#New York Immigration Firm

[venusinthenews]

[legallawsandrulesnyc]

Why an Immigration Lawyer in New York Is Essential for Visa Applications

Navigating the complex world of immigration law in New York can be challenging, especially when dealing with the intricate details of visas, green cards, and citizenship. An immigration lawyer in New York is crucial in guiding individuals and families through this often confusing and stressful process. Whether you are seeking to work, study, or reunite with loved ones in the United States, the right legal representation can make all the difference in achieving a successful outcome.

New York, as a major hub for immigrants from all over the world, has a diverse and bustling legal environment. Immigration lawyers in New York are well-versed in the nuances of federal immigration law and are familiar with the specific challenges that immigrants may face in this state. These professionals can help you understand your options, prepare the necessary documentation, and represent you in court if needed.

One of the most common reasons people seek the help of an immigration lawyer in New York is for employment-related visas. Securing an employment visa can be a complicated process, involving detailed paperwork and strict deadlines. Whether you are an employer seeking to hire foreign talent or a professional looking to work in the United States, an employment visa lawyer in New York can assist in navigating the complexities of the U.S. immigration system.

These lawyers specialize in various employment visas, such as H-1B for specialty occupations, L-1 for intra-company transfers, and O-1 for individuals with extraordinary abilities. An experienced employment visa lawyer in New York will ensure that your application is complete, accurate, and filed on time, reducing the risk of delays or denials. They can also provide valuable advice on maintaining your visa status and what steps to take if you encounter legal issues during your stay.

In addition to employment visas, immigration lawyers in New York handle various other cases, including family reunification, asylum applications, deportation defense, and naturalization. Each of these areas requires a deep understanding of immigration law and a strategic approach tailored to the client's unique situation.

When choosing an immigration lawyer in New York, it's important to find someone with experience in the specific type of case you are dealing with. Look for a lawyer who is responsive, empathetic, and committed to your cause. This level of dedication can be the key to overcoming the challenges of the immigration process and achieving your goals.

In conclusion, an immigration lawyer in New York plays a vital role in helping individuals and families navigate the U.S. immigration system. Whether you need assistance with an employment visa, family-based immigration, or any other immigration matter, a skilled lawyer can provide the guidance and support necessary to ensure a successful outcome.

[haoyando]

The Robot Translator (Flash Fiction)

Image by kiquebg from Pixaba Flash Fiction #167 Ayun is sitting in the conference room alone, staring at Fifi, the female humanoid robot, with frubber skin, big doll eyes, and a mouth that’s permanently red without the help of lipsticks. Fifi’s merits are printed on a small piece of laminated paper and tucked in her pocket: I can do everything a normal human can do, plus I can translate in…

[wildeslaw]

Important Role Of An Immigration Lawyer In New York

Anybody who has gone through the process of immigrating to the United States knows how complicated the regulations governing immigration are. Unfortunately, many immigrants still have trouble following the correct processes, leaving out crucial information to cause visa rejection.

The scope of U.S. immigration regulations is so broad that even U.S. residents may struggle to fill out all of the papers correctly. That is why you should engage an experienced New York immigration lawyer. These attorneys have sufficient knowledge and experience dealing with various immigration cases to assist you in understanding the many sorts of visas available and the processes involved in obtaining them. A reputable lawyer, therefore, provides detailed information so that you may make an informed decision.

In this blog, we discuss why the role of an immigration lawyer is so crucial and how to find the best one. Let's check it out!

What Does An Immigration Lawyer Do?

Immigration lawyers are hard-working and know how to fight for individuals and businesses to get the best results. Apart from this, there are many tasks that immigration lawyers need to perform to help you with your case. 

Provide You With In-Depth Knowledge

A highly-qualified lawyer with years of experience can help you to understand the specific advantages of immigrant law. A knowledgeable lawyer will provide you with detailed information to know which advantages may include liabilities. These lawyers have a full understanding of the different types of immigration cases to create the best path to U.S. citizenship for you. 

Guide You About Potential Risks

The best immigration lawyer in Florida checks your case thoroughly to identify potential issues and address them effectively. A well-qualified lawyer can help you to develop and implement certain strategies to mitigate risks and submit your application properly to achieve the best outcome.

Beneficial Legal Advice

If you are unable to choose a suitable visa for you and your family, then a reliable and well-qualified lawyer explains the entire process and helps you to make the right decisions. In case you are planning to sponsor a fiance, a lawyer can provide various options that would be beneficial for you. These lawyers will help you determine whether you should get married outside of the U.S. or get married in the U.S. and wait for the spouse to receive a visa. 

Documentation

Before applying for permanent residence citizenship, it is necessary to have all the documentation to prevent application rejection or delay in the process. Every document is important to ensure the process goes smoothly. Immigration lawyers can easily obtain and organize all the necessary documents for you and handle all the paperwork. They will streamline the process so that your chances of Visa application approval will increase. 

Apart from this, these lawyers also effectively respond to requests for evidence. Sometimes, the government may request additional documentation from you. So, it is crucial to properly respond to these requests and submit all the requested documents to avoid any unnecessary delay. Immigration lawyers provide all the requested documents on time so your application won't be denied. 

Prepares You For The Visa Interview

You must be aware of the visa interview and how critical it is in your case. In some cases, many potential immigrants are not clear about immigration law and don’t know how to answer properly, and this lack of information becomes a barrier to obtaining a visa. To secure certain benefits, an immigration lawyer will help you to prepare for the interview. They will guide you to prepare the appropriate answers to clear the interview without any hassle. 

How To Choose The Best Immigration Lawyer In Florida?

Hiring an immigration lawyer can be an intimidating and frustrating process; therefore, it is important that you do your research before hiring them. Here are a few tips that you may consider-

Set The Right Expectation

Immigration cases can be very complicated, so you must hire a lawyer who understands your expectations and makes the process easy for you. Lawyers will be able to develop effective strategies to overcome potential risks and help you to obtain the desired result.

Get The Referral

You can ask your relatives and your friends if they work with a good immigration lawyer. If any of your family members have gone through this process, they can easily direct you to a trusted lawyer. Moreover, you can use digital media to search the trusted immigration lawyers around you and check their reviews to evaluate their services. 

Check The Experience

Only experienced immigration lawyers can guarantee you a Visa success. They can represent your case with competence and confidence. An experienced lawyer works effectively as he knows the court policies and procedures. He will help you to place your case in the most favorable position that increases your chances of obtaining the visa. You also can ask about his track record of success before hiring him.

Wrapping Up!

Several more considerations are necessary before hiring a lawyer who follows the correct steps to apply your applications and fulfill all your requirements.

So, if you are looking for the best immigration lawyers in Florida, then you must contact Wildes Weinberg PC. They have a team of highly qualified and experienced lawyers who specialize in all types of immigration cases. 

To learn more about their services, simply dial 212-753-3468 and schedule a meeting with an expert today!

[funemployed-fangirl]

Modern Bridgerton AU

Anthony & Kate

The Bridgerton Cooperation is the family business started at the turn of the century by a great-something grandfather Bridgerton, and it was successful enough to push the family into the upper echelons of New York society. When their father died, an uncle took stewardship of the company until Anthony graduated and could start learning to take over. He’s been running the business since getting an MBA from Penn, which he is trying very hard to do well, but it consumes his entire life.

Kate’s stepmother is from a society family, but she married a decidedly outside of the circle (Kate’s father). Kate is ambitious and wants to prove the society gossips wrong about her. She goes to Smith then Georgetown Law, after which she ends up back in NYC working at a small human rights law firm, where she does immigration work.

Anthony decides it’s probably time to settle down. But obviously he’s not going to stop working 80 hours a week for the family business, so he’s looking for a wife who can run his household and raise his children and be unbothered by essentially never seeing each other.  At some social function, Anthony meets Kate’s younger half-sister, who is much more like Daphne and is aiming to marry money and be a society wife. Anthony’s interested…until he figures out she’s Kate’s sister.

Anthony initially meets Kate through work circumstances – his executive assistant’s (sibling, fiancé, friend, whatever) is facing deportation due to DACA issues, and he (good person that he actually is deep down) offers to help. Kate ends up taking the case, and she and Anthony butt heads immediately. At first, Kate thinks he’s doing this for good PR, but soon realizes that he’s paying the legal fees with his own money and helping his assistant keep the news private and oh shit he might actually be a good guy. 

