#I mean there were straight up Nazis running for mayor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

danscollectionofcrud · 6 years ago

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II can’t exactly call this getting something off my chest, because it’s something I’ve been wrestling with for years now. But I really need to try and get some of my thoughts about it down. I’m going to put this under a read more because it’s going to be very long. But if you care about my journey with my Jewish heritage, the issues I’ve seen that effect Jews in my life, and how the left fucking fails Jews constantly you can read the rest.

Those of you who followed me on my old blog know that I’m an atheist and actually ran from my Jewish heritage. I wasn’t Bar Mitzvahed, I haven’t gone to temple or a seder in about fifteen years. But in the past little while I’ve begun to explore my Jewish heritage and what that means to me.

I’m still not a religious person, or even a believer, but it is my family, and my background, and that does mean something to me. There’s a rich cultural heritage there. A people who have been through and continue to endure so much. There’s also the whole Israel thing which is for another post (my short version is fuck Israel). But I’ve begun to look back on my life, at the antisemitism I’ve seen, and experienced, and to my shame ignored in a lot of cases.

So I’ve tried to change that, I’ve tried to shut that shit down when I see it. I’ve confronted Nazis, fully ready to fight them, I’ve done by best to get as active as my mental-illness allows me to be. And I’ve tried to be an advocate within my small social circle.

My social circle as you might expect is pretty soundly in the left column. The degrees of how left they go varies. I know socialists, communists, and unfortunately too few anarchists like myself. And a lot of just straight up liberals. But all people who consider themselves progressive and in touch with the struggles of marginalized peoples.

Except they’re all fucking terrible at recognizing antisemitism, and go out of their way to downplay it. None of the examples I’ll be posting are from my friends, both out of concerns for their privacy, and because I don’t so much see them leading this charge as just going along with it.

I don’t know if it’s because the majority of Jews are white, or because there’s this idea that we’ve “solved” Jews. But leftist people just will not stand up for us. Today three different Nazis declared they’re running for Mayor of Toronto. The first response I see when I go looking is this.

That all sounds good, that all sounds correct. Except like three months ago this woman was recommending a book to her fans that included chapters on the Jewish Question. Written by a man who once said "the historical mission of our generation is solving the kike problem" I suppose they could be speaking from their own perspective, that person is clearly a person of colour. But man it sure sounds like that common liberal tactic of replacing the term “nazi” with the term “white nationalist”. Because that way you can talk about how they hate POCs, and you can ignore the Jew thing.

I really started noticing this becoming super common when Charlottesville happened. They were in the streets chanting Nazi slogans, attacking a synagogue, and nobody wanted to talk about antisemitism. But even when they do use the term “nazi” instead of the more generic “white nationalist” you get shit like this.

She lists nine categories of marginalized people nazis target, none of them being Jews. I guess there’s always hope we crack the top ten with that last spot though.

In no way am I saying that the threat nazis pose to these groups is insignificant. They’re in this shit just like we are. But I am saying it sure seems like the left wouldn’t stand up if I was getting stomped on by a group of guys shouting “kike” at me. Maybe they’d save me too if they were also stomping a black guy.

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bootycallreverie · 5 years ago

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"Please can we not make her mayor?"

I woke up today to this fascinating question regarding Cllr. Ana Bailão’s votes to uphold systemic oppression within the Toronto Police. “Please can we not make her mayor?”

It was a deceptively complex question that got me thinking of some of the fundamentals of activism, social change and politics, that I wanted to unpack this question bit by bit.

I’ve cut it into five sections: PLEASE, CAN, WE, NOT MAKE HER, MAYOR.

///

1. PLEASE

I assume this softens the meaning of the phrase - “I want her out of politics” is pretty harsh – especially in the context of a man publicly critiquing a woman. Yet it shows us something important – we are implying we need permission to participate in politics.

Why are we asking for permission? And to whom is this appeal directed? Last time I checked, I don’t need permission to do most things in life, including participating in the political process. Our US-based friends did not ask for permission when they recently revolted against their governments; they did it even though they faced police brutality, neo-Nazi paramilitaries, psychological warfare, a global pandemic and more.

The “please” comes out of the respectability politics that makes “Ontario” as a political entity so curious. “Please don’t gut our healthcare!” is not coming from a position of strength. (Anyway, it’s much easier for progressives to walk back overzealousness in the name of justice than it is for people to walk back bigotry.)

To best challenge power, we must never apologize for having ambitious convictions. We need to champion big ideas, even if they’re ahead of the curve. Two months ago, police reform would have been considered impossible in America. And they were right, it was impossible...under the existing model. So they changed the model.

Change – especially lasting change – comes from the grassroots, so while it’s not a bad thing to support progressive political candidates, parties and organizations, it is *significantly* more important to support issues-based activists and organizations (i.e. if you give $10 monthly to the NDP, why not also give $10 to your favourite advocacy group?). Issues-based groups are formed to challenge one specific cog of power at a time and can therefore deliver deep, fundamental and long-lasting impacts. (Plus…this is a great way for potential candidates to gain some experience; get those ppl knocking on doors now and they’ll do much better in 2022.)

2. CAN

If we are asking “do we, as a community, have the capacity to elect someone better?” The answer to this is yes, but if we’re instead asking “will someone within the existing structure please FINALLY get off their ass and challenge her?” then we might ask ourselves why this hasn’t already happened. The civic left has largely allowed Cllr. Bailão (and, to a lesser extent, Mayor Wonderbread, who is merely a pathetic, respectable version of Rob Ford) to go unchallenged because she’s been deemed impossible to beat, but by not challenging her, the civic left has allowed her career to continue essentially unfettered because they don’t want to spend resources on a race they’re unlikely to win. If only there were some other downtown districts where a new, young generation of activists can start to build their careers…except the seats available are full with straight white boy progressives.

Why does the civic left protect Gord Perks, Joe Cressy and Mike Layton? Like…honestly…I just don't see what the big deal about Joe Cressy is. He bumped Ausma Malik out of the 2018 election instead of doing the right thing and making way for a supremely talented racialized woman like I'd hope someone committed to true justice would. There is even a movement in the democratic party to ask white men to not run in safe seats. [This paragraph and the next have been edited for tone, thank you to Colin Burns for encouraging me to rethink my words and my misdirected anger, my frustration naturally lies with Cllr. Bailāo's behaviour.]

Gord Perks verged into alt-left territory last year as a free-speech absolutist and consequently an apologist for bigotry when he should have defended trans folk. He even shared his disappointing thoughts publicly (yup, he did, they’re still up, don’t @ me on this one, you’ll regret it: http://gordperks.ca/toronto-public-library-chief-librarians-decision/) so considering who he seems to be, we can do better after 14 years? (TL;DR – there’s need for renewal in a lot of parts of our movements, and the labour movement is no exception.)

Mike Layton is a lovely man with his heart in the right place. I’ve volunteered for him and would gladly do it again. It therefore pains me to recognize that his last name is more than a name. I’m happy for everything he (and his team) has contributed in a rapidly changing district. My concern is that lefties can’t afford to support dynasties in the same way that liberals and conservatives can, especially in downtown districts where our odds of winning are good and where we ought to be supporting talented Black, Trans, Indigenous, disAbled and economically-disadvantaged candidates that are already on the front lines of social change. (This list is illustrative, not exhaustive.) By the time of the next election, Mike Layton will have been there for 12 years. Perhaps it’s time for him to open an opportunity for others.

3. WE

Who is “we”? Is it people in this district? Is it people in Toronto? Is it progressives? Whoever can identify this “we” and mobilize them will have the best shot of defeating her. This is the “coalition” people describe as needed to win election. Of course, this includes whoever’s running for office and their team. That organizing work needs to start right now if there’s going to be any chance of a lefty winning this seat in 2022. (If you think she isn’t already considering her council seat successor, remember that her old boss was Mario Silva, who was *coincidentally* Davenport’s City Councillor and MP for a combined 16 years.)

