#(( this is sponsored by me. literally just by my own fears. we ball ))

[runelocked]

william has always focused more on the future than the past or present — so he says. teasing others for their sentimentality, rolling his eyes at any of his loved ones who get a little too weepy over past memories. but he clings to the past in a different way: he gets bitter over what he was, annoyed that he can’t change his old ways. sometimes that resentment will grip him hard and he won’t emerge in a good mood until days later. mostly he’s thinking about how wasted the past feels: the missed opportunities, the passing of precious time. if only he’d done more. if only he’d been a little harder - working. etc. while he prefers only to talk about the future and his grand plans, the past is very much a large part of his fear of death & determination to have more time. he rarely thinks about the present and the time he’s wasting through useless experiments or neglecting his family at all.

[soranihimawari]

Call Me Kat

I already written several one shots for different characters from Haikyu!!, so I thought of throwing my hat into the ring of the Nekoma team. I am not sure if I want this to end in fluff crush confession or a one night encounter that turns into something a bit more serious. This might also be a three parter, so please bear with me as I write this.

Tag list: @vbcshenaningansnwritings​ @kaidasen​ 

Length: 3.8k

“But why do I have to stay with grandpa over the week?” I asked. Honestly, I didn’t understand why I was thrown into helping my grandfather watch over his volleyball team training camp. It was the second day of summer vacation and although I had an agenda of doing nothing but completing my resume for a new cat cafe close to the Nekoma campus, my parents thought it would be best to surprise trip to keep my grandfather (and the other managers/team sponsors) company. 

“I’m not even part of the girls volleball club,” I whined, but when my mother had put her foot down, I had to yield. I raised my arms up in the air and conceeded. 

“You ought to go, besides,” my fathrer said when he took a sip of his afternoon tea. “You know how to play well enough that I’m sure Nekomata-san would appreaciate your contribution.” I let out a puff of hot air and nodded.

“Alright. I’ll go, but only because I do like keeping gramps from drinking too much,” I chuckled while my mother rolled her eyes in amusement. 

“Reason why you’re also going there. Not to babysit the man, but to help him if he drinks too much with the others. You do know how good of a drinker he can be,” my mother winked at me when she sat down with another cup of tea for myself.

Thus, this was how my week had begun. I had packed my overnight dufflebag with all the feminine essentials I (or the other girl managers) needed along with three work out gym clothes as well as my overnight pajamas. On the day that I had left, I donned ruby sneakers, work out (yoga) pants in black, and a loose fitting navy shirt. It wasn’t going to be extremely hot today, but I thought leaving in the morning after a few calisthetic stretches would suffice. Tokyo had many cafes I could theoretically purchase coffee from, so I was set to jet.

I grabbed my sunscreen and my phone accessories on the kitchen counter before pressing kiss to my parents’ cheeks. I slid my apartment keys in my pocket; I began to jog toward campus in time to see that most of the other schools had arrived. Luckily I noticed the lady managers standing to the side before they were eaten alive by another one of our volleyball club member’s words of praise:

“Oh my god. Karasuno has two female managers?! They have a pretty one AND a cute one!”

I noticed Yaku run up to scold him while apologizing to the vice captain of the Karasuno team. I couldn’t help but laugh as I snuck behind the scenes to enter the gym where my grandfather asked me to help set up. Fortunately, I did hear Yaku’s apology when I stepped quietly out of ear shot.

“Oy~!” Yaku called out to his teammate, “I’m really sorry about him. Hiya Suga-san.”

I made my entrance toward the gym where our volleyball coaches for Nekoma were standing. My grandfather supervised the practice matches going on between Fukurodani and Ubugawa. Loud yells were heard when each team scored. Pretty soon, the match would be at set point. Both of the managers from Fukurodani noticed me and raised an eyebrow at each other, but not before they had to use where I stood as a point of reference for their ace.

I placed my bag down next to him before greeting him with a hug.

“Heya gramps,” I said with a small smile. “Hi sensei.” I bowed slightly in his partner’s direction.

“Shamu-neko,” the old man said with a huge grin spread across his face. “I take it you are spending time with me because your mother asked you to?” I hummed in compliance. Being gifted such a nickname because of my affection toward calico cats as child led me to identify with them since I was born with heterochroma (me left eye was hazel green while the other burned a light ice blue). It was a double recessive gene in my father’s side along with the inherited cat pupils. No wonder gramps called me that since I was seven, I thought.

“Okaasan worries too much about you. Enough to send your granddaughter to make sure you don’t overdo it during this training camp,” I reminded him with my arms folded across my chest. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to put away my things.” Both Nekomata and his second bowed to me as I scurried off to the ladies’ dorm. 

As I opened the door to the room, I bumped into the other team managers from earlier. The one with the dark hair and glasses gave off an aura of quiet steadfastness while her blonde counterpart was going through the anxieties of being a new manager for Karasuno. Those crows are no longer flightless, I mused.

“Is this where we’ll be sharing a room, right?” I asked to make my presense known. At the sound of my firm, respectful tone, the blonde first year nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Oh, my gods!” she yelled. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I replied raising my arms up after I dropped my bag near the closest wall. “I’m--”

“A relative of Nekomata,” her co-manager said with an encouraging nod. “Kitty, isn’t it?”

“Kat, actually. I see you’re from Karasuno,” I said extending my hand for a formal greeting. “Kiyoko, correct?”

“Mmhm,” she said and we shook hands. “This is Hitoka-chan.” I waved when the first year when her name was given to me.

“Pleasure to meet you both. I believe it might be best for you two to head to the gyms already. I’m sure the boys from both of our teams are expecting  you to watch their preliminary games.”

We exchanged good byes and split off into different gyms when we reached the ground floor. I was lucky to find one of the gyms, gym 3 empty, but the nets needed to be raised. I asked for the keys from my grandfather after I had set up the additional nets. With the sweat I had glistening on my brow, I heard all smart talk cease to exist when a volleyball was about to whir by my head. Instead of hearing my gasp of fear, I instinctively blocked the ball with a set bump. I dropped the keys in the split second I had returned the serve, but I shook it off. My grandfather just scratched his cheek playfully as the other teams stopped their matches. 

“Lev! What did we tell you about watching where aiming that serve of yours!” Kenma was slow to anger, but everyone could tell he was reaching his limit. The ball had flown a few meters into the air before gravity slamnmed it down. Kenma, as well as the captain, Kuroo, took a breather to walk towards me. 

“Are you ok?” Kuroo asked. He wore an annoyed expression on his face as well, but I know those amber eyes of his were more trained the red marks on my forearms than anything else. Those marks usually go away, however, I took into account how Kenma eyed the impression of stripes from the ball. A few more minutes passed as each of the matches went back underway.

“It’s alright, really,” I said aloud. I picked up the keys with my left hand, “No harm done, Kenma.”  He nodded before Kuroo pulled him by his collar to return to their own game. My grandfather clasped his hands together when I waved from the arch way. 

“Damn it, that really did hurt,” I muttered when I walked back into gym 3. After retrieving a volleyball basket, I placed the keys against one of the sides of the walls of the gym. I walked back where the volleballs were placed and picked one up. I had given it several bounces before taking my place behind the boundary serving line. With one deep breath I had taken, I decided I should practice a few serves. I took a few steps back and threw the ball in the air with my right hand and with a thunderous crack of my left, I hit the ball with enough force for a theoretical service ace. When I landed back on my feet, I noticed one of the team co-coaches hanging out by the doorway. I had continued to practice several more serves before my breathing became labored. I heard an acknowledging clearing, “Ahem,” stem from the entrance way. 

“You play just as well as the old man,” he said, a different sense of pride was strewn in his voice. His ivory and black attire was recognizable: Coach Takeyuki. I bowed toward him as a short greeting. “Why you never went to pursue the sport is beyond me.”

“Thanks, but volleyball isn’t really for me. Dance and the performative arts has my soul, haha. Also, it has been a long time since I sat in on one of grandpa’s volleyball training camps, Takeyuki-sensei,” I mused. I picked up the ball to return it to the bag I had taken it from. “I’m headed back to the main gym. I finished setting these up for the boys. Care to escort me back sir?”

***

That night, at dinner, I was surrounded by a literal ray of sunshine, a tall silver haired cat, Yaku, Kuroo, and Kenma. I had begun eating without them since I was snacking throughout the day (one bowl of spicy stir fry with chicken, then later in the afternoon, I went with the other secondary managers to find ice cream tubs for us girls, which was a fun excursion). The chatter at the dining hall was quite boisterous, each team sharing funny stories about the today’s games. Apparently, Karasuno’s freak quick attack was the main subject at many tables, however, talent and sense is what makes for good rallies. It was something I heard my grandfather mention when I was younger. Although, I have seen quicks much like that before, I don’t think the speed at which the players used were impossible to the trained eye. As I lifted my cup of tea to take a sip, I noticed the smile of the tangerine haired energetic boy when he looked at me.

“Woah, your eyes are so cool,” the bright orange haired middle blocker said. He was scarfing down onigiri like there wasn’t enough rice in the world to contain his hunger. 

“Thanks, I get that a lot,” I say with a smile. I placed my cup back on the table to  raise a spoon to my lips to sip on the miso soup I helped the girls make in the kitchen hours earlier. (Cooking was a skill I learned, but also being enrolled in dance classes throughout my formative years caused me to create an atheletes diet. Besides, my grandfather and I would play a set of two on two up until this past school year. His focus was on training his clowder of cats into the best teams Nekoma has had in recent years).

“I’m really sorry about hitting you with my serve,” this tall cat was named Lev, if memory serves me correct. He seemed a bit out of it after he almost hit my head. Impulsive and brash, but he does show promise in terms of room for growth.

“You’re fine, Lev. You just need to polish up a little bit. Watch your aim too. I noticed you were a bit out of it when I came back with Fukurodani’s coach. Besides,” I placed my spoon down on my tray and gripped his shoulder. “I was able to return it and still cook dinner, I’m not as weak as you think.”

I kept drinking my soup before moving on to my rice. “Yaku and Kenma would not have to scold you if you did watch your aim though.” Lev’s bright eyes glazed over in embarrassment, yet he nodded making a promise to watch where his serves were going to land.

“If you want help with your serves, meet me in gym 3 at nine tomorrow,” I offered. I picked up my tuna stuffed onigiri and began to munch on it. I glanced at my grandfather who was seated a few tables ahead of us. I guess he must of heard Lev’s, “Really! Wow! Thanks!” walking toward us.

“Shamu-neko~” the famly patriarch called to me. At the sound of my nickname, the boys chuckled. They didn’t know, or rather, as a third year, no one really knew my family ties to the Nekoma coach (with the exception of Takeyuki and now the other coaches). I noticed his rose colored cheeks, the signs that someone had slipped the old man alcohol. He mentioned he would be drinking with them later on the phone last night, so I wasn’t too surprised.

“Call me Kat, grandpa,” I said with a huff of hot air when I took a bite of my hamburger steak. I closed my eyes and meditated on my chewing before I felt Nekomata patting my shoulder. Kuroo’s eyes went wide with either glee or fear, Kenma sort of chortled. Lev and Yaku sat staring at their food while Hinata (whose name I found out during a brief side conversation he had with Kenma) had his eyes dart back and forth between Nekomata and myself. Upon our mutual smiles after reminding each other not to stay up too late, everyone finally saw the resemblance. 

“You’re going to train Lev I hear,” the old man hiccoughed. “I’m proud of you grandchild.”

“You ought to go to bed, old man,” I mused with a smile, patting his arm. “After all, your first year almost decked me in the head with that serve of his. Oi! Takeda-sensei! Can you escort him to bed please?”

Upon hearing my strict, but pleading tone, the co-coach of Karasuno came stumbling toward my grandfather and bowed in apology. Before they left, my grandfather and I exchanged a few inside jokes which caused us to laugh a little bit. I guess my smile and wave caught the Nekoma captain who was seated with us. 

“Same smile,” Kuroo said nonchalantly. His tone was barely above a whisper, but I heard him. I glanced back up at him with a more toothy grin. I saw a small hint of color rush toward his cheeks before I began piling their empty plates on my tray.

“You guys go on ahead, I’ll clear the table,” I instructed. I noticed the underclassmen were being called by other members of their teams to head toward their shared dorm rooms. This left Kuroo and myself behind. Usually, he was very loud, sometimes obnoxiously intelligent, but he did mean well. I mean we might have had a few classes in junior high together (which might explain why he didn’t remember my last name), yet this was the first time we really saw each other outside of classes. A few minutes of clanking dishes being piled into a stack on three trays were the only noise between us as well as the sounds of our work out attire swishing against the table.

“You received that serve well,” he complimented. The raven haired cat captain stood up before mentioning, “It’s been a long time since year three in junior high, Kat-chan.” I nodded.

“Three years in Nekoma and you still haven’t apologized for almost breaking my nose with that serve of yours, Tetsuro,” I teased. The story goes a  new member of the volleyball team was practicing his serves during lunch, the ball was hit in such a way it landed on my face: hard on the nose. I was sent home after the bleeding ceased. I think it was then I decided to not pursue the same sport that encaptured my grandfather’s attention. I have Kuroo to thank for that. Damn him and his first year naivete. He did mature into a popular tom-cat though. I never really hung out with him except for training camps like this in our first year. I suppose being around him equated to me being almost injured, so I chose to avoid him every chance I got on school grounds.

