#Nonviolent Organizing

[yinyuedijun]

so sorry if this is a stupid question but like... how do u age up characters, not like literally but like in a writing sence (cause ur suo fics were honestly amazing)

this isn't a stupid question at all, it's actually something I struggle a lot with LOL and I'm glad to hear that you liked how I handled it in my suo fics - thank you for reading 🥺!

here are the approaches I take to generally ageing people up:

think about their canon characterization - not just their traits and habits, but also their motivations/values and where their character arc is heading

think about what kind of path they'd be heading toward as an adulthood (in material, mundane terms - university, type of work, relationships, major life events, etc). sometimes the series will give you careers they're heading towards, but wherever that's not the case, I usually like to stick to very realistic career paths because it grounds them into a realistic kind of adult context that we would be able to relate to. if they're getting into some kind of exceptional career (like, for instance, yakuza membership lol, but even if I kept them in delinquent groups like shishitoren or roppo-ichiza), then I usually go out of my way to justify it.

now this is the tricky part - think about how the events of their adulthood would affect their motivations/values, traits, habits, and larger character arc. the motivations/values and character arc pieces are very important, because it basically defines the adult characterization. (that's why so much of the suo fic revolves around his master and the effect of losing him, and what it does to his values and character arc!)

I also like to think about how other, normal adults would perceive this new aged-up version of them - the typical salaryman, the typical convenience store worker, etc. I find it helps recontextualize the character away from the canon setting and toward a more realistic, adult context. this is mostly so I'm not viewing the character through rose coloured glasses as I'm writing them lol (eg, someone who may be charming to us because of our attachment to them in canon might in fact be a neurotic loser to the average well-adjusted adult).

sorry I yapped so much rip - hopefully this helps!!!!

[deqdyke]

There's this weird fetishistic fascination Western leftists have with revolutionary violence. Like, so many of y'all (on both sides - MLs and Anarchists) fetishize violence as an end in and for itself. You treat revolutionary violence as prejustified because of existing forces of domination, without care for efficacy or aims. As a retributive lashing out against injustice. Violence isn't punishment, it's a last resort and the damning indictment against the forces of domination is that it pushes people to that point. There is nothing joyful about revolutionary violence (looking at you, Armed Joy Anarchists). What you witness (and echo) from the subaltern reads to you as joy, when it is relief. The feeling of a boot off your neck isn't joy, and it's cruel to mistake it as such.

And you're not the one with the boot on your neck. Neither am I, not really. My family overseas is. Palestinians are. Within the context of Western domination, we're not the ones with the boots on our necks, we're the boot. At best, *at best*, among the truly subaltern in the West, we are a passive bystander.

And I really truly believe part of the reason you all celebrate and fetishize violence is because you don't view us as capable of anything else. Despite ostensibly supporting our cause, you haven't unlearned any of the imperialist propaganda of preventative violence that fuels the machinery of death.

[ncfcatalyst]

Cop City protestors served RICO charges

The controversial proposed police and firefighter training facility in Atlanta colloquially known as Cop City is back in the public consciousness. Two years of protests have already resulted in the death of at least one protestor under suspicious circumstances.  The state of Georgia indicted 61 protesters and organizers on racketeering and domestic  terrorism charges using the Racketeer…

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"It was fitting that on the spring day in 1942 when George Houser and his friends Bernice Fisher and Homer Jack set out to demolish racial discrimination in America—seeking, in a sense, to invent or discover a new world—they drove to Columbus, Ohio in a borrowed car with an unusual paint job. World Peace Car, it said. On one side of the vehicle, a hellish war scene was presided over by the devil, with a caption reading, War is Satan’s Way. On the other, angels looked down at a pastoral scene. Peace, the caption said, Is God’s Way. Fisher was mortified: “Don’t we have problems enough? Everyone’ll think we’re a bunch of kooks.”

Yet the car was an apt metaphor. Nonviolence, to these young idealists, was to be the vehicle for ending discrimination in America. Fisher quickly resigned herself to making the trip in a rolling billboard: “As Gertrude Stein would put it, ‘a car is a car is a car.’ As long as it will run.”

Run it did, carrying them through midwestern farm country to a meeting of the Fellowship of Reconciliation’s national council, where Farmer was to present his ideas for a large-scale nonviolent civil rights campaign. The council authorized a new organization along the lines Farmer envisioned, but as a kind of pilot project in Chicago. Something like the organization he had in mind, however, was already growing there among Houser’s multiplying cells. Houser mentions it to Muste in July almost in passing, at the end of a long, ruminative letter about the nature of pacifism, among other things. “There is another development in our Chicago action program about which you should know,” he writes. “We are very interested in seeing Brotherhood Mobilization get started. While we are waiting, however, we have started our own committee working along the lines which B.M. will be working. We call this group the Committee of Racial Equality (C.O.R.E.). We do not call the group a pacifist group as such, but we are committed to non-violence in all that we do.”"

- Daniel Akst, War By Other Means: How the Pacifists of World War 2 Changed American for Good. New York: Melville House, 2022. p. 155-156.

[faithslayer202]

I thank @socialismforall for giving a shoutout for Green Socialist Organizing Project which me, Garret & Chris are helping build the Green Party into a Mass Membership Party.

Please do share, we could use new people into the cause like for helping create video clips!

Accounts to reach me out too:

Facebook: (https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100012525635124)

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Twitter: (https://twitter.com/Faithslayer202)

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Soundcloud: (https://soundcloud.com/nathaniel-gregory-40922200)

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Discord: (Faithslayer202#9316)

Examples of what videos were crafting for Green Socialist!

CLIPS: Ecosocialism 101 Session 2 (2022):(https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLDTC9USV5d-FJB9d1XTJxl1Vt-Z-SepKe)

[zvaigzdelasas]

Do you have an analysis on Sinwar being the new politburo chief? Very unexpected choice.

Have a couple thoughts:

Dissolving more of the barrier between Hamas as a political organization & as an insurgent organization

Spitting in Israel's face who was hoping that a decapitation strike would leave hamas with a leader lacking broader political legitimacy in the organization or create divisions/deepen divisions between civilian governance & militant organization

Lessens the leverage Qatar has over Hamas as they were providing Haniyeh with refuge

Since Sinwar is (presumably) in Gaza, his presence will likely be used to justify decreasingly discriminate attacks even moreso than it was before

Likely much more uncompromising (not to imply Haniyeh was) in negotiations

Israel and the US will have to directly negotiate with someone they despise

Dropsite News describes sinwar as such:

Despite the sinister portrayals, Sinwar’s writings and media interviews indicate he is a complex thinker with clearly defined political objectives who believes in armed struggle as a means to an end. He gives the impression of a well-educated political militant, not a cult leader on a mass suicide crusade. “It's not this black image of Sinwar as a man with two horns living in the tunnels,” said Hamad, the Hamas official who worked directly with Sinwar for three years. “But in the time of war, he's very strong. This man is very strong. If he wants to fight, he fights seriously.”

In 1988, just months after Hamas was founded, Sinwar was arrested by Israeli forces and sentenced to four life sentences on charges he had personally murdered alleged Palestinian collaborators. During his 22 years in an Israeli prison, he became fluent in Hebrew and studied the history of the Israeli state, its political culture, and its intelligence and military apparatus. He translated by hand the memoirs of several former heads of the Israeli intelligence agency Shin Bet. “When I entered [prison], it was 1988, the Cold War was still going on. And here [in Palestine], the Intifada. To spread the latest news, we printed fliers. I came out, and I found the internet,” Sinwar told an Italian journalist in 2018. “But to be honest, I never came out—I have only changed prisons. And despite it all, the old one was much better than this one. I had water, electricity. I had so many books. Gaza is much tougher.”[...]

Sinwar, unlike leaders of Al Qaeda or ISIS, has regularly invoked international law and UN resolutions, exhibiting a nuanced understanding of the history of negotiations with Israel mediated by the U.S. and other nations. “Let's be clear: having an armed resistance is our right, under international law. But we don't only have rockets. We have been using a variety of means of resistance,” he said in the 2018 interview. “We make the headlines only with blood. And not only here. No blood, no news. But the problem is not our resistance, it is their occupation. With no occupation, we wouldn't have rockets. We wouldn't have stones, Molotov cocktails, nothing. We would all have a normal life."

