Feature: Ariel of Revolutionary In Pink Pumps


Editor’s Note: I stumbled upon Revolutionary In Pink Pumps by happenstance one day on Twitter, but the concept immediately struck me as something unique, bold, brave and beautiful. Ariel, the woman at the helm of Revolutionary In Pink Pumps, is the kind of person who strikes you as wise beyond her years. She tackles issues such as race, body image and culture with poise, guts and deftness. After starting the blog as a hybrid of fashion and social issues, the space has evolved in conjunction with Ariel. Read more about her journey as a writer, goals for the blog and why she calls herself an “accidental feminist.” Meet Ariel. 

Age: 22

Location: NJ/ NYC Metro Area

How did you come up with the name Revolutionary in Pink Pumps? What does that name represent for you?
When I started the blog I had two big passions, fashion/style and culture/society. I wanted the blog to stand out from all the fashion blogs so I thought that the title would show that I encompassed both fashion and social commentary. As the blog developed I lost the fashion aspect of it, because I cared so much more about the lifestyle and social commentary aspect. Revolutionary in Pink Pumps has grown to showcase that wanting to be involved in societal discussion doesn’t mean you burn bras and picket MAC counters. The blog tag line is “Glitter, Heels, & Social Revolution” because I can’t imagine my life without all three and I want people to know that they do not have to exist separately. I’ve presented academic papers on Black women in media in gold-heeled DVF pumps.

 You tackle topics such as race, body image and culture on your blog. What empowers you to write about these topics in such a powerful way?
The most important thing to when I tackle a topic is that I know what I am talking about. Anything I write is typically based off of experience, or the opinion that I give on a topic is based off of my experience. If something doesn’t move me or relate to me I typically won’t write about it, not because it isn’t important but because I recognize that someone else can probably give it a better voice than I can. I grew up in the midst of an ongoing conversation about race and culture, because I was consistently the only Black face in a lot of my settings so I feel comfortable discussing race and culture. As someone who has battled and overcome an eating disorder, I feel like body image is so important and should be discussed more. People don’t realize that race and body image even cross over into each other. I remember reading teen magazines and wishing that my voice was represented, that my issues were talked about, and they never were; so I write for all the brown girls like me who didn’t have a space growing up. Knowing that what I write relates to someone reading it reminds me that I should keep writing.

What are your upcoming goals for Revolutionary in Pink Pumps?
Right now I think visibility is my biggest goal. I want to increase people’s interest in topics and find my niche, since I hang in the balance of a few niches. Once I’ve got a concrete audience I want to start developing a few series for the blog and maybe expand, I want to know what else people want to know.

ariel for twenties unscripted

Who are some of the bloggers and writers you follow and consider revolutionary?

The Black Collegian 

Mixed Fat Chick 

The Haitian American 


In Her Shoes 

For Harriet 

There are a ton, honestly  can’t even keep a list, I typically just add articles I like to my news app and let it do the work for me. I also read a lot of news Black news outlets. I also love to use Instagram to discover new content, it’s like a blog all its own.

You’ve mentioned before that you do not consider yourself a feminist. In what ways has society made it difficult to assert the “feminist” label?
I like to consider myself an “accidental feminist”, I’m in the midst of defining that myself at the moment, via a blog post, but I think that because feminism has always been somewhat of a counterculture, society has made those who align with it very much the ‘other’. Feminism has so many definitions from so many different outlets and lately it’s gone from the “othering” to an everyday word. It’s kind of like love, I don’t think it should be tossed around as loosely as it has been. All of the sudden because someone claimed that Beyonce is a feminist, every girl wants to slap on a t-shirt that says ‘”This is what a feminist looks like.” And while I think it’s great that feminism is gaining a viable visibility, I think it’s really important for people to be educated about what they’re claiming to be. If you can’t tell me anything about bell hooks I feel as if maybe you should tuck your feminist shirt away until you can find the nearest library.