“We were first years! How was I supposed to know you were the relative of Nekomata? He doesn’t say much about his family,” he explained. "Mentions his granddaughter at every game when he points out where you were sitting. But that’s it!”

I laughed a little at his defense.

“Relax, I was giving you a hard time over nothing.” I stood up to walk toward the now empty kitchen; Kuroo followed behind me with the dishes on one of the trays. I turned on the sink, grabbed the soap bottle, and squeezed a generous amount on a sponge. “Grandpa doesn’t like to talk about family much since he views all of you as his grandsons or pupils.” I shrugged it off. “After all, I have had my whole life with him, of course I wouldn’t mind if I shared him with the team. He’s a good man and a great coach.”

“Is that so? Honestly, I thought he would at least view me as a candidate to date his hot granddaughter,” Kuroo’s sarcastically sincere voice struck a chord with me. I was elbow deep in suds when I let go of a tray back into the still water.

“E-excuse me?” I asked. I was perplexd. My eyes widened in shock since honestly, I thought we’d never cross paths enough to really establish any sort of romantic ties. At least that was what I thought. Kuroo leaned against the side of the sink that had the drying racks on them. 

“You’ve come to all our games for the past three years,” he began to make his case. “You cheered for us up until our last game. Then, apparently, you come here at the request of your mom to make sure coach doesn’t overdo it.” He folded his arms across his chest. Oh, so he knew I was here thanks to sensei probably telling him, I thought. I shook my head to brush my long bangs out of my face (my long navy dyed hair was still tied in a ponytail from earlier).

“Kuroo, I came to those games to cheer for my grandfather first, his team second. He hasn’t retired coaching because this sport, volleyball, is his life. Also, how did you know I went to every game since we started high school?” He leaned in toward me as I went back to scrubbing the tray I had dropped. I was trying to focus on the task at hand, but his looming presence closing the distance between our faces caused me to feel a bit nervous. Kuroo had this blush drawing across his cheeks due to his bashful nature.

“I saw you in the stands, Kat,” he answered. “I waved to you and you always waved back with this enormous grin on your face.” His breath was warm against my cooling cheeks. Oh crap. Am I blushing as hard as he was? I thought. I swallowed thickly.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered. I rolled my eyes when I let out a sigh. I think since the day the volleyball collided in my face, I had grown a soft spot for Kuroo. Glancing upward at him made me come to terms with the bitterness I had toward this confession.

“I waved toward you for literal y e a r s; Kuroo, maybe seeing me cheer the loudest for you would have made my feelings known. Yet, you dated like three girls in second year. Watching you with them was weird, but I think it was because I wasn’t sure if I liked who you were becoming. And you know, after I spent time with you guys at end of season parties, maybe lent you my English textbook twice this last month, now you decide to tell me you want to date me? D-don’t say things you don’t mean. It’s not nice.” 

Kuroo took a step back and handed me the last bit of the glassware I had to do. He shrugged placing a hand inside his club member jacket. He pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. Kuroo glanced between the tile in the kitchen floor and me.

“I’m sorry if this came really late, but I was talking to Kenma about how kind you are yesterday (for the fifth time this week) and my best friend had to tell me that I liked you because I couldn’t shut up about how you make an entrance every time you walked into the hallway and the sun danced around you right before you dashed around a corner to avoid me. You’re nice to me and tell me these stories about when you were young and how you seldom had friends on the playgrounds too. You’re sweet to Lev because you know Yaku and Kenma would get angry at him for things like today. Bonus fact is you’ve been friends with Bokuto since elementary school! You know your limits and you have a hard time with chem, but you always call me for help when you know I have a day off...”

I dried my hands before I tucked my bangs behind my ear. I bit my bottom lip out of habit, one I was trying to break, but I didn’t. I scoffed at him in my own amusement.

“You also pretended to be with me a few times I was being catcalled on the walk home from several away games,” I mentioned, closing my eyes for a moment. I felt Kuroo reach out to me and pulled me into a side hug. I covered my smile as I reminisced the last time some other captain tried to gain my affection, but when he didn’t get the hint, Kuroo showed up and immediately called me, “babe,” and the guy ran off.

“I did, huh? Thought I’d forget, did you?”

“Mmmhm, but no I was hoping you didn’t, hah.” My eyes fluttered open and stared at the ground. He placed his head on my shoulder much like my first calico cat did when she wanted affection. He and I stood there in comfortable silence for about five minutes. 

“Five out of ten,” my tone was warm with a concealed giggle. 

“Huh?” Kuroo inquired for more elaboration. 

“I’m giving you a five out of ten for that confession of yours, Kuroo Tetsuro.” I folded my arms across my chest.

He glanced up at me in wide-eyed glee. “No way, Neko-san. That was like a seven tops!” He straightened his posture chewing the inside of his cheek in annoyance. I poked his unchewed cheek laughing.

“I’ll reconsider your rating for your confession on one condition,” my amusement took over my tone. He quirked his eyebrow at me. Curious this one, my thoughts said to me. 

“Sneak out with me tomorrow morning before I train with Lev for a sweets run?” I said in a hushed tone. You could of told me the world stopped spinning because instead of a proper answer, I felt Kuroo’s hands lift my cheeks up to face him before he began pressing his lips to each side of my face with a shit-eating grin. 

“You don’t got to tell me twice, love.” He kissed my forehead with a smile forming upon his lips.

“Call me Kat for now, let’s survive this first adventure tomorrow, then ask me out on a proper date,” I said taking a hold of one of his hands. We turned off the lights in the kitchen before walking hand in hand down the hallway to our respectful dorms. “C’mon captain. We got an early start tomorrow.”

[chiseler]

Israel and the Far-Right American Left

Presidential elections are, for the most part, psychic events. Chimeras. Deceptions. Or, as Noam Chomsky calls them, “personalized quadrennial extravaganzas.” But Chomskyites are often puzzled to hear their anarchist role model, one election cycle after another, touting the mainstream Democrat.

So why does Chomsky, with a saddened, syllable-dragging and demoralized voice, encourage voters to participate in their own exclusion – i.e., the electoral process? His under-read Goals and Visions holds some answers. The essay, dating back to Dr. Chomsky’s heyday, makes a beautiful (and deeply counter-intuitive) case for anarchists supporting strong centralized government in the near term.

Voting is a provisional bulwark against absolute corporate tyranny, which must, so the argument goes, be defeated first – I’m not persuaded that Chomsky’s theory illuminates his latest White House hopeful, Bernie Sanders. If, as Chomsky argues, our American Democracy is some terrifying variety show, beamed into politically atomized brains, then certainly he's able to see the emperor has no clothes here. That is, Bernie (pardon the image): a butt naked cipher. I recently asked the MIT linguist a simple question.

"What has Bernie Sanders ever done to help Palestine?"

For years, international activists have been putting Palestinian dignity at the center of their program. And Chomsky's laconic response — "Not much" — won't surprise them. No stranger to equivocation where BDS (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions) is concerned, I hoped to tease out whatever nuances might have created this strange contradiction on the American Left, in essence to answer my own query: "How can otherwise principled boycott supporters drop the ball and say 'oops' as historical Palestine experiences a genocide?"

If that word frightens you, you're in good company: Bernie Sanders, Noam Chomsky, and even Norman Finkelstein refuse it — despite a growing chorus that includes Israeli historian Ilan Pappé, who coined “incremental genocide” to define The Holy Land's occupation/annexation/extermination agenda. I'm sitting here in Brooklyn firing off emails in a chair designed by Ray and Charles Eames (so, please, don't call me an "armchair activist") — criticizing figures in my own personal pantheon.

Forgive me for what I do.

Stoop shouldered, he gazes out over his audience like a tortoise, half as old as time, in vain and reflexive search of the shell he left behind somewhere. Now, wouldn’t it be wonderful if this self-styled socialist were running for President? Sure, but Senator Bernie Sanders’ deportment and general appearance constitute a sadly instructive, big old honkin’ “tell” – only chumps and chuckleheads could possibly miss it. Outward displays of Hard Leftism fall away whenever Bernie aids and abets the Democratic Party in strange, stentorian Brooklynese.

Remember that solemn promise he made at the outset of his 2016 campaign not to run as an independent? And another obvious tip-off: pledging support for the Party’s foreknown nominee — i.e., the Monsanto shillaber with whom Sanders was so nauseatingly flirtatious. I keep these facts firmly in mind as I await honest responses to my pestering missives. Critical of the Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions movement, Noam Chomsky also fails to advance any feasible alternatives.

Nor, by his own admission, has Bernie lifted a finger: "He’s moved towards support for Palestinian rights, more so than any other candidate, but he’s focusing on domestic policy." To wit, Bernie "knows very well that any word on the topic will let loose the familiar and cynical litany of ‘anti-Semitism’." But isn't it even more "cynical" to suggest, as Chomsky does, that ordinary citizens be held to a higher standard than his pick for US President? Some of us risk opprobrium, and worse, every day because party politics are obtuse to suffering in Gaza, the West Bank and East Jerusalem. Meanwhile, Bernie Sanders exploits disaffected voters by herding them back into the Democratic Party fold, under a primary assumption about their malleability, laziness and glib call for “revolution.” Though he claims to be a serious socialist, he actively supports a murderous wingnut Zionism. Take his resounding stamp of approval on “Operation Protective Edge,” which killed over 550 Palestinian children in 2014, serving Israel’s long-term agenda of land grabs, water theft, indefinite detention... a nigh endless atrocities list which includes the systematic torture of little kids (see UNICEF's Children in Israeli Military Detention, available as a PDF online).

I next decided to bother Chomsky’s old friend and political ally Dr. Norman Finkelstein, son of two Holocaust survivors and decades-long champion of the Palestinian cause. In recent years, Finkelstein has become something of a pariah on the Left thanks to his anti-BDS stance: "I think Bernie should be let alone in the primary to focus on his domestic agenda." This was getting monotonous.

Finkelstein unintentionally loops back to his mentor's essay, Goals and Visions, torpedoing its thesis as our half-assed interview progresses — acknowledging, for instance, that if Bernie couldn’t tax Jeff Bezos, and instead funded New Deal economics with attempted military cuts: “It could literally trigger a coup plot.” Responding to that same question, Chomsky answers with a devastating blow to his own theory: "Even if he were elected — a long shot — he would not be able to do much without a supportive Congress — an even longer shot.”

In plain language, Sanders and the rest of Congress are tied to the defense industry. So what about Uncle Noam’s (imagined) boundary line — the one supposedly separating captains of industry from democratically elected representatives? It’s a sham, though possibly a well-meaning one, like some avuncular bedtime story offered in lieu of reality-based hope.

Genocide kind of rubs me the wrong way.

I’m not sure there’s anything particularly “revolutionary” about pulling a bloodstained lever for state-sponsored carnage in slow motion. But, hell, that’s just my opinion. So let’s listen to Bernie himself — the old Bernie, who spoke a modicum of truth about our so-called electoral options. "Essentially, it's my view that the leadership of the Democratic Party and the Republican Party are tied to big-money interests and that neither of these parties will ever represent the people in this country that are demanding the real changes that have to take place."

It’s axiomatic that we don’t launch revolutions in the ballot box. And yet, here we have Sanders fans, crowding around a Smurf with dyspepsia as if he were Big Bill Haywood. To his followers, I’d say: If you’re counting on some latter-day Dem to save you from capitalism’s war-mongering and general rapaciousness, then listen to Bernie’s earlier, slightly less dishonest incarnation. “You don’t change the system from within the Democratic Party.” Now there’s a sentiment I can agree with.

Bernie’s sheep-dogging dovetails with his oft-stated support for pugnacious Israel, since both positions coincidentally strengthen Monsanto. The agribusiness colossus, known mainly for genetically modified crops, produced Agent Orange during America’s illegal assault on Vietnam, and now makes white phosphorous doted on by the Holy Land and that (surprise!) melts human flesh. Israel routinely and, yes, illegally drops the stuff on civilians in Gaza, since... well, a bunch of Arabs live there... Go ahead and Google the images – if you can stomach them – of civilian “collateral damage” roasted by Bernie and his newfound Democrat pals.

Who needs an American Left that parses us into a hopeless corner of complicity with the ghouls over at Monsanto; or into an equally occult alliance with Bernie Sanders’ favorite arms manufacturers at Lockheed Martin: death-peddlers spanning generations which, to the surprise of no one, have their own rollicking relationship to The Holy Land’s psychopathic ethno-nationalism. The same corporations profiting on Israel’s crimes are destroying the biosphere. So what's an impressionable, idealistic soul to do? It's either make common cause with an artlessly compromised left, or enter a nihilistic hellscape populated by the likes of Ben Shapiro, or Dr. Jordan Peterson. Some choice.

Israeli talking points, a species of American PR industry-calibrated blather and Labor Day Telethon sanctimony, relentlessly fuse democracy and religious statehood – two distinct conditions which will never mesh -- into grotesque synonyms. But as of this writing, 97% of the water in Gaza is contaminated; electricity has been cut to 4 hours per day; Israeli courts convict 99.74% of Palestinian defendants (not that many people are guilty); 85% of Israel’s “security fence” (The Apartheid Wall) is on land rightfully and legally belonging to the people of Palestine.