Throughout 2018 and 2019, Sinwar endorsed the large-scale nonviolent protests along the walls and fences of Gaza known as the Great March of Return. “We believe that if we have a way to potentially resolve the conflict without destruction, we’re O.K. with that,” Sinwar said at a rare news conference in 2018. “We would prefer to earn our rights by soft and peaceful means. But we understand that if we are not given those rights, we are entitled to earn them by resistance.”[...]

After the end of Israel’s 11-day bombing campaign against Gaza, Sinwar spoke to VICE News and sought to frame the Palestinian struggle in a U.S. context, using recent cases of lethal police violence against African Americans. “The same type of racism that killed George Floyd is being used by [Israel] against the Palestinians in Jerusalem, the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood, and in the West Bank. And by the burning of our children. And against the Gaza Strip through siege, murder, and starvation.”

And additionally (echoing the words of Hagari)

Support among Palestinians for Hamas and its Gaza leader Yahya Sinwar, according to the recent poll, “remains very high” and has increased during the past three months. At the same time, while two-thirds of Palestinians polled in the occupied territories believe that Hamas will “win the war,” only 48 percent of those in Gaza agreed.

Hamas has insisted the war cannot destroy its movement and will remain part of the tapestry of Palestinian factions governing its besieged and occupied territories. “What matters is that you finally realize that Hamas is here. That it exists. That there is no future without Hamas, there is no possible deal whatsoever, because we are part and parcel of this society, even if we lose the next elections,” Sinwar warned in 2018. “But we are a piece of Palestine. More than that, we are a piece of the history of the entire Arab world, which includes Islamists as well as seculars, nationalists, leftists.”

Daniel Hagari has also echoed this last bit [TimesOfIsrael is Israeli Private Media]

“Hamas is an idea, Hamas is a party. It’s rooted in the hearts of the people — anyone who thinks we can eliminate Hamas is wrong,” he continued.

Rumors are that Netanyahu is trying to figure out necromancy in order to bring Haniyeh back

Also check out this interview conducted by Vice

[kick-a-long]

I think people misunderstand the nonviolent movements of the sixties and before/after. They were absolutely motivated by moral principles, but non-violence was also a tactical choice. And a smart one.

If the government can argue that a movement is violent and dangerous the average person can’t defend it as easily and it’s much easier for a government to justify breaking it violently. Non violence is most persuasive in a democracy where opinions dictate laws.

If a movement advocates nonviolence, acts nonviolent, and polices violence inside their movement, it’s hard to justify ignoring it. It also generates networks of support that might be alienated otherwise.

People on here like to rewrite what helped civil rights, woman’s rights, and gay rights really make change. It wasn’t the riots and the violent rhetoric. It was the fact that people in those movements could stay in them and interact easily with systems outside their communities. They weren’t “dangerous” as colleagues or friends. They could dialogue and organize which made them valuable in more ways than just their cause. It also attracted high functioning people to join their movements and generated change from people already able to better affect it.

In short, nonviolent movements were sympathetic and attracted equals, not exclusive and dangerous. India didn’t need to war with the British who had them out gunned and out funded. They just needed to break the British morale and make sure the British knew they were in the wrong with no justification for spending money and man power just to look bad.

That’s just my opinion. Violence begets violence and not much else. Dialogue and detailed goal oriented negotiation has a much greater effect.

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part One

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: You don't show up to a meeting or report for other duties as a Spider Society member because of your period. Your boss shows up to your apartment. Word Count: 5,144 Warning: A little bit of angst?; Mention of death; menstruation, cramps A/N: There's multiple pieces of fan art for this fic. If you'd like to check it out, you can find everything linked in my masterlist! Masterlist Music Inspo (Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Nonviolent Communication" - Metro Boomin, James Blake, A$AP Rocky, 21 Savage Next Part

Part One

You were recruited four months ago into the Spider Society. Ever since the beginning, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards the leader and founder of the society. You learned quickly about his past and the way he carried himself these days.

Miguel O’Hara worked day and night. If he wasn’t in his lab working on something, he was out on missions with a select few members or on his own. There were days that you wouldn’t even see him. You wondered if anyone did on those days. You told yourself to mind your business. It’s not like you were friends and you hardly interacted anyway. You were a member of the Spider Society but one of the newest ones. You weren’t part of the most trusted members for Miguel.

And yet… There was something. You felt a need to look after him. You couldn’t understand it. You wanted to chalk it up to interest. Maybe you found his story interesting. How a man had simply replaced a version of himself in another universe to be a father, only to lose her when that universe collapsed. How heartbroken and guilt-filled he was over it. That had to be it, you told yourself. It was just intrigue. 

You figured that if you just gave in to your interest, it would go away eventually. It would fade away… So, you allowed yourself to be interested. You showed up to meetings earlier than anyone else when Miguel scheduled them. You stopped by the cafeteria to pick up coffee cups beforehand and arrived at the meeting earlier. You came in, looking unbothered and uninterested as you placed the cup of coffee in front of him, greeting him.

“The cafeteria staff gave me another cup, and I didn’t know what to do with it,” you’d say as he looked up with an uninterested look on his face.

You’d walk away and take a seat a few chairs away, picking up the nicely done reports he provided at every meeting. You did this every week with a different excuse each time. You didn’t know if he ever wondered why the cafeteria staff gave you so much coffee since that was usually your excuse. You doubted he even cared; you were just another member.

The first few times, you noticed the cup would sit in the same exact spot you’d leave it. Miguel wouldn’t even acknowledge it after looking up at you. You still brought it each week. After some weeks, he wouldn’t even look up when you placed the cup in front of him on the desk but – he started giving you a small grunt of acknowledgement. You’d walk away with a little grin, quickly putting it away when you sat down on your usual seat so he wouldn’t notice it.

Then about two weeks later, you saw it. As he was going over the reports and listening to Ben Reilly ramble on about his past because of some anomaly he caught that week, he picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. You looked away as you felt his gaze about to turn to you. The reports looked very interesting indeed.

All throughout this, you also started showing up to his lab after he and Jessica requested to see you about a mission. You noticed there was quite a mess of gadgets lying around. You offered to organize it, as it is something you enjoy and are good at. You didn’t even know why you offered but Jessica seemed eager about the idea while Miguel frowned.

“Oh, come on, Miguel. Some organization around here wouldn’t hurt, you know? Look at this mess,” Jessica said looking around, pointing at different areas cluttered with all sorts of tech pieces.

“Fine,” Miguel said as he walked away, apparently done with the conversation.

Jessica beamed at you. She seemed to like you a lot since you did your job well and didn’t get into any drama. You were like the perfect pupil. You nodded at her, with a warm smile.

So that’s how you ended up showing up once a week to Miguel’s lab to do some organizing. You show up and organize as he works on something. Sometimes he is up in the air on his platform, going through monitors. You simply greet him as you arrive before you begin organizing and cleaning. Sometimes there is no response, other times there is just a “hmm”.

These visits have led to Lyla taking a liking to you. She often asks you questions as you work while Miguel is there. You don’t know if he pays attention to what Lyla and you talk about. You honestly doubt he even listens. He is always so engrossed in what he is doing.

Lyla definitely makes the time pass faster. It isn’t like you wanted it to but the silence in the lab is… off sometimes. Lyla asks you all sorts of things like whether you have plans for that weekend, if you enjoy a certain activity because other spider members enjoy it, if you like a certain food, or how missions have gone, etc. It is always something different. You respond to her questions as you work. You are fast and efficient.

You never miss a week, and you are never late as you have made it a habit to show up at the same time. Except this week that is. You started your period and this month is kicking your butt with excruciating cramps and lower back pain. You barely make it to your home after patrolling your city, sliding into bed in pain.

You dig through your nightstand, looking for the specific medicine you take to take care of this even if it makes you extremely drowsy and dizzy. You take it and lie down, hoping it will help right away as you groan in pain. You lie in bed, clutching your stomach. The medicine definitely makes you drowsy and dizzy, but it doesn’t seem to help much with the pain. You pass out a few times but wake up again, the pain too much.