Tensions come to a head when Kate gets introduced to Upper East Side Pall Mall. It’s a game where you hit golf balls from one upper east side rooftop to another. Whoever can get it the farthest from the “home base” rooftop (and get into the building and talk their way up to THAT rooftop so they can retrieve their ball) wins. Edmund taught it to the older kids. They all think Violet doesn’t know about it (in fact, she invented the game). 

Kate, being more of an outsider, is shocked to discover this is a thing that upper east side teens and 20-somethings do with relative regularity. "I’m sorry…you do WHAT?" Anthony thinks introducing her to the game will shock and appall her, and he’ll get the upper hand in the weird mating dance they’re doing (that’s what Hyacinth and Daphne will later refer to it as). But no. After about 15 seconds of adjusting to the idea, Kate is all in and takes no prisoners. Technically they both lost that game, but they also weren’t seen until much later that night…

The DACA issue gets settled (successfully, thank you), and Anthony and Kate realize they’re actually perfect for each (and Anthony learns what a work-life-balance is). They get married the following year and move into the Bridgerton Family brownstone. 

more (x)

[beardedmrbean]

New claims of plagiarism emerged Tuesday against Vice President Kamala Harris — with allegations including that she fabricated a story about sex trafficking and cribbed the work of other prosecutors, a judge and even Wikipedia to draft state reports on crime.

Harris, 60, seems to have invented details of a sex crime case out of whole cloth and taken sentences directly from published work by former California Attorney General Bill Lockyer as well as a New York jurist.

The new allegations were first reported by the Washington Free Beacon.

In a 2012 report on human trafficking Harris issued while California’s attorney general, she cited a fictional example of the type of call received by the National Human Trafficking Hotline as a bona fide case that had occurred.

The nonprofit in charge of the hotline, Polaris Project, had posted the exact same case details in June of that year as “representative of the types of calls” it received.

With different “names, locations, and other identifying information,” the example was “meant for informational purposes only,” according to an archived webpage reviewed by the Free Beacon.

But Harris copied the example verbatim into the state report, keeping the alias — “Kelly” — of the woman who was being trafficked but shifting the venue from Washington, D.C., to her native San Francisco.

The 2012 report also used a nearly identical paragraph to a Wikipedia entry on California’s Victim Compensation Board.

Another report put out in 2011, on organized crime the previous year, contained passages that were an exact match for portions of Lockyer’s report on the same subject six years earlier.

In 2014, Harris apparently stole from New York Court of Claims and Albany County Superior Court Judge Roger McDonough for a report on transnational gangs.

Recent polling has shown that Harris is seen as far more honest than her Republican opponent, former President Donald Trump, but the copycat claims — on top of earlier plagiarism allegations — is sure to test that public image.

The Trump campaign dubbed the veep a political “chameleon” in August, shortly after she clinched the Democratic nomination, for flip-flopping on her long-held liberal stances related to crime and immigration while embracing some of the 45th president’s proposed policies.

In April 2007, years before the purloined reports, Harris appeared before the House Judiciary Committee to lobby for passage of the John R. Justice Prosecutors and Defenders Incentive Act — a bill that would have helped local and state prosecutors and public defenders repay their law school and undergraduate loans while performing their public service.

More talented lawyers who opted for high pay at white-shoe firms would remain in the public sector if their debt was forgiven, the then-San Francisco DA argued, keeping more expertise in prosecutors and public defenders’ offices and helping to fill gaps in staffing.

Harris’ words in the April 24 hearing were nearly identical to testimony given two months prior by Republican Winnebago County, Ill., prosecutor Paul Logli, the Free Beacon also noted, citing the occurrence of the same statistics, punctuation and even typos in both written statements.

In total, the outlet said, 1,200 of the 1,500 words spoken by Harris (80%) were the same as those uttered by Logli.

Logli told The Post Tuesday that his testimony was prepared and written “largely” by staff from the National District Attorneys Association (NDAA), where he was then serving as president.

He said that Harris, who was a member of the association’s board of directors at the time, likely “also relied on NDAA staff support for her opening statement.”

“The similar content of our statements was an effort by NDAA to be entirely consistent in the positions we presented to both Houses of Congress on behalf of the 3,500 state and local prosecutors we represented on  a national level,” Logli said in an emailed statement. “Like me, I believe Ms. Harris simply relied on NDAA staff for much of the content of her opening statement before Congress.”

Manhattan Institute senior fellow Christopher Rufo revealed last week that portions of Harris’ 2009 pro-criminal justice reform book, “Smart on Crime,” had used identical wording to academic studies, press reports and even a Wikipedia entry — all of which predated the publication’s release.

Harris’ ghostwriter seemed unaware of the apparently plagiarized passages when contacted by The Post — but her publisher later signaled internally that the accusations were “a very sensitive topic” that was being handled by higher-ups.

“It was not the ghostwriter’s fault but, rather, this is a pattern,” Joshua Lisec, a New York Times bestselling ghostwriter, told The Post in a phone interview last week, saying he believed that Harris had probably “copied and pasted” other people’s work and sent it off to her ghostwriter without attribution.

“I don’t have inside access to their particular working relationship, but from the outside, my lens of the ghostwriting career and the profession, knowing how this goes, the ghostwriter probably had no idea that likely Kamala copied and pasted from somewhere on the internet or maybe her assistant did,” he said.

“She’s in trouble with everybody that she has effectively stolen [or] stolen from, or whoever did it, but she’s liable because her name is is on it,” Lisec said of Harris’ pilfering.

Harris’ ghostwriter, Joan O’C. Hamilton, he added, was “legitimate, experienced, successful as a ghostwriter and not the sort of person that you would expect engages with extremely low standards.”

South Dakota GOP Gov. Kristi Noem was widely viewed as a potential running mate pick for Trump before her own errors about a “meeting” with North Korean dictator Kim Jong-un crept past a ghostwriter into her political memoir “No Going Back,” which was published in May.

The Harris campaign and Hamilton did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

Senator Edward "Ed" Stone stood tall at the podium, his aging hands gripping the wooden edges with the strength of conviction, his sharp voice slicing through the evening air as he rallied his supporters. Decades of political power and influence fueled his words, a career built on fanning the flames of division and fear. The crowd roared in agreement as Ed spat venom, his tone filled with disgust.

“These people,” Ed sneered into the microphone, his words practically dripping with disdain, “immigrants, queers—they’re tearing apart the very fabric of this nation!”

The crowd, a sea of red hats and clenched fists, cheered loudly, their faces twisted in anger and hatred. This was Ed’s arena—where he thrived, where he built his empire. But tonight, something felt off. A strange sense of unease prickled at the back of his mind, though he dismissed it as exhaustion. He’d been delivering speeches like this for decades.

Then it happened.

The first wave of change was subtle. A sudden dizziness swept over him, causing him to blink rapidly as his vision blurred. His voice faltered, cracking in the middle of a sentence. He cleared his throat, shaking his head to steady himself. But his body felt foreign, different.

He glanced down at his hands—the once veiny, weathered hands of an aging politician—and gasped. His fingers had slimmed and smoothed, their skin tightening, becoming youthful and adorned with rings that glimmered under the stadium lights. His heart raced in confusion. His chest, broad and heavy with age, was now shifting, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight as his torso narrowed, muscles firming beneath his skin.

His voice, once a sharp bark, softened, becoming more melodic, more unfamiliar. The crowd, sensing the strange shift, began to quiet. Ed stumbled backward, watching in horror as his body continued to change. His waist shrank, his arms grew leaner and more agile, his legs lengthened beneath him. His face—his old, familiar face—wasn’t his anymore. The wrinkles vanished, replaced by taut, smooth skin. His once thin, graying hair thickened, darkening into lush, dark waves that curled slightly at the ends. A thick, full beard sprouted across his jaw, which was now chiseled and sharp.

He was younger, stronger. His suit, stiff and formal, felt out of place on this new body. He tore off his jacket, ripping his tie loose from his neck, revealing a chest dusted with dark hair that peeked through his now unbuttoned shirt.