4. NOT MAKE HER

This is maybe the biggest hurdle to get over since “NOT ANA BAILAO” is not an option on the ballot. Considering there are no formal (lol) parties or slates on council, her name recognition is her biggest electoral asset, so a keep-it-safe campaign won’t work. Plus her public image is fairly non-toxic, so as pissed off as we all are, most people won’t be swayed by a STOP BAILAO campaign from the left (the trope of the conservative woman can be very powerful – thanks Maggie – so expect her campaign to lean pretty typically right).

When we say “Cllr. Bailão should not be Mayor” we rob ourselves of the ability to say “I think this person would make a great mayor” or “these are the some of the values I want in a mayor.” – and I don’t mean just of the City Council types. (At this point, Josh Marlow is the other councilor to watch.)

I hate hearing “why can’t we have AOC or Jacinta Arden or Anne Hidalgo or Ilhan Omar?” They didn’t come out of thin air. We already have those people here, we just haven’t elevated them to where they can make a difference and this is why. (Also, lefties, let’s seriously push for term limits and ranked ballots…especially the term limits, most ppl out there love the idea, it costs zero dollars and ensures districts have a healthy amount of turnover.)

5. MAYOR

Toronto City Council is a “weak mayor” system. The Mayor need council approval for pretty much everything important. The Mayor will find success or failure on how well he can build a team of reliable allies on council. It’s something thing Mayor Wonderbread does too well: his allies don’t offer a lot of different views. A hypothetical Mayor Bailão would probably do similar.

So then how rigid should a politician be? Are they supposed to be trustees, where we trust them to do what’s best for us and we have a check-in every 4 years? Or are they supposed to be conduits of public opinion with little regard for context? Or is a councillor meant to reflect the demographics of their district, even though they can only truly embody one set of lived experiences as an individual? Or perhaps, in the case of Cllr. Bailão, someone not dedicated to steering the ship but merely running the engine, not caring where it sails even though we've seen icebergs on the horizon? We’ve grown up in a SimCity generation where we think the mayor can make whatever they want happen. As great as that might sound sometimes, in a democracy, accountability matters. But it must come with a recognition that SimCity mayors don't fear the wrath of the voters.

///

I want to recognize that a 10% reallocation is fucking pathetic and still Toronto council couldn’t do it…but at least we know where we stand, and with whom.

We often look at politics as a sport or a soap opera, and it feels great when your team scores points or your favourite character delivers a knockout performance. Even I was like “dang girl” when Nancy Pelosi defiantly ripped up the President’s speech. I was also touched by Jagmeet Singh’s touching display of emotion the day after he was ejected from the House of Commons for calling out bigotry. But that’s not politics, that’s a long running TV drama series, so as disappointed as I am in what happened, I’m not gonna yell at her in the street because White Man Raging is not a great look these days…or ever.

So let’s not make this about my neighbour, Cllr. Ana Bailão. Let’s make it about the system of oppression she has willingly chosen to uphold and tearing that motherfucker down piece by piece.

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

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Fic: Interconnect (ao3 link) - Chapter 4 Fandom: Flash, DC Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Fate has decided that Leonard Snart and Mick Rory are soulmates.

Yeah, okay, they’re good with that.

(for @coldwaveweek2017)

A/N: Instead of doing different fics for coldwave week, I decided to do one with multiple chapters, each based on the various days.

Chapter 4: Alternate Universes/Alternate Earths

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"- and no cursed!"

Len stops day-dreaming very abruptly. "What was that?" he mutters to the guy next to him.

"Oh, the boss just don't like cursed folks," the guy replies with a shrug.

"Neo-Salemist?"

"Nah, he's not that much of an asshole. Don't think any of the guys here are -"

"There's literally a neo-Nazi across the room that I'm planning on stabbing once this job's done," Len points out. "It's basically the same thing. What's his problem with the cursed? Not like it's their fault."

"Yeah, well, apparently the first time he got thrown in the can, it was 'cause some bad-luck cursed fucked up his timing."

There's no such thing as a bad-luck curse, as far as Len's ever heard, but there are always people who fuck up.

"And, what, he's pissed at all of them?"

The guy shrugs, indifferent. "Who cares?"

"Not me," Len lies. "It's just weird, and I don't like weird."

"It ain't that weird."

"If the world's greatest safecracker walked up and said he'd do your job for only five percent of the take, you get the rest, but, hey, he's cursed with technoshock, would you turn him down?"

"Obviously not."

"Would the boss?"

The guy frowns. "Well," he says slowly. "I mean. Technoshock's such a mild curse, y’know - I know plenty of people who are shit at using electronics without technoshock curses -"

Len rolls his eyes. "Bias is stupid," he says. "That's all there is to it."

He misses Mick.

Normally, when he misses Mick, he gives him a shout, but -

Well.

Len's on a job, which he told Mick he wouldn't do, and it's with the local Family, which he doubly told Mick he wouldn't do, and the local Family Don apparently hates the cursed, which makes it in Len's best interest not to bring it up.

He'll just have to fake it.

Len can pick-pocket, steal, and con so effectively that he's talked himself out of an arrest while ditching his gear in the policeman's own pockets. How hard can this be?

The answer, of course, is horrifically.

"People singing in the shower is for themselves," Len hisses to a bar of soap, his voice gargled by the shower. "Did you know that?"

"I'd heard," Mick says, but he sounds dubious. "I did tell you they couldn't all be soulmated..."

"Yeah, but still. It's dumb."

"You gonna tell me why you suddenly decided to go on radio silence?"

Just then someone walks in - goddamn Family couldn't even shell out for private showers - and Len has to shut up.

Len shutting up, of course, has nothing to say on Mick shutting up.

Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face while your very scary Family boss is talking to you when his paperweight is singing Bohemian Rhapsody at you?!

And Len can't even retaliate with a set of horrible puns.

Mick is definitely suspicious now.

Oh, well, if he'd wanted Len to behave, he shouldn't have gotten himself thrown in jail right when Lewis was sulking around asking for money and threatening Lisa's schooling if he didn't get it.

Yes, Len's aware that Lewis being around while Mick's in jail isn't Mick's fault, but damnit, Len's having to not make puns right now and it's his own damn fault, so he's going to be immature and push it off to other people.

He's only twenty. He can do that for a bit longer before it starts getting stupid.

Len nearly makes a comment to Mick four times the next day, but only twice the day after.

He's getting better.

The plan is totally working.

"I think you should go to therapy," the boss's hat says. "I found a good one. You'll like her."

Len ignores him.

"You can talk about your daddy issues."

"Oh fuck you," Len says.

Everyone in the room turns to stare at him. "What did you say?" the creaky old-but-utterly-terrifying assassin, who had apparently chosen this moment to break his silence of several days running.

"...have you ever heard of alternate universes?" Len asks.

"What?"

"Alternate universes. Like ours, but not quite," Len explains. "Where all of us are the same, but with minor differences. Differences like - you're left-handed. Or three inches taller. Or a ginger -"

"Anything but a ginger," some asshole in the back says automatically. Half the Irishmen in the room – Central’s got plenty of them – glare at him on equally automatic instinct.

"Take me, for instance," Len says. "In another universe, I might not be a thief. Or a Jew. Or half-black. Or be able to keep my mouth shut." He pauses. "Or not be cursed."

The boss scowls. "You're cursed?!"

"I am," Len says. "And proud of it. You know what else I am?"

"What?" he growls, standing up. They're all standing up.

"Leaving," Len says, and runs out the door he's backed himself up next to.

They give chase, but this is Len's city, and they can't catch him or find him.

They all end up getting arrested two days later, so it's all for the best, but damn. That was no fun.

Mick still laughs for half of forever about it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I still can't believe you," Mick says to the rock. "You ditched me."

