Comparing oppression can sometimes give you insight as to what other groups of people go through. It teaches you what you have in common with people seemingly different than you are, and teaches you how you are different and how you can ally yourself better with other peoples.
However, if your goal is to prove you suffer the most between you and another person, you'll likely find that there is no conversation, just an endless barrage of back-and-forth to prove which of you deserves to be listened to.
The reality is that you don't have to be in the most pain in order to be listened to. So often, we are inundated with this idea that the person suffering the most is the only one who ought to be listened to, and it sends the message of "holy shit, I guess I don't matter. I guess I deserve to suffer if others are going through worse," and that's just unreasonable and unfair. Who has it worse is entirely contextual and changing, and sometimes it is subjective - as in, something that is earth-breaking for you is an average tuesday evening for the guy next to you.
Kill the cop in your head that says your voice will only matter if you prove yourself. Listen to other marginalized people and know it isn't a competition to see who can prove themselves most worthy of tine and energy. Our resources can (and should) be multifaceted and able to help a variety of peoples.
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that report on Zionists abducting blonde Palestinian children to be "adopted" by Zionists makes me physically shake. I'm an Aboriginal person with extended family who were abducted by the "Australian" government decades ago and put up for "adoption" by whites as part of what is now known as the Stolen Generations. All Aboriginal children, but especially those who were lighter in features, were the target of this genocidal assimilation policy. The colonial legacy of Aboriginal child abduction on my peoples is an intergenerational abyss of cultural loss, the destruction of bloodlines, despair and grief that is still felt by every First Nations person in the country today. To be alive and witness another Indigenous people experience the same destruction by practically the same hand drowns me in anguish. Fuck settler colonial projects. Death to all of them. They're all the fucking same. Land Back for every First Nations peoples living under occupation, from Palestine to so-called Australia.
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Edit: I see a ton of answers saying "torture porn" and some asking why I didn't add it. Torture porn isn't a subgenre of horror. Every single horror film that yall describe as torture porn falls into an actual subgenre (usually slasher/splatter or body horror, though there are exceptions). Torture porn was a term made to describe the rise in realistic brutality in horror in the early 2000s. If you don't like the brutality or gore in horror, that's fine. But that's not a subgenre. Every single one of these could be incredibly gorey and brutal, as well as can be the opposite of that. Torture porn is not a subgenre in itself
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the imperial chinese examinations are a godsend for enjoyers of pathetic historical men such as myself. they gave rise to so many types of guy, such as: guy who failed the examinations like forty times and despondently wrote one of the great works of chinese literature between failures; guy who failed like ten times and decided “you know what? this is bullshit. this all has to go” and started a brutal peasant uprising; guy who just barely passed and was suddenly thrown into a very high military position, which he has ABSOLUTELY no training for; and guy who failed several times, faked a degree, got hired by harvard to teach chinese, had his fake degree discovered after he got to boston, begged harvard to let him teach because otherwise it would be really embarrassing for them all, taught like seven students, and died of pneumonia
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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I think the best example of how 'taking an obviously bad liberal position on an issue and just holding the opposite stance within the exact same framework' isn't at all a substitute for an actual communist view on the matter is the absolutely inane statement of 'Your HRT isn't more important than Palestinian lives!' -- like, take a step back here and consider for two seconds why we're just accepting as implicit the notion that trans rights and anti-imperialism are inherently at odds with one another? Is this actually true? And who does it serve to say that it is?
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PLEASEEEE can u show the time where reader caught rafe punching the squishmallows that really sent me
"don't laugh, okay?" you say it softly, right outside the door to your bedroom.
"why would i laugh?" rafe’s asking seriously, but you're already a tiny bit embarrassed of what lies on the other side of the door and you're unsure how rafe will react.
"it's, like, a third of the size of your room-"
"shut up and open the door."
you sigh, turning the handle and pushing to let yourself in first. rafe follows, staring around the tiny room observantly. his eyes flicker from corner to corner, taking it in. you stand to the side patiently, playing with your hands, in particular the ring rafe had just gotten you, fiddling and twisting it repeatedly.
he walks around for a second, stopping at your bookshelf to take a look at the titles on the shelves and then moving on, staring at the photos on the wall and then sniffing a stray candle on the nightstand. he finally stops at your dresser, glancing over the lotions and perfumes littered on top to stare at the framed picture of the two of you perched right in the center, odds and ends he's gotten you in the last month scattered around.
"so?" you question quietly, eyes big.
"which drawer's got your panties?"
"rafe! shut up."
"it's a cute room. why'd you get so worried?"
"i don't know. habit." you settle on the bed, bringing your biggest squishmallow onto your lap, holding it in your arms comfortingly. rafe's still looking around.
"always had one favorite color, huh?"
"yes," you admit, squeezing the stuffed animal harder. rafe finally comes to join you on the bed, gesturing to the squishmallow as soon as he does.
"what the hell is that?"
"this is ricky. he's a clownfish. he has a career, i just can't remember-"
"huh?"
"they all have jobs and hobbies, rafe. the squishmallows. i think he's an underwater singer or something."
"you sleep with that huge thing on the bed?"
"every night. when i'm here, at least. i should get one for tannyhill!"
"don't know about all that." he takes it into his hands, moving it around, observing it from all sides. "every single night?"
"yeah. why?"
"nothin'."
the conversation changes to the books on your nightstand, and you forget all about the squishmallow resting on your bed until you step out to get a cup of lemonade for rafe.
walking back in, you wonder if you put enough sugar in, when you open the door to see rafe smacking your squishmallow with his right hook, right to his little face.
"what are you doing?!" it spills out before you can stop it, the lemonade almost falling out of your hand.
"look at the dent. how does it go back to how it was?" he questions, while you look over at him, horrified. "what's inside it? feathers, or some shit?" he looks over to get an answer, when he looks at your distraught face.
"what?"
even when he sleeps over, he's never allowed to touch your squishmallow again.
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