#Cuban protests

[minnesotafollower]

Diario de Cuba’s Editorial on Its 15th Anniversary

On December 4 , Diario de Cuba, a daily Internet Cuban diary (in Spanish and English) published in Madrid, Spain, celebrated its 15th anniversary with the following editorial.[1] “Exactly 15 years ago, the first news and articles from this newspaper appeared on the screens of some readers. Over the course of this decade and a half, changes have taken place in Cuba, but not those necessary for the…

[plethoraworldatlas]

There are some big protests going on in Cuba right now over the living crisis. It's gotten bad; Over 425,000 Cubans have migrated to the US in just the last two years. That's 4% of Cuba's population in 2 years.

[axiomsend]

You ever want to write a fallout isekai fic and then get so sidetracked by the divergence in history between our world and the fallout universe that you start listening to songs about the Vietnam War?

[manwalksintobar]

Black Woman (Mujer Negra) // Nancy Morejón

Still I smell the foam of the sea which they made me cross.  The night, I cannot remember it.  Not even the ocean itself could remember it.  But I do not forget the first gannet I made out.  High, the clouds, like innocent eyewitnesses.  Perhaps I have not forgotten either my lost coast, or my ancestral tongue.  They left me here and here I have lived.  And because I worked like a beast, here I was born again, And I sought to rely on epic story of the Mandinga after epic story.

                                     I rebelled.

His Honour bought me in a square,  I embroidered His Honour’s coat and gave birth to a son for him.  My son had no name  And His Honour, he died at the hands of an impeccable English lord.

                                  I walked.

This is the land in which I suffered beatings and floggings.  I rowed the length of all its rivers.  Under its sun I sowed, I reaped and I did not eat the harvests.  For a house I had a shack.  I myself brought stones to build it, but I sang to the natural beat of the national birds.

                                 I rose up.

In this same land I touched the humid blood  and the rotted bones of many others,  brought to it, or not, the same as I.  By then I did not imagine the way to Guinea any more.  Was it to Guinea? To Benin? Was it to Madagascar? Or to Cape Verde?

                               I worked much harder.

I laid better foundations for my millennial song and my hope. Here I built my world.

                               I went off to the mountains.

My real independence was the Palenque and I rode among the troops of Maceo. Only a century later,  together with my descendants,  from a blue mountain,  I came down from the Sierra. to put an end to capitalists and usurers,  to generals and the bourgeoisie.  Now I am: Only today do we have and create.  Nothing is outside our reach.  Ours the land.  Ours the sea and the sky.  Ours magic and the chimera.  My equals, here I watch them dance  around the tree we planted for communism.  Its prodigious wood already resounds.

(translated from the Spanish by Jean Andrews)

[aiiaiiiyo]

[cultreslut]

grupo de experimentación sonor del instituto cubano del arte e industria cinematográficos (ICAIC), cuba va ! songs of the new generation of revolutionary cuba, 1971

archive.org / discogs

[cyarsk52-20]

We tried. We warned. Oh well. Assume the position.

#latinos for trump#donald trump#smfh#politics

[millionmovieproject]

In this episode, Nicolette and Jared have a great conversation about the growing protest movement in support of the Palestinian people, university ties to the military industrial complex, how the US is losing its status as a global power by lacking investment in its own people, and how according to history, the US is on the cusp of a proletariat revolution.

[lefemmerougewriter]

“I am not heartless, Ms. Eros, I only want what is best for the Joabanan people. I refuse to give the reactionary Joabanans in this country any credibility. Their opinions are worthless, and they are very hostile to people of color…why give them more power?”- Elena Castillo Flores

Elena refutes Adora's arguments about the Cuban, I mean Joabanan, people in my recent fic, "Joabana and the Specter of Doofatanian Intervention"!

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

this is your daily reminder that it's been over 65 years since cuba overthrew batista's US-backed fascist dictatorship and the US is STILL keeping cuba in extreme poverty using an "embargo."

back in the 1950s, using US funds and US-trained soldiers, batista (not castro) removed most of cubans' rights, including the right to strike, censored all media, and used secret police to torture and publicly excute anyone who protested his dictatorship. In a document released by the CIA in 2005, it stated as many as 20,000 people were killed. In return, batista gave control of most of the arable land to the US. during the revolution, this land was reclaimed and redistributed, which means that USAmericans can now sue anyone who "traffics" in this "confiscated" property.

Despite US sanctions being an "embargo," the US also fines foreign companies for doing business in Cuba, meaning it's effectively a blockade. Despite Obama lightening some of these restrictions, Biden has done little to undo the tightened policies from Trump's administration.

In November, the UN called for the 31st time (!!!) for the US blockade to end, supported by 187 countries and opposed only by the US and its bestest buddy (I'll let you guess who).

Cuba has been in economic crisis for years. Monthly income in Cuba is $30-60. There is very little food and it is hard to purchase anything like toiletries, clothes, and over-the-counter medicines. Domestic production is down because they don't have the resources to sustain them. The US has been intentionally impoverishing and starving Cuba for decades, and they continue to make it clear that it is not going to stop.

So, yeah. US democracy is a joke, end the US blockade on Cuba, and fuck genocide joe.

[minnesotafollower]

Another Perspective on the Failure of the Cuban Economy

Emilio Morales, a Cuban-American and President & CEO of Havana Consulting Group, a Miami-based consulting firm specializing in market intelligence and strategy for U.S. and non-U.S. persons doing business in Cuba, offers a blistering appraisal of the current status of the Cuban economy.[1] He begins his article with the following statement: “The Cuban government’s announcement that it is in a…

[writingsbytee]

HIDDEN PT. 2

TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

WARNINGS / TRIGGERS: SFW; minors do not interact; mentions of domestic violence; self-hate; angst; Terry is hard to read in the beginning.

SUMMARY: You’ve been working at Terry’s club for about a week now and you’re finally getting the hang of things. There might be a little jealous Terry in here if you squint. This “chapter” might be dialogue heavy. No Smut (yet!)

TROPES: grumpy x sunshine ; “touch her and die”; slow burn; 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Okaaay!! Part 2 is now available!! I hope you guys enjoy it. I’m really trying to work on my dialogue skills and some world building so bare with me. The SMUT will come soon, I just want you guys to get to know my version of Terry and Daphne.