On your blog, you’ve said, “The goal of this blog is not to tell you you’re wrong or change your belief, it is in fact to give you a different perspective.” How do you deal with Internet trolls or people who approach you with comments that are not constructive?
I don’t think that you can be a writer without having tough skin. When you put your opinion out there you’re open to some hurtful stuff and I’ve had a few trolls who really tried to come for my neck. Trolls love confrontation; I don’t. Everything is case-by-case for me but more often than not I’ll respond with facts. I don’t like to drag anything personal into a battle with trolls, because then it becomes a back and forth of “yo mama” proportion. If they’re nasty about my writing or the context of the blog, I simply thank them for taking their time to sit and read it, let them know they’re entitled to their opinion, and if it fits, then I throw in some facts from the piece or the blog to kind of shut down their snark.

What are some of the Revolutionary in Pink Pumps posts that most reflect your brand as a blogger?

Why Sharing Jill Scott’s Nudes Is A Violation of Every Black Female Body

The Beauty Salon Taught Me Self Hate

Diary of a Fat Fat Shamer: The Breakthrough

From A “Strong Black Woman Who Don’t Need No Man”

What keeps you inspired?
Sometimes I’m convinced that the only ones reading my blog are my friends and relatives and while I love them, I know they already understand a lot of what I’m trying to put out in the air. Sometimes I think it won’t matter if I blog this week or not, but honestly I can’t keep my mouth shut. There are too many things I see happening that I can’t chime in on and bring light to. We miss a lot, because mainstream ignores a lot and even if my post only reaches 10 people, I recognize that it may be 10 people who never would have known about something before the post. When I don’t feel like writing I remember what it felt like to cruise media and not see myself in anything as a young brown girl and remember that I write to try to contribute to the space for faces like mine.

arielAriel is a college graduate with a bachelors degree in English/Journalism and Professional Writing and a concentration in African American studies. Her writing experience spans past editorial work in publications and encompasses PR work, administrative writing and social media use. She has experience writing lifestyle, events, food, fashion, beauty, and social/racial commentary, but is most often found on her personal blog Revolutionary In Pink Pumps. Follow Ariel at @RevInPinkPumps

‘Not That Kind of Girl’: Lena Dunham Offends and Delights

Guest Post by Dana Sukontarak

After reading ‘Not That Kind of Girl,’ the collection of personal essays she released in September, I was more or less in the same space regarding my feelings toward Lena Dunham. The book was essentially the literary counterpart to her hit HBO series GIRLS, which explores the tremulous experiences of twenty-somethings trying to reconcile the comforts and ease of their childhood with the pains and brutality of growing up and trying to find some slice of success. In NTKOG, Dunham takes a less general approach, and directly divulges her personal tales of everything from bad diets and body image to self-destructive relationships and gray-area sexual encounters. It should come as no surprise that Dunham is an open book. Much like her GIRLS character, Hannah Horvath, Dunham is arguably spoiled, misguided, self-centered, and aggressively annoying. She is not a child molester, as one severe reach-a-saurus put it in a recent article—one that not only decimates the principles of journalism but also taints the way someone who hasn’t read the book will digest the material, if they even decide that they want to read it at all.

In the book, Dunham describes looking into her one-year-old sister’s vagina, her curiosity about the female anatomy overpowering her. Dunham herself is seven (which the article originally, and erroneously, stated as seventeen), and immediately runs to her mom. It turns out her little sister had stuffed a handful of pebbles into her vagina—it’s an unconventional story, but don’t we all have a couple of those in our arsenal? The article also misuses quotes from Dunham’s book to paint a very grim picture: “…anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl I was trying.” This is what we call a metaphor.

NTKOGIn reality, Dunham is obviously very troubled. But she seems to have a pretty solid grasp on the extent of that trouble. She is clearly intelligent and witty, though she tends to opt for paunchy puns over political correctness. That said, it is damn near impossible to form a valid opinion about Dunham—whether about her molester status, or her creative influence, or the Venn diagram of her reality and her artistic repertoire—without first reading her book in its entirety. Because this twisted exposition of one of Dunham’s childhood memories has cast a shadow over other discussions she prompts with this book, I think it’s only fair to provide a holistic interpretation of what really can be found in these 262 pages.

Reading Dunham’s memoirs confirmed one thing for me—if you’re looking for a sweet, healthy, levelheaded female role model, Dunham’s not that kind of girl. Rather, she’s the kind of girl who treats herself like a science experiment, fucking all the unsavory losers she can and eating baby spoonfuls of cottage cheese for dinner so that you don’t have to. You can simply read about her experiences of being used and abused by misogynist, artsy types (hello, Adam), and about her horribly awkward childhood recollections (telling an adult at a party that when she misbehaves, her father “sticks a fork in [her] vagina”), and about all the weird, unsettling things she did while at Oberlin (apparently the ideal college experience for someone raised by a couple of sexual, open-minded semi-beatniks living in Brooklyn).

