati. His book highlights the accomplishments and points of pride of a thriving community derided and stereotyped by the majority power structure.

On page after page, Dabney documented hundreds of Black citizens raising respectable families, owning solid and profitable businesses and residing in homes better than those occupied by many of Cincinnati’s white residents. He demonstrated that Black professionals thrived in Cincinnati despite legal and societal prejudice, and he showcased charitable institutions created, constructed and funded by Black generosity, including an orphanage, social clubs, churches, schools and homes for the elderly. Almost a century later, Dabney’s book is the only available source for information about Black Cincinnatians before the civil rights era.

Dabney promoted his personal political agenda through his own newspapers. Dabney’s were Cincinnati’s first newspapers aimed at an African American audience. He published the inaugural issue of The Ohio Enterprise in 1902, changed the name of the paper in 1907 to The Union, and single-handedly published that paper until his death in 1952.

A big fan of Dabney’s was Alfred Segal, the Cincinnati Post writer known by his byline as “Cincinnatus.” Segal often shared items from Dabney’s columns with his own readers. According to Segal [27 August 1950], The Union was less a news medium and more of a lectern for the irrepressible Dabney:

“It hasn’t been really a newspaper in the sense of handing out the latest news; it has been more of a reflection of Wendell P. Dabney himself and how he thinks and feels about everything. It is a paper for colored citizens but many white ones read it just to get the flash of Mr. Dabney’s mordant humor.”

While it is true that his newspaper published many wry examples of the editor’s humor, Dabney was an untiring opponent of segregation. For much of Dabney’s life, integration was a controversial position among Blacks as well as whites. Many in the Black community believed that segregated schools, hospitals and other institutions provided protective environments for African Americans. Dabney would have none of it. He wrote [30 December 1922]:

“This drawing of the color line in public institutions and establishment of ‘jim crowism’ is largely done by Negroes themselves, either through ignorance or desire for money. Civic rights legally belong to all citizens. Segregation of people is not necessary to fit them for civic duties. We have here and in other cities, colored people in nearly every profession and department of public life. ‘The Caste System’ has never done anything but degrade.”

Dabney’s health began to fail as he reached his eightieth birthday in 1945 and made noises that he would soon give up publishing The Union, but soldiered on. Soon after achieving that eight-decade milestone, Dabney hopped up from his sickbed and demonstrated that he was still capable of the old buck and wing as well as some clog dances. A celebration of Dabney’s 84th birthday in 1949 attracted more than 350 guests. The Union maintained its weekly publishing schedule until Dabney died in 1952. In an obituary of sorts, Al Segal of the Post [4 June 1952] observed:

“He never made any money out of being a publisher; it was pay-off enough for him to hear people laughing with him.”

Wendell Dabney was born in Richmond, Virginia just after the South surrendered in defeat to end the Civil War. His parents, John M. Dabney and Elizabeth Foster Dabney, had been enslaved but built a successful catering business after achieving freedom.

Dabney graduated high school in Richmond and began appearing on stage, sometimes with tap-dance legend Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, a childhood companion. He later attended Oberlin College in Ohio and performed in that school’s orchestra.

After teaching for a couple of years in Virginia, Dabney relocated to Cincinnati to manage property inherited by his mother, including the Dumas House, the only Cincinnati hotel that accepted Black guests.

Intending to stay in Cincinnati only long enough to stabilize his mother’s properties, Dabney was introduced to a young widow with two children, Nellie Foster Jackson. They married in 1897 and Dabney credited Nellie with his later accomplishments. In Cincinnati’s Colored Citizens, he wrote about her:

“The loyalty and courage of his wife through twenty-five years of storm and stress engendered that domestic harmony and inspiration to which whatever success he may have attained is indebted.”

Dabney integrated himself into Cincinnati’s social and political fabric and excelled at several endeavors. He was an accomplished musician who composed and published songs and melodies and offered lessons through Cincinnati’s Wurlitzer emporium. He published a biography of his friend, Maggie L. Walker, the first African American woman to charter a bank and the first African American woman to serve as a bank president. Dabney was the first president of the Cincinnati chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and was, for many years, a stalwart in the local Republican organization. With the rise of the progressive Charter Committee in the 1920s, Dabney switched his allegiance to that organization.