Standing opposed to it all -- and indeed ridiculed by America's preeminent professional anti-Zionist, Dr. Norman Finkelstein, whose sole income these days derives from working the college lecture circuit where he finds himself harangued night after night by 20 year old corn-fed Methodist William Henry Harrison High School Irgun-wannabes, for daring to suggest that the state of Israel might possibly have its own problem with mass-murder -- the amateurs in BDS, wielding the kind of principled Internationalist vision which helped bring down Apartheid in South Africa, chase one last hope.

It is a movement which has become beautifully amorphous, internalized by artists who refuse to perform in Tel Aviv, or inspiring students to tell the truth. Again. Finally. Without fear. Meanwhile, courageous young people within Israel are choosing prison and the death of their social lives over a collusion so easily embraced, and even sought, throughout the rest of the industrialized world. In a Land of Soldiers and unceasing bloodshed, this requires the kind of backbone and resolve that once inspired folk tales.

Ahed Tamimi, to whom this editorial is dedicated 

by Daniel Riccuito

Special thanks to R.J. Lambert

[jovialyouthmusic]

Charlotte’s Choice

A Royal Romance AU

14 The Ball at Lythikos

Charlotte falls out with Brad and has some growing up to do. Anton makes the most of the situation.

@ao719 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @sleepwalkingelite @boneandfur @blackcatkita @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicescommunity @darley1101 @drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @katurrade @livingthroughchoices @likethetailofacomet @mrs-nazario @mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo @silviasutton1989 @speedyoperarascalparty @zaffrenotes @missevabean @mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova @missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you @jlouise88 @drakenazario @annekebbphotography @tabithacarlisle @furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234 @wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl 

14 The Ball at Lythikos

Brad lay in bed after helping Olivia clear up after the evening’s failed event. Never in a million years did he think he’d be resisting the advances of two women in the same day. That is, not unless he had followed his desperate plan to become a male stripper. Two titled ladies, one due to be Queen in a matter of months, were pursuing him and he didn’t know how to react, which way to turn. The Princess was captivating, sweet and innocent one moment, passionate and fiery the next, but Drake had a claim on her and he wasn’t sure how much further he could lead her without hurting her or being on the receiving end of the Duke’s fist. Olivia – she terrified him, but he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss those full red lips or see her with her long red hair loose and flowing, see and feel her lose control under his fingers or tongue. For that matter, it would probably be him losing control under her tender mercies, he thought.  

The social season couldn’t be over fast enough for him. He was pining for his home town and the comparative simplicity of his former life. As he started to drift off to sleep, there was a soft knock at his door. He went swiftly to it, his voice low.

‘I’m sorry Olivia, I’m shattered’ he said in a low voice ‘I need to sleep’ but the quiet whisper he heard was not the one he was expecting.

‘Brad it’s me, let me in quick before anyone sees’ He threw the door open and the Princess almost fell in. He closed it softly behind her. ‘What did you just say? She asked quizzically

‘Ah – nothing, I was just – confused’ he said quickly. ‘you’re running a big risk coming here’ She was pacing the room.

‘I couldn’t sleep’ she said, ‘I’m so angry with Drake, and I kept thinking about what you said’ He swallowed, hoping she wasn’t in the mood for any bedroom capers. She moved toward him and put her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. He hugged her back, keeping his touch neutral and waiting to see where she wanted to take things. She made a soft satisfied sound that was muffled by his jumper. He was glad he hadn’t changed for bed yet and was wrapped up against the cold despite the central heating. Maybe it was psychological, but he didn’t feel warmed through.

‘I just needed a hug’ she said, looking up at him ‘Is that okay? I don’t think I feel up to anything else.’ He smiled with relief. She had presumably come to him because of her spat with Drake.

‘Me neither, I’m bushed’ he replied, nuzzling into her hair and kissing the top of her head. ‘We could just lie down together if you like, maybe it will help you relax’

‘That sounds just right’ she said, and he led her over to the bed. She kicked her shoes off and lay down. He lay next to her on his back - she nestled into him and he curled his arm under and around her.

‘Are you sorry you came?’ she asked ‘This must all seem so strange to you’

‘No, you’re right, it’s not what I’m used to, but there’s never a dull moment. Who would have thought I’d be attending balls, archery competitions and going riding? I could do without the Lythikos ale though – and don’t get me started on the stuff Olivia served up for breakfast.’ Charlotte laughed and settled into him a little more. They lay in silence for a while and he listened to her slow even breath.

‘What are you going to do about Drake?’ he asked, and he felt her tense. He had been correct about what had been preying on her mind.

‘He can brood all he likes, I’m done with his jealousy’ she said coolly

‘Does he deserve it?’

‘Every little bit of it’ she replied

‘He’s been a part of your life for a long time’ he pointed out

‘That doesn’t mean he gets to control me’

‘He must know you very well’

‘Maybe’ she sighed ‘but still – I need to step back for a bit, be objective.  I’ve always run to him when I’ve been upset or confused – or horny. Perhaps it’s time to be more independent. After all, I’ll be responsible for an entire country very soon’

‘There’s nothing wrong with having someone to support you’ he insisted

‘But it doesn’t have to be him. I have to think about who would make a good King if I wasn’t around to look after things’

‘Well that rules me out’ he laughed ‘I can barely keep track of what socks to wear in the morning’ She laughed again, this time ruefully.

‘Well thanks for that – that probably leaves me with Anton or Rashad – or Milo’ she said sarcastically.

‘Why them?’ he asked

‘Anton is heir to a long line of aristocrats and runs his Duchy very efficiently, Rashad is a good businessman, and Milo is logical and doesn’t let his feelings get in the way’ Her tone was less relaxed now, her mood shifting.

‘But what about you?’ he asked, ‘Not who the country needs – who would you like to spend the rest of your life with?’ She sat up and looked down at him, a trace of irritation on her face.

‘You don’t get it do you? I don’t get a say in who I might want. My life is one of service to Cordonia. I’ve been messing around like a little girl – a literal Princess. I need to face my responsibilities and grow up.’ She got up off the bed and started back toward he door. ‘Thanks for nothing Brad, and good luck getting your title. Perhaps when you have some responsibility you’ll understand’ Brad leapt up and sprinted to the door, putting himself in front of it.

‘Charlotte please, I didn’t mean to…’ he started, but she glared and interrupted him.

‘Get out of my way Brad’ she said in a cold voice ‘you can’t help me. Perhaps you’d be better off in Edinburgh dancing for tips in front of hen parties’ He stepped out of her way, stunned and hurt at her words, and thin-lipped, she opened the door cautiously and left without another word.

It was evening and time for the highlight of the Court’s stay at Lythikos, dinner followed by a Ball. Drake dragged himself to the ballroom reluctantly, his trusty hip flask in his jacket pocket. Brad and Olivia were at the top table with Charlotte and the King. Bastien looked tense, and Drake guessed that the King had forced himself out of bed to attend the occasion as to his eye he didn’t look his usual self. Brad also seemed uneasy, and he couldn’t help noticing that Charlotte wasn’t talking to him much. Olivia was doing her best to stimulate the conversation in between courses, and Drake knew he needed to talk to her, find out what was going on. The courses seemed to drag on for ever, and he made sure to take a nip of whiskey when he could.

Eventually the last plate had been cleared and it was time for dancing. Brad and Charlotte started it all off, as he was the host’s sponsored suitor. It looked as if they were going through the motions – there was no spark, no ease of movement, and it seemed as if Charlotte made it last the bare minimum. The King left the ballroom when they parted, and Drake made his way over to Olivia as Charlotte turned to Maxwell for the next dance.

‘Olivia, what’s happening?’ he hissed ‘It looks like I’m not the only one who’s had a disagreement with Charlie’ Olivia looked irritated

‘You’re not wrong – Brad told me they argued last night. It looks like neither of you are in her good books right now’ she said in a low voice ‘What’s more, Constantine summoned her for an audience yesterday and she was very pale when she came out. She wouldn’t talk to me after, said it was private and shut herself away.’ Drake swore under his breath.

‘What the hell’s going on? She’s not even engaging with Max – look at him, he looks like a puppy that’s been kicked’ Maxwell did indeed look glum, and already Charlotte was curtseying to him and moving on to dance with Neville. At least he seemed to be getting the silent treatment too, he noticed, so all was not lost. Olivia squinted at the Princess

‘This is a disaster, and I was hoping she’d be able to relax here. There’s something very odd going on, and I need to find out what it is.’

Charlotte gritted her teeth and endured the dance with Neville. She had to find a way of having him dropped from the list – he was repulsive, obsequious and fawning and would be a disaster as a partner or King. Tariq was definitely out, he was a peacock with no serious thought in his head that didn’t concern clothes or fine wine. Next was Rashad – as she had said to Brad, he had gone up a little in her estimation. Surely such a good businessman would make a good Consort, and a satisfactory King should anything happen to her. It was morbid to think of her own death, but she had grown up with the fear of assassination and Bastien had drummed into her how important it was to think of security in every situation. She had neglected that lately with her assignations with Drake and with Brad, however trustworthy they might be and she needed to tighten up.

She remembered the meeting with her Father and felt a lump in her throat. She had expected a lecture about the suitors, or a demand for a progress report. Instead she had been floored when he told her that he was terminally ill with a life expectancy of mere months.  Dread and the weight of obligation and duty bore down on her. It was as if she was at the bottom of a deep dark well with no way out.

‘Princess, you look preoccupied’ said Rashad as he took her hand and waist for the dance. ‘Can I be of assistance?’ Charlotte sighed

‘The role of Monarch is not an easy one’ she said ‘and the closer I get to becoming Queen the harder it seems’

‘Which is why having a partner by your side to assist you in matters of state is so important’ he said, ‘I hope you know that I would be able to assist you in financial matters thanks to my experience with my own company – and I am used to helping my father with running the Duchy of Domvallier’ The Princess smiled graciously

‘I’m sure you would’ she replied ‘Business and governance is a very important aspect of Cordonian stability – as is the matter of succession’ Rashad coloured a little.

‘Of course I find you very attractive your grace’ he said in a low tone ‘I’m sure the process of producing an heir would be very – pleasurable’ He pulled her imperceptibly toward him, but the Princess still felt no spark between them. Did there need to be? Would that come with time? He certainly ticked more boxes than Neville or Maxwell. Marrying Maxwell would feel like marrying her kid brother - he was far too sweet and innocent. The dance drew to an end, and Rashad released her with some reluctance, bowing and saying.

‘I hope we can continue our conversation another time. Thankyou you for your kind attention, Princess.’ Charlotte took the next dance out, pleading tiredness, and went to talk to Kiara and Penelope for a while, pointedly avoiding Drake, Brad and Olivia before it was Duke Milo of Fydelia’s turn. As expected, he was interminably dull. She knew he would fulfil the official role of Consort very well, but she found him as attractive as a dead fish. There was no way on earth she would be able to produce an heir with him. She was relieved to let him go and turn to Anton.

‘Princess’ he smiled as he took her hand and kissed it – he was the first to be so bold that evening, and he asked permission before placing his hand on her waist. He looked searchingly into her eyes. ‘You look as if you have a lot on your mind. I can only imagine what a burden it must be to be so close to becoming Monarch.’ She smiled nervously as they began to glide across the floor. It was so hard trying to hide her feelings and she was ashamed that it seemed everyone could tell the strain she was under – or perhaps they were just second guessing.

‘Thankyou Lord Severus’ she replied politely, then remembered what he had said on the day he had won the archery competition ‘Anton’ she added with a nod and a small smile. Anton was easy to dance with – he led with confidence and sensitivity, and she found herself relaxing a little. He smiled warmly down at her.

‘That’s better, you need to let yourself go a little, Princess.’ he said kindly. She was tired - after her argument with Brad she had lain awake for some time, unable to go to Drake to unwind as she might have done previously, and the meeting with the King had her on edge. She snapped out of her reverie, realising Anton had pulled her a little closer. ‘You know’ he murmured so she had to move even closer to hear him, catching a whiff of his aftershave, spicy with a hint of musk ‘There’s more to running a country than protocol and policy. You need someone to help you unwind, confide in when you’re finding things difficult’ She stiffened, unwilling to contemplate that with Anton, but he persisted ‘I know we don’t know each other very well, but I promise that if you spend some time with me, we can remedy that, and you’ll see how good I could be for you’

She felt a tingle spreading from the soft warmth of his breath on her neck, and she couldn’t help wondering if he could make her feel the way Drake and Brad did. Perhaps they had chemistry – she had already felt that jolt of electricity from him before. It would make her Father happy if she chose him, and time was not on her side – or his. She nodded imperceptibly, and he let out a sigh.

‘If you’re truly willing to – explore our relationship a little more, name a place and a time and I’ll be there’ he whispered. She looked up at him nervously, her heart beating a little faster.

‘Wait for me in the armoury when the Ball is over’ she whispered ‘It might take me some time to get away, but I’ll be there’

‘Are you sure that’s – private enough?’ he replied

‘For the moment, yes’ she said quietly, her gaze flicking up to his as the music finished. They stepped apart, Anton bowing low. From across the room Drake watched, registering the small smirk of triumph that crossed Anton’s face, and made his way across the dancefloor toward her. He was on the list of suitors and he’d be damned if he missed his opportunity, even if he ended up fumbling it. She would be obliged to dance with him for the sake of protocol, but he still crossed his fingers behind his back. He would say nothing about the other suitors for fear of being accused of interfering again. He bowed when he reached her,

‘Princess, I believe it’s my turn. I apologise in advance if I tread on your toes’ That prompted the ghost of a smile, and she accepted his hand. He wasn’t accustomed to dancing, scoffing that it was for stuffy nobles and (when he was younger) for girls but the touch of her hand reminded him of other encounters and he ached to hold her closer, smell her hair, feel her smooth skin, hear her soft moans, watch her come undone.