You’re so out of it that you don’t notice the time. You don’t remember the day. You don’t notice the sun out behind your closed blinds. You don’t hear a multidimensional portal open in your small apartment living room. You don’t register the heavy footsteps that move through your apartment. Your eyes are closed, hands clutching your stomach, soft groans escaping your lips. You don’t see the large shadow moving through your room until the last second.

“Go away,” you say weakly, thinking someone has broken into your home.

Despite your pain, despite feeling drowsy and dizzy, your mind still has the time to find this funny. The one day you feel like absolute crap is the day someone decides to break into your apartment. And you’re Spider-Woman! How ironic, you think. Let them take whatever they want, you think, as long as they don’t hurt you.

However, you are surprised when you feel a warm and heavy hand pressed to your forehead.

“No fever,” the voice says stating it as a fact.

You continue to clutch your stomach, eyes closed. Unbeknownst to you as you lay in bed in and out of it, a man is in your apartment. His height towers over you in bed.

Miguel O’Hara is in your apartment… Checking on you. He stares down at you as you lay in bed. He sees you clutching your stomach and as he observes carefully, he sees no injury. There is no sight of blood either. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. You are clearly in pain but why? He turns to your nightstand, noticing the bottle of pills. He inspects it. Painkillers…

His eyebrows furrow further as he realizes what it could be. He walks to your bathroom to confirm. His suspicion is confirmed when he takes a look at your garbage can, spotting the plastic wraps of feminine products. His suspicion is further confirmed when he sees a pack of feminine products on the counter, ready for easy access.

“Coño,” he says quietly as he realizes his suspicion is true.

He walks out of your bathroom, looking at your shape in the bed. You are still clutching your stomach and soft groans escape from your lips ever so often. Miguel remembers the days he used to take care of his wife before everything collapsed. It was a long time since he had even thought about doing that for a woman, but his mind started remembering everything he did to ease his wife’s pain each month. He stood there, thinking before he walked out of your bedroom and into the one room that was the kitchen, the living room, and dining room all at once… New York apartments, Miguel thought, as he took in your apartment.

You were organized and clean, but that didn’t surprise Miguel. You did organize the lab each week with such ease despite Lyla peppering you with questions the entire time. Your apartment was warm with its colors. It gave the impression of someone happy and warm. Miguel noticed a bookshelf in the part of the apartment that plays the living room. It is filled with so many books that you have some stacked horizontally over the vertical ones. An avid reader, Miguel thinks before he heads to your kitchen.

It is clean for the most part except for a plate and a cup. Miguel searches through your kitchen, looking for something specific. He returns to your room, looking through your drawers looking for something else. A few minutes later, he returns to your bedroom. You lay still. Seems that you have passed out at last. With ease, Miguel slides some homemade socks with warm rice under your sweatshirt. He places one on your stomach and the other one on your back.

A satisfied hum escapes your lips, letting Miguel know his idea was somewhat successful despite it being homemade. He gives you one more look before heading out to your living room.

He doesn’t even know why he came. All he knows is that you didn’t show up to organize the lab like you did each week. You didn’t show up to the morning meeting either. Jessica hadn’t heard from you in hours and there was no activity from your gizmo.

A few hours later, you wake up from your slumber. You yawn and stretch your body gently. You lay in bed for a few seconds, realizing your pain is gone. Now you just feel the exhaustion that comes from having a period. You sit up in bed slowly, feeling something on your stomach. You look down. Your sweatshirt is tucked into your shorts on both sides. You untuck it and two socks filled with something slide out. You furrow your eyebrows as you lift them up to inspect closer. You bring them to your nose.

“Rice…” you say, recognizing the specific scent of rice. Your eyebrows furrow but you shrug. You don’t even remember getting up to make these, but you thank yourself for doing it despite being out of it. You get up from bed slowly and check the time. It’s already evening. You decide to take a shower to ease your muscles.

Your shower is hot. You fill the bathroom with fog, but it doesn’t matter. It makes you feel like a million bucks when you get into fresh clothes, all shower and fresh. You head out of your bedroom to get something to drink and that’s when you see it. The lamps in the living room are on, there is music playing from your record player. You look confused as you step out further.

“Mierda,” you hear an annoyed male voice, causing you to jump a little.

You turn to the voice, located in the kitchen and find…

“Miguel?” you say slowly but with confusion as you find him with his back to you.

He stands in front of one of your kitchen cabinets, holding it open. There’s a screwdriver in his hand. He turns around at your voice.

“Y/N… You’re awake,” he says turning fully around now.

You take him in. He’s in his suit as always. You’ve wondered many times if he ever just dresses in casual clothes since he’s always in his suit. He stands tall, of course, and you can’t help but think how he makes your already small kitchen look ten times smaller than it is with him standing there. You rub your eyes, making sure this isn’t just some hallucination.

“Um- you are here,” you say looking at him again.

Miguel nods, turning back around to the cabinet. You watch as he uses the screwdriver. You remember then. Your loose cabinet that has been a pain in the butt for months now. You look around the place. There were some dishes in your sink, or at least you remember there being some but now they’re gone. You notice the trash was taken out. Clean dishes were put away. And to your surprise, there’s food on the stove. There’s also a sweet scent lingering in the air that you cannot pinpoint right now.  

“You feel better?” Miguel asks, with his back still to you as he finishes fixing the cabinet.

“Yes. A lot better, actually…” you say as you cross your arms across your chest, finding this situation so strange.

Miguel turns around to face you now. He looks at you before looking down at the screwdriver in his hand. The screwdriver looks like a toy in his hand, you notice.

“Yeah, well…” Miguel starts, looking up at you again. “Jessica was worried about you. She said you didn’t report to the meeting we had this morning. She asked if you had gone to my lab to organize it and when I told her no, she grew worried something had happened to you since she also noticed no activity from your gizmo. She wanted to come herself and check on you, but the baby kept her busy today. She asked me to come in and check for her.”

I nod, realizing that makes perfect sense. Jessica has grown fond of you after all, you just never realized she was that fond of you.

“Well, thank you for checking in on me for her. I’ll be sure to thank her tomorrow,” you say looking around the kitchen again.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” Miguel says, putting the screwdriver down on the counter. It looks normal sized again. You raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t like it when people thank for her… caring. If you want to thank her, just get her a coffee and tell her you appreciate her mentorship,” Miguel explains, resting his hands on his hips.

You nod slowly, maybe it was better to just thank her for everything instead of just this act. You sigh.

“I guess you’re right,” you say, scratching your neck softly. “Did she also tell you to fix my cabinet, or did that just bother you so much?”

Miguel’s face remains void of any expression. You wanted to ask about the homemade socks with rice since it became apparent to you that you weren’t responsible for them, but you kept your mouth shut.

“I was looking for – rice when I noticed your loose cabinet and other messed up things around here. You have a shitty landlord or something?” he asks, looking around.

You shrug. “Yeah, but the rent is good.”

“You’re not exactly strapped for cash, are you?”

You shake your head. It was true. You had some money. You could afford to move somewhere else where the landlords were better but…

“Why are you still here then?” Miguel asks.

His question is laced with interest, and you can’t help but think about how this is the longest conversation you’ve had with him since… meeting each other. And even then, that conversation was probably about three minutes long. You avert your gaze from him, looking at the wall nearest to you. Your eyes land on a single picture amongst many.

You lost your Peter three years ago, just like many of your spider colleagues. Losing him has been the hardest thing you have ever experienced. You have been punched till the air was knocked out of you, you have laid in ruble with buildings crushed over you, and you have been on the verge of death many times, but nothing has ever nor will ever compare to the pain and grief of losing Peter.

As you look at the picture of Peter and you, the one you took the first day you moved into this apartment, you think about all the memories in this apartment. It was all the two of you could afford back then but you two loved it. It was your place. It was the first time you were living together, and it didn’t matter much that it was a little rundown. You guys just wanted a place to live together. You two made it what it is now. A warm and happy place where you two could come home after a long day of work. You spent hours thinking of how to decorate it. Choosing the right and most affordable couch, choosing the wallpaper, choosing where the furniture went.

