#fascist USA

[clawpatrol]

Can we say it now? Can we admit that we've observed in real time the progression of a neoliberal party into full-blown fascism, just like the filthy leftists always warned would happen?

After living under 4 years of Biden and then watching Harris unashamedly parrot fascist talking points, observing her supporters acting like brownshirts beating anti-genocide protestors, reporting anyone who expresses concern about her support for genocide to the FBI, having peaceful protestors tear gassed and arrested en masse, all while pledging their undying support for a settler colonial state currently committing a genocide.

Can we admit that the Democrats are no longer a neoliberal party at all, but that they've advanced into fascism?

An even better question: Do YOU support the things Harris was saying at the debate? If so, I think you need to reflect on where your place is in the advancement into fascism, and what it means if your rationale for supporting Democrats like Harris is that you believe white USAmericans who are already enjoying comfort at the expense of others globally will continue to do so.

If that's your reason for supporting Harris, then what does that make you?

[i-am-q]

HOSTAGE TO TUMBLR

[hussyknee]

Link to thread.

Link to article.

Link to author's bio.

Alt text enabled on all images.

[decolonize-the-everything]

I feel like we all glanced over Kamala saying "strength through unity" a little too fast.

That was literally the slogan Mussolini used to gain popularity and I just. Maybe we all should care about that more.

That "in a choice between Hitler and Mussolini, choose Mussolini" joke might not be a fucking joke

He coined the name of the party based on the Italian word for bundle—fascio—in reference to bundles of rods used in ancient Rome to symbolize strength through unity. The party emphasized national unity—even if it required violence to keep dissenters in check. “Basically, Mussolini hated the Socialists, and so did the rest of the Fascists,” Ebner said. “One driving force behind Fascist violence was their desire to punish the Socialists for not supporting Italy during the Great War (World War I). The Fascists viewed the Socialists as cowardly traitors, internal enemies, who needed to be eradicated.”

See also:

The Economist, for example, which on November 4, 1922, sympathized with Mussolini’s aim of imposing a “drastic cutting down of public expenditure” in the name of the “the crying need for sane finance in Europe,” rejoiced in March 1924: “Signor Mussolini has restored order, and eliminated the chief factors of disturbance.”

In particular, “wages reached their upper limits, strikes multiplied.” These were the factors of disturbance, and “no government was strong enough to attempt a remedy.” In June 1924, the Times, which called fascism an “anti-waste” government, praised it as a solution to the ambitions of the “Bolshevist peasantry” in “Novara, Montara, and Alessandria” and “the brutal stupidity of these folk,” seduced by “experiments in so-called collective management”.

Fascism responded to what was perceived as the failures of both liberal and socialist ideologies. It is a kind of totalitarianism, demanding reverence for the state and its leader and an elimination of political opposition. Fascist regimes are also characterized by a reliance on propaganda, a focus on militarism, and a concern with indoctrinating youth, as well as by the persecution, ethnic cleansing, or genocide of minority groups. Adolf Hitler used Italian Fascism as a model for his own, though his version of fascism was more violent, racist, and genocidal. In 1936 Mussolini formally signed a treaty with Hitler to form a Rome-Berlin “axis.”

source

"I will ensure America always has the strongest, most lethal fighting force in the world." - Kamala Harris at the 2024 Democratic National Convention.

[kropotkindersurprise]

lmao

[daegu-based-terrorist]

yeonmi park voice: in north korea shirts that are 3/4s lengths are banned since they represent the american pop culture in the 80s and kim jong ils unlucky number was 8... so we could never wear them... LAWDD PEOPLE WILL SAY ANYTHINGGG

She will say absolute bullshit like your lovely creative example (seriously how do you keep coming up with these I want to study your brain) and tumblrinas will come on here and be like:

Like no ma’am she isn’t “harmful but not malicious” she is active part of the imperial media apparatus which seeks to manufacture consent for a wide scale invasion into and the forceful collapse of the DPRK. Which inherently would include the mass murder of my people and the people that she has forsaken.

I hope she kills herself genuinely I hope the guilt eats her up so bad that one day she just takes all the pills in her house.

Also anytime you hear going on about how bad life was remember she grew up here:

She did not live in the trenches or on a small collective farm she lived in a minor city not much different to the one of my childhood.

[tieflingkisser]

Trump may be more aesthetically repugnant by saying the unspoken out loud but functionally I struggle to see a significant difference in their politics. Genocide Joe is supporting genocide and colonialism abroad and at home has reneged on basically every campaign promise + Roe inflation rent etc.

Biden:

nothing for LGBT protection

endorsed additional police funding

nothing to stop racist censorship/book bans

nothing to protect abortion

no student loan forgiveness

nothing for grocery or rent inflation

more immigrants detained and abused than under Trump

literally sending Israel more weapons and money for genocide, calls himself a Zionist

but oh no Trump :(

[txttletale]

liberals when a liberal democracy commits atrocities liberally: is this fascism

[clawpatrol]

Democrats posting shit like this proudly. Like. YOUR PARTY IS APPEALING TO MEMBERS OF A LITERAL FASCIST PARTY, but this doesn't clue you in that it's because the Democrat Party is also fascist? Also they balk at being called "blue maga," but IT'S LITERALLY RIGHT. THERE. I mean, come on...