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

PREVIOUSLY ON HIDDEN: 1

DAPHNE

“Girl! I see why you never left this job! The tips alone are enough to cover rent this month,” I said looking at the wad I already had in my mini apron. 

Lexi nodded, “See, what did I say? You won’t have to go back to the hospital for a while.” I contemplated the idea, sure the break from the physically, mentally, and emotionally draining job is nice. But, helping people, caring for them, that’s my passion. I’ll go back when I’m ready. As I wait for Lexi to make the next round of drinks for the police commissioner’s table, I turn and take in my surroundings.

The club is so unique. With a sunken lounge area and the circular light fixtures it almost has a 60s vibe. But with the seductive lighting and R&B playing it feels like a jazz club. Lexi slides the finished tray of drinks my way and I head towards the commissioner’s table. 

“Our favorite girl is back!” one of them shouted. They were all very close to being drunk, the drinks in my hand should do the job. 

“That’s me!” I said with my million dollar smile. I could already tell what kind of men I was dealing with, pretty boys who never heard the word ��no’. I place all their drinks down and ask them if there’s anything else I can get them. 

“Aww c’mon leaving so soon? Stay and chat with us for a little while,” one of the men said. I huffed out a fake laugh, “I wish, but I’ve got to finish up my training”. They all boo’d in protest, but I just shrugged my shoulders and backed away. Breathing a sigh of relief I make my way back towards Lexi.

“Ouu girl, they like you,” she said laughing at me, 

I rolled my eyes, “I don’t wanna hear shit when the car is gassed up and the fridge is full. If they keep tipping me like this they can like me all they want,” i said cleaning off the counter. The lights started to dim as someone walked on stage. Out of my periferie I see Terry’s office door open. 

“Oop there go your man,” Lexi whispers in my direction. I huff out an annoyed breath, “Stop calling him that! What if someone hears you!” I whisper-shout, throwing my rag at her. Okay, so I might've developed a teeny-tiny crush on Terry. I don’t know how anyone can look at that man and not get swept up in his beauty. I keep it professional obviously, and it’s not even like he notices. Terry’s barely said two words to me since I started here. I sneak a peek at Terry over my shoulder and I feel my canine sink into my lower lip as I take in his attire.  

Dressed in a simple black long sleeve and matching black cargos and timberland boots. With the gold mini cuban link chain and glasses to top the look off, he’s any woman’s wet dream.

“Damn, Daphne could you be any more obvious?” Lexi asked, laughing at me. 

“Oh, shut up! Look at him, he’s too fine for his own good” I whisper, turning back toward my sister. I feel like a high school girl with a crush. I need to get a grip, fast. I grabbed the ice bucket, heading to the back to fill it up. I need to put some distance between myself and the green-eyed giant. I’ve only been working here about a week and I feel like I’m finally getting a hang of things. I bring the ice out and make my way over to my side of the bar. 

Eli, the police commissioner’s son, has become one of my regulars. After his dad leaves Eli usually stays to hit on whoever is within earshot. Tonight it looks like that’s me, “There she is!” he shouted, eyes low in his liquor induced haze. 

“Someone needs to get cut off I see,” I say, chuckling at Eli’s dopey grin. He groans, “Aww c’mon baaaby. Don’t b-be like that.” Eli reaches for my hand to grab my attention. Before he could open his mouth, the deep, sexy voice of my boss cuts him off.

“Eli quit harassing my staff before I cut you off,” Terry says, sliding into the seat next to Eli. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it T-man! It’s allllll good,” Eli said, his words starting to blend together.

“Annnd, you’re cut off. Eli give me your phone so I can get you an Uber,”I say, making grabby hands at Eli. He smirks peering over at Terry who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “See, told you she wanted me,” he said, nudging his elbow into Terry’s ribs. I roll my eyes not wanting to satisfy him with a response. Eli’s cute, don't get me wrong, but I’m just not interested.

“Actually someone’s coming to relieve you Daphne, I need you in the back,” Terry says leaning up on the counter. My eyes widened as I looked over at Terry. He just smirks and nods his head toward the door marked ‘employees only’. I nod before wiping my hands off on my pants and head towards that door. I glance over my shoulder to see Terry whisper something in Eli’s ear before he makes his way toward me. 

“Ready for your first assignment?” Terry asks as he makes his way to me. 

A dry chuckle leaves my mouth, “Will it be worse than that?” I ask, pointing my thumb in Eli’s direction. 

Terry’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter, “I hope not, here, c’mon they’re right through here”

I knew Terry was serious about using my medical side to help him out, I just didn’t think it’d be so soon. My mind blanks as I try to shift my focus to that of a 3 year trauma/ICU nurse. Not knowing what I’m walking into I take off my rings and bracelets as we enter the door. Terry leads me down what appears to be basement stairs and then leads me to another door. Before we go in he turns to me standing shoulder-width apart with his hands crossed in his front (REFERENCE).

s it just me or did it get ten degrees hotter in here?

“This kind of goes without saying but, you don’t say anything about what goes on behind this door,” Terry said.

With a nod of my head I say, “Of course not, now let’s see what I’ve gotten myself into yea?”

TERRY

“Gunshot wounds!? Terry, what do you expect me to do with this?!” Daphne asked, examining the semi-conscious man laying on the table. I watched carefully as she threw her locs up in a messy bun and went to work on her “patient”.

“They’re just flesh wounds, mostly just need patching up. You can do that right sweetheart?” I ask leaning back against the door. She rolls her eyes and mumbles out a ‘yeah’. That eye rolling shit is really starting to get on my nerves with how much it turns me on. 

“What kind of supplies do you have?” She asks looking over at me. 

I move to a storage closet on my right and open the door for her, “In here is everything you should need.”  I grab a cart containing multiple drawers with the supplies she might need (reference). Once I wheel it over to her she pauses and looks at the cart then me. 

“This is a hospital grade crash cart,” Daphne said, raising a brow at me. Damn, she’s pretty when she does that too. 

I nod slowly, “Yes, yes it is. I figured how can I ask you to do a job without the proper equipment.”

She lets out a disbelieving chuckle, “How’d you get all this? And can you get it restocked when I’m done with him?”

“Well I can’t really tell you how I got everything, let’s just say everything has its price. I’ll have it restocked before you have to do this again”, I say. 

