Sleeping Giants: Defunding Racism, Bigotry, and Seriously Mean… People

Sleeping Giants


We are trying to stop racist websites by stopping their ad dollars. Many companies don’t even know it’s happening. It’s time to tell them.

Welcome to the Sleeping Giants campaign. Here’s everything you need to join our army:


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Meryl Streep’s Golden Globes Speech

Meryl Streep’s Golden Globes Speech

Meryl Streep’s Golden Globes Speech

Please sit down. Thank you. I love you all. You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve lost my voice in screaming and lamentation this weekend. And I have lost my mind sometime earlier this year, so I have to read.

Thank you, Hollywood Foreign Press. Just to pick up on what Hugh Laurie said: You and all of us in this room really belong to the most vilified segments in American society right now. Think about it: Hollywood, foreigners and the press.

But who are we, and what is Hollywood anyway? It’s just a bunch of people from other places. I was born and raised and educated in the public schools of New Jersey. Viola was born in a sharecropper’s cabin in South Carolina, came up in Central Falls, Rhode Island; Sarah Paulson was born in Florida, raised by a single mom in Brooklyn. Sarah Jessica Parker was one of seven or eight kids in Ohio. Amy Adams was born in Vicenza, Italy. And Natalie Portman was born in Jerusalem. Where are their birth certificates? And the beautiful Ruth Negga was born in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, raised in London — no, in Ireland I do believe, and she’s here nominated for playing a girl in small-town Virginia.

Ryan Gosling, like all of the nicest people, is Canadian, and Dev Patel was born in Kenya, raised in London, and is here playing an Indian raised in Tasmania. So Hollywood is crawling with outsiders and foreigners. And if we kick them all out you’ll have nothing to watch but football and mixed martial arts, which are not the arts.

They gave me three seconds to say this, so: An actor’s only job is to enter the lives of people who are different from us, and let you feel what that feels like. And there were many, many, many powerful performances this year that did exactly that. Breathtaking, compassionate work.

But there was one performance this year that stunned me. It sank its hooks in my heart. Not because it was good; there was nothing good about it. But it was effective and it did its job. It made its intended audience laugh, and show their teeth. It was that moment when the person asking to sit in the most respected seat in our country imitated a disabled reporter. Someone he outranked in privilege, power and the capacity to fight back. It kind of broke my heart when I saw it, and I still can’t get it out of my head, because it wasn’t in a movie. It was real life. And this instinct to humiliate, when it’s modeled by someone in the public platform, by someone powerful, it filters down into everybody’s life, because it kinda gives permission for other people to do the same thing. Disrespect invites disrespect, violence incites violence. And when the powerful use their position to bully others we all lose. O.K., go on with it.

O.K., this brings me to the press. We need the principled press to hold power to account, to call him on the carpet for every outrage. That’s why our founders enshrined the press and its freedoms in the Constitution. So I only ask the famously well-heeled Hollywood Foreign Press and all of us in our community to join me in supporting the Committee to Protect Journalists, because we’re gonna need them going forward, and they’ll need us to safeguard the truth.

One more thing: Once, when I was standing around on the set one day, whining about something — you know we were gonna work through supper or the long hours or whatever, Tommy Lee Jones said to me, “Isn’t it such a privilege, Meryl, just to be an actor?” Yeah, it is, and we have to remind each other of the privilege and the responsibility of the act of empathy. We should all be proud of the work Hollywood honors here tonight.

As my friend, the dear departed Princess Leia, said to me once, take your broken heart, make it into art.

And here is Ms. Davis’s introduction for Ms. Streep:

She stares. That’s the first thing you notice about her. She tilts her head back with that sly suspicious smile, and she stares for a long time. And you think: Do I have something in my teeth? Or does she wanna kick my [expletive] — which is not gonna happen?

And then she’ll ask questions. “What’d you do last night, Viola?”

“Oh I cooked an apple pie.”

“Did you use Pippin apples?”

“Pippin apples, what the hell are Pippin apples? I used Granny Smith apples.”

“Oh. Did you make your own crust?”

“No, I used store-bought crust. That’s what I did.”

“Then you didn’t make an apple pie, Viola.”

“Well that’s because I spent all my time making my collard greens. I make the best collard greens. I use smoked-turkey chicken broth and my own special sauce.”

Silence. I shut her down.

“Well, they don’t taste right unless you use ham hocks. If you don’t use ham hocks it doesn’t taste the same. So how’s the family?”