"Oh, shut up," the rock-Len grumbles back. "You agreed."

"Yeah, yeah," Mick says. "Do you remember how to do radio silence? Assuming you ever learned?"

Len carefully doesn’t respond.

"Uh-huh."

"Shut up. I don't talk all the time."

"Just most," Mick taunts. He watches the fire on the hill below him spread. It's a real beauty, and normally he'd be happy to sink into it, but he's got a job to do.

Time pocket or no time pocket, someone's going to notice a pile of ash where there should be a forest.

It takes another four hours for the Time Masters to show up.

Mick charges them, less for any prospect of success than for the fun of it.

"Seize him," the leader orders, his eyes greedy. "I know precisely how we can use - ugh! Is that the corpse of a rat?!"

Mick had just thrown it into his face. And yes, yes it was.

"He must've been eating them," one of the Time Masters says.

A local fox had, actually, but Mick's not going to quibble. The good thing about a time pocket, they'd figured out from Gideon, is that even the Time Masters don't know how long you've been there.

They take him back to their base. It's shittier than Mick would've thought, what with them being Doctor Who rip-offs and whatnot. Space station stuff has always been Len's thing, not his; it was one of the ways they kept their personalities distinct from each other.

"He's the cursed one, isn't he?" the Time Master they hand him over to asks. "Soulmates?"

"Yes, Master Declan," the one delivering him says respectfully. "He's the one, alongside Leonard Snart."

"Good," Declan says, and smiles. "That just makes him easier to break."

Mick hates Declan already.

But at least he's predictable. Oh, there's a few beatings, disrupted sleeps, that sort of thing, all while he's still dazed and angry, but they're Time Masters. They know all about deprivation chambers, and what they do to people like Mick. But Len had been right useless for a good long while after his experience, and they don't want that. They're impatient.

They put him in a curse-breaker.

Curses might be curses, but if you don't break them by their own very particular parameters, the sense of loss and despair is practically overwhelming. A literal part of your identity is missing, all of a sudden, and you're vacant without it.

That didn't stop the government from inventing standard-issue curse-breakers, of course, ones that could work on anyone. Ones designed to cut off any curse, no matter how powerful.

When Mick comes out of it, he's vacant and ready to be filled with new thoughts, Time Master thoughts.

"Perfect," Declan says, and gets to work creating Kronos.

Or, at least, that's what he thinks happens.

"He can't take too long on the training," Mick slurs into a pillow after a long day of pulse-rifle training and obedience commands. "Wants to avoid time-lag. He'll send me out on a few mission runs, spread rumors of my reputation around younger Rip's time, and then send me after you."

"Fuck them," the pillow grumbles.

"Shhh," Mick says, his mouth filled with feathers as he tries to muffle himself. Stupid down pillows.

"Gideon, what's time lag?" the pillow asks. Mick can't talk much, of course, he's supposed to be curse-broken, but Len can. Barry gave him the overrides to make sure Gideon won't report to Rip on him. "Huh. Yeah, okay, that makes sense; there's no point in grabbing you if you show up an old man that I don't recognize."

Mick nods.

"Any luck on the primary mission?"

Mick doesn't respond.

"That bad, huh. Well, nothing going on my side, neither, except for the fact that they all think I killed you."

Mick grunts.

"Yeah, even Jax, but at least Jax is on the warpath over it."

Mick snorts, amused.

Honestly, he's not sure why.

You can't break a curse that wants not breaking, after all. The only reason the curse-breakers ever worked on the unwilling is because everyone wants their curse broken, just a little, and the curse-breaker sneaks in that way.

But Mick learned at a witch's knee how to defeat a curse-breaker, an old lesson with Sung-hui's sister to defeat his and Len's terrible fears of loss, and he fears no evil.

He smiles.

The Time Masters are in for a very nasty surprise.

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“Mr. Mayor, were you just talking to your lamp?” a hesitant secretary asks, as she shows his guest into the room.

“My eyes just fixed there,” Len lies.

He’s going to murder Barry for getting him into this whole alternate earth bullcrap. Murder, murder, murder –

“Is it budget season again?” Len’s guest asks, chuckling and taking a seat. “You only ever get that look in your eyes when taxes are involved.”

“You don’t say, Mr. Ramon,” Len says, smiling with teeth.

Cisco – sorry, Francisco was his preferred name on this earth – shrinks back into his seat. “Uh, Francisco is fine,” he squeaks, true to form.

“Are you sure I can’t get you a glass of water?” Len asks, leaning forward and pinning him with his best Mick-intimidating-a-Family-goon impression. “Some coffee, maybe?”

“Will it be poisoned?” Francisco asks.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing! I just – uh –”

“In that case, we should just get down to business,” Len says. “You know, ever since the Zoom crisis, I’ve made my feelings quite clear on the subject of…vigilantism.”

Also, that damn Spiderman is up to no good again.

They don’t even have comics on this earth. No wonder Cisco was forced to go into business and become a multi-millionaire.

“Uh,” Francisco says. “…yes?”

“Of course, I’m not against it per se,” Len says, leaning back and weaving his fingers together. His old lawyer used to do that; that's who he's mimicking now. He always thought it made her look appropriately super-villainous, though. “As long as the vigilante in question is willing to come here and answer some questions first, of course – nothing as crude as registration, naturally, but a certain cooperation between the government and the local superheroes seems beneficial to avoid any future Zoom incidents.”

“Right.”

He’s sweating.

And he hasn’t even kissed Len’s sister this time.

Wait, has he?

Damned if Len knows.

Stupid alternate earths.

“You see, therefore, why I’m…concerned,” Len draws it out. He’s starting to have fun with this, actually. Even when he actually was a crime boss, he never got to do the whole intimidating crime boss thing. He just hates dealing with people too much.

This is totally like being Shere Khan in Talespin.

…not that he watches that. Really.

He'd say he's pretending to be Lex Luthor, but that's a lie and also, that guy's an asshole. Fuck that guy.

“Uh,” Francisco says. “Yes?”

“So we’re on the same page?”

“We…are?”

“Then why don’t you tell me the problem,” Len says. “Us being on the same page and all.”

“The…problem?”

Len pins him with a look. “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Ramon?”

“No!” Francisco squeaks. “No! Not at all! Oh god, you’re related to King Shark, aren’t you?”

Len stares.

“…please forget I said that,” Francisco whimpers.

“Sure,” Len says, deciding to just give him that one. He remembers that shark. It’d been stuck back on Earth-1, guarding ARGUS’ toys that one time he and Barry had had to break in; Mick had been his watch and had sniggered the whole time. “Tell me, Francisco, what you know about – Reverb.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, I agree it’s a terrible name,” Len says, because he can’t help himself.

“If you don’t stop hamming it up, I’m going to kick you,” Len’s lamp says.

Len ignores him.

Francisco looks ill. He has him right where he wants him.

“I’m sorry,” Francisco says. “This – this may be a weird question. But did your lamp just talk?”

Goddamn vibe powers.

They’re different on each Earth, Len should’ve remembered that.

“Do you often hear inanimate objects talk?” Len asks, arching his eyebrows, because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s keeping calm and covering up for any flubs Mick makes on jobs. “That’s a cause for some concern, Mr. Ramon – I’m sorry, Franscisco –”

“No, no! Just – I – er – forget I said anything.”

“Good,” Len says. “Now.” He stands up. “Why don’t you and me go for a walk?”

“To a short stop and a long drop?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Len says soothingly. Then he pulls out his best sharp-toothed smile again. “We’re just going to have a little chat.”

Francisco looks like he’s seriously wondering whether or not he’s updated his last will and testament properly.

“C’mon,” Len says.

Francisco doesn’t move.

“Now.”

Francisco moves very quickly when properly motivated, it appears.

Fixing the effects of Earth-2’s Flashpoint might not be as hard as it seems, Len reflects.