‘You’ve got a nerve asking me to dance’ she said, a false smile on her face. He was snapped back to the reality of their present situation after their argument.

‘I’m still on the list, unless you’ve taken me off’ he replied, holding her gingerly and trying to follow her lead.

‘You promised to keep Father updated, so it’s not my decision to make’ she replied coolly. ‘Talking of which, you might as well tell him Brad’s dropping in favour too’

‘Oh yes?’ he replied, not sure how to ask her why without offending her.

‘He tried to defend you’ she said flatly ‘and I told him it was none of his business. I need to sharpen up, think of who will serve Cordonia best’ Drake flinched

‘I love my country’ he said defensively ‘I may not have been born here, but it’s my home and it’s given me everything I have. I’d do anything to help the people of Cordonia’ Charlotte sighed in exasperation.

‘I daresay you would’ she replied ‘but you haven’t really prepared yourself for it like Milo or Anton have, and you don’t have experience in politics or governance’

‘Why does the country have to be ruled by nobles?’ he asked ‘Perhaps it’s time to let some commoners have a say in how things are done – perhaps lean toward a more democratic way of making important decisions? We’ve discussed that before, Charlie’ He felt her tense as he used his pet name for her.

‘Now is not the time for big changes, Walker’ Ouch - he winced as she countered with his surname, but he went on.

‘It doesn’t have to be big, just little things would make a difference – like letting a few ordinary people onto the council’ Charlotte was quiet for a few moments as they swept across the dancefloor. He had managed reasonably well to keep up with her though he suspected she was trying to make it easy for him. He was sailing close to the wind, but this was an important subject, he had to impress on her that he wasn’t just some idle noble.

‘Perhaps, but I don’t have time or energy to think about it now. There are more pressing matters, as you know. I’ll come back to it when I can’ The final strains of the dance came, and they slowed to a stop. He took her hand and bent over it as if to kiss it but looked up at her instead.

‘Charlie, I’m sorry’ he said with sincerity ‘I had no right to be angry with you.  You have every right to be angry with me, but please – don’t cut me out. I’ll keep my promise – I’ll not get in your way. If you want me, just call me.’ He kissed her hand, and walked away, not daring to look back and see the expression on her face. If he had, he would have seen a flicker of sorrow pass over her features before she also turned away to bring the evening to a close.

Anton waited patiently for the Princess, sure of his powers of persuasion. Every day since the death of his father he had repeated his mantra to prepare him for what he must do. For the glory of House Severus, for the good of the people of Cordonia. His father had spoken to him on his death bed and his words were burned into his memory.

‘Son, you come from a long line of victims – victims of the Rys dynasty. You must strive to be the best and the strongest - strive to be ready when the time comes to throw off the yoke of tyranny. Use your name, use your influence, use your money and power to bring people over to your side of the battle. Plot in the shadows, infiltrate their allies, bribe and persuade their sympathisers and yours. I tried and failed, thanks to the incompetence of the Nevrakis. They used to be strong and capable allies, but they failed and left a slip of a girl to carry the weight of their proud dynasty, as has Constantine. Use any means you can to overthrow him and regain the throne for House Severus. I die in the hope that you will carry on the fight, and that at last a Severus will sit on the Throne of Cordonia again. Swear to me son – swear that you will carry out my wishes and I will die knowing I have performed my duty to our ancestors. He had promised his father to make him proud, and that was what still drove him.

The Princess entered the room, uncertainty and a trace of fear in her expression. She was so soft and impressionable, so unlike her Father. He wondered if she knew how ruthless Constantine was, how he had ordered the deaths of her friend’s parents after the failed assassination. Even the Nevrakis girl was ignorant of the fact. The King favoured his claim to Charlotte’s hand in marriage without realising how fervently he wished for the old man’s demise, so he could come into his rightful inheritance. Constantine thought the old claim to the throne dead and forgotten. But he must put aside thoughts of death and ruthlessness for the moment, become as soft as a faun to tempt and subvert the Princess, with just a little hint of the power he possessed should he need to persuade her.

‘Anton – I’m sorry it took me so long’ she said in a neutral tone.

‘Princess’ he murmured, taking her hand and kissing it. He felt at ease in the room amongst weapons that few knew the purpose of, much less wielded one in anger. As a nod to modern living the room which had once been an armoury and still held the name, was in fact a games room, with a snooker table and a well-stocked drinks cabinet. Luckily for his purposes there were some soft furnishings, including a leather chaise longue, to which he led the Princess and sat close to her, still holding her hand.

‘Princess - may I call you Charlotte?’ he said softly, and she smiled.

‘Of course you can Anton’ she replied. The lighting was dim, and he was not sure if her pupils were dilated from the lack of illumination, or from passion. He had certainly detected her passionate nature directed toward Drake and partially diverted toward the newcomer from Britain. He smiled disarmingly

‘As I was saying Charlotte, you need someone to be your companion, see to your emotional and physical needs after a long day of council meetings or diplomatic missions’

As he spoke, he took her hand again and turned it over, scrutinising it and resting the back of her hand on his palm, circling her palm slowly with his forefinger a few times before running it up the sensitive skin of her forearm. He was rewarded by a little shiver and a low gasp. He shifted closer to her. She looked into his eyes as he reached out to her cheek, softly caressing it, again rewarded by her leaning into his hand. He wanted no doubt that she was willing, so spoke softly.

‘May I kiss you, Charlotte, my sweet Princess?’ Something unreadable flickered in her eyes but she nodded.

‘Yes Anton’ was her short whispered reply, and he leaned forward to softly press his lips to hers. She closed her eyes, and he detected the sweet smell of liquor on her breath as he gently ran his tongue across her lips, waiting for her to open to him. Her lips remained closed and he sat back, taking a tendril of her hair that had escaped from her elaborate hairdo, twisting it around his finger.

‘Don’t be scared Charlotte, I won’t hurt you’ he breathed ‘I won’t do anything you don’t want me to’ He looked into her eyes, soft and trusting but still with a trace of fear and doubt. Again he leaned into her and traced his tongue over her lips. This time she opened them, and he ran his tongue over her teeth, smooth and cool. With a low moan she parted her teeth too, and he explored further with his tongue. He put his hand on her knee and started to slide it higher up her thigh, feeling her shift and soften under his touch. Their kiss lengthened and grew more passionate, Charlotte entwining her tongue with his and putting her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers pushing up into his hair. He pulled away from the kiss for breath and gazed into her eyes with all the sincerity he could muster, his hand stroking her cheek.

‘My sweet Princess’ he murmured. His words did not have the desired effect. Her eyes grew wide and she stood up suddenly.

‘I – I’m sorry Anton, I can’t – I can’t do this. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to lead you on. I need – I need to go’ he caught at her hand as she turned away

‘What did I do wrong, Charlotte?’ he pleaded ‘I’m sorry Princess, give me another chance’ She turned, and he saw confusion and fear in her eyes for a moment, followed by regret.

‘I shouldn’t have come here. I – I don’t think I’m ready. Please, forgive me’ He was shocked at her sudden show of strength and resolve, and irked that he was not winning her over.

‘My sweet girl’ he crooned ‘My sweet Princess, you don’t have to apologise to me, it was wrong of me to be so forward’ but she was adamant

‘This was – it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry Anton’ and reluctantly he had to let go of her hand and watch her leave. He cursed under his breath. She was going to be harder to conquer than he had bargained for.

Charlotte kept going until she came to her room, shutting the door and locking it, leaning against it and breathing hard, almost sobbing. It had been going well until he called her his sweet Princess – from that moment on all she could think of was Drake. She had closed her eyes and it was Drake’s hand on her thigh, not Anton’s. Drake’s lips, not his. Drake’s tongue in her mouth, not Antons, not her Father’s choice of suitor. Her fingers running through Drake’s hair, his scent in her nostrils, his body ready to do her bidding, fitting hers perfectly, only one last piece of the jigsaw that was them still missing. The second time Anton had used that name, she couldn’t go on any more. Tears came to her eyes and she slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor.

She ran her fingers through her hair and bunched them tight, feeling her scalp burn. She got up and stripped her clothes off as fast as she could, stumbling to the shower and turning it on cold, standing under the freezing water, gasping with the shock, then slowly turning up the temperature as high as she could bear it. She had not washed the makeup from her face and she watched the tracks of her mascara making black rivulets down over her breasts becoming fainter as the last trace was sluiced off, the salt of her tears merging with the water. She mourned the loss of her innocence, the realisation that her body was not hers to give, that she would remember her first lover whoever she married, and she wondered if it would fade with time.

She took a handful of her sweetest smelling shower gel and scrubbed herself roughly, the suds streaming off her body under the steaming water. Finally she realised she would not feel any cleaner and turned the water off, stepping out and leaving wet footprints on the bathroom floor before she found the bathtowel and wrapped it around her, screwing her damp hair up into another and making a turban. She took herself over to the bed and lay down staying awake thinking over her options until finally she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

[captaindoubled]

Long ass post but I’m in mobile so forgive me: Hella Black Panther spoilers below

It’s been long enough I think so Black Panther Hot Take (tm) that i haven’t seen yet (direct me to someone’s posts/article if they are on the same track) :

It was about terrorism. Or, more the making of terrorists. Sure they had criminals and thieves with Klaue (or however Becky Sue white way they spelled it) but Erik was basically Wakanda’s first terrorist.

The language they used to describe his father was very much in line with they way folks describe terrorists, being “radicalized”. It’s always used in news to mean “when they they turned crazy” when it’s always been “when the straw finally broke and they demand change by any means, even violent ones”

Black Panther didn’t treat terrorist as faceless bad guys to pop off like in other movies and something they “””tried””” to do a bit in the other marvel movies to an extent but failed. Erik was a terrorist with a face. Erik was family. He was rightfully part of that community, Wakandan royalty really (the only way he could be closer to new King T’Challa was to be his brother but that woulda been corny) and through isolation and loss funneled his hurt into anger into violence. Sure he hated Wakanda for what it did (or didn’t do) to help black people around the world but he deep down hated what it did to him. He was left an orphan without guidance. Many terrorist learn what they do from “””legitimate””” state militaries, and so did Erik. Old Tolkien White even seemed slightly proud when he announced that Erik was “one of there” as far as a military person and the skills they trained into him. Being in the military only radicalized him more, like many other terrorist.

People were hot brink mad over “Killmonger was right” because Nakia was right and they felt it ignored her and i get that buuuut, I’ll throw in that Nakia would have never been listened to, even with T’Challa head over foot for her, without Erik. He was Wakanda’s mistake. Their near fatal flaw. It took one person, first his dad, then him, to break Wakanda down to the ground. Poor oppressed people around the world are sad to look at sure, but by Wakanda isolationist principles, they are not their problem and so they only have to worry about their own country (America first anyone??) They were fine with the rest of the world thinking it was a dirty dust bowl because it kept them safe. But all it took was for one person to know about Wakanda, it’s wealth and it’s ability to help the rest of the black people they just let, suffer by hands of the rest of the world and people within Africa.

Nakia was radicalized in her own way because she just did not live in Wakanda the same way people just give their shit away and live on nothing and devote their entire life, body and soul to helping. They are helping people but Nakia was putting herself in unbelievable danger to fight the entire world alone and that’s not good for her. But because she lived in Wakanda, her actions were on aid because she had the means.

Erik had nothin, was shooting hoops in a milk crate and the higher he climbed, the harder it was for anyone bring him back down.

All it took for T’Chaka to decide that Erik wasn’t worthy was for him to be born outside of Wakanda. Isolation is a major contributor to people becoming terrorist. And yes, even white boy terrorist as awful as their are, people pray on their isolation. First generation, second gen, American born immigrants deal with the isolation of their family original homes as well as isolation and oppression from their communities and turn to people that promise that the people that hurt them will pay.

I saw a post a day or so back criticizing the idea that Erik was a product of toxic masculinity and I’d have to agree and disagree with them. When you see just looking at Erik as a dude, sure, that’s not all enough to say the reason he’s the way he is was just toxic masculinity, but when you look at him as a terrorist then yes! He’s absolutely the product of toxic masculinity.

Just breaking it down in girl/boy binary, girls tend to talk through their problems (which can leads to rumination [[which is probably the word lots of folks are looking for when they critique “”tumblr’s”” anti recovery culture]] which is bad and prevents recovery but gives them a chance to vent out some stress) or they internalize which leads them to just hurt themselves (Nakia putting her self in straight danger on the regular to help people [[The fact that T’Challa made her the head of the Wakanda outreach center basically in my opinion will save her life because she’d end up dead at a young age in the way she was going]])

While dudes external, which everyone knows, but also they internalize as well, which starts the whole thing in the first place. Toxic masculinity says don’t reach out for help, or talk to anyone and internet conversations that are basically anonymous give them a place to vent without feeling judged and that’s where a lot of radicalization happens now a days. Erik didn’t talk to nor really trust anyone with his plans and even at the end, he was still in so much pain that and anger and fear to do better or that it could be better, he decided to die instead.