NTKOG pulls the reader into the existence of a privileged, prosciutto-eating kid who was raised to speak her mind (sometimes beyond social norms) and was once, according to her, obsessed with her own beauty. It’s strange, yet completely understandable, how this translated into the woman Dunham is today—ambitious, often self-deprecating (under the guise of good old-fashioned humor and the virtues of not taking one’s self so seriously), and absolutely fine with being nude on TV (despite critics who have viciously chastised her Baby Cupid-esque body, as well as her directorial decisions to often display it completely exposed on her show). She definitely delights the reader in small ways—describing her little sister’s style as that of a “Hawaiian criminal,” for example.

Although flippant about some very grave issues, Dunham does provide some very poignant moments of clarity and advice, including this segment about self-worth: “When someone shows you how little you mean to them and you keep coming back for more, before you know it you start to mean less to yourself. You are not made up of compartments! You are one whole person! What gets said gets said to all of you, ditto what gets done. Being treated like shit is not an amusing game or a transgressive intellectual experiment. It’s something you accept, condone, and learn to believe you deserve. This is so simple. But I tried so hard to make it complicated.”

For me, the most powerful—and awkward—chapter of the book comes in the first section (of five total), ‘Love and Sex.’ It is simply titled “Barry,” and recounts a drunken college experience in which she is kinda raped (getting fucked in a half-conscious stupor while egging him on as sort of a way to “own” a situation she didn’t want to admit she had no control over), and laughs off friends who vocally identify this as rape. Dunham appears to have a shifting understanding of this situation over time, though she doesn’t quite spell it out. She leaves a lot of space for readers to create conjectures—sometimes that means people will label her as a child molester, but mostly it means people will see that Dunham is still learning and growing (and even failing) despite reaching this level of success in her life and her career.

If read as a “how-to” book, NTKOG is a bomb waiting to detonate all over your life. However, if taken simply as a collection of perhaps-embellished stories from the warped mind of a quirky egoist, designed to prevent you from the same downfalls, the book is something like a gem. If nothing else, Dunham will make you feel good about not being “that” girl—the pristine, poised one, the one that’s got it all together. She knows that, mostly, girls her age are (sorta) just like her: looking to live, love, learn, and feel.



Dana is 25 and living just outside of the nation’s capital in Hyattsville, Md. She is a Journalism graduate of the University of Maryland College Park. Some of her favorite things include snail mail, vacations, and great literature.

Well, How Much of a Feminist Are You? (With A Little Help From Roxane Gay)

bad feministI’ve been trying to decide how best to write about how much Roxane Gay’s “Bad Feminist” blew my motherfucking mind. I haven’t figure it out yet. But, I decided to sprinkle some of the quotes from the book throughout this post.

“Well, how much of a feminist are you?”

That was the question up for discussion a few weeks ago while I was talking to a friend. The circumstances of this conversation as well as the anonymous friend I’m referencing aren’t too important. And, by “aren’t too important,” I mean I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. I’m not sure how we landed on a discussion asking me to qualify my feminism, but it caught me a bit off guard. I paused and stumbled my way through a response that I’m sure didn’t make any sense. Then, the conversation transitioned to something less daunting, probably the infamous Kanye West/Sway rant–something we could both agree was unquestionably awesome.

“I’m not the only outspoken woman who shies away from the feminist label, who fears the consequences of accepting the label.”–Roxane Gay

But, that question stuck with me, as did my shaky reply. In the few years that I’ve identified as a feminist, it hasn’t taken long to realize that my beliefs will be questioned, investigated and challenged. It has taken much time to realize that introducing feminism into a conversation can be like cocking a loaded gun. I am adjusting to being the annoying and overly-opinionated friend at any gathering, the one who has to brace herself for a few eye rolls or exasperated sighs when I ask someone not to call women “hoes” casually.