“Follow me,” he says. “And we can talk about that talking lamp…”

A nearby chair sniggers.

Len ‘accidentally’ kicks it as he walks Francisco out.

#dccoldwave #coldwaveweek2017 #mick rory #leonard snart #my fic

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letdecemberburninflames · 8 years ago

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Whack-A-Nazi

Fic Type: Winchester Sister!Reader

Warnings: mentions of Neo Nazism, minor violence, blood, mention of school shooting

Song: Pumped up Kicks by Foster the People

I roll out of bed, a yawn slipping through my lips as I stretch. Throwing on some clothes (a flannel shirt, jeans, the usual) I walk down the winding hallways and into the kitchen where Dean was cooking breakfast.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Dean hands me a plate with bacon and some eggs. “There’s orange juice in the fridge.”

“Thanks, Dean.” I peck him on the cheek before pouring myself a glass of orange juice and making my way to the library, where I knew my other brother would be slaving away. The only person we were missing was Castiel. He was gone, and we hadn’t heard from him in months. Yeah, I was worried. But I also knew that Cas could handle himself, and that if he needed help he’d ask. Hopefully. It had been stressful, between meeting Henry Winchester, my grandfather, and finding out about the Men of Letters, I had had a very busy few months. But, we finally had a place to call home. The Bunker. Sure, we had a minor problem. Abaddon, a Knight of Hell. She was a bitch, but not exactly a major problem at the moment. I mean, she wasn’t causing any mass destruction, so it wasn’t high on our to-do list. Not that we weren’t hunting her. Of course, Kevin was still busy trying to figure out a way to close the Gates of Hell forever.

I sat down next to Sam, taking a drink of my orange juice.

“So get this,” Sam looks up from his computer screen. “Apparently, this high schooler, Timothy Byrnes, from Arlington, Virginia shot up a three of his classmates at school.”

“And?” I ask through a mouthful of bacon.

Sam rolls his eyes. “And, all these kids had something in common. The three kids he shot all had the same brand of shoes, Air Jordan 3 Retro Soulfly’s. They’re about $7,000 on Ebay.”

I sigh. “How is this our kind of thing? How do we know he just didn’t want the money?” I put down my fork and scoot closer to peer at Sam’s computer screen.

“Because he didn’t need the money.” Sam’s fingers flicked across the keyboard. “Timothy Byrnes’ family owns almost half of Apple in stock. He could’ve just as easily bought the shoes himself. On top of that, he’s a straight A student with an immaculate record. Real mild-mannered, from what it looks like. But here’s the kicker. Mr. Byrnes is a real big World War II history buff, and apparently likes collecting antiques from that time period.”

I grin. “Sounds like we’ve got a case.”

---

“Mrs. Byrnes, I’m agent Natalie Ackerman and this is agent Keith Banner. We’d just like to ask you a few questions about your son.” I flashed my fake FBI badge to the woman who strongly reminded me of Mrs. Dursley from Harry Potter.

“Yes, yes of course.” Mrs. Byrnes opened the door wider and invited me and Sam in. Dean was off investigating the crime scene and interrogating Timothy, leaving Sam and I to do some sleuthing of our own.

Mrs. Byrnes was tall and skinny with brown hair and a pale, pointed face. Behind her stood a little girl, who she promptly shooed off saying, “Abby, mommy has to talk with these nice agents. Why don’t you play in your room for a while?”. She had the posture of a pencil, and would’ve been quite intimidating if it wasn’t for the fact that she was dressed in Bugs Bunny pajama pants and looked like a disgruntled emu. The Byrnes residence was more or less a mansion, probably an inheritance from a wealthy uncle. Mrs. Byrnes led us into a living room with a grand piano and motioned for us to sit.

“I’m so sorry, the house is such a mess. I’ve been meaning to call the cleaning lady, but just haven’t gotten around to it.” She sat down on a white silk couch opposite of my brother and I.

I tried not to gape at the huge crystal chandelier hanging above us. “It’s quite alright, Mrs. Byrnes-”

“Please call me Janet.” She smiled warmly.

“You have a lovely house, Janet.” I complimented. It never hurt to butter people up a bit before you roasted them.

“Thank you, I inherited it from father.” She smiled warmly at us.

“Janet. If you don’t mind, my associate would like to look around Timothy’s room?” I motioned to Sam.

“That’s no problem, dear. Just up the stairs and down the hall, fifth door on the right. On the left is his game room, if you’d like to look in there as well.” Janet motioned to a grand staircase just visible through the wide doorway. Sam nodded and excused himself.

“Janet, did you notice anything odd about your son’s behavior before the shooting? Maybe a drop in grades, less appetite than usual, bouts of anger?”

Mrs. Byrnes’ brow furrowed. “No, not that I can recall. I mean, he’s always been a bit strange. He’s very smart you know- took all the AP classes, was in chess club, the debate team, mathletes group, TAG programs.” She gestured to a glass case by the fireplace full of trophies and photos and letters from the mayor, governor, and president. “He was very upset when his father wasn’t able to make it to his birthday last week…”

I looked up from scribbling notes as she paused. “Go on.” I encouraged.

Mrs. Byrnes took a watery breath. “My husband, James, is on a business trip in Germany currently. He was supposed to be home a matter of weeks ago, before Timothy’s birthday, but he wasn’t able to make it, something about a business transaction mishap. He sent him a lovely phonograph for him to play his vinyl record collection on, though.”

“Uh huh. So, anything else odd? Maybe cold spots, traces of sulfur or-”

Mrs. Byrnes’ eyes narrowed. “Are you asking if my son was involved in the Occult?”

I swallowed hard. It wasn’t every day that people knew what we were talking about when we mentioned demonic omens and signs of hauntings. “Uh…”

Mrs. Byrnes lowered her voice and leaned closer to me, covering her mouth with her hand so no one could read her lips. “Meet me at the Blue Cafe at one.” She sat back up and resumed her normal demeanor. “No, nothing like that. In fact, I’m insulted that you’d suggest such a thing.” Her voice was icy and stuck up.

“Right... well my partner should be finished by now. Would you mind if I went up to Timothy’s room and looked around a bit before we leave?”

Janet sighed exasperatedly, as if I was wasting her time. “I suppose. But make it quick, I have to go down to the juvenile detention center in an hour. My son has been given the death penalty.”

---

I peeked into the fifth room on the right to see Sam digging through a box of records. “Find anything?” I asked. Timothy Byrnes’ bedroom looked just like every other high school boy’s bedroom: messy. A half eaten box of pizza sat on the desk, along with stacks of calculus books and classic literature like Gulliver’s Travels. A Call of Duty: Black Ops 4 poster was hanging on the wall, next to a Sports Illustrated calendar featuring a bikini-clad model. Shoved up against one wall was a flat screen TV and almost every XBox game in existence.

“Other than a stash of Playboy magazines and enough A+ homework assignments to choke a dragon? Nothing.” Sam tossed me a record. “I did find this.”

“Hey, I know this band!” I examined the vinyl record. “Okay, but what does a Foster the People record have to do with a school shooting?”

“I don’t think it’s got anything to do with the record so much as the record player. Come look at this thing. It’s gotta be from the 1940’s.” Sam motioned to the old phonograph perched precariously on top of a stack of comic books.

“Yeah, didn’t you say Mr. Byrnes was a huge WWII fanatic?” I trace my finger along the tone arm.

“Yeah… How about you? What’d you find out from Mrs. Byrnes?” Sam took the record from me, slid it back into its sleeve, and dropped it back into a box full of vinyls.

“Not much. Just what we already know; he’s a great kid, super smart, etc. She started acting really weird when I mentioned demonic omens though. Like, she knew about the sulfur thing. She told me to meet her at this place called the Blue Cafe at one.”

Sam glanced over to me. “Seriously? That’s kinda suspicious.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant Sarcastic.”