But my biggest biggest support for the idea that it was about terrorism was M’Kabi. He was, as the movie progressed, being radicalized into being a terrorist. All he needed was for someone, anyone, to give him some justice for what was done to him (again framed around the criminal Klawfoot and what he did to Wakanda but really, what he did to my family). M’Kabi wasn’t so far gone because he had people that loved him, and he still loved Wakanda and so he was able to stand down, and even with the people not liking his character I found him just as sympathetic as Erik or another other character because he was hurting, and redirected his energy into someone he thought would change things. (Why we have trump tbh. So many Bernie voters when he lost the primary switched to Trump because they wanted changed, stupid but I understand).

Hell, even if Civil War hadn’t intended it, they got half right the plot line that set up for Black Panther with him and the dude that set in motion the movie ( like I said earlier with MCU tried but failed). He understood WHY he did it, they framed his conversation in a weird way, but I think that showed before he was going to be able to understand Erik in Black Panther because that’s old dude was another terrorist, Erik this time was just very close to home and family.

Before the NSA or FBI come knocking st my door, I’m writing this last part as a analysis of Black Panther in comparison to the US, leave me be please:

The US and other “first world counties” are just going to have more terrorist, either home grown ones are from abroad because they have the means to fix the root cause of problems, but choose not to. And that’s way creates terrorist. Like, even if they brought Erik to Wakanda, what if Nakia never came back to Wakanda and had a child outside of the country, what would happen to her child? What about another Wakandan? The problem was Wakanda’s isolation, not who the person was. The problem was the have the means as ability to help all of Africa for one, but chose not to for their own protection. People that either need help in the way of resources, mental health care, or just respect and assurance that they have the right to exist and not have these ideal capitalist life styles shoved in their face and are failures when they can’t change it. (America creates a shit ton of white cishet male terrorist, they know it, they just redirect their anger to brown and black and lgbt folk and disabled folk and Jewish or Muslim folk in hopes their guns won’t turn back in them. They tell white cishet men that they see infallibly right and all they have to do is achieve this goal post in life to also be the masters of the universe but even they are subjected to goal post moving or literally no ball to get into the goal and they are told as men that it’s because they are failures and not a strategic plan to make more white terrorist to terrorize “other” into submission and do their dirty work of policing “others” for them without legal consequences. Basically how white people got doped as sharecroppers to not side with free blacks against the people who were oppressing them both! That’s why white terrorist groups don’t go anyway, and even with gun violence they should 2nd amendment, because they are a low key state sponsored milita)

Like, again, I get why people were pissed at “Killmonger was right” 1) because Nakia existed and 2) they just probably weren’t in on the joke lol 3) it feels weird to sympathize with a terrorist. But that was the point. And B Jordan acted his ass off to make Erik an unironiclly sympathetic villain. His last line when he died still brings me to tears because that’s such a unique African Slave Trade Dysphoria pain that other people don’t understand. (Which I will rant on that at the bottom because Im pissed at someone’s comment on it)

It is not enough for me to stand before you tonight and condemn riots. It would be morally irresponsible for me to do that without, at the same time, condemning the contingent, intolerable conditions that exist in our society. These conditions are the things that cause individuals to feel that they have no other alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention. And I must say tonight that a riot is the language of the unheard.

MLk, Jr quote on riots that in sure most folk know but I wanted it here in relation to Erik. He did what he knew and you cans abhor the violence but also you have to condemn the conditions that made him Killmonger.

Cause, like I understood Erik’s reasons, his actions were wrong and innocent people suffered. So he’s wrong in that way. But just like in movies and real life, you can sympathize and understand what brought people to those actions. It doesn’t make you wrong or weak or a bad person to want to change what caused a criminal to be a criminal. If anything, the vilifying and pathologizing of criminals prevents real reforms in society that could have prevented their crime. And we are all guilty as fuck of that. (And no, I’m not saying you have to be nice and forgiving and never be angry at criminals because they still did the crime [[most of the time, bias in the law make this hard to deal with sometimes]] but immediately distancing them from “normal people” makes it so the reason they are they way they are never get fixed. We all are the attack dogs against state reform and prision reform because we throw away criminals instead of fixing the world that made them because “I loved a hard life and I turned out fine, what’s their excuse”, different biology for one and modeling of how to deal with stress from family or peers but another rant for another day). But thats why I brought up white Boy terrorist, probably too much for anyone’s liking; there is an underlying reason to their actions and it isn’t just, toxic masculinity or them being entitled or mental illness or whatever other buzz word, but a country that mass produced them and trains them like dogs and sends them off on anyone they think is in their way of their goal. Republicans are always trying to do that by building a divide between Black Americans and Latinx (American or Immigrants) as a way to sick Black people on Latinx if that’s easy to swallow. They do the same with Asian Americans against Black and Latinx people. Give a crumb and say that person is why you don’t have a full cake, the cake they are fucking eating!

That’s how we get respectably politics because it keeps black people from uniting against the folks that are the ones disrespecting them and making black fight fight for scraps of respect. Or African shitting in AfAms or other way around or throw in some Afro Carribaians into the mix and you’ve got three groups pointing fingers at each other while someone robs them all blind

Like Erik may not be dealing with some of those intra group politics going on since his beef was with Wakanda and not the US but he learned how to hate like that, and learned how to external and divide and conquer from the best in the business at that, living in the US. So it’s still relevant on the creation of terrorist.

At the end, T’Challa made a speech that all nations should make, to commit to helping, really helping, because for him, one Killmonger was enough. He would have loved to welcome him into the family as a cousin and not an enemy.

So Dee’s Hot Fresh Take (Tm): Black Panther was about terrorism and what creates terrorist and I think that umbrella covers shit like toxic masculinity and isolationism and Trans Atlantic dysphoira and racial injustice and the like. Don’t gotta agree, all my sources are in my head because I’m on an adderall fuled typing fest on my phone but it’s solid enough. I like this interpretation anyway lol.

———————————

Side rant in Erik’s words, a Household name activist took offense to it (won’t say who they are because I’m not that messy) but suffice it to say, they said something along the lines of celebrating the slaves that made it snd made change and their resilience. Which, you know, dope, but it doesn’t work for Erik nor his story. And I think it takes away a big part of the strength of slaves who ended their lives or the lives of their children rather than suffer they way they did. There is a reason that many black people cant swim, we all know that! It’s because slave owners beat the fear of water into them and the tradition just kept up, more switching to prevent black peoples from enjoying the bounties of nature (and as more research on nature and mental health, a way of preventing black folk healing) but it was to stop slaves from trying to escape AND dying as a form of resistance. When hoteps say the Bible was used to oppression black people and it being the white man’s religion they are only like, part right, like 3% on the mark, because using the Bible, suicide was something punishable in the after life as well and so that prevented a lot of suicides. Abortions fucking crippled plantations sometimes because when the trading stopped, they needed more slaves but women were just not having children as a form of resistance. Death and life has always been a part of resistance and it’s so disengenous to ignore all the slaves that died for the freedom of others, or their faith said that the water would take them back home Igbo Landing Story). People in extreme conditions like they have to always be prepared to die because there lives are always on the line either way. If there Death is meaningful or a mother has to abort every child they have, consentual or not, it’s part of the resistance. And the trauma of it all. We still feel echos of the past in the present but we are so far removed from that very specific pain sometimes that it’s easy to focus on the ones that lived, the heroes, because it gives us hope that it will get better, or we can mobilize for folks that had their life stolen from them because they had more life to live but we sweep the ones that took their own life as if it was the cowards way when we never walked in their shows. And for the writers of black Panther to acknowledge them in the creation of a character like Erik makes me cry. I know when I was younger u tried to separate myself from slavery because it was painful and I heard the Igbo Landing in elementary school and it hurt me so badly I was the only person in my class just uncontrollably balling but I’m older and I respect those people, myth or real, so much. Tbh! In reference to what Erik said, and why slaves drowned themselves to go home, Erik wanted to be burred at sea to return home, to the dead land area, with his dad in their little apartment because Wakanda was nice but he’d never see it as home.

[lodelss]

My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

There’s not much that my brother Brian fears.    He’s 10 years older than me, a bear of a man physically, and his entire life he’s been a ball of energy. He coached my football team when I was a youth. He dreamed of becoming a business owner. The cleaning service he started from the trunk of his car grew into several companies with 50 employees. After a terrible car accident, he got a prison sentence, and has made it his goal to use that time to improve himself. He has a team of family and friends rooting for him, but no one is more optimistic than Brian about all of the things he’ll contribute once he’s out.   But when COVID-19 hit, that fearless outlook changed. The virus spread like wildfire through the New Jersey prison where he is incarcerated. Since March, he’s been scared out of his mind.    If my brother gets COVID-19, he’s never coming home. His release date is February 2021. If Brian contracts the virus, he will not make it. He’s 59, and has Type 1 diabetes, heart disease, and weight issues — all risk factors. During his sentence, medical staff left a catheter in for several months longer than they should have, and he nearly died from sepsis.   For my brother, every single day is literally the difference between life and death.   New Jersey has a shameful distinction when it comes to COVID-19: Despite success in containing the virus in other ways, the death rates in our prisons are the worst in the country.   There is currently legislation pending that could make New Jersey a leader in containing the pandemic, rather than a cautionary tale. This legislation, S2519/A4235, sponsored by Sens. Nellie Pou and Sandra Cunningham, Assemblyman Raj Mukherji, Assemblywoman Shavonda Sumter, and Assemblywoman Verlina Reynolds-Jackson, would release people from prison who have less than eight months to go on their sentence, advancing public health in two critically important ways. First, it would allow people to distance themselves outside of prison, an environment that’s like a cruise ship on steroids, where social distancing is impossible. Further, it would lower the prison population to make social distancing possible — not just for the people who are serving time, but for employees, medical staff, and the families they go home to.   Everyone who would be released under the legislation is getting out soon anyway. This bill would lessen the chance of dying in the short period of time before they can come home. Having passed through the New Jersey Senate last month, the bill must now be voted on in the assembly in order to go to the Governor’s desk.   If this legislation fails, the state of New Jersey sends the message that six extra months in prison is worth my brother’s life. As we’ve known since the pandemic began, it is imperative to reduce the prison population as quickly and safely as possible if we are to protect as many lives as we can from this deadly virus.   The possibility of death is extremely real. Through the course of fighting for my brother’s life, I’ve come to know Bernice Ferguson. Her son Rory had just celebrated his 39th birthday and was scheduled for release from prison within a matter of weeks. Bernice never got to throw the party she was planning to celebrate his homecoming. Instead, because he contracted COVID-19, she had to plan a funeral.   We are all human. We all make mistakes. My brother knows he made a serious one. He regrets it every single day, and he lives every day to make himself a better person. My 16-year-old son, inspired by the entrepreneurship of his uncle and godfather Brian, started a lawn care business of his own. For Brian’s 59th birthday, on Aug. 7, he sent his uncle a card with one simple message: “I just want my godfather to come home, so we can work together.”   Of the 3,000 people who would be eligible for release under S2519/A4235, Brian is in some ways luckier than most despite his health. He has me, our three other siblings, our mother, and a host of friends and family who love him, and who have the energy and knowledge to do what we can to fight for his release. But without legislation, there’s only a limited amount we can do.    Whenever another group of people in his prison leave en masse for quarantine, we talk and cry, worrying he could be next. We’ve had several conversations about end-of-life care. The reality of death is everywhere.   In recent weeks, we as a nation have surpassed yet another heartbreaking milestone: More than 1,000 people have now died of COVID-19 in prisons across the country. More must be done to save lives. Passing S2519/A4235 in New Jersey would do just that.    From the beginning of his sentence, my brother has worked to become a better person than he was when he was first locked up. Before that fateful accident, my brother had built successful companies and strengthened our community — he helped his employees get citizenship, helped families purchase their first home, gave people their first jobs.    When Brian puts his mind to something, he does it. Outside of prison, he’ll make an even greater impact than before. But to get that done, we have to get him home.   New Jerseyans, send a message to lawmakers to vote YES on S2519/A4235 and urge Governor Murphy to swiftly sign it into law.

——————————

An earlier version of the op-ed originally appeared in The Star Ledger.