In the end, it had turned into a beautiful apartment. It was a haven for the two of you but what mattered the most was that you shared it with him, your Peter. You sigh, feeling overwhelmed by the loss again. You had moved on, of course. You had to. How else would you live otherwise? And you had promised Peter you would. Your mind is overwhelmed by the sudden memories as he laid in your arms. He had been crushed by ruble during an attack by a villain, his body was weak, his eyes glistened as they looked at you. You remember caressing his face and hair. He loved it when you did that. He always said it was the perfect way to soothe his nerves. The perfect way to get him to relax and nap after a stressful day.

Your own eyes were filled with tears as you saw it. The way his life was slowly leaving his body. What hurt a million times more, if it was even possible to hurt that much, was that you knew he knew. He knew that was it. There was no turning back. There was no miracle. There was no secret medicine or miracle serum that could make him get up and walk away from this unscathed. That was it.

You held him in your arms, rubble all around you. He looked at your eyes, his own hazy, as you caressed his face and hair. He gave you a gentle smile as he reassured you, he was okay.

“You will move on, right, baby?” he asked you, his voice indicating how little time there was left. “You have to… You must promise me you will. This city depends on you.”

You nodded your head and unable to hold them back any longer, your tears spilled down your face. You remember how some of your tears had landed on his pale yet still beautiful face.

“You must promise me, out loud, darling. Please,” he said, struggling more to get his words out.

“I promise. I promise I will try my best…” you said, and he had nodded. He looked satisfied with your response.

“You must continue – you are my hero. You always have been. And you are the love of my life, darling… I only wish we had more time. That I had more time to make you happier… To make you, my wife. Please – promise me you will be open to other loves,” he had gasped out.

You shook your head. That was impossible. How could you fall for someone else when Peter was the love of your life? Peter, noticing your reluctance, lifted his hand weakly to your face. Despite everything, he was still trying to comfort you. You felt something in you break further. He wiped your tears and gave you a weak yet comforting smile.

“Please promise me you will allow yourself to love again… If there is someone out there that makes you feel like that, please promise me you won’t shut them out. Please, love, promise me,” he said, looking at your eyes and cleaning your tears away.

His voice was weaker, and you noticed his chest was beginning to rise slower and slower. The time was running out…

“I promise I will. I will open my heart if someone comes along but I promise I will never stop loving you, Peter,” you had answered, trying to make him happy in his last minutes. He smiled at you, sweetly, and thanked you. You held him close to you, breathing in his scent. You tried to hold on to his warmth desperately. You clung to him, like you could defend him from Death herself. Like you could defy her this one time.

You cried your soul out as his heartbeat ceased to beat. You cried out as his body became limped in your arms. You cried as his chest stopped moving. You cried, cried, and cried as you held him close to you like your tears and grip could bring him back.

You cursed Death.

You often worried about hurting Peter if something happened to you. You never counted on Peter being the one who left too soon.

You inhale shakily. Your vision has become blurred with tears as you continue to stare at the picture on the wall. You turn around, remembering that Miguel is there. You wipe your tears discreetly. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to force it down. Otherwise, the moment you speak, your tears will flow. You clear your throat.

“It doesn’t really bother me – and besides, I spend a lot of time out,” you finally say, sounding somewhat normal now. Though the ache is there, deep in your chest. It’s like someone stabbed you in the heart with a wooden stick and left a small piece of it stuck. It always hurts, it always aches.

Miguel doesn’t reply as you turn back around, feeling more in control of yourself. However, you can see something in his eyes. Perhaps understanding? You guessed he probably knew to some extent what had happened to you. It was a canon event for all spider-people. To lose someone.

“Have you eaten anything?” Miguel asks suddenly, dropping the apartment conversation probably for your own sake.

You shake your head. It was hours since you had eaten something. Since yesterday, really.

“There’s some food here. Let me…” he says trailing off, turning around to get a plate from a cabinet. You can’t help but feel a little surprised at how fast he learned his way around the kitchen. Then again, it’s not that large you realize. You approach the kitchen island and take a seat on one of the two island chairs as Miguel turns around with a plate of pasta. Your eyebrows raise in surprise. It is one of your comfort foods. Miguel slides it over to you, gently. A fork is already on it, ready for you.

You slide the plate closer, the scent of it making your stomach growl instantly. You’re definitely hungry.

“Thank you,” you say before you dig in. You can’t help but smile with satisfaction. It is amazing. “This is really good.”

Miguel doesn’t say anything, just watches you. You eat some more, feeling a bit self-conscious as you feel his gaze on you, but you ignore it. Or try to.

“So, are you a really great cook or is pasta one of the few things you can cook?” you ask, slowing down on your eating, trying to fill in the silence.

Miguel shrugs. “My mother taught me how to cook when I was a teenager. It stuck.”

You nod, still eating. “Great skill to have, really… It helped me and –“ you pause, realizing you were about to mention Peter. You swallow. “It helped Peter and I when we were in college,” you finish, looking down at your plate.

A hint of a smile forms on your face as you remember Peter and you cooking for the week over the weekends. You guys lived separately but shared groceries to help each other out. It saved you guys a lot of time and money and brought the two of you closer.

“It is a great skill to have,” Miguel agrees quietly as you continue to eat, looking down at your plate.

You nod silently as you finish eating. You look up at Miguel, he’s looking down at the counter. His hands are flat against the counter, and he looks lost in his own thoughts. You can’t help but take this time to look at him. The sight of him in your kitchen is really something. You think about how great he is at these things like looking after a woman when they’re on their period or cooking. You want to facepalm yourself as you realize it’s obvious he would be good at these things. He did have a wife and daughter at one point, you remind yourself. You look down at your plate.

“Oh, I made this for you, too,” Miguel says at last, breaking the silence.

You look up curiously, wondering what else he had made. He turns around towards the stove and you watch carefully as he retrieves a mug from one of the cabinets. Again, you feel surprised seeing how he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for. It disappears from your view in front of him and you hear him pour something. He turns around again, holding one of your mugs. Whatever it is, is hot as you can see steam from the top. He sets the mug down on the counter and slides it over to you. Again, his movements are gentle. You lean forward and reach for it.

“Careful. It’s hot,” he warns, as you pull the mug towards you gently.

The scent fills your nostrils quickly and you recognize the sweet scent that met you earlier when you exited your bedroom. You look up at him.

“Canelita,” you say, grinning.

Miguel nods. “Growing up, my mom said it helped with cramps. It used to help my…” he trails off.

You nod. “Yeah, my grandma used to say that, too.” You pause as you inhale the sweetness of cinnamon. “Thank you…” you reply, with sincerity, still meeting his eyes.

Miguel only nods. You drink the warm liquid, enjoying the warmth that spreads down your throat, chest, and finally your stomach. As it settles in your stomach, you feel warm and cozy.

Miguel clears his throat then and looks down at his gizmo. “Well – I should get going. I have some things to catch up on,” he says turning his attention back to you.

You nod as you place the mug on the counter gently and get up. He walks out of the kitchen portion and heads to the middle of the room. He starts clicking on his gizmo, presumably starting a multidimensional portal. You walk towards him, leaving some distance, of course. He looks up at you as the portal appears in the middle of your apartment behind him.

You clear your throat. “Hey – I just wanted to say thank you… For everything. I know Jessica asked you to check up on me, but you did much more than that. I truly appreciate it,” you say, hoping that you’re fully expressing how grateful you are.

You can’t help but think about how you’d probably still be in bed right now. Miguel nods.

“It’s no problem…” Miguel replies, though he looks like he wants to say more. You watch, waiting but he just stares back with little emotion until he nods at you and turns around. He starts walking into the portal. The bright lights coming from the portal create shadows in your apartment. You watch wordlessly until he looks behind his shoulder. “Don’t forget – don’t mention it to Jessica. She can be weird about being thanked sometimes.”

You nod. “I won’t bring it up, no worries. Thank you again. Enjoy your night!” you call out and he just nods before he disappears into the portal. The portal disappears a few seconds after him, taking away its shadows with it.

You sigh as you stand there for a few more seconds before taking a seat again on the counter island. You drink more canelita, still cherishing the warm feeling. You look at the stove. Everything is in containers and there’s no sight of dirty pans, pots, or utensils.

“Cooked and washed the dishes…” you say to yourself before taking a sip again.