His mind was spinning. Who was this? Who was he? And then the memories came—memories that weren’t his own. He wasn’t Ed Stone anymore. He was Marco, a dancer and emcee, who had come to the U.S. to follow his dreams. He had left behind a life of repression, embracing his freedom and joy, performing in clubs, dancing under the neon lights of New York City. Marco loved, lived, and celebrated everything Ed had once despised.

The hatred that had consumed Ed for so long melted away, replaced by the warmth of Marco’s memories—of love, of community, of acceptance. He stepped back from the podium, gasping as his transformation completed.

But the changes didn’t stop with him.

Across the rally, the crowd that had once chanted in anger and fear began to feel the same strange pull. It started with Pastor Bill Jenkins, a loud, stern man whose deep voice had often commanded the attention of his congregation. Bill stood at the front of the crowd, his fist raised in solidarity with Ed’s speech, when a sharp pain gripped his chest. He doubled over, clutching at his shirt as his body began to change.

Bill’s broad, bulky frame began to slim, his belly shrinking into a lean, muscular core. His arms, once thick and heavy from years of lifting hymnals and pointing accusing fingers, became graceful and toned, adorned with intricate rings and bracelets. His clean-shaven face sprouted a thick beard, and his hair, dull and thinning, became a shiny black mass that curled neatly above his ears. His stiff suit shifted into an open shirt, revealing a chest covered in dark hair.

Bill blinked as new memories filled his mind—he was no longer Bill, the judgmental pastor. Now, he was Mateo, a proud gay man from Brazil, a wedding dancer who moved with grace and joy, a man who celebrated love, not condemned it. The anger and rigidity that had once defined Bill’s life dissolved, leaving only love and joy in its wake.

The crowd looked on in stunned silence as one by one, they too began to change.

At the edge of the rally, Tom Callahan, a grizzled factory worker, felt the same warmth spread through his body. Years of hard labor had made his body stiff and slow, but now he felt his spine straighten, his joints loosen, his belly tighten. His limbs became long and graceful, his rough hands smoothing into elegant, tattooed arms. His hair, once grey and thinning, thickened into dark, shiny waves. His boots morphed into polished shoes, and his work clothes became a fitted, stylish outfit.

Tom was gone. In his place stood Julio, a dancer from Argentina, full of life, full of hope, who had come to the U.S. to pursue his dreams of performing on Broadway. Julio smiled as the bitterness of Tom’s old life faded, replaced with a sense of freedom and joy.

And still, the changes spread.

Near the stage, Jenny Park—a fierce advocate for "family values"—felt her body shift as well. Her small frame stretched taller, her limbs filling out with lean muscle. Her long, straight hair shortened into tight curls, and her smooth face sprouted a sharp beard. Her soft features hardened into those of a handsome, strong man. Jenny was no more; now, she was Tae-jun, a proud Korean immigrant, a spoken-word artist who had found love and joy in his art, in his community.

As the transformation overtook the rally, the stadium buzzed with new energy. The sea of faces, once angry and twisted, was now a diverse, vibrant crowd of men from all walks of life. Each man, once filled with fear and hatred, now stood tall in their new bodies, new identities, united by a sense of shared love and acceptance.

In the back, Jerry Thompson—Big Jerry, the trucker who had always cracked jokes at other people’s expense—wasn’t immune to the change. His thick belly shrank into a tight six-pack, his muscular arms transforming into the lean, defined limbs of a fitness instructor. His face, rough and stubbly, became smooth, his brown hair curling into thick, luscious locks. Big Jerry was gone, replaced by Alejandro, a Cuban-American fitness instructor whose life revolved around spreading health, happiness, and self-love.

As Marco stood on the stage, looking out at the transformed crowd, he felt a swell of pride. No longer was this rally a place of hatred or division. Instead, it had become a celebration—a celebration of love, unity, and the shared humanity that had always been there, buried beneath the fear.

The stadium erupted in cheers, not for the hateful rhetoric that had once filled the space, but for the newfound joy that had taken its place. Men of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities embraced one another, danced, and laughed. There was no longer fear, no longer division—only love, in all its forms.

And so, under the lights of the stadium, the men danced, arm in arm, celebrating the power of love and unity. What had begun as a rally for hate had transformed into something beautiful—a testament to the power of transformation, not just of body, but of heart and soul.

[collapsedsquid]

You might not know it reading the news or following X, but Kamala Harris has firmed up her closing message. So has Donald Trump. And they are hammering swing state voters with simple, direct arguments even as the media cycle spins out of control. “On issue after issue, Kamala broke it, but I will fix it,” Trump said at his Madison Square Garden rally, a line that now runs through his campaign’s final paid ads. “It’s either Donald Trump in there stewing over his enemy’s list, or me, working for you, checking off my to-do list,” Harris said the night before, in Kalamazoo, Mich. Neither of those messages led the news coverage from their latest mega-rallies. Trump’s rally, the largest of his 2024 campaign, was overwhelmed by roast comic Tony Hinchcliffe’s jokes about Puerto Rico, immigrants, and Jews; most reporting on the Kalamazoo rally covered Michelle Obama’s speech, which urged the “fellas” to get on the “right side of history.” But when they’re on script — Harris more frequently than Trump — the major party nominees are amplifying messages that the campaigns have spent a billion dollars to put on TV and streaming channels. And the topics they’re focused on most might not be what you think they are. Trump’s New York rally on Sunday, and Harris’ rally in DC tonight, were both built to clarify what they’re running on for a national audience that may not be tuned in yet.

Carefully focus-group test your political message for maximum effect and then realize that the campaign isn't in control of it's political messaging at all

[ladylaviniya]

The Spirit of Christmas Eve

Masterlist || Chapter 1 ll Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: After an unexpected visit from your younger, overly pregnant and concerned sister- you are yet again put into a terrible mood. You receive a night visit from the ghost of your predecessor and fall into an abyss of confusion.

Pairing: Chris Evans x f!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Disrespect to Homeless People, R4pe Fantasies, Masturbation, Dark Joke about Abortion, Hinted Xenophobia, Humiliation, Ghosts, Swearing, Alcoholic Use, Drug Use, Classism.

Word Count: 5k

Author Notes: This is a parody of the classic "A Christmas Carol" story by Dickens, I hope you come to enjoy it even though the pov holds cruel, toxic and abusive traits.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

09:00am, 24th December 2023, New York City.

Oh how you hated the holidays. You hated the red and green colouring, you hated the carolling groups and bands singing every day in December leading up to the wretched twenty fifth. You hate the baby Jesus in a manager nativity set ups.

‘Jesus wasn’t even fucking born on Christmas. He was a January baby according to Jewish scholars. It was all a ploy to satisfy and celebrate Yule with pagans before encouraging indoctrination!!’

And the smell of peppermint, gingerbread and fatty sugary foods left you feeling sickly.

“Unnecessary calories to dissolve the enamel of my teeth when it comes back up in the  goddamn toilet.”

The cold air and the slippery frost brought you no delight. Along the way you would kick the snow men in your walking path. You despised the bratty children sitting on the Santa laps in the malls.

‘Their parents should know half of those fat ass Santa actors are just paedophiles getting their kicks once a year? Yea I’d love a little boy all prim and plump to sit on my lap if I was a sicko in a red suit too.’

You hated the fact they were bringing Christmas trees in the day after Halloween.

“Sure, it spins the wheel of capitalism but God, do they have to look so trashy? Christmas is once a year, not two months long.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed as you strutted the street to your work place.

Your senior associate Marlene who you could’ve considered your friend had a heart attack early that year. She was a woman in her prime, at forty years old she had managed to build her business empire. No husband, no kids, no pets. She didn’t need those things, not when she raked in over four million dollars a year. She drank and smoked like a chimney, you wondered if it contributed to her death in the end. She was rumoured to be found naked, getting fucked by some no name sexy twenty-one year old playboy from South Korea. And among her blissful orgasm, her heart just couldn’t handle the pressure and faltered.

Imagine his horror. Balls deep and not knowing she had died. Little shit tried getting her money in the inheritance scheme. He tried pushing that he was her long committed boyfriend. One threat to the immigration department sent that kid running for the kills back to Seoul.