Published September 3, 2020 at 10:19PM via ACLU https://ift.tt/34YyHzj

[madisonacampbell]

Via the ACLU: My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

There’s not much that my brother Brian fears.    He’s 10 years older than me, a bear of a man physically, and his entire life he’s been a ball of energy. He coached my football team when I was a youth. He dreamed of becoming a business owner. The cleaning service he started from the trunk of his car grew into several companies with 50 employees. After a terrible car accident, he got a prison sentence, and has made it his goal to use that time to improve himself. He has a team of family and friends rooting for him, but no one is more optimistic than Brian about all of the things he’ll contribute once he’s out.   But when COVID-19 hit, that fearless outlook changed. The virus spread like wildfire through the New Jersey prison where he is incarcerated. Since March, he’s been scared out of his mind.    If my brother gets COVID-19, he’s never coming home. His release date is February 2021. If Brian contracts the virus, he will not make it. He’s 59, and has Type 1 diabetes, heart disease, and weight issues — all risk factors. During his sentence, medical staff left a catheter in for several months longer than they should have, and he nearly died from sepsis.   For my brother, every single day is literally the difference between life and death.   New Jersey has a shameful distinction when it comes to COVID-19: Despite success in containing the virus in other ways, the death rates in our prisons are the worst in the country.   There is currently legislation pending that could make New Jersey a leader in containing the pandemic, rather than a cautionary tale. This legislation, S2519/A4235, sponsored by Sens. Nellie Pou and Sandra Cunningham, Assemblyman Raj Mukherji, Assemblywoman Shavonda Sumter, and Assemblywoman Verlina Reynolds-Jackson, would release people from prison who have less than eight months to go on their sentence, advancing public health in two critically important ways. First, it would allow people to distance themselves outside of prison, an environment that’s like a cruise ship on steroids, where social distancing is impossible. Further, it would lower the prison population to make social distancing possible — not just for the people who are serving time, but for employees, medical staff, and the families they go home to.   Everyone who would be released under the legislation is getting out soon anyway. This bill would lessen the chance of dying in the short period of time before they can come home. Having passed through the New Jersey Senate last month, the bill must now be voted on in the assembly in order to go to the Governor’s desk.   If this legislation fails, the state of New Jersey sends the message that six extra months in prison is worth my brother’s life. As we’ve known since the pandemic began, it is imperative to reduce the prison population as quickly and safely as possible if we are to protect as many lives as we can from this deadly virus.   The possibility of death is extremely real. Through the course of fighting for my brother’s life, I’ve come to know Bernice Ferguson. Her son Rory had just celebrated his 39th birthday and was scheduled for release from prison within a matter of weeks. Bernice never got to throw the party she was planning to celebrate his homecoming. Instead, because he contracted COVID-19, she had to plan a funeral.   We are all human. We all make mistakes. My brother knows he made a serious one. He regrets it every single day, and he lives every day to make himself a better person. My 16-year-old son, inspired by the entrepreneurship of his uncle and godfather Brian, started a lawn care business of his own. For Brian’s 59th birthday, on Aug. 7, he sent his uncle a card with one simple message: “I just want my godfather to come home, so we can work together.”   Of the 3,000 people who would be eligible for release under S2519/A4235, Brian is in some ways luckier than most despite his health. He has me, our three other siblings, our mother, and a host of friends and family who love him, and who have the energy and knowledge to do what we can to fight for his release. But without legislation, there’s only a limited amount we can do.    Whenever another group of people in his prison leave en masse for quarantine, we talk and cry, worrying he could be next. We’ve had several conversations about end-of-life care. The reality of death is everywhere.   In recent weeks, we as a nation have surpassed yet another heartbreaking milestone: More than 1,000 people have now died of COVID-19 in prisons across the country. More must be done to save lives. Passing S2519/A4235 in New Jersey would do just that.    From the beginning of his sentence, my brother has worked to become a better person than he was when he was first locked up. Before that fateful accident, my brother had built successful companies and strengthened our community — he helped his employees get citizenship, helped families purchase their first home, gave people their first jobs.    When Brian puts his mind to something, he does it. Outside of prison, he’ll make an even greater impact than before. But to get that done, we have to get him home.   New Jerseyans, send a message to lawmakers to vote YES on S2519/A4235 and urge Governor Murphy to swiftly sign it into law.

——————————

An earlier version of the op-ed originally appeared in The Star Ledger.

Published September 3, 2020 at 12:49PM via ACLU (https://ift.tt/34YyHzj) via ACLU

[nancydhooper]

My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

There’s not much that my brother Brian fears.    He’s 10 years older than me, a bear of a man physically, and his entire life he’s been a ball of energy. He coached my football team when I was a youth. He dreamed of becoming a business owner. The cleaning service he started from the trunk of his car grew into several companies with 50 employees. After a terrible car accident, he got a prison sentence, and has made it his goal to use that time to improve himself. He has a team of family and friends rooting for him, but no one is more optimistic than Brian about all of the things he’ll contribute once he’s out.   But when COVID-19 hit, that fearless outlook changed. The virus spread like wildfire through the New Jersey prison where he is incarcerated. Since March, he’s been scared out of his mind.    If my brother gets COVID-19, he’s never coming home. His release date is February 2021. If Brian contracts the virus, he will not make it. He’s 59, and has Type 1 diabetes, heart disease, and weight issues — all risk factors. During his sentence, medical staff left a catheter in for several months longer than they should have, and he nearly died from sepsis.   For my brother, every single day is literally the difference between life and death.   New Jersey has a shameful distinction when it comes to COVID-19: Despite success in containing the virus in other ways, the death rates in our prisons are the worst in the country.   There is currently legislation pending that could make New Jersey a leader in containing the pandemic, rather than a cautionary tale. This legislation, S2519/A4235, sponsored by Sens. Nellie Pou and Sandra Cunningham, Assemblyman Raj Mukherji, Assemblywoman Shavonda Sumter, and Assemblywoman Verlina Reynolds-Jackson, would release people from prison who have less than eight months to go on their sentence, advancing public health in two critically important ways. First, it would allow people to distance themselves outside of prison, an environment that’s like a cruise ship on steroids, where social distancing is impossible. Further, it would lower the prison population to make social distancing possible — not just for the people who are serving time, but for employees, medical staff, and the families they go home to.   Everyone who would be released under the legislation is getting out soon anyway. This bill would lessen the chance of dying in the short period of time before they can come home. Having passed through the New Jersey Senate last month, the bill must now be voted on in the assembly in order to go to the Governor’s desk.   If this legislation fails, the state of New Jersey sends the message that six extra months in prison is worth my brother’s life. As we’ve known since the pandemic began, it is imperative to reduce the prison population as quickly and safely as possible if we are to protect as many lives as we can from this deadly virus.   The possibility of death is extremely real. Through the course of fighting for my brother’s life, I’ve come to know Bernice Ferguson. Her son Rory had just celebrated his 39th birthday and was scheduled for release from prison within a matter of weeks. Bernice never got to throw the party she was planning to celebrate his homecoming. Instead, because he contracted COVID-19, she had to plan a funeral.   We are all human. We all make mistakes. My brother knows he made a serious one. He regrets it every single day, and he lives every day to make himself a better person. My 16-year-old son, inspired by the entrepreneurship of his uncle and godfather Brian, started a lawn care business of his own. For Brian’s 59th birthday, on Aug. 7, he sent his uncle a card with one simple message: “I just want my godfather to come home, so we can work together.”   Of the 3,000 people who would be eligible for release under S2519/A4235, Brian is in some ways luckier than most despite his health. He has me, our three other siblings, our mother, and a host of friends and family who love him, and who have the energy and knowledge to do what we can to fight for his release. But without legislation, there’s only a limited amount we can do.    Whenever another group of people in his prison leave en masse for quarantine, we talk and cry, worrying he could be next. We’ve had several conversations about end-of-life care. The reality of death is everywhere.   In recent weeks, we as a nation have surpassed yet another heartbreaking milestone: More than 1,000 people have now died of COVID-19 in prisons across the country. More must be done to save lives. Passing S2519/A4235 in New Jersey would do just that.    From the beginning of his sentence, my brother has worked to become a better person than he was when he was first locked up. Before that fateful accident, my brother had built successful companies and strengthened our community — he helped his employees get citizenship, helped families purchase their first home, gave people their first jobs.    When Brian puts his mind to something, he does it. Outside of prison, he’ll make an even greater impact than before. But to get that done, we have to get him home.   New Jerseyans, send a message to lawmakers to vote YES on S2519/A4235 and urge Governor Murphy to swiftly sign it into law.

——————————

An earlier version of the op-ed originally appeared in The Star Ledger.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.aclu.org/news/smart-justice/my-brothers-not-afraid-of-much-with-covid-19-in-prison-hes-scared-out-of-his-mind via http://www.rssmix.com/

[jessiegirl9984]

Faith over Fear Jessie K It has been years truthfully since I have gotten onto Facebook via laptop. It is a whole different ball game now... So here is the thing. I have been called to write.  I have always known this.  I have no idea who this will reach, but those who it will reach will have a ripple effect. I have realized this morning at dawn, when I woke up paralyzed by old fear and grief that there really is just ONE thing, only one.  and that is fear or faith. Whatever it takes for me to choose faith over fear is all that matters. Whether it is phone a friend, fall on knees in tears and pray, tune into The Father's House latest worship, go to a Zoom meeting, call my sponsor, write, shower, feed - it does not matter - but whatever it is I have to reach for to choose faith over fear that is all that matters. This is a time that is changing, has already changed all of us.  Yet, there are still some realities that still exist and I cannot deny this - I still have some rules of engagement.  I still have some people I cannot engage with.  I still have some people whom I love dearly, but cannot help.  I still have some people who no matter what still have no use for our friendship anymore. Someone whom I immensely trust, and whom knows my essence told me today that I love so deeply, and will stretch so far for people - even those I do not know.   Someone else whom I no longer trust even for a second with my heart told me that I cannot possibly expect others to be able to so readily go to such great depths as seem to effortlessly - in just a look, a paragraph, a touch, an act of service. Truth to both.  And while we will all change immensely over this period of time, our true essence will remain. We all have choices - and some of us have constant companionship to quell our loneliness, and keep us in service, and distracted from grief or loss - past, present or future.  Others are going it alone at the moment, and still others have found family separate from blood, and feel as connected as those of blood. Regardless, all the tools in our toolbox are out now - and so many new ones. Here is what I know today.  While this may indeed turn out for a little while to be the most terrible thing to ever have happened to us, it will also very possibly turn out to be the best thing that has ever happened to us. We are using the phone again.  We are connecting with our neighbors again.  We are connecting perhaps more intimately now that we have done in so long.  I am just one of those who likely have just been going through the motions for so long... yet here we are, feeling it all... In my house, I have a work station where all my work is done.  I have a money station now, where all bills are paid, and money is managed.  I have enough non perishable food for a month if I somehow could not leave my house.  I have a coloring station, where the pens are waiting for me, and that mindless bliss call my name.  And now I have a PlayStation, where not one bit of work will be conducted - free to have Facebook, worship music, Zoom, and Book 2 - clearly this is my calling again... Carbs, sugar, and yes, even she are out there for me to distract myself with, torment myself with, and break myself with.  But the latter two literally, no lie, no exaggeration make me suicidal, and I cannot allow anyone or anything to murder my soul - ever again. But what I have found is that having God in my life, and being so connected with Him, I know without a doubt that He has got this - He has got me, He has got her, He has got this.  He has got us... These are my beliefs.  I certainly am not here to claim that my God is better than yours - We all have formed our own Higher Power, and that relationship is the single most important relationship of all - truthfully, no other relationship matters - because without that relationship with our Higher Power, the others could surely perish - in fact, they very easily could perish anyway - and I am living proof of that in this last decade. What I know for myself is that I choose faith over fear far more often these days.  And at 7:36 am this morning, I stepped out into the backyard, tears streaming, hooked up on Zoom, and sharing my pain, and my faith.  I ate good food, drank my minimally allowed coffee, and I sought the counsel of perhaps my most God-connected mentor, followed by worshipping with The Father's House. Automatic pilot you see is to stand up 8 times, even as I feel myself falling 7.   Today is the day that I am going to start the 2nd half of Book 2 - in fact I already have - when you have already lost everything and everyone you hold dear - including yourself, you become unbreakable - and while the tears still come, the dateless nights still haunt me, the memories still meet me out on the battlefield and I feel defenseless - and I am told in just a whisper - I got this... We got this my loves...  we got this...  We will thrive, we will bounce back, we will stay clean, we will enhance every single tool in our toolbox that we long ago left to rust... We will heal, we will mend, and we will band together in ways we have long ago forgotten. God's got this.  He has me in his arms - and your Higher Power has you in that safe comforting place as well...  For now, we just have to hunker down, and do what is right, and do what is in front of us. I will see you on the other side Of faith over fear... Jessie K Still More Will be Revealed 032220

[brasenosearts]

The alchemical power of college-sponsored wine: Arts Week 2017, half-remembered.

Arts Week came upon us in the third week of Trinity 2017, glittering and glistening through our college colours of black and gold to reveal itself through this year’s theme of Alchemy. 

Whilst maybe a little loosely connected in places (is pole dancing alchemical? It’s certainly a form of magic to watch students stiff from the library attempt to haul their limbs into something resembling elegance) the general theme of transformation and states of change was an apt one for a year that could be described as nothing short of tumultuous. 

It was also perhaps fitting seeing as Arts Week this year fell the day after the biennial Brasenose Ball, and thus required a great deal of shape shifting from sleepy attendees to muster the arm strength to put together a new stage in the remnants of the Ball’s ruins. 

Fittingly, Monday started with a very gentle bang as Tian, a third year artist, ran a workshop on the art of Qigong (literally: "Life Energy Cultivation") - a remarkably well attended workshop given that most attendees had had a grand total of 5 hours sleep all weekend in the aftermath of the Ball. Morning workshops continued all week - from life drawing to bark horn crash courses to gold leafing and even the appearance of a VIP guest. 

Life drawing took place on Tuesday morning, with a twist. The twist in this case came in the form of the long muscular bodies of the models - and their many thousand legs. The chance to draw millipedes and snakes (real snakes, not the kind that always steal your milk and never wait for you in the Hall queue) drew a crowd keen to get up close. Masterpieces were made, with biologists turning out in droves to correctly identify the muscular sections and also correct my erroneous assumption that millipedes have a thousand legs. 

I had tricked scientists into drawing, and thus alchemy was underway.