Daphne just nods and takes a deep breath before heading to the sink, “Well, I’m going to need an extra hand in here. Do you have time or can you send someone else in here?”

“I’ll stay,” I reply with a shrug. She flashes me a small smile before instructing me to wash my hands in the sink. Once I finish I saddle up beside her and wait for instructions. Daphne hands me a pair of gloves instructing me to put them on. 

“Do you have any medical training?”Daphne asks as she puts a stethoscope to Paul’s (gunshot victim) chest. 

“Basic CPR and some shit I had to do in the field,” I say checking Paul’s heart rate 

“What branch?” 

“Who said I was military?” I ask, smirking at her. 

“Terry, be serious, look at how you stand, how you always sit facing the door, and how you talk. Let’s just say it wasn’t that hard for me to tell. Hand me that syringe that says ‘Morphine’ please,” she smiled at me sweetly, pointing at the aforementioned syringe.

I feel my smirk widen against my will, “You’ve been watching me?” I ask, passing her the syringe. 

She rolls her eyes yet again, “Oh don’t flatter yourself. I spent over a decade in healthcare. 25% of those people are from military backgrounds.” 

“So who was it? Mom or Dad?” I ask, holding pressure on Paul’s wound while she places an IV. 

“Huh?”, she asks, not looking up from her task. I can admire the way her nose scrunches and she bites her lip as she works through her task.

“Who was in the military? Your mom or your Dad?” I ask again. 

Daph lets out a small giggle, “What gave it away?” 

I clear my throat and her eyes meet mine. I move my index finger back and forth pointing at me then her, “Same recognizes same, sweetheart.” She huffs out another small laugh before focusing back in. I’m thinking of one thing and one thing only as we work in comfortable silence, patching Paul up. I need to make her laugh again. 

“My mom, she was in the Navy. She was the best,”I say reaching for my locket that had her picture in it. 

Terry nods before looking at me, “I’m sure she was sweetheart. I’m sorry you lost her so soon”. He’s got the prettiest eyes. They’re so expressive I feel like he’s saying more to me with just a look than he ever could with words. 

2.5 HOURS LATER

DAPHNE

When Terry and I exit the basement his club is empty.  “That was good work in there Daph,” Terry said, eyeing me appreciatively. 

“Well it was a simple plug and patch like you said, you probably could’ve done it,” I say, rubbing my hand against the back of my neck. 

Terry takes a step toward me, “You sore?”

“Yeah a tiny bit, it’s been a while since I had to do that. I’ll be fine,” I say, straightening my spine and shifting my hips from side to side. 

“Here let me,” Terry moved behind me, placing his hands at the base of my neck. My spine straightened like a stick was shoved straight up my ass. He starts to knead the stiff muscles in my neck and I feel my shoulders start to slump. He continues to knead and massage the back of my neck. I don’t even notice that I’m leaning back against him.

“Mmm that feels nice,” I say, leaning my hand to the side. He’s so close I can feel his exhale against my neck, I know he can see the goosebumps. 

“Yeah?” he says. I don’t know if I’m imagining it or not but it feels like his lips brush my neck. Before I can say anything else, there’s a knock on the door. I can feel Terry tense up behind me, like somebody poured a bucket of ice water down his back.  

“Go to the back, get your stuff, and leave,” Terry said, taking a step back from me like I burned him. My mind was reeling, I just silently nodded and turned to make my way back to the locker room. Who was at the door that made him shift his whole persona? I’m putting all my shit in my tote back when I hear my phone ring from somewhere inside it. Once I find it I tap the green button putting the phone up to my ear.

“Hey Lex, I’m about to leave now,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder. 

“Perfect, I got a ride from Princess. I put my keys in your coat pocket so you wouldn’t have to Uber by yourself this late,” my oh so considerate sister says. 

“You’re too good to me. Dinner on me tomorrow, “ I say, finding the keys she mentioned. Lexi and I yap for a few minutes before we say our goodbyes. Leaving the locker room I bump right into Terry.

“Oh! Sorry didn’t see you there,” I hate how awkward and strained my voice sounds. Terry’s eyes are unreadable as he looks through me. 

“Time to go, I’ll walk you out,” he said then abruptly turned and started down the hallway. 

“What the fuck?” I mumble to myself. I know we aren’t best friends or anything, but I thought that Terry and I were at least breaking down that wall ‘boss/ employee’ relationship between us. I thought we could at least have some sort of civility toward one another. I follow him out towards the main floor of the club and make my way towards the door. There’s a group of men sitting in the center of the club, they all look hella shady. I pick up my pace a little bit so I can get the hell out of there. 

“Daphne?,” I hear as I walk past the table. I look up toward the voice and my blood runs cold. What the fuck is Rafa’s brother doing here?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  okay, okay. I know this one is short but the next one will be longer I promise. I kind of just wanted to focus on a little bit of character building because this is going to be a series. Let me know what you guys think! 

TAGLIST: 

@blackgurlnhermoods @dxddykenn @kianaleani @pinkkycherrish @shallipii @greatpandagladiator-blog @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @megamindsecretlair @melalsworld @nayaesworld @theereina @shallipii @mogul93 @onherereading @blyffe @earthchica @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar @pocketsizedpanther @kumkaniudaku @mymindisneverhere @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @uzumaki-rebellion

DIVIDER: @cxrrodedcoffin

[iamthetruenhaz]

Russia's prep work

I originally wrote this as a reply to a reddit comment about the prep work Putin's Russia has done to reconquer Eastern Europe (and Central Asia) and soften up the West in order to "reclaim" the "lost" global power status the USSR had.

Putin* has been prepping his "reconquering" of Eastern Europe and Central Asia since he stepped into office. He took on an openly anti-western course since the Munich speech in 2007. He probably saw American global dominance weakening following Afghanistan and Iraq and because Russia had stabilised after the 90s, he thought it was time to act.

First he paved the way with the Chechen war where he "won" and got to jump on the War on terror bandwagon and use Islamic terrorism as a boogeyman for his own imperialistic purpose to rile up Russians against external threats.

Then he invaded Georgia to probe the soil and see how the west would react. They mostly ignored him so he went on to meddle in Eastern European politics, coerce Ukraine for gas and fund right-wing parties all across Europe (at the time mostly to drive a wedge between Eastern and Western Europe and suck EE countries back into Russian orbit) while pumping anti-western sentiment and Soviet nostalgia at home.