And as she continues to stare you realize that she sees you. And like a high-powered scanning machine she’s recording you. She is an observer and a thief. She waits to share what she has stolen on that sacred place, which is the screen. She makes the most heroic characters vulnerable, the most known familiar, the most despised relatable. Dame Streep. Her artistry reminds us of the impact of what it means to be an artist, which is to make us feel less alone. I can only imagine where you go, Meryl, when you disappear into a character. I imagine that you’re in them, patiently waiting, using yourself as a conduit, encouraging them, coaxing them to release all their mess, expose, to live. You are a muse. Your impact encouraged me to stay in the line.

Dame Streep, I see you. I see you. And you know all those rainy days we spent on the set of “Doubt”? Every day my husband would call me at night and say, “Did you tell her how much she means to you?”

And I said, “No, I can’t say anything, Julius, I’m just nervous. All I do is stare at her all the time.”

He said, “Well, you need to say something. You’ve been waiting all your life to work with this woman. Say something.”

I said, “Julius, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“O.K. you better do it tomorrow because when I get there I’m going to say something!”

I haven’t said anything. But I’m gonna say it now. You make me proud to be an artist. You make me feel that what I have in me, my body, my face, my age, is enough. You encapsulate that great Émile Zola quote that if you ask me as an artist what I came into this world to do, I, an artist, would say, I came to live out loud.

Red State Blues

Andrew Reynolds is a political science professor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill who has helped design a system called the Electoral Integrity Project, which evaluates the fairness of election systems globally. In a column this week in The News & Observer, the Raleigh newspaper, Professor Reynolds said the system’s “electoral integrity score” for North Carolina ranked the state alongside Cuba, Indonesia and Sierra Leone.

He called the state “a deeply flawed, partly free democracy that is only slightly ahead of the failed democracies that constitute much of the developing world.” He also called it the worst state in the country for unfair districting.

How to Use the Word, Trump

“What the Trump?”

This is a common phrase that’s used when you are confused, irritated, or incredulous. It’s often abbreviated when texting to, WTT


Used to express a surge of anger or pain, as when you stub your toe, “Trump!”

“Holy Trump!”

Used to express surprise. You can also say “holy Trumping shit” for additional emphasis. (There is a close, even symbiotic, relationship between Trump and shit. The two expressions are often interchangeable. Trump amplifies shit; shit amplifies Trump.)

“Trump you/him/her/that!”

Used to express anger, rage, hatred, or contempt with someone or something else. Repeating, as a mantra, will create a self-reinforcing state of mind and world view.

“Did you Trump her/him?”

Asked to learn if a sex act was assault, rather than consensual.

“Don’t Trump me over!”

To Trump someone over means to do them an injustice, to take advantage of them, ignore a promise made to them, or to deceive someone out of their money or possessions, e.g., refusing to pay an invoice for products or services received; losing large amounts of other people’s money, or promising to teach people how to be rich if they give you all their money in exchange for a certificate from your “University”.

“Are you Trumping with me?!”

Means, are you lying to me? Typically, if you have to ask, it’s already too late.

 “Stop Trumping around!”

To Trump around means to not be doing anything serious, usually when there’s important work to be done, or to shirk hard work by making loud, thoughtless, and typically insulting and angry outbursts.

“Trump no!” or “Trump yes!”

You add Trump in front of no or yes for added emphasis. Again, using shit for Trump creates the equivalent and useful variations,  “Shit no!” or “Shit yes!”

“Trump me!”

Typically exclaimed when feeling astonished or frustrated at and upset with oneself, indicating a (hopefully, temporary) complete absence of self-esteem and rational judgment. Can also be used to indicate false trustworthiness. As in the new version of an old joke:
Question: How does a New Yorker say Trump you?”
Answer: “Trust me.”

“Man, they are so Trumped.”

To be Trumped means that you are in a hopelessly bad situation that you’re unable to recover from.

  • Fraud —I got Trumped by those used car dealers, Putin and Comey.
  • Incompetence—He Trumps up everything he touches.
  • Despair—Shit, Trumped again.
  • Doom—Shit, we’re Trumped now.
  • Aggression—Trump you!
  • Disgust—Trump you!”
  • Retaliation—Trump you!
  • Philosophical—Trump you!
  • Political—Trump you!
  • Contempt—Trump you!


How to Live Without Irony (for Real, This Time)

There is, however, another kind, a seriousness that is calm, diligent, and — dare I say — joyful in its efforts to defend principles like justice, solidarity, and peace. We might even describe it as monastic in nature. Incorrigibly optimistic, I think this could be a cause that we, the lost children of the Enlightenment, were lacking: to recover that kind of seriousness.