[ravenkings]

[petewentzisblack1312]

every year and a half people are like can you believe writers and performers of the hit single american idiot dont like donald trump and i get that they have no media literacy but can you fucking recall that this is a biennial incident at the very least.

[intheholler]

Donations for Appalachian/Southeast USA Queer Organizations

Here lies the sister post to my resource list.

Under the cut, you'll find a list of regional, primarily queer-focused groups to donate to, if you have the means.

If you've ever accused us of being beyond help, or have ever said we should be sawed off into the ocean, here's your chance to help the many helpers trying to make the southeast a better place--those that always go conveniently ignored in such conversations.

General Regional Links

Appalachian Outreach

STAY (Central Appalachia)

Help suspected transgender John and Jane Does regain their identities

Southern Trans Youth Emergency Project (STYEP)

Southerners on New Ground (SONG)

Campaign for Southern Equality

Trans Health Project

Alabama

AIDS Alabama

The Knights & Orchids Society

Magic City Acceptance Center

Medical Advocacy and Outreach

Prism United

Shoals Diversity Center

T.A.K.E.

Thrive Alabama

Georgia

Carrollton Rainbow Inc.

Emmaus House

Feminist Women’s Health Center

First City Network

Georgia Equality

Kentucky

AIDS Volunteers of Lexington

Arbor Youth Services

Lexington Pride Center

Louisville Queer Youth

Louisville Youth Group

Kentucky Fairness

Kentucky Health Justice Network

Kentucky Youth Law Project

Sweet Evening Breeze

Louisiana

AcadianaCares

Louisiana Trans Advocates

OUTnorthla

PACE Louisiana

Shrevepride

Mississippi

Capital City Pride

Gulf Coast Equality

LGBTQ Fund of Mississippi

The Spectrum Center in Hattiesburg

Violet Valley Bookstore

North Carolina

Charlotte Transgender Healthcare Group (CTHCG)

Down Home NC

Guilford Green Foundation & LGBTQ Center

Pitt County Aids Service Organization

Tranzmission

Triad Health Project

Triangle Empowerment Center

South Carolina

Alliance for Full Acceptance

Charleston Black Pride

Harriet Hancock Center

Palmetto Community Care

T-Time

Uplift Outreach

We are Family

We are Family Trans Love Fund

Tennessee

CHOICES

Launch Pad

Metamorphosis

Mountain Access Brigade

My Sistah’s House

Pride Community of the Tri-Cities

Trans Empowerment Project

Youth Villages

Virginia

Justice 4 All

Nationz

Side by Side VA

Virginia Home for Boys and Girls

West Virginia

Harmony House West Virginia

Fairness West Virginia

Holler Health Justice

WVFREE

[nando161mando]

Clarence Thomas needs to croak

[decolonize-the-everything]

The War Powers Resolution

It provides that the president can send the U.S. Armed Forces into action abroad only by declaration of war by Congress, "statutory authorization", or in case of "a national emergency created by attack upon the United States, its territories or possessions, or its armed forces".

The Constitution

Article I, Section 8, Clause 11: [The Congress shall have Power...] To declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 12

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: death of loved one, misogyny, violence. we're getting into it now my dudes, beware! chapter map

-You did not expect your father’s death to affect you so brutally, and without Paul at your side you are not sure how you would have gotten through the week that followed his passing. The funeral mass and the burial went by as a blur, and it feels like he carried you through it all. He lets you cry on his chest, and holds you through your lengthy silences.

It takes a long time for you to realize that the thing you might mourn most, are the parts of your father you were never allowed to know. The free way he spoke with you in his last days, reminiscing about your mother when he was young–it all suggested a very different man who you would have liked to have the acquaintance of. That the loss of his love destroyed him so completely scares you, true, but also…you pity him in a way you’d never thought possible. 

You wonder if maybe you are more like him than you want to admit, and you rise from the ashes determined not to be such a coward with Paul. 

You never did finish that sentence for him, but you will. When the time is right, and you are not a tearful mess clinging to him like a limpet. You tell yourself that he deserves better than that. 

-”Is it really that much better than this out there?” asks your sister Anjélica. It is a fine sunny day, a breeze cutting through the mountains. You are sitting beneath the shelter of a massive oak, watching the children of Las Nubes play with Paul. She is one year older than you, and already has two, with one on the way. 

“It’s just different,” you say diplomatically. “You’re welcome to come visit me anytime you want a change of scenery.” 

She laughs goodnaturedly at the thought, rubbing her rounded belly. “I’m afraid if I left my children and husband would starve and go feral,” she admits. You know it’s more than that, though. Her husband would never let her go to the city, just for a fun little break. There’s always too much work to be done. Good women are martyrs who do not shirk their responsibilities, no matter their own needs. 