You were named successor in her Will. Now, it’s not like you needed her millions, you already had a full pocket. At twenty five you’d made your first million all because you picked the right pattern in your investments and put every cent into them. You worked instead of partied. And many had said behind your back that it made you a miserable sourpuss bitch with no friends. You didn’t need friends. Marlene was just a funny coincidence.

Some might have called you careless, impulsive, and greedy. But what that translates to you was the word ‘Wealth and Success’. You were wealthy and money made you happy. The more numbers, the more joy in your cold heart.

You entered the building that was now yours. Oh did I forget to remind you...you were the CEO of your tax collecting firm. I think that’s important for you to know.

Entering the sleek grey, white and black minimalist foyer you sighed in relief. No Christmas or holiday bullshit in here. You had banned all decorations and affiliations.

And you refused paid leave to anyone asking not to work on Christmas day. You remember scoffing last night at the amount of requests you had received about time off for the holidays.

‘I’m running a business, not a charity.’

Christmas was the best time of year for your job. So many stupid people take out stupid loans they can’t afford especially during the holidays period when gift giving is the centre cause of financial stress. You got a thrill out of denying loans and upping payment interest rates for those suckers who didn’t make their payments on time because they chose to spend the money meant to be going into your pocket on some disposable wrapping paper and a cheap pharmacy gift last minute.

As you stepped into the elevator you smiled cynically at the empty space. You could look at yourself in the mirror and pick apart all the things you loved and hated about your body. It was strangely therapeutic. Something about the critiques gave you a massive high.

But just as the elevator doors where closing a hand slammed hard through the gap.

“Wait!” came a familiar cry. Your face fell and you felt a tight discomfort seeing the face of your younger sister. Caroline.

Your eyes shot down to her belly. Big as a house in the ugliest knit Christmas sweater.

‘Pregnant again. Jesus Christ. What’s this? Number four now?’

You clenched your handbag tighter. You tried recalling some sort of baby shower invite from months ago, you totally forgot about it once you moved it to junk mail.

‘If she fucking asks me for money again, I swear to god she’s risking an abortion voucher in a Christmas card...are abortion vouchers even a thing?’

Caroline had married her highschool sweetheart, he was some sort of mechanic or something. A bum, like your Dad. You couldn’t believe she was dumb enough to breed with an imbecile like him. Mind you, her first son was clearly an teen pregnancy accident that sealed them together. And every year, she just seemed to pop out a new one. And every year that meant you gave her a fat cheque, usually six thousand dollars.

You ground your teeth as she forced herself inside and pressed the button of the doors shut immediately, not at all taking notice of you until mid way moving up in the building.

Her face lit up and she shrieked in delight at seeing you.  You strained a smile.

‘Yea, definitely looking for a handout.’

“Oh my god! I was about to fight security to come see you sissy!” she forced her arms around you. You bit your tongue. You hated hugs.

“Well…lovely seeing you too,” you muttered before awkwardly patting her back.

Her breath hitched at seeing the look on your face, “Sorry about not pre-warning, I did try calling you but your phone keeps going to voicemail.”

‘Oh good, she still hasn’t figured out I let them ring out.’

“And you didn’t reply to my emails.”

You fought a smirk, ‘because they go straight to junk mail’.

She smiled and babbled happily, “Anyway, I had to come here because I need to give you-“ she huffed and swiped a bead of sweat from her forehead before reaching into her nappy bag (that she treated like a handbag.) and retrieved a thick red envelope.

She handed it to you. Your manicured nails pinched the ugly stickers one of your nephews or nieces had chosen. Scribbled in absolute chicken scrap handwriting was your name, most likely also done by your nephew or nieces.

The elevator opened and you sighed, marching out to enter the offices with your solo office space down the hall with the largest window and finest view of the city below. You didn’t expect your sister to tail you. She waddled like a fast duck following you.

“I was thinking you should meet this guy that babysits-” She was talking to you about something but in all honesty, you weren’t listening until she mentioned the cursed words, “-Christmas Party.”

You deposited your handbag on your desk and spun on your heel. Your eyes wide, your smile straining into a sneer.

You snickered cruelly and laced your fingers together, “How many times have we discussed this? I. Don’t. Celebrate. Christmas. I don’t do presents, I don’t do carolling, I don’t do secret Santa’s and I sure as fucking hell don’t do Christmas Parties. I’m glad that you and Tim have fun with your kids and do all that meaningless stuff to shield them from the big bad world. I however am not in the mood for it. Work comes first. This is one of the busiest years of my life, the market is at an all time high in interests rates.”

She looked like she was growing smaller with every foul word that dripped like acid rain.

“It’s just one day, not even a full day. Just a few hours, not far from you,” she whispered and rubbed her belly comfortingly.

You shook your head and circled around your desk, “Might as well get this over with, you don’t need to ploy me with booze.”

You pulled out a cheque book from your drawer and slapped it down. You bent over and fished out a pen, pressing the ink to the slim piece of paper.

Your voice came out like a bark, “How much are you wanting this year?”

“Wh-what?” your sisters eyes grew wide.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, with a condescending tone, “How much money do you want to cover all the gifts? I hear Disneyland is great this time of year in Florida. I need a number. I have a busy day ahead of me so I’d just like to get this over and done with.”

Your sister didn’t answer. You glanced up. Her face was no longer smiling. She looked in pain. Her hand sat on top of her belly. She hissed and breathed out hard.

Her eyes were dimming down. She lost the joyful spark. She waddled to the guest chair in front of your desk and sat down.

She put the nappy bag on the floor.

 ‘great, thanks for the smell of cornflakes and breast milk on the carpet.’

Her breath turned husky and you started to reach for your desk phone ready to call a bloody ambulance to take her to the hospital. You couldn’t tell what the hell was wrong with her and prayed she wasn’t going into labour. You didn’t need to waste five thousand dollars on a carpet replacement because her waters might break.

Her eyes glared up at you as she tried to focus on pacing her breath. God, she looked like your mother with that look. It hurt. She got the best genes you had to admit. Even while pregnant she had this way about her that made men just want to beg for her number. You couldn’t tell if it was her ditsy personality or just good looks.

“Jim," Caroline corrected with strain, "-and I don’t need your money. We don’t want it. We have never have wanted it. This year, I just want you to put in the effort to spend Christmas with us as a family. You and I haven’t shared a Christmas since I was in middle school. My kids want their aunty to visit because I tell them you’re the coolest person alive...” her eyes narrowed, “Put the fucking cheque book away, and come to fucking Christmas dinner at least. It’s going to be at my house if you look at the invite that your nephew and nieces made special for you. They don’t want presents, they just want to see their aunty. Besides.... I told them you’d come if they put extra love into it.”

You chewed your inner cheek and stood up straight, crossing your arms and sat on the edge of your desk.

“You shouldn’t lie to your kids, Caroline,” you coolly said with icy impact.

You watched her eyes start to shine and water.

“Jesus,” you muttered, “Don’t fucking cry.”

She broke down immediately. You sighed with annoyance. ‘why did she have to come today of all days and act like this. It’s not a big deal. God.’

“You’re such a bitch and my kids have done nothing to you except love you unconditionally. The least you can do is show up,” Caroline struggled to stand out of the chair and when you reached out to help, she snapped like a firecracker and hissed, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

She groaned as she bent down, holding her belly and reached for her nappy bag, that she let you help her with. She suddenly looked so tired and deflated compared to when she had ducked into the elevator. You started to feel a tick of that itchy sympathy. Pregnancy always looked hard. Her first birth was so difficult, the second slipped right out but she didn’t have an epidural and the third time was an emergency c-section. In fact you weren’t even sure if she was meant to be having this fourth baby. It would be too risky. She could honestly kill herself. Now that was a bolt of fear that coursed through you.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” you sniffled, trying to distract your little sister from her anger.

She looked even more offended and scoffed, “You know, if you had even tried to come to my baby shower, you could’ve eaten one of the gender reveal cupcakes.”

‘Ouch.’

You looked down at your Valentino pumps. Seven years younger than you and she still managed to put you in your place with the snap of her fingers.

She rubbed her wet eyes with the tips of her fingers.

“I worry about you...” she mumbled, “You might have a lot of money Y/N, but money can’t buy you everything. Don’t you want to share memories?”

