Aja Barber

Recently I went through another round of unfriending on Facebook. It keeps things tidy, the arguments thoughtful and my head from exploding. This time around I just got rid of any white person that felt passionate about "certain political topics," but wasn't showing up for people of color, as we watch the meteoric rise of fascism in America and police violence. I’m not obligated to educate anyone for free, especially if they don’t appear to be absorbing what I’m saying or having the tough conversations on their wall with their peers.

I may not be thrilled to vote for her, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the misogyny and toxic masculinity we fight so hard against control the campaign narrative of the first major woman presidential candidate.

Aja Barber gives us her first-hand account of the Women's March — the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Warning: The author reminisces a lot in this piece and comes to conclusion that she has probably kept an unhealthy amount of clothing from high

I am shocked, perplexed and a little bit dismayed over the amount of “good liberals” who have pushed my friendship to the point of no return over the term “white feminism." As a matter of fact, I would go so far as to say the cries over white feminism vs. intersectional feminism is the new #BlackLivesMatter vs #AllLivesMatter. You might not see it that way now but you will by next year. Trust me. I’ve been through this before and damn, am I tired.

If Lena Dunham wants to be a part of the movement in a constructive way, I’d recommend stepping down and quietly supporting women of color with dollars.

How does one advertisement go so magnificently wrong, managing to center whiteness in the story of the battles of marginalized people, while playing down the horrific effects of police brutality and concluding in a white savior grand finale?

When I help people clean out their wardrobes, the items I come across that hang in the back closet never seeing the light of day are usually pieces purchased in a frenzy — out of necessity instead of joy.

In 2015, to be a woman (and a black woman at that) among the general public means having to keep your defenses up.

There are so few people in this world who can bring very many strong, stoic people to their knees in the hour of death.