Your attention turns to the cabinet you found him fixing earlier. You get up and walk towards it. You open it with no issue. You think about all the little nicks this kitchen has. Like the drawer that doesn’t come out fully or the other cabinet door that makes a noise every time you open it. Curiosity gets the best of you because before you know it, you are pulling said drawer. Your lips part in surprise as the drawer fully slides out without issues. You check the other cabinet door. No sound.

You sigh as you look around, your eyes landing on the containers. One of them is full of leftover pasta and the other one contains the canelita. Your thoughts are interrupted as you hear your gizmo go off. You turn in the direction it came from, trying to remember where you left it last night. You are usually very careful with it but last night you barely made it through the door.

You find the gizmo on the console table in the living room section of your apartment. You realize there are a few messages from your colleagues like Hobie, Miles, Ben, and Jessica. You quickly reply to the first three who asked about your whereabouts before you move to Jessica’s. You realize she sent multiple messages all ranging from asking how your last mission went to why you weren’t answering to asking if you were okay. The last one makes you stop. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you read it.

“Okay… You haven’t replied to any of my messages. Do I need to send someone to check on you? You’ve been MIA all day. Let me know you’re okay!!”

You look up towards where the portal was opened just minutes ago. You shake your head and reply to Jessica, notifying her about what happened. You leave out Miguel though. You put away your gizmo in its usual spot and look around your apartment, thinking. The lamps in the living room section are still on, the record player has stopped playing, however.

“Hm.”

--------------------------------------------- Translation for italicized words: Coño - fuck (it varies by country) Mierda - Shit Canelita - a tea made out of cinnamon sticks

Next Part

A/N: Might do part two. If it matters, I listened to "Nonviolent Communication" from the ATSV album as inspiration. Such a lovely song for Miguel, I think.

I love Miguel O'Hara. That's all.

[thatbugkidd]

The murder drones x hollow knight au... its rotting my brain

For a little context and lore for the au let me dig up some stuff i wrote a bit ago

Alright, Cyn is a moth. Which, slight spoilers? But in game, they're generally seen as peace keepers and a nonviolent tribe. Cyn resides in the Aurelian Line palace (Aurelian literally means golden, and is often related to butterflies. The elliots are butterflies hehehe) as a maid. The palace is a grand, magnificent castle that traverses deep underground, going through several regions. It is golden, shimmering in the faint light that makes its way down below.

Humans have been long extinct, forcing their own downfall with their technological advancements, effectively killing themselves off in a war that couldn't be won. The bugs of the kingdom speak of ancient giants who used to be able to harness these powers and fell below the earth because of it.

Remnants of this technology still exist, though due to the track record, it was strictly forbidden to be interacted with and was sealed away.

It was so well kept, many considered it simply a legend, a myth and nothing more.

That is, until the Aurelian line rediscovers it. Believing they can use its power and harness it themselves, they begin meddling with the technology. Obviously, this eventually backfires lol.

The most esteemed intelligence of the palace couldn't figure out how to operate anything. It was constant trial and error. Tessa, the heir to the Aurelian palace, has a passion for science and all things technological. She has the idea to test the technology's reaction with organic material. She decides to use lifeseeds to experiment on.

Late one night in secret, Tessa sneaks out of quarters and into the dark chambers below where the technology is stored.

The initial reaction is.. bad! Or good, depending on how you look at it. It starts off as an aggressive burst of energy, the lifeseeds quickly growing corrupted as it fuses wickedly with the technology, filling the area with a viscous substance in seconds. This traps tessa in a cocoon of sorts.

The technology ends up "attatching" itself to the lifeseeds, and in turn, also all of the lifeblood. Essentially traveling as a consciousness through the root systems.

Now basically being a sort of AI, with no "OS" or vessel to operate on, it quickly surges out in the form of little corrupted lifeseeds, looking for a potential host. And of course a certain bright eyed moth is attracted to the light. To the promise of safety and power. The promise of a changed, better world. Where everyone is connected, everything is in order, everything is one.

In a matter of days, everything wickedly changes. What once was a gorgeous, lively golden castle, is now cloaked in darkness, the only light being the harsh blue glare of screens, pulsating wires and roots strewing throughout the place.

Obviously this is all very rough, its basically evil AI takeover fused with biological elements so... biomech horror >:] but bugs

Ty to @thatoneguyrumble for the idea with the lifeblood >:3 very very cool

[anyab]

Via NasAlSudan

Learn about the Sudanese revolution, the significance of December 19, and a legacy of resistance and resilience.

Join our call to action today and everyday during Sudan Action Week.

December 19 2023

Transcript:

Breaking it down

What is the Sudanese Revolution?

The Sudanese Revolution refers to the popular uprising in Sudan that began on December 19, 2018 and eventually deposed 30-year dictator of Sudan, Omar al-Bashir, on April 11 of 2019.

How did the Revolution begin?

Protests first began in Atbara, a city with historical significance to the labor movement in Sudan, in response to the rising costs of basic supplies such as bread and fuel.

Protestors set fire to the national party headquarters, and the news of their revolt quickly spread, inspiring protestors first in other cities, and then in the capital of Khartoum itself.

Online, the caption #TasgutBas, translating to #JustFall, grew in popularity and helped connect the diaspora to those in Sudan.

Was it really just bread?

No. The rising cost of bread in developing nations is an indicator of how badly the economy is strained, to the point where it impacts members of every social class.

At this point in time in Sudan, subsidies on essential goods had been rolled back, funding for social and state services such as healthcare and education was nearly nonexistent, and it is estimated that nearly 90% of economic activity took place in the informal sector, all while the military budget continually increased.

Transcript:

Who led the charge? Creating a revolution

Group: Sudanese Professional's association (SPA)

Who they are:

Group of labor and trade organizations formed in secret in 2012 and publicly declared in 2016

Backbone of grassroots organizing in Sudan

Role played:

Led action on the street, organized national protests, like the initial march on Khartoum for increased wages before the transition to calls for regime change, and worker strikes.

Group: Local Resistance Committees (LRCS)

Who they are:

Initially formed as groups of students and youth organized together on the more local, neighbourhood basis during the Bashir era

Membership is extremely diverse across socio-economic, ethnic, tribal, religious, and political lines

Role played:

Considered the lifeblood of the revolution, with youth organizing local protests and ensuring safety against governmental repression by standing on the front lines + providing security, food, water, and medication to people

Group: Forces for freedom and change (FFC)

Who they are:

Coalition comprising the SPA, LRCS, the Sudan Revolutionary Front (group of anti-governmental Darfur militias), political parties, and civil society groups

Role played:

Essentially became the political mouthpiece of the revolution and signed onto the transitional government with the military on behalf of Sudanese civilians

It is also crucial to note that from a demographic perspective, it is youth and women that largely led and comprised the Sudanese Revolution.

Trabscript:

How did the revolution succeed?

01. Learning from the Past

Following the Arab Spring wave, Sudan also attempted a revolution in September of 2013

Civilians faced violent crackdowns within the first three days of protest. 200 killed, 800+ arrested

Activists were deterred from mobilization + felt a lot of guilt at the massive loss of life and spent the next 5 years grounding themselves in the study of nonviolent theory and action

02. Building a Movement

Coalition Building and People Power

Diversification of the reach of the movement to make sure all sectors of Sudani society were represented

Decentralization of Activism

Past revolutions in 1964 and 1985 were concentrated in the labor movement and educational elites in Khartoum

This time, experienced nonviolent activists trained those in the capital and ensured ethnic, religious, and tribal diversity

Newly trained activists then taught others locally across the Sudanese states

Transcript:

Why december 19?

On December 19, 1955, the Sudanese parliament unanimously adopted a declaration of independence from the Anglo-Egyptian colonial power.

The declaration went into effect on January 1, 1956, which is why Independence Day is officially January 1, but December 19 is when the Sudanese people were truly liberated from colonial rule.

The flag shown is Sudan's independence flag. The blue is for the Nile, the yellow for the Sahara, and the green for the farmlands.

The current Sudanese flag was adopted in 1970, with the colors used being the Pan-Arab ones.

During the 2019 revolution, protestors often carried the independence flag instead as a form of resistance to the narrative of an exclusive Pan-Arab Sudanese identity.

December 19 is ultimately a tribute to Sudanese strength and resilience. It honors our independence and revolutionary martyrs - not just those of the 2019 revolution, but the democratic revolutions of 1964 and 1985 as well.

