Nation of Waberia


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Hey, White America, You Need To Hear What These Ferguson Kids Have To Say

In a new video from social justice-oriented T-shirt company FCKH8, several Ferguson children lampoon the excuses white people give to avoid getting involved in ending discrimination in America and deliver a call to action to stomp out racism.

Watch the full video and see these kids explain how racism is still a huge part of even getting an interview for a job.

Luh the kids

(via tiramasu)

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spoopyvapor asked: What the fucks happening in Ferguson?



Alright, i’m gonna sit down and basically explain the situation in this ask so everyone of my followers knows why i’m so pissed.

Michael Brown, a 17 - 18 year old african american boy was unlawfully shot (8-10 times supposedly) by police in St Louis, Missouri on saturday, august 9th, 2014. He was unarmed, and had done nothing to attract suspicion other than the fact that he was black. His body was left in the street for 4 hours. (EDIT: i’ve discovered that the Brown family wishes for any and all photos of Michael lying in the streets to be removed. please respect this and do so)

There are several claims from witnesses (see: Dorian Johnson’s account and video [HIGHLY RECOMMEND READING UP ON HIS ACCOUNT, ITS VERY SPECIFIC] — Brown’s friend who experienced the situation first hand, La’Toya Cash and Phillip Walker— Ferguson residents nearby the incident),  that fall together in generally close claims. However, the only one who’s claim seems out of place is the police officer’s who shot Brown. Who, by the way, is put off on paid administrative leave AND who’s name remained under anonymity for his safety (However, attorney Benjamin Crump is looking for a way to force release his name). He claims that Brown began to wrestle the officer for his gun and tried attacking him after he told Brown and his friend Dorian Johnson (22) to “get the f*ck on the sidewalk”.

According to Johnson, after a minor confrontation on the officer’s part where he grabbed Brown by the neck and then by the shirt, the officer pulled his gun on Brown and shot him at point blank range on the right side of his body. Brown and Johnson were able to get away briefly and started running. However, Brown was shot in the back, supposedly disabling him from getting very far. He turned around with his arms in the air and said “I don’t have a gun, stop shooting!” By this point, Brown and the officer were face to face as the cop shot him several times in the face and chest until he was finally dead. Johnson ran to his apartment and by the sound of his account, seemingly had some sort of panic attack. Later he emerged from his home to see Brown still laying in the streets. People were gathered with their cellphones, screaming at the police.

According to msnbc, the police refuse to interview Johnson at all, despite his amazing courage to come forward. They didn’t wanna hear it. They only listened to the cop’s account of it all and were vague with the media on what they thought happened. They’ve also refused to commit to a timeline in releasing autopsy results and other investigation information.

Numerous rumors are sweeping around such as Brown stealing candy from a QuickTrip, the store he emerged from calling the cops on him, Brown reaching for a gun, Brown attacking the cop first, ect. But these have all been debunked. (I know a lot of these have been debunked, but im having a hard time finding sources. if anyone could help out and link some legit ones id be SO grateful)

The event in and of itself was terrible, but now it has escalated beyond belief. Around 100 or more people, mostly black, went to the police station to protest peacefully. Things quickly turned bad as martial law got involved and authorities were bringing in K9s, tanks, heavy artillery, ect. The heavy police presence only made things worse as riots began to break out and looting and vandalism started. [ x ] [ x ] [ x ]

Now, as of very recently, the media has been banned from Ferguson. There is also a No-Fly zone above Ferguson for the reason of “ TO PROVIDE A SAFE ENVIRONMENT FOR LAW ENFORCEMENT ACTIVITIES ” as said on the Federal Aviation Commission’s website. Cop cars are lined up on the borders to prevent people from entering/leaving. Media outlets are being threatened with arrest. It completely violates our amendments and everything.

It’s becoming increasingly scary and difficult to find out whats going on over there. I’m afraid this is all the information I have, though. If anybody else knows anything about the situation, please feel free to add on or correct any mistakes i’ve made as i’m no expert on writing these things.

And as a personal favor, i’d really appreciate anyone to give this a reblog in order to spread the word. I think it’s a shame that this is going on in our own country yet so few people know about it. Help me make this topic huge and get this as much attention as possible.

please reblog this version of this post. Michael Brown’s body was on display for long enough, and his family has asked not to circulate the image.

Word. Life.

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Black Narcissus: A stranger in a strange land, Prince set out to create his own magical kingdom, where all he needs is your— kiss

"Hybridism is heinous. Impurity of races is against the law of nature. Mulattos are monsters…"—Treatise on Sociology, Henry Hughes, 1860 

A passion play in the classic rock critical mode looms loftily in the clouds:

The Rolling Stones play Los Angeles in October 1981. The opening acts are the J. Geils Band, George Thorogood and the Destroyers, and at the bottom of the bill, Prince. The Stones, J. Geils, and Thorogood are all reasonably good examples of the rewards available to white musicians playing black American music. All three draw deep from the well of blues and soul, all three point proudly in the direction of their R&B roots. The addition of Prince to the show, therefore, seems a gracious gesture on the part of the headliners (somebody must have cut a deal), a well-intended symbolic acknowledgment of a young black rocker hailing from the same neck of the woods as Chuck Berry, Muddy Waters, Steve Wonder, and Little Richard, a 22-year-old Phenom who writes fantastic songs, produces and plays every note on his albums, has as much juice as Jimi Hendrix, as many moves as James Brown, and more jazz than either one. It is an acknowledgment that Prince is an inheritor. It is also a disastrous misunderstanding of a contemporary rock audience’s tastes and prejudices. Prince is pelted with abuse and booed from the stage. What he has inherited, a stadium full of Stones fans don’t want.

