RADICAL HUMAN OF THE WEEK

Happy Monday One Tribers, hope you had a great weekend. Our Radical Human of the Week is Miss Laverne Cox. Laverne is a trailblazing trans icon, she works tirelessly to support all peoples but especially trans people, people of color (POC), women of color, (WOC) and the entire LGBTQ+ community. We’re opening our salute to Laverne Cox with this clip from her joint interview with Carmen Carrera entitled Transgender Trailblazers. 

Check back tomorrow for more of our Radical Human of the Week and visit us for our Wednesday meeting from 12:30-2pm on the 4th floor of 618 s. Michigan Ave. 

- One Tribe

Meeting 3 Recap!

Thanks everyone for coming out yesterday to talk about being an Ally. This week is Ally week during LGBTQ History Month. So what actually makes an ally? We think that to truly be an ally, one needs to continually support the community they are aligning themselves with. This is everything from educating oneself about what’s happening in a particular community to continually being present and asking, “what do you need?”

For more on how to be an ally, check out the blog Black Girl Dangerous.

Come back next Wednesday for another meeting on social justice and how to create social change. 12:30-2pm on the 4th floor of 618 S. Michigan Ave. 

humansofnewyork
humansofnewyork:

“Right now I’m moving from pantries to soup kitchens to shelters.”“What was your upbringing like?”“I’d say dysfunctional but fair.”“How was it dysfunctional and how was it fair?”“It was dysfunctional because there was alcohol everywhere. There was a lot of cussing and calling me names like ‘piece of shit.’ But it was fair because I always had a place to stay and clothes on my back. And I did the Boy Scouts or the Boy’s Club, or whatever that was called. But in the end, the alcohol won out.”

humansofnewyork:

“Right now I’m moving from pantries to soup kitchens to shelters.”
“What was your upbringing like?”
“I’d say dysfunctional but fair.”
“How was it dysfunctional and how was it fair?”
“It was dysfunctional because there was alcohol everywhere. There was a lot of cussing and calling me names like ‘piece of shit.’ But it was fair because I always had a place to stay and clothes on my back. And I did the Boy Scouts or the Boy’s Club, or whatever that was called. But in the end, the alcohol won out.”

humansofnewyork
humansofnewyork:

“He’s like an angel. When he was younger, he would pass by our store everyday. He couldn’t speak back then. He couldn’t even say his name, but he always passed by the store and gave off the warmest feelings. My father began to invite him in, and soon he was coming by the store every day to play. When he started spending time with us, he began to improve very quickly. We told him we needed his help with the shop. We think that all he needed was something to hope for. He began to tell us all about his feelings. He visited with everyone who came into the shop. He learned bits of English and Japanese. He changed our lives so much. My father loved him like a son, and he loved my father. They would always laugh together and dance together. When my Father died, he was very sad for five months. He still prays for my father every time he eats a meal. Lately, all he can talk about is a girl in his class that he wants to marry. She also has Down Syndrome. Every day he talks about the wedding he will have, and he invites everyone he sees. He has invited over 5,000 people so far. He tells each person what they are supposed to bring to the wedding. His father will not allow him to get married. But we are thinking about having a ‘wedding party,’ and inviting everyone in the town.”
(Jerusalem)

humansofnewyork:

“He’s like an angel. When he was younger, he would pass by our store everyday. He couldn’t speak back then. He couldn’t even say his name, but he always passed by the store and gave off the warmest feelings. My father began to invite him in, and soon he was coming by the store every day to play. When he started spending time with us, he began to improve very quickly. We told him we needed his help with the shop. We think that all he needed was something to hope for. He began to tell us all about his feelings. He visited with everyone who came into the shop. He learned bits of English and Japanese. He changed our lives so much. My father loved him like a son, and he loved my father. They would always laugh together and dance together. When my Father died, he was very sad for five months. He still prays for my father every time he eats a meal. Lately, all he can talk about is a girl in his class that he wants to marry. She also has Down Syndrome. Every day he talks about the wedding he will have, and he invites everyone he sees. He has invited over 5,000 people so far. He tells each person what they are supposed to bring to the wedding. His father will not allow him to get married. But we are thinking about having a ‘wedding party,’ and inviting everyone in the town.”

(Jerusalem)

humansofnewyork
humansofnewyork:

“My happiest memories are from when I was growing up in South Carolina. I remember sitting in the kitchen, waiting on breakfast and listening to the coffee perkin’. My grandmother had her own garden, and my grandfather had his own grocery store, so we always had fresh vegetables and grits and bacon and eggs. That was a big deal back then in the 50’s— for a black man to own a grocery store. If someone needed credit, my grandfather would just write their name in a book. And if they couldn’t pay, he’d just forget about it. He was shorter than I was, and very quiet. But everybody respected him. He used to walk to the store every morning before dawn, with a 38’ in his hand. Every night he’d walk home with that same gun in his hand. Even the white delivery men called him Mr. Robinson. MISTER Robinson.”

humansofnewyork:

“My happiest memories are from when I was growing up in South Carolina. I remember sitting in the kitchen, waiting on breakfast and listening to the coffee perkin’. My grandmother had her own garden, and my grandfather had his own grocery store, so we always had fresh vegetables and grits and bacon and eggs. That was a big deal back then in the 50’s— for a black man to own a grocery store. If someone needed credit, my grandfather would just write their name in a book. And if they couldn’t pay, he’d just forget about it. He was shorter than I was, and very quiet. But everybody respected him. He used to walk to the store every morning before dawn, with a 38’ in his hand. Every night he’d walk home with that same gun in his hand. Even the white delivery men called him Mr. Robinson. MISTER Robinson.”