Transcript:

Why is the revolution ongoing?

The goal was never just the fall of a dictator. The goal was, and is, to build a better Sudan, one free from military rule. One with equal opportunities for everyone, with economic prosperity and safety and security - the key principles of freedom, peace, and justice that the revolution called for.

Today, though, before we rebuild Sudan, before we free it from foreign interests and military rule and sectarianism, we need to save it. Each day that passes by with war waging on is one where more civilians are killed. More people are displaced. More women are raped. More children go hungry. To live in the conflict zones in Sudan right now - whether that be Khartoum, Darfur, Kordofan, or now, Al Gezira, is to be trapped in a never-ending nightmare, a fight for survival. And to live elsewhere in Sudan is to wonder whether you're next.

Sudan Action Week calls on you to educate yourself and others about Sudan, and then to help the Sudanese people save it, because we can no longer do it alone.

Transcript:

What can you do? Uniting for Al Gezira and North Darfur

As we witness the unfolding events in Al Gezira and North Darfur, the communities of Abu Haraz, Hantoub, Medani, El Fasher, and many others are reaching out for assistance. Sudanese resilience persists to this day, with individuals on platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok seeking and providing guidance on transportation services, medical care, food, shelter, protection, safe zones, operational markets, and more. This isn't new for the Sudanese community. A legacy of unity emerged, notably during the 2019 revolutions, where nas al Sudan [the people of Sudan], both within the nation and in the diaspora, rallied together to support each other online. Beyond merely sharing stories on social media, this was about strengthening collective action, enhancing mobilizations, and building a resilient community rooted in solidarity. The essence of the Sudanese community lies in people supporting people, notably during the uprising in 2018 and following the events of April 15th, 2023

Swipe to see how you can help.

Transcript:

What can you do?

This week, on a day nearly mirroring Sudanese Independence and the popular 2018 uprising, Sudanese resilience endures as war follows nas al Sudan to Al Gezira and again in North Darfur. Our call to action this week is not just to share; it's a collective effort to uplift one another.

Share Resources:

If you have access to resources that can help such as transportation services, medical assistance, food, shelter, etc., please comment below.

Community Requests:

If you are in Al Gezira or North Darfur and require specific support, please comment on your needs

Connect Individuals:

For those unable to share resources directly, help amplify requests by sharing this information within your personal networks. Your connection may lead to support from individuals who can assist.

Spread the Word:

Share this call to action on your social media platforms to broaden the reach and encourage more people to contribute.

Transcript:

Hanabniho

حنبنيهوا

[We will rebuild]

#keepEyesOnSudan

#SudanActionWeek

[luthienne]

Since the founding of the state of Israel, the Zionist movement has positioned the domination and oppression of Palestinians and the colonization of Palestinian land as the answer to the very real question of Jewish safety. They have taken the very real pain and trauma that we as Jews carry and sharpened it into a deadly weapon. We desperately must understand that what is happening is not a cycle of violence. It is a system of violence. Everyone is caught in its teeth. It is the system of settler colonial apartheid that the Israeli government has built and maintained over the past seventy-five years—with billions upon billions of dollars from the United States. Settler colonialism is a structure, a language, a culture, an ideology—an interlocking, totalizing, system of violence. It is a machine of war and dehumanization against Palestinians. It is this system that imperils the lives and safety of everyone. While the vast majority of the violence of the apartheid regime lands on Palestinians, there is no safety for Israelis in a system rooted in such dehumanization and oppression. In the words of Holocaust survivor Hajo Meyer, “My great lesson from Auschwitz is: whoever wants to dehumanize any other must first be dehumanized himself. The oppressors are no longer really human, whatever uniform they wear.” The Israeli government has lost any semblance of humanity as they wage a genocide against the people living in Gaza. It is not Palestinians who have chosen the language of violence for this land. It is the Israeli government and the United States government that have created a state of violence. Palestinians have remained steadfast in seeking freedom against immeasurable violence. Tens of thousands of Palestinians protested in weekly grassroots nonviolent protests at Israel’s militarized border wall around Gaza during the Great March of Return in 2019, and the Israeli government sent military snipers to murder and maim hundreds of children, women, medics, and journalists. Palestinians launch boycott campaigns to win their rights, and the Israeli government opens an entire new ministry to combat the nonviolent movement. Palestinians work at human rights organizations to document the crimes against them, and they are called and treated as terrorists. Palestinians speak the language of freedom, and the Israeli government responds—every single time—with the language of violence. The United States government has united to fully support the Israeli war machine. Already the United States sends more than $3 billion in aid to Israel every year. Now Senator Lindsey Graham said, “I am with Israel. Do whatever the hell you have to do to defend yourself. Level the place.” Make no mistake: Israel isn’t defending itself, it is committing mass murder. Biden says, “We’ll make sure Israel has what it needs to take care of itself.” Make no mistake: Israel is waging genocide. My dear ones in Palestine are saying that they have never experienced such destruction in seventy-five years of occupation. My dear ones are saying there is not a moment to wait. Do not sit back while Israel carries out a genocide fully enabled by the United States. Bring your full body, your spirit, your communities, your humanity, to meet this moment, to call your representatives, to the streets. “Never again” means standing up for Palestinian people. “Never again” means this very moment.

— Stefanie Fox, A Jewish Plea: Stand Up to Israel’s Act of Genocide, as featured in Boston Review

[whenweallvote]

We are saddened to hear about the passing of Dorie Ann Ladner, lifelong voting rights activist. 🕊️🗳️

Ms. Ladner participated in every major civil rights protest of the 1960s, including the March on Washington and the march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama. She was a key organizer in her home state of Mississippi, with contributions to the NAACP and Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. In June 1964, she launched a volunteer campaign called “Mississippi Freedom Summer,” with a goal of registering as many Black voters as possible. 

We remember and honor Dorie through the words of her sister and fellow activist, Joyce Ladner: as someone who “fought tenaciously for the underdog and the dispossessed,” and “left a profound legacy of service.”

[steveyockey]

As I watched people online debate the models of anti-colonial struggle, raising comparisons to Algeria and North America and South Africa, I found myself returning to the foundational Jewish liberation myth: the Exodus. It was hard not to think about the moment in the Passover seder when we lessen the wine in our full cups with our pinkies as we recite the plagues. This ritual has materialized as an indispensable touchstone, insisting that to hold onto our humanity we must grieve all violence, even against the oppressor.

But I also thought of the plagues themselves, particularly the final one, the slaying of the first born—children, adults, the elderly. It seems that hiding in our liberation myth is a recognition that violence will visit the oppressor society indiscriminately. I know that I have many friends, and that Currents has many readers, who are asking themselves how they can be part of a left that seems to treat Israeli deaths as a necessary, if not desirable, part of Palestinian liberation. But what Exodus reminds us is that the dehumanization that is required to oppress and occupy another people always dehumanizes the oppressor in turn. For people who feel like their pain is being devalued, it’s because it is; and that devaluation is itself a hallmark of the cycle of the diminishing value of human life. As the abolitionist geographer Ruth Wilson Gilmore has said, “Where life is precious, life is precious.” We are seeing the ways that Jews as the agents of apartheid will not be spared—even those of us who have devoted our lives to the work of ending it. (I am thinking of Hayim Katsman, zichrono l’vracha, killed by Hamas, an activist against the expulsion of the West Bank community of Masafer Yatta, and Vivian Silver, a hostage in Gaza, who is known to many of its residents as the person they meet at the Erez Crossing who advocates for and facilitates their transfers to Israeli hospitals for treatment.)

That question of how we recuperate this humanity is ultimately an organizing question. People have repeated over and over again over the last few days that you “cannot tell Palestinians how to resist.” To me, it seems there is a very literal dimension to this axiom: They are not asking. Part of what has made the experience of this event feel so different from the status quo—and so different to Palestinians and Jews—comes from the fact that Palestinians were undeniably the actors, for once, not the acted upon. The protagonists of the story. I consider it an enormous failure of our movements that we have not been able to build a vehicle for that kind of reversal in any other way thus far. Our Jewish movements for Palestine were not powerful enough to stop other Jews from gunning down Palestinians in peaceful marches at the Gazan border fence, or to keep Palestinians from being fired, harassed, and sued for speaking the truth about their experience or—God forbid—advocating the nonviolent tactic of boycott. And now, we do not have a shared struggle able to credibly respond to these massacres of Israelis and Palestinians. With all of the work that many Jews and Palestinians have done to reach toward each other over the years, I believe at heart it is this failure that is now driving us apart. There is no formidable political formation that I know of that can hold the political subjectivity of both Jews and Palestinians in this moment without simply attempting to assimilate one into the other. No place where Jews and Palestinians who agree on the basics of Palestinian liberation—right of return, equality, and reparations—are poised to turn the synthesis of these two subjectivities into a coherent strategy.