For 26 years, he served as paymaster for the City of Cincinnati. Dabney noted dryly that, although he had been entrusted with dispersing a total of $80 million over the course of his career, his personal salary was only $150 a month. Such was the nature of political appointments under George Barnsdale “Boss” Cox. As founder and leader of the Douglass League of Negro Republicans, Dabney was an essential factor in getting out the Black vote. The Cox machine rewarded key influencers like Dabney with spots at City Hall.

[ptseti]

PART 1 of this discussion

The thing to do is get organized. Keep separated and you will be exploited, you will be robbed, and you will be raped. Get organized and you will compel the world to respect you.” - Hon. Marcus Garvey Read Forced Into Glory by Lerone Bennett Jr. And dispel the myth that the Civil War was fought to free Black people. It was economic the North was willing to do anything to “preserve the Union” and control the wealth and trade in the South. Black people were used as pawns for both sides. Read Claud Anderson’s Black Labor White Wealth. Black people and African people are owed reparations in every country in the world by Europeans. Places wouldn’t even be countries if the Europeans hadn’t carved out and exploited those places. “The physical and psychological violence of White America against Black America which began with Afrikan slavery in America has continued to this moment in a myriad of forms: wage slavery and peonage; economic discrimination and warfare; political-economic disenfranchisement; Jim Crowism; general White hostility, Klan terrorism; lynching, injustice and “legal lynching.” the raping of Black women and the killing of Black men by whites which have gone unredressed by the justice system: the near condoning and virtual approval of Black-on-Black violence; differential arrests, criminal indictments and incarceration of Whites and Blacks, etc.; segregation; job, business, professional and labour discrimination; negative stereotyping and character assassination; house discrimination; police brutality; addictive drug importation; poor and inadequate education; inadequate and often absent health care; inadequate family support. etc” - Understanding Black Adolescent Male Violence: Its Remediation and Prevention Amos Wilson p. 7,8 ***Watch all Great Griot on YouTube with your family

[booked-on-books2000]

☆The Rape Of Nankings☆

-By Riya

“Germany is today a better place because Jews have not allowed that country to forget what it did during World War II. The American South is a better place for its acknowledgement of the evil of slavery and the one hundred years of Jim Crowism that followed emancipation. Japanese culture will not move forward until it too admits not only to the world but to itself how improper were its actions during World War II.”

The Rape of Nanking is a 1997 book by Iris Chang that details the atrocities committed by Japanese imperial soldiers during the Nanking massacre, a six-week period in 1937 and 1938 when Japanese troops captured and occupied the city of Nanking, China. The book is based on extensive research, including interviews with survivors, and it provides a harrowing account of the systematic rape, murder, and looting that took place.

Chang's meticulous research and vivid descriptions paint a chilling picture of the horrors that unfolded in Nanking. From the gruesome acts of violence to the stories of survivors, the book offers an unflinching look at the human capacity for cruelty and the depths of suffering endured by the victims.

As a reader, the book evokes a range of emotions, from shock and anger to profound sadness. It is a reminder of the importance of acknowledging and confronting the atrocities of the past, no matter how painful. Chang's narrative not only sheds light on the historical events but also serves as a powerful testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable adversity

The book has had a profound impact on me i have found it to be deeply disturbing and upsetting. The level of violence and depravity described in the book is difficult to fathom, and it is easy to understand why it has been called "one of the most horrifying books ever written.

All the incidents mentioned in it raises questions about the nature of war, the responsibilities of nations to protect human rights, and the long-lasting impact of such traumatic events on individuals and societies. Chang's work prompts reflection on the fragility of peace and the urgent need to prevent such tragedies from repeating in the future.

Overall, "The Rape of Nanking" is a heart-wrenching and eye-opening account that leaves a lasting impression on readers. It challenges us to confront uncomfortable truths, empathize with the victims, and strive for a world where such atrocities are never allowed to happen again.

[lboogie1906]

Robert Lee Vann (August 27, 1879 – October 24, 1940) was an African American newspaper publisher and editor. He was the publisher and editor of the Pittsburgh Courier.

He attended Wayland Academy and Virginia Union University and the University of Pittsburgh and graduated from its law school.

He was one of five African American attorneys in Pittsburgh, a city with more than 25,000 African Americans. He drew up incorporation papers for the Pittsburgh Courier and began writing contributions. He wrote editorials encouraging readers to only patronize a business that paid for advertisements in the Courier and ran contests to attempt to increase circulation. He wrote of the paper’s intent to “abolish every vestige of Jim Crowism in Pittsburgh.”