You tried hiding the laugh limbing your throat,, “Not this argument again...come on, I’ll walk you out and hire you a cab.”

You escorted her back to the elevator, all your employees watching and whispering about it. You knew your office needed thicker glass.

As you quietly pressed the button down, your sister finally said, “It’s twins. A boy and girl.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Eventually you only nodded and whispered, “Congratulations. You and Tim must be excited.”

“Jim," she grounded, "-and I are flat out on our feet with the others but yea...I’m thinking about naming the girl after mom.”

Again you didn’t respond. You wanted this interaction to be finished. You wanted to go to work and drink away the days leading up to New Year’s. Maybe you should take a trip overseas. You might run into a handsome one night stand with an attractive accent.

Your sister turned and hugged you again, she rubbed her sweet face into your shoulder and sighed, “I’m sorry for snapping. Please don’t be mad. Please promise me you’ll come to the party, even for five minutes.”

Her pleading eyes finally cracked your ice wall.

“Fine. Five minutes.”

The squealing giggle of delight made you groan internationally instantly regretting your words. Nonetheless you took it upon yourself to at least hug her back. God help you, you didn’t know how you’d survive.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

10:00pm, 24th December 2023, New York City.

On your way home you discovered with aggravation all the cabs and ubers nearby had been booked up and the traffic in the city horrendous. Of course. On Christmas eve it would look like this.  You decided to march your way to the subway. It would be the quickest way back home.

You had to cross the park to get there though.

And among your walking you passed a man laying down on a bench. He wore a baseball cap that hid his face. He wore a blanket over his shoulders. A puff of cold air escaped his pink lips.

His shadowed face peered up at you and held up a piece of cardboard that read the following: Homeless, please donate a food and blankets.

And something inside you cracked again. You fought the urge to pull out your purse and give him the only hundred dollar bill you had. You looked him up and down. And froze. Next to him was a bottle of liquor. Something malicious dripped from your lips. Words filled with cruelty and hate. It was bold and dangerous. But you bet he was drunk.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t there any shelters taking in scum? Are all the prisons full? Maybe if you got off your ass and got a real fucking job, you would be too busy making money instead of swilling down booze!”

He did not react in the way you expected. He smiled at an ankle, winked and held a finger up to his lips.

Your face curdled in disgust and hacked back your throat, spitting on him.

“Booze bum,” you muttered, and marched on, away from him.

Your chin jerked high. It was a method of teaching you had learnt in your youth. Shame someone until they commit to a goal and out perform it. To this day you are still doing that very thing, why not share that gift of knowledge with others?

You scowled the entire train ride home and flicked through your emails.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

11:10pm, 24th December 2023, New York City.

Alone in your penthouse apartment, you padded your way to bed scrolling through your phone. In your hand you cradled a wine glass and set it on the bedside table.

Beneath the soft cotton covers you sighed happily and used your phone to command the fireplace to be lit up. A fake flame on a flat screen tv with heaters all around you, filling your place with warmth.  Laying back into your pillows you scrolled your phone and frowned at all the Christmas themed posts online, all the tutorials and recipes you’d never follow and all the Christmas stories you’d never read.

Tossing the phone beside your wine glass, your hands snuck down into a drawer and retrieved your absolute best friend in the world. She was thick, long and quiet, totally sky blue and had twenty different settings. You slid the vibrator under the covers and shimmied out of your underwear. Your fingers fumbled, touching your wet cunt.

The alcohol was finally hitting you, warming you up. You weakly reached for your vibrator. You knew it would be a comfort to take away the anger and stress away from your day at work.

You pressed the silicone to your clit and switched on the toy. A soft sigh came from you as you rubbed it along your lower lips. You fluttered your eyes shut and tried to imagine a person and you having sex.

‘A policeman? No. College professor? No. Loser doorman? No…’ and then your eyes flickered in a quick vision of the homeless man from the park… ‘Yes. He must be miserable, pissed off, angry, he smiled but that would have been a lie, his long finger he held to his mouth should stuff itself inside me.’

Your hand slid up and pulled down the front of your night down. You dug your nails into your breast before tugging your nipple hard. You whined as you bucked your hips into your toy that you playfully prodded and tore out of you. You imagined that same stranger ripping your dress from your body and dragging you into the snowy woods.

Rape fantasies weren’t uncommon for you. It was something about the power struggle that sent thrills up and down your spine. You liked the pain. You liked being forced to give up your control. You slid the plastic cock deep into your slick pussy and mewled.

The homeless man would hold a knife to your throat and bend you over a log, no, no, that bench, so out and open and public for anyone to catch him tearing you apart. His hand would lick your skin in stinging slaps. The alcohol on his breath would be putrid. He’d call you names, whore, slut, bitch, cunt, fuckpig. And you would be totally helpless…

You lazily rolled over onto your belly and forced your ass up, your bed sheets falling down your thighs.

You pushed the dildo back in deep and turned on the highest setting, biting the pillow under you. You fucked yourself hard until it hurt.

The homeless man fantasy went on and on, forcing you to cum and cry. You didn’t care if neighbours or tenants below you heard. You imagined this terrible man after fucking you raw making you sit in his filthy lap, fucking you with the empty liquor bottle neck and letting strangers walking past the chance to spit on you and slap you until you cummed.

The fantasy didn’t have a fanciful ending fleshed out. You could only imagine him dragging you back to some ghetto homeless tent village under one of the city bridges and whoring your cunt out to his homeless buddies. You wanted to submit, to be used like that…

But not in the real world. Fuck no. Your reputation mattered greatly. You were too stubborn to willingly date a man and ask him to do something taboo like consensual non-consent play.

You tore the blue cock out and pressed it to your clit, riding out an ultimate orgasm that left your body feeling like jelly. Slumping forward you groaned into the pillows, you knew you had to eventually get up and pee. The alcohol still in your system made the journey feel almost impossible. But when your bare ass hit the seat, you leant back and sighed. 'UTI prevented!'

Getting back to bed wasn’t as hard as getting to the bathroom. You breathed in the smell of your own sexual prowess. No shame. You put away your toy and before you could search for your discarded underwear, you heard your phone pinged. You grunted with annoyance.

You glanced at the screen; it was a text from Caroline.

*Told the kids you are coming tomorrow! They’re so excited to see their aunty! Xoxo*

‘oh right…her Christmas party…it’s tomorrow…' you still hadn’t even looked at the invitation. Anger started burning its way into your chest when you saw the emojis and gifs she attached. Santa and reindeers and snowmen. God you fucking hated Christmas!! She didn’t need to remind you. You didn’t plan to be there longer than the strick three hundred seconds. The miserable evil stabbed your heart again.

It out you so over the edge you began to type, *Tell them I changed my mind, I’m busy.*

Before your thumb could slam on the message send, something strange occurred. The penthouse apartment lights started to flicker on and off repeatedly.

‘A circuit must’ve snapped. I know I turned off all the lights.’

You slammed your phone down and ripped off your bed sheets. Marching over to the telecom beside you door you prepared the mental speech of anger and abuse you’d deliver on whatever poor soul was handling the front desk of the apartment complex tonight.

You pressed the button hard and when no welcoming comment came you decided to wait.

You waited and waited and still no one acknowledged you over the telecom. There was a noise coming from it though. It was a sound of ragged breathing. Squinting with absolute judgement you hissed into the microphone.

You sobered up your voice and rubbed your eyes. Your wine was knocking around your insides at that point, it had polluted your blood. You just needed to stay awake for a little longer.

“This is penthouse three. Your lights are dimming and flickering out. I want someone to change all that bulbs and check the power wires immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

The unusual panting was still there and getting louder. You shook your head. Someone should’ve been repeating back your request and discussing a mode of action.

“Hello?” you angrily huffed into the microphone when no answer came for a long time.

You hissed, “Now you listen here. I don’t give a fuck it’s Christmas eve. You’re job is on the line if you cant fix my fucking lights.”

And then the line went totally dead and your apartment was entirely darkened. You groaned with anguish. Using your phone flash light you returned to your room.

“Fine,” you grumbled as you pulled the covers Of your bed back again, “Probably too drunk on eggnog to give a damn. Say goodbye to those two dollar tips dickhead.”

