You need to understand our war baby survivor brains better!

I am not OK with yellow washing BS! I want the entire truths to be shared with the entire world! Stop believing USA propaganda stories. Listen to people like me, still alive!

#AsianMastodon #WarSurvivorsForPeace #TeochewViet #WeAreStillHere

Not a relic. Not a myth. Not a memory.

A reminder.

#Mexica #AztecEmpire #IndigenousWomen #NativePride #AncestralStrength #ChicanoCulture #MexicanRoots #MesoamericanHistory #DecolonizeHistory #WarriorBlood #AncientWisdom #Heritage #CulturalIdentity #WeAreStillHere

Threads of Her Name

They told us
history was stone.

Cold.
Fixed.
Carved by careful hands.

But history was never stone.

It was breath held behind closed teeth.
Ink smudged by tired fingers.
A name hidden in the margin
because the page belonged to someone else.

It was women
writing themselves sideways into the record.

A spiral in the corner of a notebook.
A recipe that was really a warning.
A hymn carrying directions to safety.
A thread stitched red through grey cloth.
A footnote refusing to disappear.

They called us emotional
when we remembered too much.

Hysterical
when we noticed the pattern.

Difficult
when we refused to forget ourselves.

Still, we kept recording.

On scraps of paper.
On skin.
On kitchen walls.
In archives that smelled of dust and rain.
In the trembling space between speaking
and being silenced.

Because memory is not passive.

It is resistance.

And every woman who said
No, that is not what happened,
left a door cracked open for the next one.

The next reader.
The next witness.
The next voice brave enough to write her own name
before someone else erased it.

Listen carefully.

You can still hear them.

In libraries.
In classrooms.
In code.
In songs.
In the hush before a woman finally decides
she will not make herself smaller anymore.

The archive does not sleep.

It waits.

And somewhere, even now,
another hand is drawing the spiral
in the margin.

Jh

From a book I’m writing and will be out in the Autumn.

Every morning, I wake up asking myself:
Is there still hope left in this life?
Amid tents and pain, we try to find a reason to smile, to keep going, to believe that tomorrow might be different.
We may not have much, but we still hold on to hope — and that alone is a miracle in times like these💔💔.
#HopeThroughPain #WeAreStillHere #Don’tForgetUs
@aral

https://chuffed.org/project/148828-help-mohammed-and-his-familys-survival

@anishinaabehealing
Today the world still puts two stories on the same page.
One of a man who brought pain,
and one of a people who carried on.

They call it Columbus Day.
We call it Truth Day.
Because he didn’t “discover” anything.
He invaded.
He enslaved.
He murdered.
And they called it history.

Our ancestors walked this land long before any flag was planted.
They sang to the stars.
They prayed to the waters.
They knew the earth by her spirit, not her borders.

So today, we don’t just remember what was taken —
we celebrate what could never be destroyed.
Our language.
Our ceremonies.
Our bloodline.
Our connection to this land that still remembers our footsteps.

It’s a good day to be Indigenous.
To speak our names without shame.
To dance, to laugh, to honor our elders and lift our children.
To carry the fire our ancestors kept alive through centuries of silence.

Today isn’t about hate.
It’s about truth.
It’s about survival.
It’s about remembering that our ancestors endured everything
so that we could stand here — proud, alive, and unbroken.

We are the descendants of resilience.
And we are not going anywhere.

#IndigenousPeoplesDay #WeAreStillHere #TruthNotTyranny #AnishinaabeHealing #RedEarthRising #7thGeneration #Decolonize #OurSpiritsAreAwakening