---

At one o’clock sharp I showed up at the Blue Cafe in downtown Arlington. Sure enough, Janet Byrnes was sitting at an outdoor table reading the latest edition of Vogue.

“Mrs. Byrnes.” I nod a greeting and take the seat opposite her.

“Agent Ackerman, thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sorry for the cryptic invitation, but I can never be too careful, especially with my husband…” She shook her head. “Would you like anything to drink? My treat.”

“Yeah, sure. A beer sounds great.”

“It’s my husband, Agent. He’s… Well he’s very secretive to say the least. I believe he had something to do with my son murdering those three boys.”

I thanked the waiter for my beer and took a sip. “How so?”

Janet looked around nervously. “I have reason to believe he may be a part of a cult.” She ran a finger along the rim of her martini glass. “James’ family, well his ancestors were Nazis. That’s why he’s so interested in the history and collecting artifacts, but I think he’s gotten into more than just the history. He’s a member of the American Nazi Party.”

---

“American Nazi Party, huh?” Dean sipped his beer.

Sam’s eyes were glued to his computer screen. “Yeah, I learned about that in high school. It supposedly started here in Arlington, Virginia in the sixties. Big on socialism and white power.”

“But what does that have to do with a clean cut kid shooting up three of his classmates with $7,000 shoes?” Dean asked.

I shrugged. “Beats me. Mrs. Byrnes thinks that it was some sort of initiation for the ANP, but her husband’s off in Germany right now, so I don’t know…” I reached over to turn on the radio next to Sam’s elbow. Music usually helped me think.

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks

You better run, better run, outrun my gun

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks

You better run, better run, faster than my bullet

“SAM!” I yelled as the lyrics hit me, slamming my hand down hard on the motel table.

“Jesus fucking Christ Y/N, what the hell is it?” A startled Sam Winchester eyed me like I’d lost my mind.

“The record! Sammy, the record!”

“Yeah, what about it?” Sam looked confused and Dean shot us both a look that clearly told me he thought we were crazy.

“The vinyl album in Timothy’s room. The album, Torches, is the album that this song is on.”

“And?” Dean’s eyebrow was raised, and I could tell that he was wondering what drugs I had taken.

“Listen,” I turned up the radio volume as the chorus of the song played again.

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks

You better run, better run, outrun my gun

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks

You better run, better run, faster than my bullet

“Shit.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t be serious.”

“Okay guys, what’d I miss?” Dean asked, still puzzled.

“This song, Pumped Up Kicks, is by a band called Foster the People. Timothy Byrnes had an album by this band with this song on it. It was on a record player in his bedroom. I’m not sure if you were listening to the lyrics, but the song is about a school shooting where this kid with a father who’s gone a lot goes after some kids with “pumped up kicks”, in other words, really high end shoes.” I grinned. “Cursed object.”

“Okay,” Dean took another swig of beer. “But what does this have to do with the Neo-Nazi thing?”

Sam shrugged, closing his laptop. “Probably nothing. The mom’s just in hysterics because her kid did just kill three students. She’s probably looking for a outlet, some explanation as to why her kid just acted up and just happened to affiliate her husband’s love of WWII history and the fact that they live in Arlington to the murders. When really it’s just a cursed vinyl that made him go Charles Manson on his classmates.”

Dean put his beer in the fridge. “Makes sense. Let’s go smash some records.”

---

Three hours later, the Foster the People album was burned and we were on our way back to Lawrence, Kansas when we got a call from the police station where Dean had interrogated Timothy Byrnes. Apparently, his little seven year old sister, Abby Byrnes (the little girl I had seen with her mother when I first visited the Byrnes residence) had jumped off the top of a bank building on Williamsburg Boulevard in Arlington. Nobody knew how she got up there, only that she had gone to the bank with her mother, only to disappear. When they found her again, she was nothing but a blood splatter on the pavement.

---

After talking with the local sheriff at the crime scene, Sam pulled Dean and I aside. “So apparently it wasn’t the Foster the People album.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, and I’d say that it was the phonograph, but Timothy isn’t dead and his sister is. It doesn’t add up.”

“We’re going back to the Byrnes residence anyway, so might as well check it out.”

---

“John Mayer. Guess what song it just played?” Sam held up a vinyl record.

Dean, the avid classic rock fan that he is, had his lips pressed in a thin line. “Free Fallin’.”

“Yep.” Sam didn’t even bother to resleeve the record before he tossed it back into the box. “Which means,” He sent a malevolent glance towards the phonograph. “We have some research to do.”

“I know a great place for lunch,” I pipe in. “The Blue Cafe.”

---

I swallowed a bite of my BLT club sandwich, an uncomfortable feeling that I was missing something important settling in my stomach. Dean was inhaling his second burger, and Sam was busy typing away on his laptop.

“Okay guys, get this. The building that Abby Byrnes was “Free Fallin” off of was the first headquarters of the American Nazi Party. The second was a mansion on Rudolf St. that belonged to a the widow of a man named Willis Kerns. When Mrs. Kerns died, she passed the house on to her daughter, Janet and her husband James Byrnes, an Apple stock investor and avid World War II artifact collector who passed away in 2005.”

Dean and I both dropped our sandwiches. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Sam glanced up from his computer screen. But it gets worse. “Apparently, the American Nazi Party was founded by George Rockwell, the right hand man of Commander Eckhart, leader of a sect of the Thule Society.”

I groaned. “Not them again. Please tell me you’re joking.” The Thule Society was a group of Nazi necromancers that could regenerate because of a successful experiment. We weren’t really on the best of terms with them, considering we destroyed a ledger that was the only remaining information from the experiment that gave them their regenerative abilities.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean muttered, rubbing his eyes. “So what about the phono-whatever?”

“I’m working on it.” Sam’s fingers were practically a blur as he scrolled through pages of information. “Right here. Apparently, the phonograph belonged to Hitler himself. It’s a myth, but yeah. Legend says it’s how he got his closest advisors and the foot soldiers to actually do all those horrible things to the Jews. Whatever is played on this phonograph, whether it be a recording of a voice or music or whatever, it would brainwash the listener or listeners into doing whatever was spoken. So, in Timothy’s case, he killed a bunch of kids with “pumped up kicks” and Abby went “free fallin”.”

“Wait.” I turned on my phone and started to do some research of my own. “Mrs. Byrnes told me that her husband was on a business trip to Germany and sent Timothy the phonograph as a birthday gift. Which means, assuming that her husband is dead, that she knew full well the capabilities of the phonograph.”

“Then why would she- Oh. OH. Sam, Y/N, Abby and Timothy aren’t dead. It only looks that way.” Dean’s eyes widened.

I nearly laughed. “She hid the truth in plain sight. She told me that she thought her husband was trying to get Timothy initiated into a Nazi cult, when it was really her all along. She’s a member of the Thule Society, a necromancer. Abby and Timothy aren’t dead, they’re back at their house, the Kerns Mansion.”

---

I double checked the bullets in my handgun. “Headshot, then salt and burn right?”

“Yep.” Dean kicked down the front door of the Byrnes’ mansion.

I could hear rushed chanting coming from the living room where I had first talked to Janet Byrnes. I followed Sam and Dean, keeping my eyes peeled for any other members of the Thule or the ANP. I peeked into the living room, only to see the bodies of the three boys Timothy killed lying on the coffee table, stomachs slit open and organs spilling out onto the floor. Blood stained the white marble floors and silk couch as the mother and her son and daughter continued to chant in Latin, oblivious to the fact we had just stormed the gates. Each person held one of the dead boys’ hearts in their hands, blood spilling from their palms as if they had pulled the hearts from the boys’ chests with their bare hands. They probably had.

We took no time in pumping as many rounds of lead as we could into their brains before dragging them out into the backyard gardens and having ourselves a nice, large Thule Society/American Nazi Society barbecue that we seasoned heavily with salt. With a side of charred cursed phonograph, of course.