He sang his own songs, posed heroically with his guitar, stalked and strode the stage. He wore black bikini underwear, not a black leather jacket. He danced brilliantly at a time when dancing was disco and disco was an obscenity.

Rock had developed a history, sculpted by white boys (the reason rock critics liked Elvis Costello so much, David Lee Roth said with dead-on accuracy, was that rock critics look like Elvis Costello).

"The two-caste system in the Old South drove the mulattoes into the arms of the blacks, no matter how hard some of them tried to build a make- believe third world for themselves." —Roll, Jordan, Roll; The World The Slaves Made, by Eugene D. Genovese, 1974

After the L.A. disaster, Prince again retreats, maybe truly intimidated for the first time. Uptown was a smaller kingdom than he’d figured; fantasies were thrilling, but reality was an ass kicker. Still, for someone as young and resourceful and ambitious as Prince, a disastrous defeat points to challenging new possibilities for a decorative triumph.

Controversy came out a few months later. He couldn’t believe, he sang in the title tune, all the controversy that had developed over whether or not he was black or white, straight or gay. He loved every word of it. He’d started it with the time-honored device of refusing all interviews, turned up the flame by inserting into Controversy the Lord’s Prayer and a reductionist manifesto nursery rhyme: “People call me rude/ I wish we all were nude/ I wish there was no black and white/ I wish there were no rules…”

Uptown, and his dream of what it was going to be like, disappeared. A new world was what he offered this time, the Second (absolutely no slight pause) Coming. His tone was positively messianic. Sexuality, he insisted, is all we ever need. No money, he was certain, and especially no clothes. Moreover, he’d located the cause of our problems and secured its solution, too. “We live in a world overrun by tourists…inventors of the Accu-Jac…they teach the kids that love is bad.” The solution? “”We need a new breed/ Leaders, stand up and organize…” He was talking, as he almost always did, with his own needs in mind. And presenting himself as the new leader.

The odd thing about it was the degree to which his uncomplicated philosophies went forth into the world of complexities and fulfilled themselves. A single Prince tune played in a new wave dance club could improve the atmosphere—and the dancing—for an hour at a time. And finding the bedroom of female new wave clubsters decorated with the dripping-wet Prince poster that came with Controversy ceased to be a surprise and became a certainty. Prince was carving out a constituency that was black far more often than white, female far more often than male, young far more often than not. It was the kind of constituency that gets a pop voice little respect and a lot of condescension.

And there was no telling if his constituency would stick. If his earlier club dates at the time of Dirty Mind had been attended by audiences that were said to be a startling mix of race, gender, class, and style, Controversy hadn’t been getting any white airplay so that by the time Prince’s tour played the San Francisco Civic on Valentines’ Day 1982, the attending faithful were almost absolutely not white.

The opening act was The Time, with their first hit single, “Cool,” under their belt, from their debut album that was produced by someone named “Jamie Starr.” Everybody involved strenuously insisted that Starr was most definitely not Prince behind those Foster-Grants. “Cool” had been all over black radio for months. It was easily the biggest, freshest funk hit of the season, and it meant that the biggest hit Prince had ever had was under another name than his own.

After the Rolling Stones debacle, he’d subdivided himself, disincorporated, sliced his persona into sections that could meet head-on a segregated marketplace’s sets of assumptions. The Time did some of what Prince might have been doing if the rigid rules of rock had allowed him a little latitude. They mixed funk and new wave pop and a lot of R&B; onstage, they came off like Little Richard fronting the Specials, but maintained glacial gangster cool at all times. “Ain’t nobody bad like me!” Morris Day would crow while a dapper roadie-valet held a gilt mirror in place for him to primp his pomp. Their backdrop was a sketch of steps and stoops on a city street and their version of Uptown was anywhere an attitude is the first article of clothing you put on in the morning. And they showed up dressed to kill.

Unlike a rock band, where all involved studiously avoid dancing lest they be suspected of being frivolous, The Time danced like demons, in slick unison steps and with loose individual inspiration. Some of their shtick came straight out of an older tradition of black show business, stuff that could have played the black vaudeville circuit 50 years earlier, but in the same instant they seemed to be inventing it.

Prince’s own show was a rock act on a hockey-rink-to-stadium scale, and if it had the dance audience standing still often, no one walked. The parts of the persona that he showed off played in clanking rock tempos more often than not. He played left-field Hendrix licks and gave himself and the guitar mutual orgasms. He did a version of Dirty Mind’s “When You Were Mine” that was exactly the sort of thing that makes rock critics crank all the way up to “majestic,” “redeeming,” and “tragic” when they’re describing their most recent Bruce Springsteen experience. He was demonstrating the simple fact, whether white folks were around to see him do it or not, that his absolute mastery of a vast vocabulary of style—not only R&B/funk/black but any “rock” style he took a shine to as well—was complete and captivating.


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TONIGHT // August 2ND - 2014 // 8PM








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My Friends and Family

I am inviting you come and celebrate a moment in our musical and political history at Grand Performances on Saturday evening:

SATURDAY, AUGUST 2ND, 2014 - 8:00 PM
350 S. Grand Avenue
Los Angeles, Ca 90071
Below, you will find the direct link to the FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE
The line-up of participants is stellar - in the beautiful tradition of Grand Performances, the inimitable Dexter Story, and Jonathan Rudnick and it is an honor to share the stage and the moment and the music with them and YOU!
So - People Get Ready - and bring your family and friends and favorite snack - and join us as we lift our voices in song and celebration of the courage and spirit and global evolution that is (still) the Civil Rights Movement.
See you on Saturday @ 8! 

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