He saw that the west was disunited because of the US-UK-EU split following the wars in Iraq, Libya and Syria. He capitalized on that in several ways using both the wars and the refugee crisis that followed. One, to increase racist and nationalist propaganda and stir up hatred against "the liberal gay western cabal" and the resulting Euroscepticism. Two, to prop up the "proper" traditionalist Russia as an alternative. Three, to paint Eastern European countries as a puppet of the US liberals who were "ackschually" nazis in disguise, which was easy when the West was divided between trying to coax them into the EU and leaving them as a buffer-zone backwater. The brightest example of the latter was in late 2021 when Lukashenko started dumping Middle Eastern migrants on the Polish border so the Poles could be painted as a racist, white supremacist state. Unlike, you know, Belarus (really Russia) which weaponized the migrants.

Then he failed in Ukraine when his puppet's sharp turn away from a planned EU accession path caused the Euromaidan revolts. Pro-Russian protesters soon spawned, staging provications (my own country had a wave of protests and pro-russian counter-protests back then and I remember neonazis and other paid protesters being at the forefronts). Russian media started hurling accusations of nazism against pro-western protesters.

All of a sudden, it's like a switch was flipped in Russian society. Decommunization was out the window. In 2015, Stalin was chosen as the most influential figure in *world* history by Russians. All the anti-Western, Russian irredentist, traditionalist, racist and homophobic sentiments coalesced into one, directed against the "evil nazi gay jewish West". Putin started openly provoking the West with displays of military force, close flybys in territorial waters, playing Cuban missile crisis in Kaliningrad. All to rack up the atmosphere of an imminent Cold War II and maybe even WWIII where a "wronged", "humiliated" Russia would finally make the West pay. The WWII victory celebrations also took on the appearance of a war cult, with jingoistic slogans like "we can do it again", "to Berlin" and "we're coming for the German women" displayed on every 9th May parade. Eastern European countries, especially the Baltics and Poland, noticed and tried to raise alarm, but were mostly told to keep their paranoia down and ignored.

In the last decade, he used his military and propaganda machine (what we call "hybrid warfare") to create the impression of the following: (1) The West is imperialist (and is being hypocritical about it), waging pointless bloody wars in the Middle East; (2) The West is weak in those wars, causing Russia to step in like in Syria and deal with the issue "properly"; (3) Western democracies are weak in dealing with "barbaric" refugees because they're too greedy not to let them in but too soft to throw the bad apples out (this was used to boost nationalism and Euroscepticism).

By those means, Russian propaganda managed to manipulate both anti-imperialist and nationalist groups within the West as well as in Russia and Eastern Europe and pave the way for its "just war" of "reconquering" Eastern Europe. In the West, the image of Eastern Europe was molded as either "poor backwards savages we're better off without" (for nationalists), "paranoid silly yokels crying wolf about Russia who is now playing nice" (for moderates), "ingrates not worth defending so we'll pull out" (for Trump-like US conservatives) or "backwards homophobic barbarians we don't want here because they'll ruin our utopia" (for progressivists). In Russia, they were portrayed as "lost property", accused them of being "taken over by nazis" anytime they tried to acknowledge any of the repressions suffered from USSR, and "unconscious puppets of the West" and routinely threatened with "annexation in 3 days" whenever they "misbehaved" by taking a stance against Russia's politics, whether past or current. Finally, in Eastern European countries themselves, Russia tried to ruin the image of the liberal West by portraying them as "the real fascists", "liberalism gone so far it circled back to fascism" and to prop up its own image as the "savior from debauchery upholding the good ols ways".

Also worth noting that Putin was all too eager to intervene in any country that tried to reject Russian dominance or even its own pro-Russian dictatorship. He was ready to support Belarus in 2020 and intervened in Kazakhstan in 2022 just a month before the invasion of Ukraine.

So yeah, it was quite the prep work. All to ensure that when he went on his imperialistic crusade in EE, people at home and in the West and even in Eastern Europe itself would applaud him, failing that be indifferent, failing THAT remain unheard.

* by "Putin" I don't necessarily mean just him, but the lobby behind him as well.

[ltash]

In the middle of the night pt-1

Your mom was dating Mr Riley, and you were staying as a guest in his house until Ghost decided to pay a visit.

Lots of slowburn in the chapter..

The quiet settled in like a heavy blanket, wrapping the room in a soft silence. You sat cross-legged in Mr. Riley's grand living room, surrounded by polished wood, high ceilings, and the kind of decor that whispered wealth and elegance in every corner. Your mother had only been dating him for a little over a month, but they'd already developed an easy bond. Colleagues by day, close friends after hours, their connection was undeniable. This was why you found yourself here tonight, waiting in his spacious home while they enjoyed a night out.

Dressed in a black jersey bodycon dress with a high, elegant turtleneck, you exuded sophistication. The diamond-studded Cuban link chain glistened against the neckline of your dress, catching the low lighting. You wore a matching bracelet, simple yet dazzling, a testament to your impeccable taste. Even sitting alone, you were the very picture of poise and confidence.

Absorbed in a magazine, you barely noticed how quiet the house had become. But the silence was suddenly interrupted by the sharp, unexpected sound of the doorbell cutting through the night. You frowned, glancing up from the page, your mind racing. It was late, and visitors at this hour were uncommon.

"Who could be here at this time?" You murmured to yourself.

Placing the magazine aside, you rose from the plush chair and made your way toward the front door. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the gleaming marble floor, and you adjusted the bracelet on your wrist as you approached the entrance. With a quick exhale, you turned the handle and opened the door, just enough to peek through.

Your breath caught as you took in the figure before you. A man filled the doorway, towering and imposing, his frame seemingly carved from stone. He wore a black skull-printed balaclava that partially obscured his face, making his eyes stand out beneath the dim light. He was dressed casually, yet powerfully, with a leather jacket thrown over a fitted shirt and dark jeans that outlined the sinewy strength of his legs. He held the straps of a duffle bag tightly in his gloved hands, and his posture radiated a certain readiness, as if he were used to having his presence respected without question.

You straightened your posture, raising a brow as you crossed your arms over your chest, unphased, or at least giving a good impression of it.