“It’s hard to be told to lighten up because if you lighten up any more, you’re going to float the fuck away.” –Roxane Gay

But, feminism is a truth I have yet to learn to stand in. I sit in it. Sitting in it is pretty comfortable. But, I have yet to plant my feet on the solid ground of it all, which means I tense up when people test me. Which is often. And, too often I get caught up in what I can only refer to as the fuckery of feminism when everyone has a pissing contest over whose feminism is superior or right (cue the recent bell hooks panel.) The fuckery of feminism distracts me. Throws me off. Makes me doubt myself and stammer even more when asked to “defend” my beliefs. I find myself having to separate beliefs from people, opinions from judgment, someone else’s truth from my own.

“I feel I am not as committed as I need to be, that I am not living up to feminist ideals because of who and how I choose to be.” –Roxane Gay

As I write this, I’m listening to B.o.B’s “Throwback”, a song that proudly proclaims, “Two hands when she on, like a scooter/she told me she wish she knew me sooner.” I love this song. I’ve played it on repeated many nights while tipsily twerking in my apartment. And, yet, I consider myself a feminist.

“I would rather be a bad feminist than no feminist at all.” –Roxane Gay

I don’t come from the school of thought that you must toss around words like “patriarchy” or phrases like “male gaze” to qualify your feminism. Yes, those words are part of the rhetoric, but that isn’t how I got here. I didn’t get here because I really loved my introductory women’s studies course, nor because I am well-versed in the traditional feminist canon. I am trying to educate myself as my views evolve. I’m trying to read and smarten up on the many women who made it possible for me to even wear a “Feminism is the radical notion that women are people” t-shirt. But, I also recognize I got here because of my own experiences. The wrongs done against me and how I chose to reconcile them. The way I started to see the world after that same world started to rear its ugly head.

“The past is always with you. Some people want to be protected from this truth.” –Roxane Gay

So, when someone asks me, “How much of a feminist are you?”, it’s difficult not spill my life’s history, not to explain the tangled thorns of my feminist roots. Most times, I just smile and say it is a more recent development–which answers the “When did you become a feminist?” question, but does nothing to qualify my feminism. Maybe next time, I will say on a scale of barely-there to my-bra-has-been-burning-in-ashes-for-awhile, all of the above. I’ll say either you are or you aren’t. I’ll say that I am not going to be another feminist trying to police other feminists or prescribe some narrow definition to the word. I’ll say that I am a feminist, and that is where the sentence deserves to end. Direct all other questions to my attorney.

“We don’t all have to believe in the same feminism. Feminism can be pluralistic so long as we respect the different feminisms we carry with us, so long as we give enough of a damn to try to minimize the fractures among us.”–Roxane Gay


Ray Rice and Why The World Must Stop Endorsing Abusive Men

Floyd Mayweather, Jr. Chris Brown. Darren Sharper. Sean Penn. Charlie Sheen. Chad Johnson. Rasheed Wallace.

Ray Rice.

I should have been happy when I learned that the Ravens terminated Ray Rice after the video of him knocking his then-fiancé Janay Palmer unconscious surfaced. I should have been satisfied because the NFL suspended him indefinitely. These things were all supposed to mean something. They were all supposed to send some sort of message of punishment and intolerance for domestic violence. But, I want more. Call me greedy, but I want more. I demand more. Because, these actions only scratched the surface, a mere dent in America’s history of slapping abusive men on the wrist and carrying on with business as usual.

I struggled with today’s piece because so many of my pieces about the tough subjects come from a deeply personal place that guides me. This piece does not, at least not in a way I am comfortable sharing. So, I worried I would be a fraud or that I would not do this justice. I worried that I might say something that would offend someone who has experienced domestic violence, that I might not hold this very fragile topic carefully enough. But, in these critical moments, we are called to do the revolutionary writing. These are the moments when we do the real work. These are the moments when we better lift every voice and sing. These are the moments when we are required to move beyond the listicles, beyond the whims of that day, beyond the inconsequential bits we have imbibed, in favor of writing the posts that matter. I have been called to seize that moment.

I could tell you the numbers. I could tell you that 1 in every four women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime. I could you tell an estimated 1.3 million women are victims of a physical assault by an intimate partner every year. I could tell you sexual assault occurs in 40-45% of battering relationships. I could spit off statistic after statistic and yet, as relevant as they are, there will be another Ray Rice. There will be another Floyd Mayweather, Jr. There will be another Joe Asshole Schmoe. There will be more. Despite a Baltimore Sun blogger writing, “Ray could get blackballed. We may have seen the last of him. He’s essentially radioactive at this point,” our society has shown it has selective memory when it comes to abusive men.