Wednesday morning heralded the arrival of the mysterious “Celtic Chris” as he descended upon us with multiple horns and flutes in tow, carved by his own hands and foraged from woodland. Nobody knew quite what to expect from the ‘bark horns’ he promised: horns that barked? Horns from sheep? Celtic Chris played some lovely melodies on a carved instrument that raised hopes for everyone’s own creative endeavours. 

Unfortunately it so happened that this instrument was not a bark horn, nor even close to it in output. 

As it turned out, the process involved a great deal of scraping and twisting of sticks, with the end result being strangely, if not intentionally, reminiscent of a dog barking. Or at least that’s how it sounded when played by me. These howls rang out across the quad for the afternoon, goading those who had sworn to be distracted by neither art nor sunshine out of their study lairs - then forcing them back in when it appeared that people would not cease in attempting to achieve the elusive singular note that the horn could allegedly produce. 

One such horn, rumoured to be Sam Quinn’s, was left overnight and discovered to much delight the next morning at the gold leafing workshop. It reemerged far shinier and possibly less usable, alongside a variety of glimmering items such as lighters, water bottles, glasses and even a laptop. The theme of “Alchemy” that the week loosely abided to was truly in action, as objects went from practical to gold but glued shut; a small price to pay for glamour.

Friday’s morning workshop brought with it more star power than those shiny leaves and the celebrity draw of Celtic Chris combined: the author of Maisy Mouse, Lucy Cousins. Everyone learnt how to recreate the iconic character and how you might draw subfusc on cartoon animals with no arms. The final product was a painting as wide as Lecture Room XI. Whilst it currently lies dormant in the JCR, there have been rumours of getting Joe Organ to incorporate it into Open Days to show just how talented Brasenose students can be when armed with only a kids paintbrush, a mild hangover and a determination to remember what colours go into a cartoon peacock’s tail.

In the afternoons, events ranged from a capella (so much a capella) to plays and pole dancing, with great excitement arriving midweek with the appearance of a BBC One camera crew in college. The news started to spread in both whispers and college-wide emails, prompting the appearance of the entire development office in Deer Quad to watch Brasenose’s own Daniele and Hiba do some beautifully spontaneous leaps from the chapel stairs for the sixth time that morning. 

After a tense start involving a well timed exchange of boxes containing furry spiders to those with film equipment occurring on Old Parlour staircase (see “Life” Drawing, above), the Alternotives took to the stage.

Whilst the eventual screen time of Old Library and Deer Quad was limited due to them only lasting one episode on Pitch Battle, the memory of John Bowers (QC) sat cross legged at the front of the marquee, entranced by a capella, will remain in our hearts forever. 

Not to be overshadowed by the glitz and glamour of a BBC camera, we also had noted Oxford groups the Gargoyles and The Oxford Belles - whilst it seems like every group seems to claim the role as Oxford’s original all-singing, some-dancing troupe, the Belles at least had star power in the way of internet reach, with noted fan Ashton Kutcher sadly declining to turn up on the day despite his Facebook post-based enthusiasm. We’ve all been there, Ashton.

We also had not one but two plays running this year: one imagining the late and great William Shakespeare in the context of fresher’s week as a mechanical engineering student disillusioned with both flirting and the sciences, and a dynamic rehearsed reading of Pygmalion. 

Dynamic in that it was meant to be a traditional reading that somehow wandered off the rails and all the way up the staircase 10 at one point. 

Both were enthusiastically received by large crowds composed of friends and family members and even some paying guests, and feedback on both was great, with one very anonymous audience member remarking that Cal Demby-Harris pulled off the red officer’s jacket better than anyone else in college. He is, thus far, the only person in college to have worn this garment.

On Friday afternoon, following the debut of Pygmalion on the quad, Medieval Kitchen was transformed with poles and hoops for what was technically our most popular event of the week - according to Facebook’s algorithms. “Pole Dancing Workshop” reached 45k people on Facebook, something Brasenose Arts would love to claim as representative of the average enthusiasm for the week but unfortunately should probably note down as due to an irresistibly amusing combination of Oxford’s hallowed halls and the Wikihow-esque illustration on the cover photo, amplified by the Facebook reach of our treasured Stanford exchange students and their friends in Palo Alto. 

As it happens, a solid 20 or so people attended each session, and it was a sight to behold to see students hanging from the beams of MK (or rather, suspended close to - I can confidently assure you that no actual climbing of the architecture occurred in case you are reading this, Matt Hill Domestic Bursar). 

Following the excitement of our viral success story on Friday afternoon was the Arts Week Formal, an event eerily free of senior staff, which meant that the gavel ended up in my not entirely capable hands. 

Whilst I can’t vouch for much of what I said, it has been reported that I gave a speech - all I can recall is that the food was wonderful and I was probably a rather soppy and exhausted shell of a human by this point. I can also recall that the Northern Soul night that followed the dinner was a roaring success. Playing off of Brasenose’s fondness for ceilidhs, and retaining the joy and mandated dancing of a ceilidh but with a name one can spell without googling, the night involved much moving of tables and some unexpected cameos from a porter or two. Again, Matt Hill, if you see any photos where we appear to be standing on tables, it is merely an illusion and we are in fact levitating from the sheer fun of it all. 

Saturday morning was naturally a quieter affair, with the final performance of ‘Willy Shakes’ taking centre stage both on the quad and in the timetable. In the afternoon came a panel on Inequality in Film, boasting speakers from the BFI, Girls in Film and Another Gaze Journal as well as Jendella, an independent filmmaker and photographer.

Following the panel, after deliberation between Brasenose’s thriving and warring FilmSocs, came an open air screening of Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet. The air was warm with the promise of the great summer heatwave yet to come, and the fairy lights we had swiped from the wreckage of the ball and haphazardly strung across the marquee’s frameworks glimmered in reflection with the candles of the film. 3DIMAX eat your heart out. 

The next morning the early summer sun rose on the same marquee, only slightly dampened by overnight showers that cleared to a blazing brightness by the time the annual celebration of Jazz on The Quad dawned. Our Music Rep and Organ Scholar, the multitalented Sarah Hughes, had managed to gather us together an impromptu band from her bursting contacts list. As they played, strawberries and (maybe a little too much) Pimms were handed round liberally, leaving everyone in a fruit flavoured midday daze to round off the week. 

The fact that we had well and truly trampled the quad to pieces and broken several pieces of expensive IT equipment is merely a blip among these heady memories, and one I feel no fear in admitting here, as I know a certain IT rep never reads my notices to the end, regardless of content. Sweet, guiltless bliss. 

[travelling-trooper-blog]

I made it! I’m on Earth! It’s good to be back! I’m currently in Abu Dhabi with Uri. Man, and I thought Tatooine was hot! The forecast for the week is in the low 40’s here!

We’ve booked a hotel for Uri’s last five days in the United Arab Emirates before we head out for Italy, our first destination. We head out on our ten-month odyssey Thursday, July 6th. I can’t wait to stuff my face with this Margherita pizza Uri won’t stop going on about.

Let me stop rambling so I can properly welcome you to the blog. Let me give you a little tour.

The banner at the top features links to my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. Below the banner, you’ll see seven tabs. Let’s run through these, one by one.

Home: This brings you back to the main page. Duh.

Meet Trevor: That’s just my a little blurb about me. No made-for-TV movie here; just how I found myself exploring Earth with this weirdo, Uri. More on him in a bit.

Travels: Here, you’ll find pictures, videos, and my own write-ups about the places Uri and I visit.

Episodes: After we leave every country, we’ll put together a video about said country.

Musical Notes: As I said in my intro, Uri and I love music. Our goal is to meet and introduce you to bands and artists from every country we hit. So far, we’ve been in talks with bands and artists in several of the first few countries on our schedule, so we’ll be bringing you interviews, profiles, and hopefully some live videos of them them doing what they do best.

On Tour: Uri and I are huge Metallica fans. We’re going to be following the band on their world tour and sharing pictures with you along the way. “Rover, wanderer, nomad, vagabond, call me what you will!”

Fellow Troopers: This one was Uri’s idea, and I think he’s on to something here. As beautiful of a planet as Earth is, you people need to get your acts together. You share this planet with one another. This is your home, and yet you treat it–and each other–like a burden. It’s like everything and everybody is in the way of your own happiness. There’s so much hatred, violence, war, destruction, and discrimination going on everywhere. I don’t understand why you are so divided.

Just the other day, Uri sent me a video of a Muslim man from somewhere in England recounting how he and his 21 year old cousin had acid thrown on them while they were out celebrating her birthday. ACID! They were just innocent people out having fun! What the hell is wrong with you people?! Your differences don’t divide you; they highlight the innate beauty of humanity. You should all be on the same team here, rooting each other on, supporting each other, and loving each other! When you look beyond race, religion, sex, gender, and orientation, you realize that you all have the same dreams, struggles, and goals. You realize that the people around you aren’t holding you back from achieving those goals–your own stupid blind fears are. You need to see your neighbour as your ally, not your enemy. You are stronger together.

I know I said in my intro post that I wasn’t going to get political on this blog, but this has nothing to do with politics. Politicians may try to stoke fears about this or that group threatening your “freedoms,” but you need to see through their games. They’re only out for their own self-interests. That’s why I had to get away from the Empire. At some point, it became us versus them, and I didn’t want to choose a side. Likewise, you don’t need to build walls between each other–literal or figurative ones.

So having said all of that, the “Fellow Troopers” tab will feature profiles on people Uri and I meet along the way on our adventures. Some of these people will be old friends of Uri’s, while most of them will be new friends. The idea behind this section is to share the stories of these individuals–people from every corner of the world–in order to remind everybody that it doesn’t matter where you come from or what you look like, everybody has a story to tell, and everybody deserves to be heard. Every story needs to be celebrated.

Now since this is the first time Uri and I are meeting in person, we’re obviously still getting to know each other. With that in mind, we thought it would be a good idea for me to profile him so that I can get a better idea of who exactly I’m going to be stuck with for the next ten months. So Uri will be our first of many, many future Troopers profiled here. (Of course, they’ll all be Troopers in the honourary sense only; I don’t have the authority to make somebody an actual Storm Trooper.)

It being Canada Day and all, we’ve been watching Canadian movies and drinking beers while we drink and talk. He showed me this movie called “Goon” that features this game called “hockey,” in which a large stupid man fights other large stupid men on ice while their teammates try to get an oddly shaped black ball into a net. I don’t quite understand it, but he is thoroughly enjoying himself. Happy Canada Day, Canada!

Anyway, here’s Uri’s story. He seems like a nice guy. A little weird, and sometimes annoying–but he seems to have a good heart. I’ll let you judge for yourself.

I think the one thing I’m grateful for above all else–the one thing that keeps me going–is the unconditional love and support of my family. They love and support me even though most of the time I’m pretty sure they think I’m crazy, stupid, and weird. They don’t understand why I do the things that I do–like travelling the world while most of my peers are settling down and starting families, for example! But despite all of that, they always have my back. I’m grateful for that everyday. 

The two individuals who motivate me the most, though, would be my little sister, Doris, and my mother. Doris makes me aspire to be a better person and the best role model I can possibly be. And as for my mom, I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t have had the opportunities that I’ve had, I wouldn’t be the person that I am without her. She uprooted her life in Nicaragua in 1988 during the Contra War to move us to Canada. I was just three years old at the time. My aunt sponsored us, as well as a couple other aunts, my cousin, and my grandma, and we all made a new home for ourselves in Canada. 

At the age of 27, she restarted her life just like that. She went back to school to learn English, and she worked two or three jobs at a time just to support me and my big brother. That’s incredible. 

As a result, I’ve always felt obligated to do well by her–to lead a good life. In my academic in professional lives, I’ve always tried to do my very best and work as hard as I could to make her proud. I want her to see that the sacrifices she made weren’t in vain. 

Outside of work, I try to lead as happy as a life as I can, because at the end of the day, I think that’s what she wants for me. 

And even as an adult, you don’t realize how much your parents mean to you and how much you still rely on them for support until you almost lose them. Without going too much into detail, there was one rough period where my mom had a bit of a health scare. It was terrifying for all of us. It was also difficult because it was the Christmas season, and Christmas is always our favourite time of the year. 

I moved home to be with my family during this time, and I remember feeling numb as I watched the strongest person I know shatter into a thousand pieces. It was my turn to try and support her. I don’t know how much my presence and my words actually did to lift her spirits, but I did everything in my power to make her feel better. And it damn near broke me. I just didn’t have her strength.

At the time, I was working on a music blog. One afternoon, I was in Starbucks killing time before meeting up with a friend, and I was listening to an album by the band I was profiling that week–the Strumbellas. A song called “Diane” came on, and I broke down in tears. Sitting by myself in the middle of Starbucks, I sobbed uncontrollably as I listened to this song about the singer’s mother meeting his father, who is actually dead, in Heaven. 

But damn, did that cry feel good. It let out all of the fears and frustrations I’d been building up inside. That entire album–My Father and the Hunter–is about family, home, growing up, and how those relationships evolve as we grow. That cry finally did break me, but it allowed me to pick myself up. The entire album became my medicine. It gave me strength. I became determined to help my mom and my family through this ordeal, no matter what.  

Thankfully, we all made it through okay. Today, my mom is as healthy as she can be. Now, her biggest concern is praying that her crazy son makes it back home in one piece. I know I drive her up the wall with my shenanigans, but at the same time, I know she couldn’t be happier for me as I get ready to embark on this trip. I know she’s proud of me. 