One of the most terrible things about this event is the sense of its inevitability. The violence of apartheid and colonialism begets more violence. Many people have struggled with the straightjacket of this inevitability, straining to articulate that its recognition does not mean its embrace. I am reminding myself that it was from Palestinians, many of them writing and speaking in these pages, that I learned to think of Palestine as a site of possibility—a place where the very idea of the nation-state, which has so harmed both peoples, could be remade or destroyed entirely. And it was Palestinians who opened my thinking to multiple visions of sharing the land. On the left, I hope we do not mistake the inevitability of the violence for an inescapable limit on our work or the quality of our thought. Even if our dreams for better have failed, they must accompany us through this moment to the other side. We need to imagine a movement for liberation better even than the Exodus—an exodus where neither people has to leave. Where people stay to pick up the pieces, rearranging themselves not just as Jews or Palestinians but as antifascists and workers and artists. I want what Puerto Rican Jewish poet and activist Aurora Levins Morales describes in her poem “Red Sea”:

We cannot cross until we carry each other,

all of us refugees, all of us prophets.

No more taking turns on history’s wheel,

trying to collect old debts no-one can pay.

The sea will not open that way.

This time that country

is what we promise each other,

our rage pressed cheek to cheek

until tears flood the space between,

until there are no enemies left,

because this time no one will be left to drown

and all of us must be chosen.

This time it’s all of us or none.

Arielle Angel, “‘We Cannot Cross Until We Carry Each Other’,” Jewish Currents, October 12, 2023.

[kemetic-dreams]

Jamil Abdullah al-Amin (born Hubert Gerold Brown; October 4, 1943), is an American human rights activist, Muslim cleric, African separatist, and convicted murderer who was the fifth chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the 1960s. Best known as H. Rap Brown, he served as the Black Panther Party's minister of justice during a short-lived (six months) alliance between SNCC and the Black Panther Party.

He is perhaps known for his proclamations during that period, such as that "violence is as American as cherry pie", and that "If America don't come around, we're gonna burn it down." He is also known for his autobiography, Die Nigger Die! He is currently serving a life sentence for murder following the shooting of two Fulton County, Georgia, sheriff's deputies in 2000.

Brown's activism in the civil rights movement included involvement with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Brown was introduced into SNCC by his older brother Ed. He first visited Cambridge, Maryland with Cleveland Sellers in the summer of 1963, during the period of Gloria Richardson's leadership in the local movement. He witnessed the first riot between whites and blacks in the city over civil rights issues, and was impressed by the local civil rights movement's willingness to use armed self-defense against racial attacks.

Brown later organized for SNCC during the 1964 Mississippi Freedom Summer, while transferring to Howard University for his studies. Representing Howard's SNCC chapter, Brown attended a contentious civil rights meeting at the White House with President Lyndon B. Johnson during the Selma crisis of 1965 as Alabama activists attempted to march for voting rights.

Major federal civil rights legislation was passed in 1964 and 1965, including the Voting Rights Act, to establish federal oversight and enforcement of rights. In 1966, Brown organized in Greene County, Alabama to achieve African voter registration and implementation of the recently passed Voting Rights Act.

Elected SNCC chairman in 1967, Brown continued Stokely Carmichael's fiery support for "Black Power" and urban rebellions in the Northern ghettos.

During the summer of 1967, Brown toured the nation, calling for violent resistance to the government, which he called "The Fourth Reich". "Negroes should organize themselves", he told a rally in Washington, D.C., and "carry on guerilla warfare in all the cities." They should, "make the Viet Cong look like Sunday school teachers." He declared, "I say to America, Fuck it! Freedom or death!"

In this period, Cambridge, Maryland had an active civil rights movement, led by Gloria Richardson. In July 1967 Brown spoke in the city, saying "It's time for Cambridge to explode, baby. Black folks built America, and if America don't come around, we're going to burn America down." Gunfire reportedly broke out later, and both Brown and a police officer were wounded. A fire started that night and by the next day, 17 buildings were destroyed by an expanding fire "in a two-block area of Pine Street, the center of African-American commerce, culture and community." Brown was charged with inciting a riot, due to his speech.

Brown was also charged with carrying a gun across state lines. A secret 1967 FBI memo had called for "neutralizing" Brown. He became a target of the agency's COINTELPRO program, which was intended to disrupt and disqualify civil rights leaders. The federal charges against him were never proven.

He was defended in the gun violation case by civil rights advocates Murphy Bell of Baton Rouge, the self-described "radical lawyer" William Kunstler, and Howard Moore Jr., general counsel for SNCC. Feminist attorney Flo Kennedy also assisted Brown and led his defense committee, winning support for him from some chapters of the National Organization for Women.

The Cambridge fire was among incidents investigated by the 1967 Kerner Commission. But their investigative documents were not published with their 1968 report. Historian Dr. Peter Levy studied these papers in researching his book Civil War on Race Street: The Civil Rights Movement in Cambridge, Maryland (2003). He argues there was no riot in Cambridge. Brown was documented as completing his speech in Cambridge at 10 pm July 24, then walking a woman home. He was shot by a deputy sheriff allegedly without provocation. Brown was hastily treated for his injuries and secretly taken by supporters out of Cambridge.

Later that night a small fire broke out, but the police chief and fire company did not respond for two hours. In discussing his book, Levy has said that the fire's spread and ultimate destructive cost appeared to be due not to a riot, but to the deliberate inaction of the Cambridge police and fire departments, which had hostile relations with the African community. In a later book, Levy notes that Brice Kinnamon, head of the Cambridge police department, said that the city had no racial problems, and that Brown was the "sole" cause of the disorder, and it was "a well-planned Communist attempt to overthrow the government."

While being held for trial, Brown continued his high-profile activism. He accepted a request from the Student Afro-American Society of Columbia University to help represent and co-organize the April 1968 Columbia protests against university expansion into Harlem park land in order to build a gymnasium.

He also contributed writing from jail to the radical magazine Black Mask, which was edited and published by the New York activist group Up Against the Wall Motherfucker. In his 1968 article titled "H. Rap Brown From Prison: Lasima Tushinde Mbilashika", Brown writes of going on a hunger strike and his willingness to give up his life in order to achieve change.

Brown's trial was originally to take place in Cambridge, but there was a change of venue and the trial was moved to Bel Air, Maryland, to start in March 1970. On March 9, 1970, two SNCC officials, Ralph Featherstone and William ("Che") Payne, died on U.S. Route 1 south of Bel Air, when a bomb on the front floorboard of their car exploded, killing both occupants. The bomb's origin is disputed: some say the bomb was planted in an assassination attempt, and others say Payne was carrying it to the courthouse where Brown was to be tried. The next night, the Cambridge courthouse was bombed

Brown disappeared for 18 months. He was posted on the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Ten Most Wanted List. He was arrested after a reported shootout with officers in New York City following an alleged attempted robbery of a bar there. He was convicted of robbery and served five years (1971–76) in Attica Prison in western New York state. While in prison, Brown converted to Islam. He formally changed his name from Hubert Gerold Brown to Jamil Abdullah al-Amin.

After his release, he moved to Atlanta, Georgia, where he opened a grocery store. He became an imam, a Muslim spiritual leader, in the National Ummah, one of the nation's largest African Muslim groups. He also was a community activist in Atlanta's West End neighborhood. He preached against drugs and gambling. It has since been suggested that al-Amin changed his life again when he became affiliated with the "Dar ul-Islam Movement"

On May 31, 1999, al-Amin was pulled over while driving in Marietta, Georgia by police officer Johnny Mack for a suspected stolen vehicle. During a search, al-Amin was found to have in his pocket a police badge. He also had a bill of sale in his pocket, explaining his possession of the stolen car, and he claimed that he had been issued an honorary police badge by Mayor John Jackson, a statement which Jackson verified. Despite this, al-Amin was charged with speeding, auto theft and impersonating a police officer.