---

Dean collapsed in an armchair in the Bunker library. “I’m getting real sick of those Thule motherfuckers.”

“You’re telling me.” Sam poured himself some scotch and grabbed a book to read.

“Let’s just agree that next time Hitler pops his head up, we’re gonna let someone else whack-a-mole him, okay?”

#dean winchester #sam winchester #sister winchester #sam x reader #dean x reader #winsister #bunker #supernatural #castiel

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

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Your Tuesday Briefing – The New York Times

Coronavirus death toll climbs

The World Health Organization is holding a meeting today as Chinese officials said the death toll from the coronavirus has climbed to 1,016, with 42,638 confirmed cases in total. Here are the latest updates and maps of where the virus has spread.

In Britain, where four more cases linked to a cluster of transmissions at a ski resort in France were confirmed, the health authorities on Monday declared the virus an “imminent threat” to public health and announced new measures to combat its spread. That includes the ability to forcibly quarantine people — a sign of how seriously they are treating the outbreak.

Related: Sixty-five new cases were confirmed on a cruise ship quarantined in Yokohama, Japan, bringing the total on board to 135.

Quote of note: “Let’s not shake hands in this special time,” said China’s leader, Xi Jinping, as he reappeared in public in Beijing on Monday. The visit came after Mr. Xi had been criticized for appearing aloof amid increasing public discontent with his government’s response to the crisis and an idled economy.

Merkel’s chosen successor steps aside

Annegret Kramp-Karrenbauer, Chancellor Angela Merkel’s handpicked successor, said on Monday she would not seek Germany’s top position after a local chapter of her party, the center-right Christian Democrats, allied itself with a rising far-right party, Alternative for Germany.

If you missed it: Last Wednesday protests broke out after the Christian Democrats and AfD voted together to elect the governor of the tiny eastern state of Thuringia, where the Nazis first won power locally before taking power nationally. The vote exposed Ms. Kramp-Karrenbauer’s lack of authority over her party and the creeping influence of the far right on the country’s political direction.

Context: Germany’s weakened traditional parties and increasingly powerful far right are an uncomfortable echo of the rise of the Nazis, at a crucial time when a post-Brexit Europe looks to Berlin for leadership.

Looking ahead: The Christian Democrats, expected to elect a new leader in December, face the choice of whether to join forces with the far right or to draw a red line against any collaboration.

Harsh sentences for Russian anti-fascists

A Russian military court on Monday sentenced a group of left-wing activists to up to 18 years in prison on terrorism and other charges; some of the activists claimed they had been forced to testify and had been brutally tortured.

The seven men were accused of plotting attacks ahead of the World Cup soccer tournament in Russia and presidential election in 2018. All denied the charges.

Context: Russia’s security and law enforcement agencies are under immense pressure to produce results, say critics who see a parallel with 2018, when the authorities were accused of entrapping members of a chat group.

If you have 5 minutes, this is worth it

Bigger storms expected in Africa

Above, lightning over Pretoria, South Africa, in 2016. Researchers said an increase in temperatures in Africa over the past seven decades was leading to bigger and more frequent thunderstorms.

In a continent that already experiences destructive storms and has many of the world’s lightning hot spots, that can mean more fatalities and more economic damage.

Here’s what else is happening

Storm Ciara: At least five people were killed as a powerful winter storm tore through western and northern Europe. The storm, which also caused flooding, transport disruptions and power outages, was particularly destructive because of its very strong and widespread winds, according to a British meteorologist.

New Hampshire: The state’s Democratic presidential primary, the second contest in the 2020 race, takes place today. Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont and former Mayor Pete Buttigieg of South Bend, Ind., are trying to capitalize on their strong showings in the troubled Iowa caucuses, while also increasingly training their fire on each other.

Israel: A software flaw that has exposed the personal data of every eligible voter in the country has raised concerns about identity theft and electoral manipulation, just three weeks before a national election.

Snapshot: Above, poodles wait to be judged at the Westminster Dog Show in New York City. The finale takes place tonight, when the best in show emerges from a shortlist of seven.

What we’re reading: “The 10,000-Year Clock Is a Waste of Time,” in Wired. Adam Pasick, of the Briefings team, writes: “The piece takes a look at the complicated device being built in Texas — mind-boggling not just because of its ambition, but as an emblem of the hubris of tech mega-billionaires.”

Now, a break from the news

Smarter Living: Better coffee at home is within reach. Here are five cheap(ish) things to make it happen.

And now for the Back Story on …

The New Hampshire primary

Some members of our politics team have been on the ground in New Hampshire for weeks. We talked to one of them, Matt Stevens, about the mood in the state ahead of today’s primary.

We just came off a messy run in Iowa. Are there fears that New Hampshire’s vote could also go awry?

Short answer: Yes, absolutely. There are many, many things that could go wrong. But as some of our colleagues have pointed out, New Hampshire has a history of running elections smoothly, whereas the Iowa caucuses have now encountered problems in three consecutive cycles.

How are New Hampshire voters feeling about their primary system? Perhaps because of those divergent histories, the voters I have talked to here in New Hampshire have both expressed confidence in their system and given the side-eye to Iowa. Caucuses and primaries are very different, and the folks here are pretty darn sure their system is best.

Last week, as the mess was unfolding in Iowa, a woman in Hampton, N.H., told me: “This is a national level campaign. You have all these years to get it straight and this is the embarrassment you’re causing the party?”

How is your team managing back-to-back primaries?

Some of us went to Iowa; most of the rest of us came to New Hampshire. And a handful did both. (Bless them!) The consensus among the people who have been to both places seems to be that the workroom at our hotel here in Manchester has windows, and is therefore far superior to the one in Des Moines, but the food options around our New Hampshire hotel are way more limited. I, personally, have already been to the Olive Garden next door twice.

That’s it for this briefing, my first solo. See you next time.

— Sofia

Thank you To Mark Josephson and Kathleen Massara for the break from the news. Remy Tumin, who writes our Evening Briefing, wrote today’s Back Story. You can reach the team at [email protected].

P.S. • We’re listening to “The Daily.” Our latest episode is about a company that has compiled a database of three billion images and the ensuing privacy concerns. • Here’s today’s Mini Crossword puzzle, and a clue: Partner of peanut butter (five letters). You can find all our puzzles here. • If you’re looking for a last-minute Valentine’s Day gift, the Times’s online store has a collection of items related to our Modern Love column.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/your-tuesday-briefing-the-new-york-times-15/

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roseacisco · 6 years ago

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EC Weekly: Gaming, crypto, shipping and the multiple future strategies of tech

Niantic EC-1

Illustration by Nigel Sussman

Greg Kumparak published the first part of his planned four part EC-1 series on Niantic yesterday, focusing on the founding story of the AR/gaming unicorn from Keyhole and Google Earth to a complicated spinout from Alphabet. Lots of great nuggets on how companies get formed and built, but one I particularly enjoyed was this one:

Like most companies, Google doesn’t like when employees leave. Especially employees who ran key parts of the company for years. Leaving means competition. Leaving means potential opportunities lost.

John [Hanke, CEO of Niantic] eventually sat down with Larry Page to figure out what it’d take to keep him within Google . They talked about John’s interest in augmented reality. They talked about a book called Freedom by David Suarez, which centers around an out-of-control AI that taps a network of real-world operatives to control the world (the earliest hints of Niantic’s first game, Ingress, already sneaking in here years before it’s made.)

John wanted to take his interest in AR and his background in maps and gaming and mash them all up and see what it could look like. Larry wanted it to happen within Google.

What I loved is that Eliot Peper wrote a piece for Extra Crunch just a few weeks ago about the importance of speculative fiction in the creation of startups, and also gave a guide on just what books he recommends to find your next startup.