The paper extensively covered the injustices on African Americans perpetrated by the Pullman Company and supported the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters. He wrote to gain support for causes such as improved housing conditions in the Hill District, better education for African American students, and equal employment and union opportunities.

Through national campaigns and contact with President Franklin D. Roosevelt, he pursued the inclusion of African American units in the Armed Forces. As a result, New York Congressman Fish successfully added an amendment prohibiting racial discrimination in the selection and training of men drafted into the Selective Training and Service Act of 1940.

He officially put the Courier behind the party realignment of African Americans. He urged readers to vote for Democrats, writing, “My friends, go home and turn Lincoln’s picture to the wall.”

He served as Special Assistant to the USAG Homer Cummings. He could not get an appointment to see the Attorney General and in fact, may never have met the man. He resigned to return to the Pittsburgh Courier; the paper was the largest African American weekly, with a circulation of 250,000. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[alrederedmixedmedia]

Alredered Remembers Melvin B. Tolson, African American poet, journalist, dramatist and one-time Poet Laureate of Liberia, on his birthday.

Out of abysses of Illiteracy, Through labyrinths of Lies, Across wastelands of Disease . . . We advance Out of dead-ends of Poverty, Through wilderness of Superstition, Across barricades of Jim Crowism . . . We advance.

Melvin B. Tolson

[collymore]

Murder in a good cause!

By Stanley Collymore They have intentionally been the egregiously malevolent bane continuously in the every day lives of our Black Race for in excess of some half a millennium years; and furthermore regrettably as we still essentially see, blatantly and very maliciously still carry on being so in this rather supposedly modern and manifestly regularly regarded, as the enlightened 21st Century. The simply very odious, toxic vermin who so irrefutably, evidently imbued by their quite discernibly evil, and rampantly accustomed sycophancy rather eagerly granted to their surfeit of keenly regarded as superior white men, white women plus obviously also their offspring! A state of affairs, stupidly and incessantly, compounded by a conspicuously obvious, rather dire, intellectually challenged stupidity simply on their part that injuriously; callously too and indifferently consciously knowingly, turn on members of their Black Race solely in order to curry favour that is transitory at best, and also similarly and quickly too is often readily withdrawn on a whim by those delivering it from the scum recipients who actually consider, and overly without any secrecy regard and keenly worship as their compelling betters. House Niggers, for all intents and purposes and similarly forthrightly both honestly and candidly to give them their actual and well-deserved name, who clearly had it not been for them effectively in tandem, and naturally exuberantly so with their enduringly very sickeningly repulsive and basically callous, quite devastating treachery to our obvious enormous, disgustingly ongoing and systemically, purposely deleteriously ill-treated Black Race; quite certainly that evilly, Transatlantic Slave Trade; its subsequent, and iniquitous curse of overt colonialism; simply heinous and firmly entrenched Jim Crowism; rampant and obviously unjustifiable racial segregation, the British rather euphemistic but equally as odiously toxic so-called colour bar and other ingrained, murderous philosophies, like apartheid, undeniably wouldn't have generally survived for as long as they rather evidently did without the recurrently obsequious comfort and the quite nauseatingly fawning support to white Caucasians rather routinely by these distinctly evil but generally insecure, House Niggers! (C) Stanley V. Collymore 5 July 2023. Author's Remarks: Among past generations of white Caucasians and still to this day within the ranks of many such likeminded scum across the western hemisphere the generally accepted view was as still is that the only worthwhile Black person: whether male, female or a child, was a dead one. Blacks could quite easily and for quite justifiable reasons have adopted the same attitude towards whites as well but didn't; and significantly so, because our Black intellectual perspicacity is far superior to that of these white Caucasians; and why bother stating a discernibly obvious fact to ourselves and far less so the white man, woman and their offspring who're not that astute to ascertain what you were talking about, as morality was undoubtedly not a salient factor of these peoples' lives then nor is it now. However, in terms of ridding this Planet Earth of scum that shouldn't be here, millions of whites aside, there is distinctly a cast iron case, requisite to some of the reasons outlined in this poem, for us Blacks to do everything that we possibly can to physically get rid of our own House Niggers!