You laid back and fished out your bonnet, carefully lipping your hair inside the protective layer. You rolled onto your side under the covers and shut your eyes.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

12:00am, 25th December 2023, New York City.

For some reason at 12am you received a very obnoxiously loud phone call. Blindly you reached for it and accepted the call. You had a suspicion it was a prank call from overseas.

“Y/N,” said the caller. Your eyes cleared up fast at the sound of a voice you knew too well.

You almost dropped your phone. Surely it wasn’t her calling. You had seen her body at her funeral. She chuckled on the other side, her voice was just as rusted as you remembered. In the dream she had come over to your house and had a sleep over together.

Your eyes widened, “Wh-who is this?” you asked, “Do you fucking know what time it is?”

The identical voice of your passed companion echoed back, “In life you knew me as Marlene Jeong.”

You hung up the phone fast and sat up straight. Her hands trembled and the phone screamingly made another phone call from the same unknown number.

You answered it and heard her shriek, “Don’t you know hanging up like that is rude.”

You took a deep breath in. And shut your eyes. No. It couldn’t be.

“This prank isnt funny,” you barked into the receiver.

“Well I’d hope not. You know I wasn’t a fan of funny,” she grumbled back.

You picked up the phone and huffed, “If you’re really Marlene...tell me something only I would know...”

The phone went quiet and clicked off. You smirked, 'Yea, that's what I thought you sick fuck.'

The air around you grew colder. With the power out you accepted that the central heating was out too. Getting out of bed you stumbled down the hall to the linen cupboard and pulled out a few more thicker blankets. When you returned back to your room you screamed and jumped ten feet in the air, dropping the load of blankets.

Marlene was sitting on your bed, scrolling through your phone. She was not herself and yet was at the same time. She looked the same except for the fact her entire body was a light blue and translucent. She was naked. And you could see her translucent organs. In her hand was a false spiritual cigarette. Smoking rising from the tip and faded into the darkness. And don’t let me forget a important detail. She was floating and parts of her body wrapped in chains.

Hearing you, she turned her face away from your phone and winked. You slammed back into a wall, trying to get away from her as she floated closer to you. She took a mean drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke into your fear filled face. You could’ve fainted. The smoke didn’t smell like anything and was rather a cold breeze to your cheek.

You flinched and whimpered, “Marlene...what the fuck.”

She smirked and rolled mid air upside down,

“Long time no see. Or well...you can’t see me but I see you basically every day,” she cackled.

Your lips fell apart, “Wha-how- why...why are you hear? Should you be dead?”

She flicked the cigarette of ash that turned into blue light specs and disappeared before touching the floor.

“Oh trust dear, I’m dead, dead as a doornail. Little Kyong gave me a killer orgasm, literally,” she took another long drag, “I had no clue what was coming and poof! I’m on the floor choking and groaning and next thing I wake up to, is you moving your shit into my office and my penthouse. But I digress sweet snake...I’m not here on a social call...I’m here to send you a warning.”

Your head felt dizzy, “A warning? The fuck? Am I going to die soon or something?” you wrapped your arms around yourself.

She smiled and shook her head, “Oh no...no, no....something a tad more painful. See, I have been sent to play 'angel Gabriel' so to speak and inform you of a supernatural message.”

She floated around, chains at her wrist dragged behind her as she did. Marlene sharpened her gaze at you.

‘Woah did I take one too many Percocet with my wine...I must be high.’

“You are saveable unlike my dead cold self,” she said flying back to your bed and lewdly laying down, “My dead frozen heart could not thaw,” she sighed and tapped her chest.

You could see inside her at the organ most resembling heart was literally made of icy and was not beating. It was disturbing.  

“I’m destined to float while tethered to the world unseen, unheard, unloved…forgotten. But you? You still have a chance to atone. A spirit shall arrive and come to you in three shades…Christmas past, present and future. It shall greet you hourly between one and three o’clock.”

You timidly stepped closer.

“You need to open your mind and open your heart or else-“ she floated above you and groaned, “This will be your future fate.”

You rubbed your eyes and slapped your cheek. Marlene’s ghost was still there. She held up her wrist, showing off the manacle around it, “This is a fate no one wishes, trust me on that.”

Her face leant in closer to your face. Her hair floated around her like water tendrils.

She rattled the chains together, clinking them and explained, “The spirit will test you. And they will test you fairly. They will decide what to do with you after. They call themselves, Christmas past, present and future.”

When she had said these words, Marlenes ghost faded away, disappearing into the cold, quiet night. It took you a few minutes to catch your breath. You couldn’t believe or make sense of it and no matter how many times you pinched of slapped yourself, you found yourself still in the unexplainable dream. You tossed the blankets from the floor onto the bed. You had another drink of wine before you chose to return to bed. You tugged the warmest and softest blanket up to your chin. You were scared and confused. Your eyes grew heavier as you forced yourself to forget and ignore the apparition of Marlene chained nude and talking in riddles.

You laid your cheek into the pillow and fell into a deep slumber.

HELPINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline services

India Helpline Services

[harvardfineartslib]

This set of portfolios entitled “Oriental Ceramic Art, illustrated by Examples from the Collection of W.T. Walters” contains one hundred and sixteen gorgeous chromolithograph plates created by Louis Prang. Prang (1824-1909) was a German immigrant who ran a highly successful printing firm in Boston during the late nineteenth century.

The publication features objects from the collection of successful businessman and art collector William Thompson Walters (1820-1894), which later formed the basis of the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, MD.

Each plate in the portfolios is accompanied by guard sheet with descriptive letterpress. In this post, we show you Plate 1 from Volume I with the guard sheet as well as the beautiful illustration of a porcelain vase underneath. Sang-de-boeuf is a deep red colored glaze that first appeared in Chinese porcelain at the start of the 18th century. The term is French, meaning “ox blood.”

Plate 1. Lang Yao Beaker. Beaker-shaped vase (Hua Ku), 16” high, enameled with the crackled glaze of the sang-de-boeuf mottled tints of the celebrated Lang Yao. The interior is coated with the same rich red glaze.

Oriental ceramic art : illustrated by examples from the collection of W. T. Walters : with one hundred and sixteen plates in colors and over four hundred reproductions in black and white Author / Creator: Bushell, Stephen W. (Stephen Wootton), 1844-1908. New York : D. Appleton, 1897. 10 v. in portfolios (v, 429 p., 96 col. leaves of plates) English HOLLIS number: 990041622660203941

[girlactionfigure]

The dark-haired girl on the right with the impish smile, her name was Eddie Lou, she was about 8 years old when this photo was taken in 1909. The picture was taken at the Tifton Cotton Mill, Tifton, Georgia. The girls worked there.

The photograph was taken by Lewis Hine, who visited factories such as this mill and took photographs of the children who worked there as evidence for the National Child Labor Committee (NCLC).

In another part of the country, Mary Harris Jones, also known as "Mother Jones", led a march of children from Philadelphia to New York in what would be known as the March of the Mill Children, a three-week trek by striking child and adult textile workers on July 7, 1903.

Children had been forced to work in coal mines and mills, when their fathers were killed or injured, unable to support the families. As a result, many children suffered stunted growth and were injured, maimed. Mother Jones described the children, "some with their hands off, some with the thumb missing, some with their fingers off at the knuckle. They were stooped things, round shouldered and skinny. Many of them were not over ten years of age, the state law prohibited their working before they were twelve years of age."

“Since 2000, for nearly two decades, the world had been making steady progress in reducing child labour,” according to the United Nations. “But over the past few years, conflicts, crises and the COVID-19 pandemic, have plunged more families into poverty – and forced millions more children into child labour. Economic growth has not been sufficient, nor inclusive enough, to relieve the pressure that too many families and communities feel and that makes them resort to child labour. Today, 160 million children are still engaged in child labour. That is almost one in ten children worldwide.”