Every man whose name contributed to my opening paragraph is a man who has been able to have a lucrative and successful career in spite of his transgressions. You may ask me if I believe in second chances and the answer is that I do. But, I do not believe in rewarding shit and scum with success. I do not attend that church and I do not pray at that altar.

Because society may fire these men from jobs and release them from contracts, but it fails to see those forms of discipline as palliative at best. It fails to see that the root of this problem is tangled. It is deep. It is so buried beneath the surface of our psyches and paradigms, so entrenched in the ways of our society, that we have to do more. We have to demand more. We have to rule with an iron fist. We can’t equate forgiveness and second chances with holding these men high on pedestals that are constructed by the bricks of misogyny and put together by the cement of senseless, shameless and spine-chilling violence. But, chances are, we still will. Come take a look at this new American dream, born from the nightmares of so many women.

When current events like the one I’m discussing surface, social media begins moving at a kinetic and unnerving sort of pace. You hold your breath knowing that someone you know will eventually say something that stings you or someone you know will eventually retweet a stranger who triggers you. On days like these, someone is bound to fuck it up. Yesterday wasn’t different. Take this tweet I saw: “Some [women] deserve to be in abusive relationships.” According to the name and photo on the account, a woman wrote that. About another woman. This is our world.

But, even if you move beyond social media, traditional media is spewing insanity. Take a Fox & Friends anchor who made light of the incident by first saying how “Rihanna went back to Chris Brown and people thought that was a terrible message”, then referencing the greatest non-sequitur of all time by bringing up the Beyoncé/Solange/Jay-Z elevator incident and closing his crock of shit by saying, “The message here is to take the stairs.” Does he get fired? Does he get terminated? Oh, wait, I forgot. It’s Fox. This is our world.

The venom in the aforementioned comments is a byproduct of the world we live in–a world that blames its victims instead of punishing its victimizers. A world of hegemonic masculinity (a term my friend educated me on–y’all know I don’t throw around that vernacular every day) where men hold dominant positions of social power and relationships are not horizontal. A world that puts power in the hands of men figuratively and a world where some of those men seize that power literally. A world where hashtags like #WhyIStayed are born because of how much we wrongly assume and mischaracterize the women on the receiving end of the abuse.

I am not worried about Ray Rice. The world has shown me time and time again, Ray Rice will be more than fine. The world has shown me it may rip the contracts away, but it will still subtly endorse the behavior. Ray Rice is not radioactive; he will reappear. Of this I am sure. So, instead, I am worried about Janay Palmer, about the irreparable damage that has been done to her insides, about the ruins in which her world has been left. I am worried about her core that has been shaken, her heart that has been broken, her roots that have been torn apart. I am worried about Janay Palmer coming out on the other side. I am worried about her life, an existence that could hang in the balance if a breakthrough is not near. I am worried about Janay Palmer, my fellow woman, my fellow sister.

Until the world stops endorsing abusive men, I will always, always, always stand for those who are abused. I did not always say that. I did not always think that. I, too, was previously quick to make a lot of assumptions about the mental capacity, intelligence and strength of women who were abused. But, life has humbled me enough to know it is easy to say what you could or would or should do. But, then you are there. Then you are brought to your deepest pits, to your lowest valleys, to the corners of your life you wouldn’t dare let others see. Once you are there, then tell me what you would do. Once you are on your knees praying to a God you worry doesn’t exist, tell me what you would do. Once you are that 1 in every four women, tell me what you should do. Maybe then your could, your would, your should does not look quite the same.


“Women Against Feminism”: A Dissenting Voice to The Truth I Speak

Like other writers I know, I approach think pieces in response to pop culture, current events and provocative topics rarely and begrudgingly. While few ideas are original, think piece responses have potential to scrape the bottom of the barrel in terms of their freshness. However, I’ve  granted myself an exception to pen a missive about “Women Against Feminism.”

When I first decided to broach this topic, I knew I had to 1) research and 2) suspend my reality while researching. It is not a secret that my reality is one that hinges on identifying as a feminist.

To ensure we’re all on a level playing field here, let me drop a working definition of feminism, compliments of Google, as “advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social and economic equality to men.”