[nomoruleskidd-blog]

Just a couple o’ bros, being bros

@crowism

Ryuji had spent his morning much like any other : waking up with the sun for a quick jog, jumping in the shower, dressing in his usual comfy attire, and making himself a hearty breakfast. The only difference today was that he’d picked out one of his nicer shirts, and had spent a little bit more time getting his hair in place. He was supposed to meet up with Akechi at 3 for the movie they were gonna see, some samurai film that promised to be full of action. He had left himself with plenty of time, not wanting to be late since he’d been the one to pull Akechi away from his work. He felt a little bit bad, knowing Akechi was busy, but everyone had been busy. He hasn’t really gotten to hang out with anyone since the Christmas party, though it hadn’t helped that he’d picked up a job himself.  He plays his phone game for a good while, makes cup ramen for lunch, and then finishes preening, putting on his purple hoodie and giving his hair one more check. He’s gotta look his best in case they get spotted by any of Akechi’s fans, right? 

He heads out early because he’s feeling restless, arriving at the meeting spot at least 20 minutes before they’d said they would meet. He plops down on a bench and breaks out his phone again, glad to be outside and breathing the fresh air. 

[nyannyangaogao-blog]

February 16th

Ann started messaging Goro

💗 : Heyyyy~

💗 : Hope you got to cool off yesterday. That sure was a night.

💗 : It was pretty fun towards the end tho.

💗 : Maybe we could have a twister rematch sometime. Not that it’ll do you any good. :3c

@crowism​

[axeandfloof-blog]

@crowism

Haru was impossibly confused. She wasn’t sure how exactly she wound up in this place, only that she opened her eyes and she was suddenly standing in the middle of the street of what... Looked to be an older European town? What on earth? Was she dreaming? Or did she stumble into the Metaverse, somehow? If so, why couldn’t she remember? 

She had no time to sort her thoughts out before she was approached by what was perhaps the strangest cat she had ever seen. At least, that’s what she assumed the small furry creature was. Stranger still, it had begun to talk, just like Mona. It was giving her an explanation of some sort, and somehow knew about the Metaverse and Milady. But this only left her with more questions. And before she could even ask them, it turned tail and took off! 

“Please, wait!” She calls again, trying to follow after the creature as fast as she’s able, but it’s swift and agile, and is able to quickly escape her sight. But she couldn’t simply give up her search, not when she was in some completely unknown town that certainly wasn’t Tokyo. At the very least, maybe she could find someone to give her a better idea where she was. 

After A few minutes of fruitless searching, she hears a loud thump from around the corner and a pained hiss. She freezes, trying to steel herself before going to investigate. 

“Hello...? Mr. Cat?” She hesitantly calls out as she peeks around the corner. 

She had no idea who she was expecting to find slumped over in that alleyway, but it certainly wasn’t him. 

“Akechi-kun?” 

She can’t believe it. This has to be a dream. Akechi had passed away! Futaba-chan herself had confirmed it. He had been killed, cruelly at the hands of his own father’s distorted cognition of him. But here he was, leaning against the wall and... Bleeding so, so much. 

This realization snapped her out of her paralysis and launched her forward. From standing in front of him, she can see how awful the injury really is. An ugly arc has carved itself from his right arm down to his side. This didn’t make any sense... He didn’t sustain any injuries like this after their battle. And shouldn’t their be bullet wounds? 

... That didn’t matter. If left here, he surely wouldn’t escape death a second time. 

“Please, don’t try to stand.” She softly chides, putting a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “What happened?” 

[fistsofjustice-blog]

[unblocks you] bitch

@crowism

It’s inevitable that she and Akechi-kun will meet, though it’s delayed on account of both of them being incredibly busy. She admits to herself that she’s being overly moralistic; she obviously cannot fathom what he has gone through, but she knows what her father died trying to protect: a sense of justice, a sense that those who hurt others should  be punished.

Akechi-kun hurt Haru-san. Haru-san is her friend, and even if she weren’t, she had done nothing to deserve her fate.

But Ann -- sweet, kind, forgiving, compassionate Ann -- has asked her to speak with him, so she’ll allow him that. No, that’s not the correct phrasing; she hears his condescending response the moment the thought flows through her head. You’ll allow me your time? How charitable. 