This is an update of a series of stories that have been posted for Labor Day. You can find those stories in the Peace Page archive or Google the information on your own to find out more.

~~~~~

“Over 100 years ago, the National Child Labor Committee used photos of children doing industrial work to demand change in America. Several states adopted child labor laws, and after much debate and several setbacks, the Fair Labor Standards Act became law in 1938. Its protections included the nation’s foundational child labor laws, including restrictions on the age of workers and hours they can toil,” wrote Michael Lazzeri, regional administrator of the U.S. Department of Labor’s Wage and Hour Division in Chicago

Max McCoy of the the Kansas Reflector wrote today on September 3, 2023:

“After more than a century of progress, you might think child labor is a thing of the past, something we condemn other countries for but that we don’t need to worry about here. Tragically, that shadow army of workers is still with us, and many of those workers are children. These underage exploited are often immigrants . . .”

“In February of this year, a cleaning company was fined $1.5 million for employing children ages 13 to 17 at meatpacking plants in eight states. The firm, Packers Sanitations Services Inc., was the target of a federal Department of Labor investigation that found 102 children working illegally, including 26 at the Cargill meatpacking plant at Dodge City.

“Appallingly, many states are now racing to loosen — not tighten — child labor laws.

“Arkansas, for example, in March did away with the requirement that the state’s Division of Labor had to give permission or verify the age of children under 16 to be employed. Although those under 14 still cannot be employed, the ending of age verification requirements is an invitation to child labor abuses.

“Other states are making similar moves.

“Iowa, for example, has made it legal for teenagers to work in meatpacking plants and children as young as 16 to bartend. New Jersey and New Hampshire have also lowered ages for some types of work. The argument goes that work builds character and that overly restrictive laws prevent young people from fully developing their capacity to earn a living.

“But such arguments stink like the stuff you find on a slaughterhouse floor.”

~~~~~

"In the early 1900s, Hine traveled across the United States to photograph preteen boys descending into dangerous mines, shoeless 7-year-olds selling newspapers on the street and 4-year-olds toiling on tobacco farms. Though the country had unions to protect laborers at that time — and Labor Day, a federal holiday to honor them — child labor was widespread and widely accepted. The Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates that around the turn of the century, at least 18 percent of children between the ages of 10 and 15 were employed," according to the Washington Post.

Mother Jones would say after the march, "I held up their mutilated hands and showed them to the crowd and made the statement that Philadelphia's mansions were built on the broken bones, the quivering hearts and drooping heads of these children. That their little lives went out to make wealth for others. That neither state or city officials paid any attention to these wrongs. That they did not care that these children were to be the future citizens of the nation."

Many industries hid the fact that they employed children. They took advantage of poor families, such as Eddie Lou's family. Eddie Lou's father had died and left her mother with 11 children and no income. Her mother was forced to work at the cotton mill for $4.50 a week. Eddie Lou and four siblings also worked there and they were all together paid $4.50 as well. Eddie Lou and her youngest siblings would eventually be sent to an orphanage because her mother wasn't able to provide for them.

“If we don’t hold the line on child labor, we risk losing one of the things the has sets us apart as a nation founded not only on laws, but of morals,” wrote McCoy. “Of course children provide cheap labor, but business profits should not be the gauge of our society. In addition to the mental and physical tolls that children suffer in jobs that are inappropriate — and can you really imagine a 16-year-old wiping down the bar and asking what’s your poison? — there’s also a danger these children will become primary breadwinners for their families, with their educations coming a distant second.”

The children at the march carried banners that said, "We want more schools and less hospitals" and "We want time to play."

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

[thoughtportal]

Attorney Mark Gold has an oriental rug in his western Massachusetts home that most people call “nice-looking” until he tells them to inspect it more closely. Then they’re enthralled, because this is no run-of-the-mill textile—it’s what is called an Afghan war rug, and what it depicts is somber and stunning: cleverly mixed with age-old botanical and geometric designs are tanks, hand grenades and helicopters. “It’s a beautiful piece in its own right,” says Gold, “but I also think telling a cultural story in that traditional medium is fascinating.”

The cultural story Gold’s rug tells is only the beginning. Since the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, the country’s war rugs have featured not only images of the instruments of war, but also maps detailing the Soviet defeat and, more recently, depictions of the World Trade Center attacks.

It was women from Afghanistan’s Baluchi culture who, soon after the arrival of the Soviets, began to weave the violence they encountered in their daily lives into sturdy, knotted pile wool rugs that had previously featured peaceful, ordinary symbols, such as flowers and birds. The first of these rugs were much like Gold’s, in that the aggressive imagery was rather hidden. In those early years, brokers and merchants refused to buy war rugs with overt designs for fear they would put off buyers. But with time and with the rugs’ increasing popularity, the images became so prominent that one can even distinguish particular guns, such as AK-47s, Kalashnikov rifles, and automatic pistols.

A decade later, the Soviets withdrew from Afghanistan, and rugs celebrating their exodus appeared. Typical imagery includes a large map with Soviet tanks leaving from the north. These rugs, principally woven by women of the Turkman culture, often include red or yellow hues and are peppered with large weapons, military vehicles and English phrases such as “Hand Bom [Bomb],” “Rooket [Rocket]” and “Made in Afghanistan.”

To many, this script is a firm indication of the rugs’ intended audience: Westerners, and in particular, Americans, who funded the Afghan resistance—the Mujahadeen—during the Soviet occupation. “The rugs are geared for a tourist market,” says Margaret Mills, a folklorist at Ohio State University who has conducted research in Afghanistan since 1974. “And they verbally address this market.” Sediq Omar, a rug merchant from Herat who dealt in war rugs during and after the Soviet occupation, agrees. “Afghanis don’t want to buy these,” he says. “They’re expensive for them. It’s the Westerners who are interested.”

While this may be true, it’s likely that the first “hidden” war rugs from the early 1980s were meant for fellow Afghanis, according to Hanifa Tokhi, an Afghan immigrant who fled Kabul after the Soviet invasion and now lives in northern California. “Later on, they made it commercialized when they found out that people were interested,” she says. “But at the beginning, it was to show their hatred of the invasion. I know the Afghan people, and this was their way to fight.”

Kevin Sudeith, a New York City artist, sells war rugs online and in local flea markets for prices ranging from $60 to $25,000. He includes the World Trade Center rugs in his market displays, and finds that many passersby are disturbed by them and read them as a glorification of the event. “Plus, New Yorkers have had our share of 9/11 stuff,” he says. “We all don’t need to be reminded of it.” Gold, a state away in Massachusetts, concurs. “I appreciate their storytelling aspect,” he says. “But I’m not there yet. It’s not something I’d want to put out.”

Yet others find World Trade Center rugs collectable. According to Omar, American servicemen and women frequently buy them in Afghanistan, and Afghani rug traders even get special permits to sell them at military bases. Some New Yorkers find them fit for display, too. “You might think it’s a ghoulish thing to own, but I look upon it in a different way,” says Barbara Jakobson, a trustee at Manhattan’s Museum of Modern Art and a longtime art collector. “It’s a kind of history painting. Battles have always been depicted in art.” Jakobson placed hers in a small hallway in her brownstone.

In an intriguing twist, it turns out the World Trade Center rugs portray imagery taken from U.S. propaganda leaflets dropped from the air by the thousands to explain to Afghanis the reason for the 2001 American invasion. “They saw these,” says Jakobson, “and they were extremely adept at translating them into new forms.” And Nigel Lendon, one of the leading scholars on Afghan war rugs, noted in a recent exhibition catalog that war rug depictions—both from the Soviet and post-9/11 era—can be “understood as a mirror of the West’s own representations of itself.”

If Afghanis are showing how Americans view themselves via World Trade Center war rugs, Americans also project their views of Afghan culture onto these textiles. In particular, the idea of the oppressed Muslim woman comes up again and again when Americans are asked to consider the rugs. “Women in that part of the world have a limited ability to speak out,” says Barry O’Connell, a Washington D.C.-based oriental rug enthusiast. “These rugs may be their only chance to gain a voice in their adult life.” Columbia University anthropology professor Lila Abu-Lughod takes issue with this view in a post-9/11 article “Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving?” She notes the importance of challenging such generalizations, which she sees as “reinforcing a sense of superiority in Westerners.”

Whether in agreement with Abu-Lughod or O’Connell, most conclude that the women who weave Afghan war rugs have a tough job. “It’s very hard work,” says Omar. “Weavers experience loss of eyesight and back pain—and it’s the dealers who get the money.”