"Who are you?" you asked sharply, infusing your voice with just the right amount of sass as you snapped your fingers for emphasis.

The man's eyes narrowed, a spark of amusement flickering in their depths, though he seemed more interested in studying you than answering. He remained silent for a beat too long, his gaze locked on yours, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, like he was quietly amused.

"The question is, who are you?" he replied, his voice a deep rumble that held a hint of challenge.

You raised an eyebrow, not intimidated. "I'm Mr. Riley's guest. My mom's his colleague, and they're dating. So, no offence, but you're out of luck if you were hoping to see him tonight. He's out," you replied smoothly. "So, you can come back another time."

You moved to close the door, dismissing him with ease. But before you could fully shut it, his hand shot out, catching the edge with a strength that made the door stop in place. Startled, you tried pulling it back, but his grip was unyielding.

"Hey, wait! What are you doing?" you protested, an edge of alarm creeping into your tone as he pushed the door open wider, stepping into the house with the ease of someone who belonged.

The door clicked shut behind him as he regarded you, his gaze assessing. He took another step forward, and you instinctively took a step back, feeling the cold marble beneath your heels. His imposing figure loomed over you, but he didn't move aggressively. Instead, he reached out, and before you could react, he gently yet firmly took hold of your jaw, his gloved fingers grazing your skin.

Your breath hitched as he turned your face from side to side, his eyes travelling over your features with a calculating interest. He looked almost amused, like he'd found something unexpected in this encounter.

"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled softly, his voice low and edged with a kind of dark amusement that sent a shiver up your spine.

Heat flared in your cheeks, and you quickly slapped his hand away, taking a step back as you straightened your spine. You didn't let your composure falter, though your heart hammered in your chest.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" you demanded, voice fierce and unwavering despite the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. "You can't just walk in here and act like you own the place. Get out before I call the cops."

The threat seemed to amuse him further. He chuckled, a sound deep and rich, and shook his head. "Relax, sweetheart," he drawled, the British accent unmistakable as it rolled off his tongue. His words were smooth, yet edged with a casual danger that made you uneasy. "Mr. Riley is my old man. Thought I'd pay him a visit, but I see he's out... otherwise occupied."

Realization dawned, and you froze as his words settled in. Mr. Riley's son. Your mother had mentioned him a few times, always with a certain admiration for his military service, but his name and details had been kept a mystery. It seemed that mystery was very much by design.

You collected yourself quickly, determined not to show any hint of intimidation. "Alright," you said, working to keep your tone steady. "Well, he's not here, so if you're really his son, you can either leave and come back, or..."

But before you could finish, he took another step closer, his gaze sharp and unwavering. The playful glint in his eyes hadn't dimmed, but now it was mingled with a darker edge, something that made your pulse quicken.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice a low murmur as he held your gaze. His presence was suffocating yet magnetic, and the intensity of his stare made your heart beat even faster.

You clenched your jaw, lifting your chin defiantly. "Doesn't matter," you replied, voice laced with defiance. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he tilted his head as he regarded you, clearly entertained by your resistance. "Alright, then," he replied smoothly, a glint of amusement lingering in his eyes. "Guess I'll have to stick around a little longer, mystery girl. Nice to meet you."

He set the duffle bag down by his side, his gaze never leaving yours. It was clear that he had no intention of leaving anytime soon, and for the first time, you wondered just how long you might be sharing this empty house with the mysterious, dangerous son of Mr. Riley.

The tension in the room thickened as he sauntered over to the plush leather couch, his movements slow and deliberate. He dropped himself down with a relaxed confidence, sprawling across the cushions like he owned the place. His legs spread wide, his solid, muscular thighs straining against the fabric of his jeans. The pose was casual, but his eyes held an unmistakable glint of mischief. He was playing a game, daring you to react.

He leaned back, his arms draping across the back of the couch as he settled in, his gaze never leaving you. After a beat of silence, he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Guess you aren't hospitable enough to ask if I'd like a drink," he drawled, his voice heavy with mock reproach. "No tea or coffee? Do you treat all your guests this way, sweetheart?"

The words dripped with sarcasm, and his tone was pure challenge, his eyes gleaming as he watched for your reaction. He was provoking you, seeing if you'd take the bait. The casual nickname, the mocking edge-it was all designed to get under your skin, and he was clearly enjoying every second.

You felt a surge of heat rush to your face as you stood there, stunned at his nerve. The audacity of him! Not only had he barged into the house uninvited, but now he had the gall to make demands? You were tempted to put him in his place, but something about the intensity in his gaze, the easy confidence of his posture, made you hesitate. Despite the anger simmering beneath the surface, you couldn't help but feel the pull of his magnetic presence, that dangerous charm he wielded so effortlessly.

But you weren't about to let him see that. Squaring your shoulders, you folded your arms, levelling him with a glare.

"What the hell?" you snapped, eyes narrowed. "You barge in here uninvited, act like you own the place, and now you expect me to serve you like I'm some kind of maid?"

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he held your gaze with an amused intensity. "Last I checked, I am family," he replied, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. "But maybe you're right. I might've overstepped. Or maybe..." His gaze dropped to the bracelet glinting on your wrist before returning to your face, "...you're just afraid you'll end up enjoying my company more than you think."

His voice was a deep, smooth murmur that sent a shiver up your spine despite every attempt you made to ignore it. He was playing with you, inching closer to see how you'd react, testing how far he could push.

The challenge in his words only fueled your defiance. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through you, sharpening your resolve. "You think too highly of yourself," you retorted, lifting your chin. "Just because you're Mr. Riley's son doesn't mean I owe you anything. You're just another rude stranger as far as I'm concerned."

His smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew sharper. He relaxed back into the couch, studying you with the quiet confidence of someone who wasn't used to being denied. There was something dangerous in his stare, but it was the kind of danger that drew you in rather than repelled you.

"Maybe," he said, after a pause. "But there's one thing you should know about me, sweetheart." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory whisper. "I don't take 'no' for an answer easily. Especially not when I've found something I'm... interested in."

The meaning was clear, but so was the hint of intrigue in his tone. His gaze lingered on you, a subtle but undeniable challenge glinting in his eyes, daring you to react.