Welcome to the Blog! And Meeting Uri. I made it! I'm on Earth! It's good to be back! I'm currently in Abu Dhabi with Uri.

[lodelss]

My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

There’s not much that my brother Brian fears.    He’s 10 years older than me, a bear of a man physically, and his entire life he’s been a ball of energy. He coached my football team when I was a youth. He dreamed of becoming a business owner. The cleaning service he started from the trunk of his car grew into several companies with 50 employees. After a terrible car accident, he got a prison sentence, and has made it his goal to use that time to improve himself. He has a team of family and friends rooting for him, but no one is more optimistic than Brian about all of the things he’ll contribute once he’s out.   But when COVID-19 hit, that fearless outlook changed. The virus spread like wildfire through the New Jersey prison where he is incarcerated. Since March, he’s been scared out of his mind.    If my brother gets COVID-19, he’s never coming home. His release date is February 2021. If Brian contracts the virus, he will not make it. He’s 59, and has Type 1 diabetes, heart disease, and weight issues — all risk factors. During his sentence, medical staff left a catheter in for several months longer than they should have, and he nearly died from sepsis.   For my brother, every single day is literally the difference between life and death.   New Jersey has a shameful distinction when it comes to COVID-19: Despite success in containing the virus in other ways, the death rates in our prisons are the worst in the country.   There is currently legislation pending that could make New Jersey a leader in containing the pandemic, rather than a cautionary tale. This legislation, S2519/A4235, sponsored by Sens. Nellie Pou and Sandra Cunningham, Assemblyman Raj Mukherji, Assemblywoman Shavonda Sumter, and Assemblywoman Verlina Reynolds-Jackson, would release people from prison who have less than eight months to go on their sentence, advancing public health in two critically important ways. First, it would allow people to distance themselves outside of prison, an environment that’s like a cruise ship on steroids, where social distancing is impossible. Further, it would lower the prison population to make social distancing possible — not just for the people who are serving time, but for employees, medical staff, and the families they go home to.   Everyone who would be released under the legislation is getting out soon anyway. This bill would lessen the chance of dying in the short period of time before they can come home. Having passed through the New Jersey Senate last month, the bill must now be voted on in the assembly in order to go to the Governor’s desk.   If this legislation fails, the state of New Jersey sends the message that six extra months in prison is worth my brother’s life. As we’ve known since the pandemic began, it is imperative to reduce the prison population as quickly and safely as possible if we are to protect as many lives as we can from this deadly virus.   The possibility of death is extremely real. Through the course of fighting for my brother’s life, I’ve come to know Bernice Ferguson. Her son Rory had just celebrated his 39th birthday and was scheduled for release from prison within a matter of weeks. Bernice never got to throw the party she was planning to celebrate his homecoming. Instead, because he contracted COVID-19, she had to plan a funeral.   We are all human. We all make mistakes. My brother knows he made a serious one. He regrets it every single day, and he lives every day to make himself a better person. My 16-year-old son, inspired by the entrepreneurship of his uncle and godfather Brian, started a lawn care business of his own. For Brian’s 59th birthday, on Aug. 7, he sent his uncle a card with one simple message: “I just want my godfather to come home, so we can work together.”   Of the 3,000 people who would be eligible for release under S2519/A4235, Brian is in some ways luckier than most despite his health. He has me, our three other siblings, our mother, and a host of friends and family who love him, and who have the energy and knowledge to do what we can to fight for his release. But without legislation, there’s only a limited amount we can do.    Whenever another group of people in his prison leave en masse for quarantine, we talk and cry, worrying he could be next. We’ve had several conversations about end-of-life care. The reality of death is everywhere.   In recent weeks, we as a nation have surpassed yet another heartbreaking milestone: More than 1,000 people have now died of COVID-19 in prisons across the country. More must be done to save lives. Passing S2519/A4235 in New Jersey would do just that.    From the beginning of his sentence, my brother has worked to become a better person than he was when he was first locked up. Before that fateful accident, my brother had built successful companies and strengthened our community — he helped his employees get citizenship, helped families purchase their first home, gave people their first jobs.    When Brian puts his mind to something, he does it. Outside of prison, he’ll make an even greater impact than before. But to get that done, we have to get him home.   New Jerseyans, send a message to lawmakers to vote YES on S2519/A4235 and urge Governor Murphy to swiftly sign it into law.

——————————

An earlier version of the op-ed originally appeared in The Star Ledger.

Published September 3, 2020 at 05:49PM via ACLU https://ift.tt/34YyHzj

[lodelss]

ACLU: My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

There’s not much that my brother Brian fears.    He’s 10 years older than me, a bear of a man physically, and his entire life he’s been a ball of energy. He coached my football team when I was a youth. He dreamed of becoming a business owner. The cleaning service he started from the trunk of his car grew into several companies with 50 employees. After a terrible car accident, he got a prison sentence, and has made it his goal to use that time to improve himself. He has a team of family and friends rooting for him, but no one is more optimistic than Brian about all of the things he’ll contribute once he’s out.   But when COVID-19 hit, that fearless outlook changed. The virus spread like wildfire through the New Jersey prison where he is incarcerated. Since March, he’s been scared out of his mind.    If my brother gets COVID-19, he’s never coming home. His release date is February 2021. If Brian contracts the virus, he will not make it. He’s 59, and has Type 1 diabetes, heart disease, and weight issues — all risk factors. During his sentence, medical staff left a catheter in for several months longer than they should have, and he nearly died from sepsis.   For my brother, every single day is literally the difference between life and death.   New Jersey has a shameful distinction when it comes to COVID-19: Despite success in containing the virus in other ways, the death rates in our prisons are the worst in the country.   There is currently legislation pending that could make New Jersey a leader in containing the pandemic, rather than a cautionary tale. This legislation, S2519/A4235, sponsored by Sens. Nellie Pou and Sandra Cunningham, Assemblyman Raj Mukherji, Assemblywoman Shavonda Sumter, and Assemblywoman Verlina Reynolds-Jackson, would release people from prison who have less than eight months to go on their sentence, advancing public health in two critically important ways. First, it would allow people to distance themselves outside of prison, an environment that’s like a cruise ship on steroids, where social distancing is impossible. Further, it would lower the prison population to make social distancing possible — not just for the people who are serving time, but for employees, medical staff, and the families they go home to.   Everyone who would be released under the legislation is getting out soon anyway. This bill would lessen the chance of dying in the short period of time before they can come home. Having passed through the New Jersey Senate last month, the bill must now be voted on in the assembly in order to go to the Governor’s desk.   If this legislation fails, the state of New Jersey sends the message that six extra months in prison is worth my brother’s life. As we’ve known since the pandemic began, it is imperative to reduce the prison population as quickly and safely as possible if we are to protect as many lives as we can from this deadly virus.   The possibility of death is extremely real. Through the course of fighting for my brother’s life, I’ve come to know Bernice Ferguson. Her son Rory had just celebrated his 39th birthday and was scheduled for release from prison within a matter of weeks. Bernice never got to throw the party she was planning to celebrate his homecoming. Instead, because he contracted COVID-19, she had to plan a funeral.   We are all human. We all make mistakes. My brother knows he made a serious one. He regrets it every single day, and he lives every day to make himself a better person. My 16-year-old son, inspired by the entrepreneurship of his uncle and godfather Brian, started a lawn care business of his own. For Brian’s 59th birthday, on Aug. 7, he sent his uncle a card with one simple message: “I just want my godfather to come home, so we can work together.”   Of the 3,000 people who would be eligible for release under S2519/A4235, Brian is in some ways luckier than most despite his health. He has me, our three other siblings, our mother, and a host of friends and family who love him, and who have the energy and knowledge to do what we can to fight for his release. But without legislation, there’s only a limited amount we can do.    Whenever another group of people in his prison leave en masse for quarantine, we talk and cry, worrying he could be next. We’ve had several conversations about end-of-life care. The reality of death is everywhere.   In recent weeks, we as a nation have surpassed yet another heartbreaking milestone: More than 1,000 people have now died of COVID-19 in prisons across the country. More must be done to save lives. Passing S2519/A4235 in New Jersey would do just that.    From the beginning of his sentence, my brother has worked to become a better person than he was when he was first locked up. Before that fateful accident, my brother had built successful companies and strengthened our community — he helped his employees get citizenship, helped families purchase their first home, gave people their first jobs.    When Brian puts his mind to something, he does it. Outside of prison, he’ll make an even greater impact than before. But to get that done, we have to get him home.   New Jerseyans, send a message to lawmakers to vote YES on S2519/A4235 and urge Governor Murphy to swiftly sign it into law.

——————————

An earlier version of the op-ed originally appeared in The Star Ledger.

Published September 3, 2020 at 10:19PM via ACLU https://ift.tt/34YyHzj from Blogger https://ift.tt/32TUBkr via IFTTT

[lodelss]

ACLU: My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

My Brother’s Not Afraid of Much. With COVID-19 in Prison, He’s Scared Out of His Mind.

There’s not much that my brother Brian fears.    He’s 10 years older than me, a bear of a man physically, and his entire life he’s been a ball of energy. He coached my football team when I was a youth. He dreamed of becoming a business owner. The cleaning service he started from the trunk of his car grew into several companies with 50 employees. After a terrible car accident, he got a prison sentence, and has made it his goal to use that time to improve himself. He has a team of family and friends rooting for him, but no one is more optimistic than Brian about all of the things he’ll contribute once he’s out.   But when COVID-19 hit, that fearless outlook changed. The virus spread like wildfire through the New Jersey prison where he is incarcerated. Since March, he’s been scared out of his mind.    If my brother gets COVID-19, he’s never coming home. His release date is February 2021. If Brian contracts the virus, he will not make it. He’s 59, and has Type 1 diabetes, heart disease, and weight issues — all risk factors. During his sentence, medical staff left a catheter in for several months longer than they should have, and he nearly died from sepsis.   For my brother, every single day is literally the difference between life and death.   New Jersey has a shameful distinction when it comes to COVID-19: Despite success in containing the virus in other ways, the death rates in our prisons are the worst in the country.   There is currently legislation pending that could make New Jersey a leader in containing the pandemic, rather than a cautionary tale. This legislation, S2519/A4235, sponsored by Sens. Nellie Pou and Sandra Cunningham, Assemblyman Raj Mukherji, Assemblywoman Shavonda Sumter, and Assemblywoman Verlina Reynolds-Jackson, would release people from prison who have less than eight months to go on their sentence, advancing public health in two critically important ways. First, it would allow people to distance themselves outside of prison, an environment that’s like a cruise ship on steroids, where social distancing is impossible. Further, it would lower the prison population to make social distancing possible — not just for the people who are serving time, but for employees, medical staff, and the families they go home to.   Everyone who would be released under the legislation is getting out soon anyway. This bill would lessen the chance of dying in the short period of time before they can come home. Having passed through the New Jersey Senate last month, the bill must now be voted on in the assembly in order to go to the Governor’s desk.   If this legislation fails, the state of New Jersey sends the message that six extra months in prison is worth my brother’s life. As we’ve known since the pandemic began, it is imperative to reduce the prison population as quickly and safely as possible if we are to protect as many lives as we can from this deadly virus.   The possibility of death is extremely real. Through the course of fighting for my brother’s life, I’ve come to know Bernice Ferguson. Her son Rory had just celebrated his 39th birthday and was scheduled for release from prison within a matter of weeks. Bernice never got to throw the party she was planning to celebrate his homecoming. Instead, because he contracted COVID-19, she had to plan a funeral.   We are all human. We all make mistakes. My brother knows he made a serious one. He regrets it every single day, and he lives every day to make himself a better person. My 16-year-old son, inspired by the entrepreneurship of his uncle and godfather Brian, started a lawn care business of his own. For Brian’s 59th birthday, on Aug. 7, he sent his uncle a card with one simple message: “I just want my godfather to come home, so we can work together.”   Of the 3,000 people who would be eligible for release under S2519/A4235, Brian is in some ways luckier than most despite his health. He has me, our three other siblings, our mother, and a host of friends and family who love him, and who have the energy and knowledge to do what we can to fight for his release. But without legislation, there’s only a limited amount we can do.    Whenever another group of people in his prison leave en masse for quarantine, we talk and cry, worrying he could be next. We’ve had several conversations about end-of-life care. The reality of death is everywhere.   In recent weeks, we as a nation have surpassed yet another heartbreaking milestone: More than 1,000 people have now died of COVID-19 in prisons across the country. More must be done to save lives. Passing S2519/A4235 in New Jersey would do just that.    From the beginning of his sentence, my brother has worked to become a better person than he was when he was first locked up. Before that fateful accident, my brother had built successful companies and strengthened our community — he helped his employees get citizenship, helped families purchase their first home, gave people their first jobs.    When Brian puts his mind to something, he does it. Outside of prison, he’ll make an even greater impact than before. But to get that done, we have to get him home.   New Jerseyans, send a message to lawmakers to vote YES on S2519/A4235 and urge Governor Murphy to swiftly sign it into law.

——————————

An earlier version of the op-ed originally appeared in The Star Ledger.

Published September 3, 2020 at 05:49PM via ACLU https://ift.tt/34YyHzj from Blogger https://ift.tt/31XpYLX via IFTTT