Expect Part 2 of the Niantic EC-1 to drop early next week as we do a rolling release.

Game streaming is the new battlefield among tech giants

Bryce Durbin / TechCrunch

Game streaming is quickly becoming one of the most important strategic arenas for owning users, with offerings from all major tech and gaming companies. Devin Coldewey provided a comprehensive strategic overview of the stakes involved this week, and why so much money is being poured into a technology that until now seemed impossible due to bandwidth and latency. It’s like Super Smash Bros: Tech Melee edition:

Google and Amazon bring cloud-native infrastructure and familiarity online, but is that enough to compete with the gaming know-how of Microsoft, with its own cloud clout, or Sony, which made strategic streaming acquisitions and has a service up and running already? What of the third parties like Nvidia and Valve, publishers and storefronts that may leverage consumer trust and existing games libraries to jump start a rival? It’s a wide-open field, all right.

Plus, in case you missed our live conference call, you can read the transcript of Lucas Matney and Eric Peckham talking shop from GDC.

Crypto 2.0

Andrey Suslov via Getty Images

Yes, yes, there is a crypto winter, for sure. But this is precisely the time that all the real product development and engineering work is going to take place. Longtime TechCrunch columnist Jon Evans dives into some of the most promising veins of the next-generation of blockchain and crypto technology, finding much to be excited about:

It may seem strange that, even as the public cryptocurrency frenzy of 2017-18 dies down, we seem to be in the midst of a Cambrian explosion of blockchain advances, initiatives, and iterations. But it seems that now that (some of) the get-rich-quick scam artists have been filtered away, the true believers and technical devotees can get back to work building what they believe to be the future.

Is it? Well, maybe not the future, but very possibly a nontrivial part of it. As I’ve argued before, though, cryptocurrencies and decentralized apps don’t need to conquer the mainstream and replace the existing tech megacorporates to succeed, any more than Linux had to destroy Microsoft in order to become enormously influential. All they have to do is provide a viable alternative in other to keep government and fiat currencies somewhat honest. I’m pleased to report that we’re noticeably closer to that state of affairs than we were a year ago.

How to not announce your startup (and avoid prison time)

Henrik Sorensen via Getty Images

I’ve been doing a lot of research around the new culture of Form D filings for the past few months. Those threads finally came together this week in a comprehensive overview of how startups are now filing their rounds with the SEC:

Here’s the secret about Form D filings today: the norms in Silicon Valley have changed, and Form D filings are often filed late, not at all, and many startups are advised to lie low in the hopes of avoiding stricter SEC scrutiny. What was once a fait accompli is now a deliberative process, with important decision points for founders.

Extra Crunch contacted about two dozen startup attorneys, from the biggest firms in the industry to the one-person shops with a shingle out front. Getting straight answers here has been tough, if only because no lawyer really wants to say out loud that they actively recommend their clients violate government regulations (there is that whole law license thing, which apparently lawyers care about).

The ethics of internet culture

Alexander Spatari via Getty Images

Our resident technology ethicist and humanist Greg Epstein interviewed The Atlantic correspondent Taylor Lorenz about the challenges laden with social platforms and their effects on youth culture. Far from a Manichaean view of these tools, Lorenz provides distinctive nuance, serving the good with the trenchant criticism. Lorenz from the interview:

I would say Instagram is just like a microcosm of the broader Internet in a lot of ways. Yes, there is toxic, problematic and awful stuff. There’s also a lot of positive amazing stuff. I actually tend to focus my writing mostly on the more positive things. I write about how people use any social platform, but it ends up being a lot about Instagram because most [young] people are on Instagram, to create and to connect with people.

Like all social platforms, there is a fair amount of misinformation, Nazis, things like that. Those people are always going to be on every platform and they’re going to try to exploit it. I think it’s the job of the platform to police this type of stuff. Instagram has done a better job of mitigating that type of bad content compared to YouTube and Facebook. It’s still there; you can never completely eliminate it.

Improving web accessibility

The original simplicity of the textual web has given way to much richer media content, but that transition hasn’t always been easy for users who rely on screen readers and other technologies to access one of humanity’s most important learning and knowledge resources. Accessibility consultant Beth Franssen walked Extra Crunch through the latest developments on how to make accessibility work again before lawsuits proliferate:

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) requires US businesses that serve the public to provide equal access and accommodations to everyone, whether through a physical building or a digital experience. Just as stores provide ramps as well as stairs, websites need to accommodate people with varying abilities, from movement disorders to visual and auditory impairments. The number of website accessibility lawsuits raised against private companies more than doubled last year. A single plaintiff won $100K in a similar ADA lawsuit in 2017.

Shipping and logistics is getting a tech makeover

Our guest writer John Eden discusses the two forces that are reshaping shipping and logistics:

… technology is not the only force driving change. Regulators are taking a fresh look at the lives of workers in the gig economy, often concluding that many folks classified as independent contractors ought to be treated as employees. As we will see, this is causing a sharp uptick in the creation of small-motor carriers. At the same time, oddly enough, driver scarcity is forcing innovators in the shipping and logistics space to think very hard about how to entice new drivers into the market.

A Tale of Two (other) Transcripts

If you missed our other live conference call this week with TechCrunch editor-in-chief Matthew Panzarino on all the announcements out of Apple’s big launch event this week, do be sure to take a read.

We are also trialing a new experiment — using feedback from Extra Crunch members — to transcript some popular Silicon Valley podcasts as a member benefit. This week, we published an episode of ‘This is Your Life in Silicon Valley’ interviewing Oakland mayor Libby Schaaf.

Our next Verified Expert

Eric Eldon published our next Verified Expert attorney, this time Cooley LLP lawyer Mike Lincoln.

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fmservers · 6 years ago

Text

EC Weekly: Gaming, crypto, shipping and the multiple future strategies of tech

Niantic EC-1

John wanted to take his interest in AR and his background in maps and gaming and mash them all up and see what it could look like. Larry wanted it to happen within Google.

Expect Part 2 of the Niantic EC-1 to drop early next week as we do a rolling release.

Game streaming is the new battlefield among tech giants

Bryce Durbin / TechCrunch

Plus, in case you missed our live conference call, you can read the transcript of Lucas Matney and Eric Peckham talking shop from GDC.

Crypto 2.0

Andrey Suslov via Getty Images

How to not announce your startup (and avoid prison time)

Henrik Sorensen via Getty Images

The ethics of internet culture

Alexander Spatari via Getty Images

Improving web accessibility

Shipping and logistics is getting a tech makeover

Our guest writer John Eden discusses the two forces that are reshaping shipping and logistics:

A Tale of Two (other) Transcripts

Our next Verified Expert

Eric Eldon published our next Verified Expert attorney, this time Cooley LLP lawyer Mike Lincoln.

Via Danny Crichton https://techcrunch.com

#TechCrunch

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dulwichdiverter · 7 years ago

Text

Dulwich at war

What was life in Dulwich like during the First and Second World Wars? Our writer investigates

By Baruch Solomon

These days, a night out with my friends usually consists of a few beers and a curry, but in 1939 it might have meant playing with live grenades in Belair Park. The following year, we could have been shooting at enemy aircraft from Dulwich and Sydenham golf course.

More likely, we’d have been bored stiff guarding the ammunition dump in Dulwich Wood in the pouring rain; or patrolling the streets to make sure that no chinks of light were showing through anyone’s curtains.

Later, when the rocket bombs fell, we’d have dived for cover with the customary stiff upper lip, but we might have wondered why so many of them seemed to land on Dulwich.

In fact, it’s likely that the first explosive device to hit Dulwich fell in 1916, landing next to Peckham Rye Common and damaging a local tramline. The exploding shell turned out to be friendly fire from an anti-aircraft gun on One Tree Hill. It had been aimed at a Zeppelin airship that was no doubt on its way to bomb inner London.