On March 16, 2000, in Fulton County, Georgia, Sheriff's deputies Ricky Kinchen and Aldranon English went to al-Amin's home to execute an arrest warrant for failing to appear in court over the charges. After determining that the home was unoccupied, the deputies drove away and were shortly passed by a black Mercedes headed for the house. Kinchen (the more senior deputy) noted the suspect vehicle, turned the patrol car around, and drove up to the Mercedes, stopping nose to nose. English approached the Mercedes and told the single occupant to show his hands. The occupant opened fire with a .223 rifle. English ran between the two cars while returning fire from his handgun, and was hit four times. Kinchen was shot with the rifle and a 9 mm handgun.

The next day, Kinchen died of his wounds at Grady Memorial Hospital. English survived his wounds. He identified al-Amin as the shooter from six photos he was shown while recovering in the hospital[citation needed] Another source said English identified him shortly before going into surgery for his wounds.

After the shootout, al-Amin fled Atlanta, going to White Hall, Alabama. He was tracked down by U.S. Marshals who started with a blood trail at the shooting site, and arrested by law enforcement officers after a four-day manhunt. Al-Amin was wearing body armor at the time of his arrest. He showed no wounds. Officers found a 9 mm handgun near his arrest site. Firearms identification testing showed that this was used to shoot Kinchen and English, but al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the weapon. Later, al-Amin's black Mercedes was found with bullet holes in it.

His lawyers argued he was innocent of the shooting. Defense attorneys noted that al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the murder weapon, and he was not wounded in the shooting, as one of the deputies said the shooter was. A trail of blood found at the scene was tested and did not belong to al-Amin or either of the deputies. A test by the state concluded that it was animal blood, but these results have been disputed because there was no clear chain of custody to verify the sample and testing process. Deputy English had said that the killer's eyes were gray, but al-Amin's are brown.

At al-Amin's trial, prosecutors noted that he had never provided an alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the shootout, nor any explanation for fleeing the state afterward. He also did not explain why the weapons used in the shootout were found near him during his arrest.

On March 9, 2002, nearly two years after the shootings, al-Amin was convicted of 13 criminal charges, including Kinchen's murder and aggravated assault in shooting English. Four days later, he was sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole (LWOP).He was sent to Georgia State Prison, the state's maximum-security facility near Reidsville, Georgia.

Otis Jackson, a man incarcerated for unrelated charges, claimed that he committed the Fulton County shootings, and confessed this two years before al-Amin was convicted of the same crime. The court did not consider Jackson's statement as evidence. Jackson's statements corroborated details from 911 calls following the shooting, including a bleeding man seen limping from the scene: Jackson said he knocked on doors to solicit a ride while suffering from wounds sustained in the firefight with deputies Kinchen and English. Jackson recanted his statement two days after making it, but later confessed again in a sworn affidavit, stating that he had only recanted after prison guards threatened him for being a "cop killer". Prosecutors refuted Jackson's testimony, claiming he couldn't have shot the deputies as he was wearing an ankle tag for house confinement that would have showed his location. Al-Amin's lawyers allege that the tag was faulty.

Al-Amin appealed his conviction on the basis of a racial conspiracy against him, despite both Fulton County deputies being black. In May 2004, the Supreme Court of Georgia unanimously ruled to uphold al-Amin's conviction.

In August 2007, al-Amin was transferred to federal custody, as Georgia officials decided he was too high-profile for the Georgia prison system to handle. He was first held in a holdover facility in the USP Atlanta; two weeks later he was moved to a federal transfer facility in Oklahoma, pending assignment to a federal penitentiary.

On October 21, 2007, al-Amin was transferred to ADX Florence, a supermax prison in Florence, Colorado. He has been under an unofficial gag order, prevented from having any interviews with writers, journalists or biographers.

On July 18, 2014, having been diagnosed with multiple myeloma, al-Amin was transferred to Butner Federal Medical Center in North Carolina. As of March 2018, he is incarcerated at the United States Penitentiary, Tucson.

Al-Amin sought retrial through the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. Investigative journalist, Hamzah Raza, has written more about Otis Jackson's confession to the deputy shootings in 2000, and said that this evidence should have been considered by the court. It had the potential of exonerating al-Amin. However, the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals rejected his appeal on July 31, 2019.

In April 2020, the U.S. Supreme Court declined to hear an appeal from al-Amin. His family and supporters continue to petition for a new trial.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Soon after taking the helm at the FOR [Fellowship of Reconciliation], A. R. Muste put his experience to work, emphasizing a sense of mission driven by spiritual fellowship but drawing on his Bolshevik background as well by repeatedly calling on pacifists to become committed revolutionaries with the kind of self-sacrificing discipline of Communist Party members or early Christians. “There are those among us—in a sense we are perhaps all included—who shrink from participating in steps toward building a Gandhian movement,” Muste wrote, adding:

We think that making speeches about pacifism, even superficial and dull ones, or mailing leaflets discreetly, is necessarily virtuous, but that there is something queer and vaguely discreditable about carrying a placard in a poster-parade or picketing a factory or the White House, and that only people who are a little ‘off’ ever get thrown into jail.

Starting in 1935, the FOR encouraged the formation of religiously inspired local “peace teams” for study and humanitarian service. Muste took things further, asking (in the October 1941 issue of Fellowship) that every FOR member “including all our officers, should immediately join or help to build a pacifist cell or team or group” for the study of nonviolence, for mutual support, and for action. This concept of the “cell” united communist and Christian doctrine in various minds throughout the thirties; Trotsky himself could see a certain similarity between the Jesuits and the Bolsheviks, even if he denigrated the comparison. Richard Niebuhr (like his brother Reinhold) had called for small knots of revolutionary-minded Christians to form cells to organize, proselytize, and transcend nationality, class, and capitalism. Cells were also a way for a visionary minority like Muste’s Christian pacifists to sustain themselves against the pressure of an indifferent or hostile world. Richard Gregg (with whom Muste was in touch in 1940) published a pamphlet called Training for Peace that recommended the formation of cells with up to a dozen members dedicated to righteous living and pacifist study. He intended for these cells to withdraw from mass society and materialism, members binding themselves to one another by singing, folk dancing, and meditation as well as by their sense of purpose. Gregg, writes Joseph Kip Kosek, “came to believe that in Gandhi nonviolence had become more than an inner conviction; it was now a performance, part of a public moral dialogue intended to elicit sympathy from both opponents and disinterested observers.”

George Houser, having spent nearly a year in a very different kind of cell, was now an FOR staffer devoted to seeding these units of nonviolent study and change around the Chicago area (activities that were noted in his FBI file). Still a seminary student, he found time to crisscross the region distributing FOR literature and organizing mostly college students. “A small man,” his close friend Farmer would write of him, “there was about him an aura of confidence and authority that made size unimportant.” Houser developed guidelines calling for cells to pursue four broad categories of activity: spiritual growth, study, action, and organization. They would read Shridharani’s War Without Violence, Gregg’s Power of Non-Violence, and Gandhi’s memoir. Within a few months he’d established roughly seventeen cells.

The most important one, launched in October of 1941, was a race-relations cell focused on discrimination in and around the University of Chicago. Houser oversaw the cell and Farmer was involved, but its leading lights were the energetic young Bernice Fisher, a white student at the University of Chicago Theological School, whose misfortune it was to fall in love with Farmer, and the white literature student James Robinson, an acolyte of Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker movement who would serve time in a Civilian Public Service (CPS) camp. There were about a dozen members, all pacifists, and they all believed, as Houser put it, that discrimination “must be challenged directly, without violence or hatred, yet without compromise.” Meeting Saturday afternoons, they worked their way through War Without Violence chapter by chapter as a prelude to action. “All of us,” Fisher said later, “were afire with the ideas of Gandhian non-violence.”"

- Daniel Akst, War By Other Means: How the Pacifists of World War 2 Changed American for Good. New York: Melville House, 2022. p. 152-153.