džulory ladžala

onethousandinsults:

1. My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding - I absolutely loathe this show. I understand that at least in the regular/British version there’s some culture behind it. Those people live that way to maintain traditions, see their daughters dress like hookers and get knocked up, have an excuse to be problems to everyone around them, and lazily steal other people’s land. But the American version seems to me to just be a way of illiterate rednecks to get themselves on the ‘that there picture box’. By making themselves into dumb asshats on TV, they think they’ll become redneck royalty or something. It’s disgusting and pathetic. Hell, half the girls in my town dress that like whore, can we have our own TV show? 

Okay so the rest of your post was equally as racist, but I’m gonna jump on this bit, since I’m a gypsy (*gasp*)… (though I don’t dress like a hooker, steal land, or you know, get knocked up)

The people in the British version of the show were not true gypsy at all. They are a particular group of families from a particular location and they DO NOT represent 99% of Roma or gypsy culture. If they were TRUE gypsies they would not let “their daughters dress like hookers and get knocked up”, and we do not ‘steal other people’s land’… for example, the land at Dale Farm was OWNED by the Romanichal and Pavee families there. THEY WERE STILL EVICTED.

I think the American version is even more disgusting because it DOES NOT IN ANYWAY represent my people AT ALL… yet dumb shits like you just walk around sucking it in going “oh yes all gypsies are like this and they’re just nasty”…

I hate this show with a damn passion.

And I hate people like you who mindlessly buy into shitty racist stereotypes and regurgitate them as if you’re being intelligent.

… except how can I do that?

People tell me “if it upsets you, don’t write your blog, it doesn’t matter” as though I could just turn off my ethnicity.

I sit here in a sweater and pants, pale skin flushed with tears and I think “I wish I could not be Roma anymore”

There is only one way for me to no longer be Romani … and that certainly is not a viable option.

People say to me, “but you’re a white Roma so you don’t have to worry about anything” … and maybe that’s true in the US. However, even a white Romani who speaks up about her ethnicity is a target for hatred and abuse. Constantly. Relentlessly. Fearlessly.

Campus police called today. They said “we spoke with your friend, she was just joking, and yes while it may have gone a little far, we suggest you guys work this thing out” … 

in other words, they believe her version over mine.

I don’t know where I stand on anything anymore. Avenues are opening up for me to walk into that would involve me being even more open and visible about my ethnicity—and I would love to walk down them head held high. However, I also know I’m reaching a crisis point where I am going to have a complete break down if I can’t deal with all these feelings and thoughts.

Yes, I admit it, getting hate mail breaks my spirit. Especially when it threatens my friends (who are also Roma). It hurts to receive such messages simply because I am Roma and I won’t hide. It hurts that I can’t be open about who I am without fear of hatred, abuse, and even physical attacks. 

I would love if my life were as people think—the gypsy tag here is so childlike, simple, naive. If only my existence were so magical, mystical, beautiful. Yes, my culture is one of the most beautiful on Earth—yet, we receive some of the worst hate and ignorance on Earth too. If I were not ethnically Roma I would wish to simply take of my skirts and cut my hair and pretend to be something else for a while.

I don’t have the luxury of playing dress up. 

I am Roma and that makes me a viable target for racial hatred. A hatred that is perpetuated by the media, by newspapers, by foreign news reports, and by young girls who have nothing better to do than play dress up in a fantasy world that doesn’t exist.

livingastheundead:

I’m a hippie and a gypsy, and I hang out with gypsies, who don’t make plans properly, so the plans never work out.
Well, I’m sick of being the one who gets screwed over because other people don’t know how to plan things out properly, so now I’m gonna be the one who doesn’t plan shit out (why yes, I am bitter and petty, why do you ask?).
So, if my birthday plans don’t work out, oh the fuck well, and deal with it.

If you can deal with that then great, if not you can feel free to kindly fuck off, especially as almost all the people who are invited to my birthday celebrations are people I have been screwed over by because of your lack of planning abilities. 

While you might be a hippie, I doubt you’re a gypsy or that you hang out with them.

San tu Romni? Caches?

Pah, you’re as Romani as I am Chinese.

Please don’t use the word in this context. It makes no sense, since you’re just a little white girl with flakey friends. 

For all those wishing to be ‘gypsy’ they should realize the amount of shit I’ve had to put up with lately.

I’ve received (in the past 3 days) over 50 pieces of hate mail—here and in my personal email.

My email account was hacked.

At least half of the emails have praised the death of one of my relatives or called for my own “slow” death at the hands of white supremacists.

The other half of the emails have deliberately accused me or my friends of lying, thieving, “whoring”, or other stereotypical “gypsy” crimes.

I have received hand-written notes on my windshield.

I have received hand-written letters.

The address of this blog (and others) has been posted on supremacist websites (such as a hate forum on 4Chan, Stormfront and others).

….

Are you really sure you want to be a gypsy?

I get hatred for being proud and speaking out for the human rights of my people…

and you expect praise for saying you want these things?

romaniresearch:

golden-zephyr:

golden-zephyr:

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again:

I am not Roma because of a skirt or my hair.

I am not Roma because of a tattoo or my shoes.

I am not Roma because I walk barefoot;

climb trees;

or lie in a field.

I am not Roma because I have travelled.

I am not Roma because I have prayer beads;

bright bracelets;

or a Sanskrit necklace.

I am not Roma because I speak Romanes.

I am not Roma because I wear a dikhlo.

I am not Roma because I love Sara e Kali;

Horses;

or wine.

I am Roma because my heart is Roma;

my blood is Roma;

my soul is Roma.

You can’t buy those things.

You can’t learn those things.

You can’t become those things.

Reblogging myself because DAMN that bloody gypsy tag.

Yes, yes. But just as an observation, this states that ‘you’ DO in fact do things that are in line with the stereotype, so it seems in effect to reaffirm these items as being accurate descriptions of Romanies, even though the ‘reasons’ you’re Roma are clear. Pardon me, just my thinks.

Wearing a dikhlo is not stereotype, it’s culture, as is a long skirt or hair.

The rest … back up my point entirely.

I travel. So what? Don’t many people? But, THAT is not what makes me Roma, just as it does not make hipster girls Roma either.

Same with everything else.

Just because I happen to do certain things that fall in line with a stereotype  DON’T MAKE ME ROMA.

WHICH WAS MY POINT.

golden-zephyr:

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again:

I am not Roma because of a skirt or my hair.

I am not Roma because of a tattoo or my shoes.

I am not Roma because I walk barefoot;

climb trees;

or lie in a field.

I am not Roma because I have travelled.

I am not Roma because I have prayer beads;

bright bracelets;

or a Sanskrit necklace.

I am not Roma because I speak Romanes.

I am not Roma because I wear a dikhlo.

I am not Roma because I love Sara e Kali;

Horses;

or wine.

I am Roma because my heart is Roma;

my blood is Roma;

my soul is Roma.

You can’t buy those things.

You can’t learn those things.

You can’t become those things.

Reblogging myself because DAMN that bloody gypsy tag.

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again:

I am not Roma because of a skirt or my hair.

I am not Roma because of a tattoo or my shoes.

I am not Roma because I walk barefoot;

climb trees;

or lie in a field.

I am not Roma because I have travelled.

I am not Roma because I have prayer beads;

bright bracelets;

or a Sanskrit necklace.

I am not Roma because I speak Romanes.

I am not Roma because I wear a dikhlo.

I am not Roma because I love Sara e Kali;

Horses;

or wine.

I am Roma because my heart is Roma;

my blood is Roma;

my soul is Roma.

You can’t buy those things.

You can’t learn those things.

You can’t become those things.