You felt your pulse quicken, a rush of both anger and something else you couldn't quite name stirring inside you. You weren't about to let him win, but part of you wondered if you were playing a game you didn't fully understand.

"Then maybe it's time you learned to," you replied, holding his gaze with equal intensity. "Because I don't plan on humouring your attitude any longer."

His laugh was soft but genuine, like he was thoroughly enjoying the back-and-forth. "You've got fire," he remarked, tilting his head slightly as if he were sizing you up, as if you were an unexpected surprise in a familiar game. "I like that."

The intensity in the air was almost tangible, like a taut wire stretched between you, sparking with every word, every look. His gaze softened just slightly, enough to reveal a hint of interest that went beyond simple amusement.

"I think I'll stick around a while," he said finally, settling further into the couch, still holding your gaze with that infuriatingly calm confidence. "Mr. Riley isn't back yet, after all. And besides..." His eyes travelled over you slowly, his smile widening as he took in the faint flush on your cheeks. "...something tells me the night just got a lot more interesting."

You stood there, torn between frustration and intrigue, watching the smirk dance on his lips. He wasn't going anywhere. That much was clear. And even though you wanted to resist every bit of his smug charm, there was something about the way he looked at you, the ease with which he held his ground, that was both maddening and thrilling.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your chin defiantly, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Fine," you said. "If you're staying, then you're on your own. I'm not getting you anything."

"Suit yourself," he replied, his smirk never faltering. He leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of the couch once more, settling in as if he'd just won some unspoken game. And as you turned on your heel, heading back to the chair you'd abandoned, you could feel his gaze on you, lingering, unrelenting, and full of promise for a night that was only beginning.

You watched, incredulous, as he pushed himself up from the couch and sauntered past you, his shoulders brushing close as he moved toward the kitchen. He had the same easy confidence, the same smugness, that had set your nerves on edge since the moment he walked through the door. You were rooted to the spot for a moment, caught between surprise and annoyance as you watched him open cupboards, pulling out plates and rummaging through the contents of the fridge as if he owned the place.

He moved with practised ease, grabbing some bread, deli meat, and cheese, and setting it all on the counter. With a small smirk, he began assembling a sandwich, and when he reached over to flick the switch on the electric kettle, you couldn't stay silent any longer.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice laced with disbelief as you crossed your arms and shot him a withering glare.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his expression completely unbothered, that irritating glint of amusement still present in his eyes. "Can't you see?" he replied smoothly, his tone mocking as he sliced a piece of bread. "You didn't bother to offer me anything, so the guest must help himself."

The way he said it, like it was a perfectly reasonable response, made your frustration bubble over. "Are you for real?" You shot back, rolling your eyes in exasperation. "Look, dude, come what may, I'm not about to offer you a single drop of water. Make your sandwich and be done with it."

He let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by your irritation. "Such hospitality," he murmured, shaking his head as he spread a thin layer of mustard over the bread. "You must be a real joy to live with."

"Luckily for you, you don't live with me," you snapped, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, unwilling to let him get away with his smugness. "I don't owe you anything, and I don't have to wait on your hand and foot just because you waltzed in here unannounced."

He took a slow sip of the tea he'd just poured, his eyes narrowing in challenge as he met your gaze over the rim of the cup. "True," he said, setting the cup down with a clink. "But there's something called common courtesy. Or have you always been this spoiled?"

You felt a spark of anger at his words, your cheeks heating as you straightened your posture. "Spoiled? You're one to talk! You just invited yourself in, started acting like you own the place, and now you're standing in the kitchen, making demands like I'm your personal chef."

He shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich as he leaned against the counter, utterly unperturbed. "I figured you'd offer me something eventually," he replied, giving a lazy smile that only fueled your annoyance further. "But since you didn't, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Besides..." He let his gaze travel over you, assessing a hint of that dark humour still glinting in his eyes. "...I've dealt with far more difficult situations than this. A little attitude doesn't scare me."

Your mouth opened in a mixture of disbelief and indignation. "Unbelievable," you muttered, throwing your hands up. "I swear, you're the most arrogant, self-entitled-"

Before you could finish, he held up a finger, silencing you with a cool, almost teasing expression. "Temper, temper," he chided softly, his voice like a warning wrapped in silk. "It's not becoming of such a... polished young lady, now is it?"

The deliberate condescension in his tone, the way he seemed to be enjoying every flicker of irritation you showed, only fueled your frustration. You felt trapped in his gaze, unable to look away as he took another bite of his sandwich, his movements maddeningly calm, as if he were watching an amusing spectacle.

"Maybe if you weren't so infuriating," you replied icily, "I wouldn't be so annoyed. Ever think of that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as if you'd missed some joke. "I'm simply getting to know my father's... interesting house guest," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine despite your best efforts. "But if you'd rather be alone, sweetheart, just say the word. I'll leave you to your magazine and quiet little life."

The comment struck a nerve, and you glared back at him, your voice sharp. "You're making a lot of assumptions, aren't you?"

His expression didn't waver, though his gaze softened slightly, just enough to hint at something unreadable beneath the surface. "Maybe," he murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he held your gaze. "But I'm rarely wrong."

The words hung in the air between you, charged with a tension that felt almost tangible. For a moment, you weren't sure whether to keep arguing or walk away, but something in his expression, in the intensity of his stare, made it hard to pull back. It was as if he was daring you, testing just how much resolve you had.

You finally tore your gaze away, clenching your fists as you fought to regain your composure. "Fine," you said, your voice calm but edged with steel. "Do whatever you want. Just don't expect me to roll out the red carpet."

With that, you turned on your heel, determined to put some distance between you and the arrogant, infuriating man who seemed to take pleasure in pushing every one of your buttons. But as you walked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, a lingering gaze that held a promise of more to come, leaving you both unsettled and strangely intrigued.

Frustrated and flustered, you had stormed off down the hallway, letting the silence of the empty house settle around you as you tried to cool down. Your footsteps slowed as you came to a door at the end of the hall, its dark wood polished and imposing. Without really thinking, you pushed it open, stepping into a room bathed in deep shades of charcoal and black, the walls and furnishings exuding a quiet, masculine elegance.