“Women Against Feminism” is an online movement where women can anonymously share selfies, screen shots and handwritten notes explaining why they reject feminism. The movement’s Facebook page has received more than 22,000 likes and it has a Twitter following of 40,000. Some of the reasons for standing against feminism included on the site are:

“I don’t need feminism because equality of opportunity already exists.”

“I can honestly say I don’t believe in feminism because the second women are treated equally as men is the second we get talked to with disrespect, we don’t get our doors opened for us, or asked if we need help when carrying something heavy. The truth is that women are weaker than men, physically and emotionally, and we need them. That’s how we were created.”

“I don’t need feminism because I love my husband and don’t need to put him down in order to build myself up.”

I will give us all a quick bathroom break to go vomit before I continue.

Good? Ok, let’s move on.

According to The Daily Dot, the two main arguments against feminism are egalitarianism (belief in equality for all people) and anti-feminism (rejection of modern-day feminism on the grounds of religious principles, i.e. pro life beliefs, traditional beliefs and the idea that feminism has promoted hatred of men and boys.) While I clearly can’t speak for all of the women against feminism, many of the reasons cited on the anonymously shared pieces are predicated on the two aforementioned arguments.

The Internet is loud. It is raucous and ridiculous. It feels impossible to cut through the noise. I could almost applaud the brainchild behind “Women Against Feminism” for conjuring up a concept that stakes a claim in the world of crazy-high page views.

The key word there is “almost.”

My recognition of tempting click bait does not outweigh the unbridled horror that heightens inside of me when I consider a concept like “Women Against Feminism.” It frightens me. It confuses me. It nauseates me. But, on some level, it compels me to fight that much harder when it comes to my particular brand of feminism.

I know many women who choose not to identify as feminists. Whatever their reasons are, I respect those reasons and opt not to challenge them. However, there is something unnerving about women who oppose feminism, who go beyond merely not identifying as such but instead plant themselves against the movement. While I first wanted to think, “At least feminists now know who our opponents are,” I then reconsidered. I popped in my Great Debaters DVD and hopped over to scene five, “Debaters Training” where the students stand on the edge of the river and recite lines to Professor Tolson as he floats farther away on a canoe.

“Who is your opponent?”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Why does he not exist?”

“Because he is just a mere dissenting voice to the truth I speak.”

Feminism is the truth I speak.

women against feminism

I need feminism because during my junior year of college, a columnist for our school paper was applauded and adored for penning an article about “Skirt Day.

“Skirt Day, like anything great, has its share of haters. I’m 21 years old, you grumpy bumpies — I’m going to have enough time to get bitter and hate on everything for the rest of my life. Today is the day all the pretty girls on the campus have decided it’s time to show off the gams, and I’m going to damn well enjoy it.”

I need feminism because having a conscience and awareness of the world around me means I’ve been called a “bitch” and been told I have a “stick up my ass.”

I need feminism because using the hashtag #feminism on social media immediately means I’m met with trolls.

I need feminism because Mona Scott Young gets to build a multi-media empire by exploiting the vulnerability, bodies and fragile lives of her fellow women.

I need feminism because I tune into Love and Hip Hop just like everyone else.

I need feminism because Beyonce standing in front of a lit “Feminist” backdrop is incredibly beautiful, but it is not enough.

I need feminism because Chris Brown still has a legion of female fans with selective memory.

I need feminism because the rap lyrics I sing along with use “bitch” as a synonym for “women.”

I need feminism because of July 24, 2011.

I need feminism because I absolutely love U Street and absolutely hate walking down it alone.

I need feminism because every day I see women on Twitter side with the degrading opinions of men to seem cool or above the bullshit.

I need feminism because of every book on my shelf coaching me how to negotiate for a higher salary.

I need feminism because Sheryl, I can’t lean in until the world figures it out. I can’t lean in when I’m being pushed out. Shit, I can’t lean in, period.

I need feminism because Floyd Mayweather and Darren Sharper and Ben Roethlisberger.

I need feminism because I need feminism and there do not need to be any other explanations about it.

Women Against Feminism, you may not need feminism. But, I still do. Perhaps, I always will. So, I will try my hardest not to tune in much beyond this essay as your movement gains momentum and notoriety; all of it is just a dissenting voice to the truth I speak.