She continues to make excuses, but inevitably, it is work that forces them together. She’s assisting in the lab, trying to piece together what has happened in a case with a dead body and no other visible signs. She can’t help but wonder if the cause was a mysterious “heart attack” orchestrated by a certain boy detective.

Said detective is apparently on this case, which does not surprise her considering the high profile nature of the mystery. She senses him ambling over after concluding a conversation with a lab tech. “Hello, Akechi-kun,” she says without glancing up from the toxicology report she’s reviewing. “Is there something you need?”

[zipperdaddy-blog]

@crowism

While still new to this place, Bruno has already taken to a schedule, waking up early to find breakfast, usually at the little bakery where Kiki works. Their pastries are divine, and the ambiance reminds him of some of his favorite cafe’s back home. 

He usually (in the past handful of days) arrives early enough that no one is there, the shop having just opened, but today there’s a customer chatting at the counter with Kiki. It seems like they’re talking about some new seasonal baked goods. 

Kiki looks up at the ring of the bell above the door and smiles wide as Bruno enters. 

“I was hoping you’d be in sometime soon,” she grins, “ I was just telling Akechi about our maple nut coffee cake! It’s a new recipe I’m trying out, and I think you’ll both just love it!” 

Bruno smiles, “That sounds lovely, Kiki,” he turns towards Akechi. It was strange to see someone so young out and about so early, and while the situation was a bit awkward and unprecedented, he offers him a nod. 

Kiki has skipped into the back room to prepare proper slices for both of them. 

“It seems a little unfair,” he starts, “that I know your name when you weren’t given mine. It’s Bruno Bucciarati,” he smiles, “if you’re a regular here we might be running into each other quite a bit.” 

[misspancakewitch-blog]

@crowism

Kiki had woken up that morning, famished, and had (with the few groceries she had managed to pick up with her small and quickly waning funds) decided to make the most cost effective meal she knew how: pancakes. 

While they were simple, and she had no syrup to drown them in, she had spent an awful long time perfecting her pancakes, and these were no exception. Each one was fluffy and golden brown on both sides. She’d even managed to only burn one! Deciding that today was a beautiful day, the sun out and the air crisp but not cold, she drags a chair outside, holding her plate carefully as she sits. 

Steam rises from the plate and she readies a fork to begin digging in, all the while watching the few passerby’s. She’s always liked people watching, and sitting like this (though she feels a bit silly about it) makes her feel like she’s in the bakery again. 

[solemnxodium-archive]

(crowsiin) No. Absolutly not. Roisin REFUSES to admit any fantasy with him, ESPECIALLY with people watching. Her pride wont allow it.

memes || accepting

"But of course. Who would ever think of doing such a primal and intimate act?"

He smirks, giving Roisin a knowing side eye.

"Much less with an audience."

[yabasicbench-blog]

a great and terrible mystery

@crowism

There are some sick people in this world. That’s reinforced for Eleanor when she wakes up and realizes that she’s been the victim of a theft.

She heads out the door and is kinda shaken up from the whole thing. Like, she’s been in jail a couple of times, so she knows how the system works. She’s had to report a creepy ex and that one guy who showed up at her apartment to offer her a carton of milk (what the fuck?) so she knows it from that perspective, too. But honestly, she’s kinda rattled. 

“Yo, Spice Boy!”

She jogs to catch up to him. He’s probably, like, doing something important, because oh, look at him, he’s always got somewhere to be because he’s so busy. Well, he’s gonna take a minute to listen to her.

“Wait up, dude! I got something important I gotta tell you. You’ve got an in with the police, right? Tell them that there is one freaky dude on the loose right now. I made sure to lock my door and my window last night, but when I woke up, all the underwear in my drawer was gone! Even the pair from the night before that I had bunched up and thrown in a corner were missing! Like, what the fuck?”

He’s probably wondering why she’s telling him all this. Well, Detective Boy, it’s because she doesn’t know where the police station is, and he’s right here. So, he’s the lucky dude who gets to listen to her woes about the perv who snagged her panties. 

Those black lacy ones were like $12, too! Shit ain’t cheap.

[mr-sylvilagus]

Crow, emerging from the bedroom around mid-morning: I hope nothing sad happens today. I don’t think I can cry anymore. Me, who had not heard anything and thought Crow was just sleeping in: What? Were you crying? What’s wrong? Crow, laughing: I decided to finish reading my book.