But as long as there’s a market, war rugs will continue to be produced. And in the U.S., this compelling textile certainly has its fans. “These rugs continue to amaze me,” says dealer Sudeith. When I get a beautiful one, I get a lot of pleasure out of it.” And Gold, who owns five war rugs in addition to the hidden one he points out to visitors, simply says, “They’re on our floors. And we appreciate them underfoot.”

Mimi Kirk is an editor and writer in Washington, D.C. {read]

[stupittmoran]

Top 10 headlines the media didn't tell you this week, Repost & FoIIow for more

Texas National Guard doubled razor wire barriers at El Paso border after riot broke out.

TikToker goes viral after posting video teaching iIIegal immigrants how to 'invade' homes in America thanks to progressive squatting laws.

Manhattan, New York’s largest school board district, bans transgender students from playing in girls’ sports.

Elon Musk's neuralink releases first ever video of disabled man using telepathy to control his PC.

Alabama bans ballot harvesting.

Republicans introduce legislation to stop federal funding for schools using diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) practices.

Texas terminates $8.5 billion investment with BlackRock in response to the firm's ESG policies.

Tyson Foods BOYCOTTED as it sacks 1,300 American workers and offers to hire 42,000 'asylum seekers' in New York

Michigan Lawyer Arrested by US Marshals in DC After Submitting “Evidence of Numerous Crimes” including election fraud.

NY AG Letitia James is preparing to seize one of Donald Trump's golf courses and private estates.

At what point is this considered election interference?

If you appreciate this Top 10 recap, remember to Repost and FoIIow me for another week in a clown world 🤡🌎

TaraBull

@TaraBull808

[wildeslaw]

When Do You Need To Hire An Immigration Lawyer?

Do you in need of an immigration attorney regarding your immigration case? While there is no legal need to do so, for various people, it makes sense to have an immigration attorney. As immigration law is extremely complex and confusing, there is quite a possibility that one can make a mistake. This mistake can be quite costly in terms of both time and money. If you are familiar with immigration law, then you may feel comfortable filing a simple case on your own. 

However, there are some situations where it is strongly advised that you need to hire an immigration lawyer in New York City. These are –

You Cannot Figure Out Your Immigration Options –

Let's assume you're either an employer looking to hire a skilled worker or an individual in the latter position. A worker may be eligible for several different visas or green card categories, but it can be challenging to determine which option is best. Consultation with an immigration attorney can help determine the type of visa best suited to the business's demands and the employee's skills. Similar issues may come up in family-based or various other types of visas too. For example, an engaged person might have a choice of getting married first, then entering the US on an immigration visa, or getting a K-1 fiance visa.

A Huge Delay With Your Application –

As the immigration process is quite slow, you may find your typical case processing from many years in court. If your case has been pending for many years, then you need to seek legal help. As an immigration lawyer is familiar with all the legal issues, they will be able to guide you on what is causing the delay regarding your case.

Your Employer Is Looking To Hire Foreign-Born Workers –

As a busy entrepreneur, your time is likely not well spent puzzling out the details regarding immigration law. For example, if you want to sponsor a worker for a green card, which needs to complete the labor certification (i.e., PERM) process. For this, you need to recruit a candidate and need to place an advertisement for the job. As the advertisement process is quite complicated, only certain types of ads are acceptable.

Additionally, the PERM application (i.e., ETA Form 9089) is quite complex. In such a scenario employer needs to seek assistance from an immigration lawyer in New York City to sponsor a worker for a green card.

You Are In An Immigration Court Proceeding –

If there is ever a time to seek help from an immigration attorney, this is it. The stakes here are incredibly high, and a ruling against your case can cause you deportation. If your immigration case ends up in court, then you should assume that it is too complicated for a layperson to handle. Immigrants who have legal representation are substantially more likely to prevail in court.  As immigration courts are always quite daunting, they have become even less immigrant-friendly during the past few years.

You Are Seeking Discretionary Relief –

If you have been tenaciously removable from the country, there are some steps you can take to avoid this removal process. For example, immigration law allows for an immigrant to be granted discretionary relief if they qualify as a refugee. Additionally, if the removal proceedings are underway, then you need to seek discretionary relief from a judge. Regardless of the specific situation, an immigration lawyer in New York City can help you avoid removal from the country.

If You Are Affected By The Paperwork –

Every immigration application needs to have a lot of paperwork. You need to gather documents proving your eligibility, but unfortunately, mistakes will certainly cause a delay or rejection in your visa. In such a scenario, an immigration lawyer can help you, as they have repeatedly completed this process. They can help you save time and money by reviewing documents before they are sent to the immigration authorities for the immigration file process.

You Need To Be Sure Your Application Is Filed Properly –

Some people only hire an immigration lawyer once something goes wrong regarding their case. But fixing an improperly filed visa application is quite a difficult and costly process, both in terms of time and money than doing it right the first time. Once you hire an immigration lawyer, they have a legal responsibility towards you and ensure your case is filed properly. They may face legal discipline if they don’t.

You Are Facing Deportation or Removal Proceedings –

It is critical to contact an immigration attorney as soon as you become aware that a deportation or removal case has begun. In this case, the time has importance. You should not attempt to navigate this scenario without the assistance of an experienced immigration attorney.

So, mentioned above are some situations where you need to seek help from an immigration lawyer. So, if you are also planning to hire an experienced and best immigration law firm in Florida regarding your case, look no further than Wildes Weinberg, PC. Contact their skilled staff at (212) 753-3468 for desired immigration lawyer assistance regarding your case.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Robert Reich at Substack:

Friends, Elon Musk and entrepreneur and investor David Sacks reportedly held a secret billionaire dinner party in Hollywood last month. Its purpose: to defeat Joe Biden and reinstall Donald Trump in the White House. The guest list included Peter Thiel, Rupert Murdoch, Michael Milken, Travis Kalanick, and Steven Mnuchin, Trump’s Treasury secretary.

Meanwhile, Musk is turning up the volume and frequency of his anti-Biden harangues on his X platform. According to an analysis by the New York Times, Musk has posted about President Biden at least seven times a month, on average, this year. He has criticized Biden on issues ranging from Biden's age to his policies on heath and immigration, calling Biden "a tragic front for a far left political machine.” The Times analysis showed that over the same period of time, Musk has posted more than 20 times in favor of Trump, claiming that the criminal cases Trump now faces are the result of media and prosecutorial bias. This is no small matter. Musk has 184 million followers on X, and because he owns the platform he’s able to manipulate the algorithm to maximize the number of people who see his posts.

No other leader of a social media firm has gone as far as Musk in supporting authoritarian leaders around the world. In addition to Trump, Musk has used his platform in support of India's Narendra Modi, Argentina's Javier Milei, and Brazil's Jair Bolsonaro.  Some of this helps Musk’s business interests. In India, he has secured lower import tariffs for Tesla vehicles. In Brazil, he has opened a major new market for Starlink, SpaceX’s satellite internet service. In Argentina, he has solidified access to lithium, the mineral most crucial to Tesla’s batteries. Musk has slammed Biden for his decisions on electric vehicle promotion and subsidies, most of which have favored unionized U.S. auto manufacturers. Musk and his Tesla are viciously anti-union. But something deeper is going on. Musk, Thiel, Murdoch, and their cronies are backing a movement against democracy. Peter Thiel, the billionaire tech financier, has written, “I no longer believe that freedom and democracy are compatible.”

@Robert Reich nails it with this piece: Oligarchs are joining up with the anti-democracy MAGA movement to look out for themselves and aid the collapse of freedom.

[mybeingthere]

Ben Shahn (1898 - 1969) was born in Lithuania into a family of Jewish craftsmen. His father’s anti-czarist activities forced the family to immigrate to the United States in 1906. Shahn grew up in a working class neighborhood in Brooklyn. He became an apprentice in a Manhattan lithographic firm, finishing high school at night and later taking classes at New York University, City College of New York, and the National Academy of Design. Shahn saw his art as a means to combat injustice and raise social awareness.

Throughout his career Shahn’s style retained the linear bias of a master draughtsman, which proved to be effective in his satirical depictions of social types. He had his first solo exhibition at the Downtown Gallery in 1930, and his series of paintings of the trial and execution of the anarchists Sacco and Vanzetti established his reputation and led to further explorations of trials with political implications.

Via eye-likey