A faint scent lingered in the air-something earthy and clean, almost intoxicating. The heavy curtains were drawn partway, allowing a sliver of moonlight to spill across the room, illuminating the sleek, minimal decor. A large bed, neatly made with dark grey sheets, stood in the centre, flanked by matching nightstands. You found yourself inexplicably drawn to the space, its quiet allure enveloping you as you wandered in.

Before you knew it, you'd settled onto the edge of the bed, your fingers absently tracing the texture of the comforter. The room was strikingly different from the rest of the house, yet it somehow felt familiar. You took a deep breath, letting the stillness calm your racing thoughts, a sense of privacy washing over you that you hadn't felt all evening.

Then, footsteps. Heavy, confident, each step resonating through the floor. Your pulse quickened as you glanced up, only to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of you sitting on his bed.

"Hey!" You blurted, standing up hastily. "You can't just come in here."

He smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his gaze unwavering as he crossed his arms. "Why not?" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This is my bedroom. I can come here anytime I want."

Your heart skipped a beat, caught between defiance and the sudden realization that you'd accidentally wandered into his personal space. Before you could respond, he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The sound seemed to echo, and suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air charged with a tension that made you instinctively take a step back.

"Didn't expect you to make yourself so... comfortable," he remarked, his gaze flicking to the bed you'd been sitting on just moments before.

"It was an accident," you muttered, feeling a flush rise in your cheeks. "I didn't know this was your room."

He shrugged, clearly enjoying the effect his presence had on you. "Doesn't seem like you're in any hurry to leave."

His casual tone, his easy smirk-it all made you want to throw something, but you stood your ground, determined not to let him see how he was getting under your skin. "Maybe I just wanted some peace and quiet," you shot back, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent an unexpected warmth through you. Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall over the back of a nearby chair. His movements were slow, deliberate, and as he reached down to untie his boots, the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, emphasizing every powerful line of muscle beneath. You felt your mouth go dry, and you quickly looked away, your pulse pounding in your ears as you tried to ignore the heat that crept up your neck.

When he finally straightened, he met your gaze, his eyes sharp and knowing, as if he'd caught every flicker of reaction you were so desperately trying to hide. He took a step closer, and despite yourself, you felt rooted to the spot, your resolve wavering as he closed the distance between you.

"Seems like you're having a hard time keeping your cool," he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

You crossed your arms defensively, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "You're imagining things," you replied, though even you could hear the slight unsteadiness in your voice.

He arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. "Am I?"

He was close now, close enough that you could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes held that glint of challenge you'd come to both dread and anticipate. His presence filled the room, demanding your attention, and despite everything, you found yourself drawn to him, caught between the urge to push him away and the inexplicable pull he seemed to have on you.

"Maybe I'm imagining things," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Or maybe you're just not as unaffected as you pretend to be."

You swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight. You wanted to fire back with something sharp, something that would deflate his confidence, but the words caught in your throat as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered for just a moment, the warmth of his touch igniting a spark that left you breathless.

He leaned in slightly, his voice a murmur against your ear. "You know, you can walk out anytime," he said, his tone laced with that infuriating challenge.

The words jolted you, breaking the spell as you took a step back, forcing a shaky laugh. "Don't flatter yourself," you managed, though your voice was a bit weaker than you'd have liked. "I'm leaving right now."

You turned to head for the door, but you felt his gaze on you, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he already knew that you weren't unaffected, that maybe he'd left an impression deeper than you wanted to admit.

As you reached for the door handle, you barely had time to react before his hand closed around your arm, pulling you back toward him with a firm, unyielding grip. The movement was swift, almost instinctual, and before you knew it, you'd collided against the solid warmth of his chest. The impact left you momentarily breathless, the feel of his strength pressing against you, making your pulse race.

You looked up, your face mere inches from his, your breath catching as your gaze met his intense, unyielding stare. The amusement and mockery that had marked his expression earlier were gone, replaced by something deeper, something that sent a thrill through you even as you tried to resist it.

"Let go of me," you managed, though your voice was quieter than you intended, barely more than a whisper.

His hold didn't loosen. If anything, his fingers tightened slightly around your arm, his other hand moving to rest against the small of your back, anchoring you to him as if daring you to pull away.

"Funny," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that sent a shiver through you. "You're the one who wandered into my room. And now you're trying to leave so quickly?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. The nearness of him, the way his hand pressed against your back, steady and possessive, was dizzying. You could feel the rapid beat of your own heart, the conflicting impulses to push him away, and to pull him even closer, warring within you.

"You act like you're annoyed," he continued softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "But something tells me you don't really want me to let go."

A rush of defiance surged through you, but the intensity of his gaze, the magnetic pull between you, made it impossible to look away. Every nerve felt heightened, every sense attuned to him, his presence surrounding you, consuming you. You could feel his grip relax just slightly, his fingers still resting on your arm as if waiting, letting you decide if you wanted to stay or if you would pull away.

For a moment, you just stood there, suspended in that charged silence, your heart pounding, your breath shallow. The logical part of you screamed to walk out of the room to end whatever this was before it spiralled further out of control. But something deeper held you there, drawn to him, as if you were caught in a current too powerful to escape.

Finally, you found your voice, your defiance flickering even as your resolve wavered. "You really think you know everything, don't you?"

A slow, confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his hand shifted slightly, brushing the bare skin of your arm in a way that sent a shiver racing through you. "I know enough," he replied softly, his tone both a challenge and an invitation.

In that moment, standing in the shadows of his room, the world outside felt far away, and all that mattered was the electric tension between you, the unspoken possibilities lingering in the air.

You narrowed your eyes, tilting your chin up defiantly, meeting his intense gaze with a glare of your own. "What, you think I'm just going to let you win?" You hissed, the challenge clear in your voice. You could feel your heart pounding as the tension between you thickened, crackling like a storm ready to break.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, that confident, maddening expression that made you both furious and drawn to him all at once. He leaned in, his gaze never wavering, his eyes dark with something that sent a thrill through you despite your best efforts to ignore it.

"I always win," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air around you, "all my wars, all my battles. So you'd better decide to lose it, sweetheart. Makes it easier that way."

The words hung heavy in the air, a promise and a warning all at once, and the closeness between you felt even more charged. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his grip still light on your arm, as if daring you to test his resolve. There was a glint in his eyes, that subtle edge of challenge that sparked something fierce within you-a determination not to let him have the last word, not this time.