Speaking of early bombing raids, one of the most celebrated World War One pilots was Sydney Vincent Sippe, a former pupil of Dulwich College. On November 21, 1914, he and two other pilots flew more than 120 miles across mountainous terrain into enemy territory to bomb hangars containing Zeppelins. This was just eleven years after the Wright brothers had made their maiden flight and such feats were almost unheard of.

Another former pupil, Grahame Donald, had a miraculous escape a few years later. He fell out of his Sopwith Camel at 6,000 feet after his safety belt snapped. He wasn’t wearing a parachute, but while falling he collided with the somersaulting plane, managed to grab a wing and climbed back into the cockpit.

But Dulwich was also a focal point for those who showed a different kind of courage; people like Sarah Cahill and Arthur Creech Jones who formed the East Dulwich branch of the No-Conscription Fellowship and campaigned tirelessly on behalf of those who refused to fight on moral grounds.

Conscientious objectors faced ridicule, contempt and open hostility for refusing to participate in the war. Their fate was determined by local tribunals. In Camberwell, a Mr Sayer, dismayed by the unsympathetic attitude of some of his colleagues, was reported to have declared: “Members were biased and did not exhibit the judicial attitude required of them… Some members were continually muttering such remarks as ‘They ought to be shot, or ought to be hanged.’”

World War Two had a much greater impact on civilian life. As was the case elsewhere, local people demonstrated an enormous commitment to the war effort, volunteering as firefighters, air raid wardens, nurses, local defence volunteers and auxiliary policemen.

These services could be severely under-resourced, especially at the start of the war. For the first nine months, Mr R Dupraz ran air raid wardens’ post 60 from his living room at 47 Pickwick Road in Dulwich Village.

As late as July 1940, the mayor of Camberwell put out an appeal for guns and binoculars for what was to become the local Home Guard. A week later he was reported to have lamented: “All I have received is one pair of binoculars.” In moments of such pathos, it is hard not to be reminded of Captain Mainwaring from Dad’s Army.

But while Dulwich braced itself for war and possible invasion, William Joyce (later nicknamed Lord Haw-Haw) and his brother Quentin had a very different agenda. During the late 1930s they were known for organising Nazi rallies outside Dulwich Library, but the authorities were more concerned about their association with suspected German agent Christian Harri Bauer.

Quentin worked in the Directorate of Signals for the Air Ministry, which may have given him access to sensitive information. MI5 was alerted when his landlady contacted the police about a letter in his waste paper basket containing a list of British cruisers and aircraft. Conversations about obtaining rare stamps followed, which MI5 took to mean sensitive maps that could be used by enemy forces.

When war was declared, William Joyce defected to Germany and his infamous if absurd radio broadcasts earned him the moniker Lord Haw-Haw. Quentin was arrested in Bristol where presumably, he had been trying leave England by boat.

He was deemed a security risk and interned on the Isle of Man until 1943. While there, his repeated protestations of innocence were compromised by his association with characters like Dr Branimir Jelić, a Croatian nationalist with strong Nazi sympathies who, upon his release, moved into the showy but rather eccentric Toksowa Hotel on Dulwich Common.

The first bombs fell on Dulwich in August 1940 and air raid sirens soon became an almost nightly occurrence. Audrey Waters was with her sister in the Odeon at Goose Green when a siren sounded. Worried about their mother, they ran home along East Dulwich Road.

She recalled: “As we ran, we heard the noise of an airplane and looked back and there was this plane diving straight at us. We threw ourselves over a coping into a garden to get out of the way.

“We heard the sound of a machine gun, and then the airplane swooped back up again and flew off… The street was deserted apart from us because they were all in the air raid shelter so the pilot was obviously shooting at us, two young girls running home.”

Audrey went on to work in the radium room of a factory on Streatham Hill, painting radium on compass and gun dials. Fascinated by the paint’s luminosity, she stopped wearing her mask at work. “At night, in the blackout, I used to be lit up like a Christmas tree, with all the fluorescence over my hairline, neck, throat and hands,” she said.

Tragically but unsurprisingly, Audrey became seriously ill some years later and had to have a tumour in her throat removed.

There were numerous public shelters in and around Dulwich, but many residents erected their own. The Ellen family from Turney Road found that their Anderson shelter became increasingly damp as the winter of 1940 approached: “Dr Brown said we could stay in the house and risk being hit by a bomb, or use the shelter and be sure of dying of pneumonia.”

As well as bombs, people faced the daily struggle of putting food on the table in the face of rationing and food shortages. Some people formed pig clubs, where they all contributed waste food scraps to feed the pig. When it was slaughtered the meat would be shared out.

“We always had something when they killed a pig,” recalled Nora Young, “and once we had a leg. We invited relations and neighbours to our pork party, 10 of us in two sittings; what a treat it was.”

But amid all the wartime austerity, one Dulwich teenager struck it rich and moved into the house of her dreams on Court Lane. The year was 1940 and the young lady’s name was Anne Shelton.

She was a “forces sweetheart” who melted the hearts of servicemen at military bases up and down the country. She had her own radio show, Introducing Anne, which ran for four years and was mainly broadcast to troops in North Africa. She’s perhaps best remembered for her signature tune, Lili Marlene.

In the summer of 1944, the Germans started firing rocket bombs at Britain. Dulwich was especially badly hit and this was no accident. The Germans aimed their rockets where they thought they would do the most damage.

However, British intelligence officers were able to use their knowledge of the Enigma code to feed misinformation to the Germans about where their rockets had landed, leading them to aim their rockets south-east of central London in the mistaken belief they were hitting their targets.

The worst single incidence of loss of life occurred on November 1, 1944 when a V2 rocket landed on the corner of Friern Road and Etherow Street, killing 24 people.

Understandably the rocket bombs increased British anger at the Germans, who they regarded as “simply not playing the game”. Clergymen were by no means immune from the desire for retribution.

The outraged pastor of Lordship Lane Baptist Church declared that “Hitler and his hounds from hell will lose their lives. They deserve to for they have never given God or man a chance.”

Meanwhile the Reverend James Capron of All Saints Church in West Dulwich seemed to be more upset about his stained glass windows than any humanitarian implications: “It all makes a lot of work for everybody with discomfort and inconvenience, which no doubt the Germans intended, but it has not and will not win them the war. But it has stopped a lot of talk about the Germans being fundamentally nice gentlemen, unfortunately led by gangsters.”

However, an excerpt from St Mary’s Church magazine in Peckham had a more dovish tone: “A competition in barbarism would hardly save the population from suffering, shorten the war or add to the hope of a better world in the days to come.”

There are numerous reminders in and around Dulwich of those people, military and civilian, who lost their lives during the two world wars. Outside what is now the Deeper Life Bible Church on Lordship Lane, there’s a stone plinth erected by the Dulwich Volunteer Battalion – an early version of the Home Guard – in honour of those who died in World War One.

At what is now Dulwich Community Hospital, several thousand World War One soldiers were cared for after being injured at the front. In the grounds, there’s a monument to 119 soldiers who didn’t survive. In 2013, the Dulwich Society erected 12 memorial plaques at sites where German bombs caused significant loss of life.

But there are other reminders too, and they aren’t all about people who were killed. There’s a blue plaque on Anne Shelton’s former residence at 142 Court Lane. The site of the exotic if strange-sounding Toksowa Hotel has lost none of its exclusivity. It became Hambledon Place, a very upmarket gated community that was once home to Margaret and Denis Thatcher.

But one of the least aesthetic reminders of Dulwich’s wartime legacy has to be the concrete gun emplacement at the top of One Tree Hill. It certainly isn’t made any prettier by the empty bottles and beer cans that have sometimes graced its environs. Perhaps we should be grateful however, that we live in an age when all-night parties have replaced all-night air raids, and when uncollected litter is a greater nuisance than unexploded bombs.

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