"Maybe you haven't met your match yet," you replied, your voice steady, though the quickening of your pulse betrayed the thrill his words had sparked.

He chuckled softly, the sound dark and rich, and leaned in just a bit closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Careful," he whispered, his voice like silk, his gaze never leaving yours. "You might find that losing isn't as bad as you think."

The moment he removed the mask, your breath hitched. His face, so impossibly handsome, so raw in its intensity, made your heart skip a beat. The lines of his jaw were sharp, defined, and his eyes were dark, smouldering with a predatory gleam that sent a rush of heat through your entire body. His gaze locked onto yours, a silent understanding passing between you as his smirk deepened.

For the first time, you felt that guard of yours slip away, crumbling under the weight of his presence. Everything you had told yourself about pushing him away, keeping your distance, fell apart in the face of his undeniable allure.

He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, sending a wave of warmth that made it harder to breathe. His lips were so close, just inches from yours, and his words, low and taunting, slid like velvet into your ears.

"Just give in to me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I'll show you the height of forbidden pleasures. I'll worship your body all night long, make you scream my name all night."

You could feel his breath hot against your ear, and before you could stop yourself, his teeth grazed your earlobe. The sensation was electric. Your knees buckled, your body betraying you as a soft gasp of pleasure escaped your lips, your pulse hammering in your ears.

The air between you grew thick, charged with tension, as if the entire room held its breath. The power dynamic shifted, and for a moment, you felt as though you were at his mercy, your body responding to him in ways you hadn't anticipated. You could hardly think straight, the heat of his touch, the way his words wrapped around you, making everything else fade into the background.

But even as your body reacted, as your breath grew faster and your mind swirled with desire, something inside you still fought. You couldn't just give in. Not like this. Not so easily.

"Stop," you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, a poor attempt at defiance. You placed a hand on his chest, but it was more out of instinct than strength, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "You're playing with fire," you whispered, though a part of you wasn't sure if you were still trying to warn him or yourself.

His grin only widened as if he'd expected this, as if this moment of resistance only fueled the desire to break down every last wall you had left.

"We'll see who gets burned, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your neck, sending another shiver through your body.

You were intoxicated, already succumbing and losing the battle you weren't even meant to fight.

[truth-has-a-liberal-bias]

The Biden administration announced Tuesday that it will remove Cuba from the state sponsor of terrorism list – a move taken in the twilight of the administration that is likely to be reversed by the incoming team.

President Joe Biden will notify Congress on Tuesday of his intent to lift the designation, a senior administration official said, noting that an “assessment has been completed, and we do not have information that supports Cuba’s designation.”

...

In a separate statement, the Foreign Ministry announced Cuban President Miguel Diaz-Canel had written to Pope Francis in January that 553 prisoners would be released from Cuban jails. The Vatican had previously advocated for the release of political prisoners in Cuba, including those who took place in the island-wide July 11, 2021 protests. It was not clear though from the statement which prisoners would be set free or when. The statement said the prisoners would be released “gradually.” [...]

[transmutationisms]

i think you do a really impressive job balancing comprehensive/concise while referencing a lot of complex frameworks(contexts? schools of thought? lol idk what to call that. big brain ideas) but if you have any readings specifically on the institution of psychiatry topic that you would recommend/think are relevant, I'd be interested. it's absolutely not a conversation that's being had enough and I want to be able to articulate myself around it

yes i have readings >:)

first of all, the anti-psychiatry bibliography and resource guide is a great place to start getting oriented in this literature. it's split by sub-topic, and there are paragraphs interspersed throughout that give summaries of major thinkers' positions and short intros to key texts.

it's from 1979, though, so here are some recs from the last 4 decades:

overview critiques

mind fixers: psychiatry's troubled search for the biology of mental illness, by anne harrington

psychiatric hegemony: a marxist theory of mental illness, by bruce m z cohen

desperate remedies: psychiatry's turbulent quest to cure mental illness, by andrew scull

psychiatry and its discontents, by andrew scull

madness is civilization: when the diagnosis was social, 1948–1980, by michael e staub

contesting psychiatry: social movements in mental health, by nick crossley

the dsm & pharmacy

dsm: a history of psychiatry's bible, by allan v horwitz

the dsm-5 in perspective: philosophical reflections on the psychiatric babel, by steeves demazeux & patrick singy

pharmageddon, by david healy

pillaged: psychiatric medications and suicide risk, by ronald w maris

the making of dsm-iii: a diagnostic manual's conquest of american psychiatry, by hannah s decker

the myth of the chemical cure: a critique of psychiatric drug treatment, by joanna moncrieff

the book of woe: the dsm and the unmaking of psychiatry, by gary greenberg

prozac on the couch: prescribing gender in the era of wonder drugs, by jonathan metzl

the creation of psychopharmacology, by david healy

the bitterest pills: the troubling story of antipsychotic drugs, by joanna moncrieff

psychiatry & race

the protest psychosis: how schizophrenia became a black disease, by jonathan metzl

administrations of lunacy: racism and the haunting of american psychiatry at the milledgeville asylum, by mab segrest

the peculiar institution and the making of modern psychiatry, 1840–1880, by wendy gonaver

what's wrong with the poor? psychiatry, race, and the war on poverty, by mical raz

national and cross-national contexts

mad by the millions: mental disorders and the early years of the world health organization, by harry yi-jui wu

psychiatry and empire, by sloan mahone & megan vaughan

ʿaṣfūriyyeh: a history of madness, modernity, and war in the middle east, by joelle m abi-rached

surfacing up: psychiatry and social order in colonial zimbabwe, 1908–1968, by lynette jackson

the british anti-psychiatrists: from institutional psychiatry to the counter-culture, 1960–1971, by oisín wall

crime, madness, and politics in modern france: the medical concept of national decline, by robert a nye

reasoning against madness: psychiatry and the state in rio de janeiro, 1830–1944, by manuella meyer

colonial madness: psychiatry in french north africa, by richard keller

madhouse: psychiatry and politics in cuban history, by jennifer lynn lambe

depression in japan: psychiatric cures for a society in distress, by junko kitanaka

inheriting madness: professionalization and psychiatric knowledge in 19th century france, by ian r dowbiggin

mad in america: bad science, bad medicine, and the enduring mistreatment of the mentally ill, by robert whitaker