“Heaven forbid Julio be bothered to cook something for himself and his own children,” you say with an eye roll. 

Knowing you all too well, Anjélica just smiles. She is, perhaps, the most forgiving of you and your strange ideas. “I know you think I’m trapped by marriage and children and housework…”

You make a grumbling sound in your throat, picking at a knot on the top of the wooden table. 

“But have you ever considered that I do it…because I love them?”

You blink at that, not proud of how this perspective does kind of blindside you. She chuckles at your owlish look. You think you’re so goddamn smart, and she always does this to you. 

“I know you’re still just settling in with Paul. But you’ll understand what I mean soon.”

You burn to tell her the truth–but you can’t. The ruse must go on. 

Worse yet…you’re afraid she could be right, if you and Paul do make a life together after this. You haven’t really decided what you’re going to do…but the thought of being apart from him hurts.

Your attention is drawn back to the children as a joyful yell echoes across the field. Paul has the littlest one on his shoulders, and they are running–though not too fast, from some imaginary entity. Little Lucia’s peals of laughter are, in fact, the sweetest sound on earth.

“He’s good with the children…”

You make a warning grumble to this, only winning yourself more laughter. 

You love your nieces and nephews, but you truly have no interest in making children of your own. Is something broken in you? 

Anjélica just giggles at you, a wicked glint in her eye. “Look at that man God has given you! Are you telling me you are not making love to him every chance you get?”

Your mouth twists into a reluctant smile at that. “Maybe. But you know they make these marvelous things called…” You lower your voice to a dramatic whisper. “Condoms.” If you could just fucking get your hands on some… And, diaphragms too, of which a woman was not allowed access to without the permission of her husband. Unmarried women…were just screwed, literally and figuratively. The disconnect between reality and morality in medicine was vast, and you hoped someday things would be better for women. 

Anjélica waves you off with an eye roll. “See how long he wants to wear one of those things. You’ll get tired of it too. It does not feel right, for something to be between you and your mate. You’re going to be ripe with a baby by next year. Just you wait.” 

The thought makes your skin clammy somehow despite the warm summer day. Your sister, who knows your every tell, reaches across the table to you. “I’m not trying to scare you, muñequita. It’s just…life. What happened to Mama…that’s not what it’s always like.”

Maybe it isn’t…until the one time it is, and that’s all it takes to break everything. 

-You and Paul decide that you will accompany the crew of Las Nubes to the fiesta of the harvest, partake in the festivities, and from there you will return to the world on the other side of the rabbit hole. A part of you will miss the slower pace of life in the countryside. But a part of you is eager to get back to the excitement of the bustle of the city, back behind your desk in San Francisco, and back behind your typewriter in your little rented room. 

You are still not sure yet, where Paul is going to fit into all this. 

He isn’t either, and you can tell that he is maybe experiencing an opposite reaction to the thought of returning to life outside. It’s been like living in a fairytale, carrying on like husband and wife here. Las Nubes has been home for several months, and you understand how it grows on you. 

If don Juan was not master there…maybe things could have been different.   

-After your period of mourning, you are looking forward to the bright spot of the fiesta on the horizon. Everyone dresses in their best. You don a ruffled dress you have not worn for years, and silver filigree earrings that belonged to your mother. 

Paul looks so handsome in his uniform, and you watch him dress for what you realize is the last time, in this room that has been your sanctuary.

All packed and ready to go, the two of you look around the space in each other’s arms one last time. Such grand things happened in this tiny room–with any luck, it’s just the beginning for the two of you. You smooth your hand down his tie, straightening his medals that don’t really need it. This man is so humble, but the story of his bravery is written in shining metal upon his chest.

“Ready?”

He pays you a sad smile, and you understand his reluctance to leave the bubble the two of you have made here. He has carried you these past dark days, and you decide that now you will do the same for him. 

“Today will be fun,” you try to assure him, holding his cheek. 

He leans into your touch, but you see the question in his eyes. And the day after? 

You don't have an answer to that, so you kiss him sweetly, and lead him outside.

-You try not to admire don Juan out the corner of your eye, in his short embroidered charro jacket and a silver belt cinching his slender waist. But the moment you fully look his way he makes a sweeping bow with his sombrero.

He’s been on his best behavior since your father died, but you can’t help but feel like he has something up his sleeve, especially now that you’re leaving.

Juan and his entourage will ride to town, and the rest of you will follow in the farm truck. 

-You mill around the fair with your arm linked with Paul’s, your head on his shoulder as you look at the displays and crafts and food and farm animals. Napa county has become such a melting pot. There is music, and later there will be dancing. You introduce Paul to churros and hot chocolate, and you can’t help but laugh at the way his eyes light up after that first bite. You can’t stop yourself from kissing him, your lips sweetened with cinnamon sugar. 

His mood has lifted a little, though you still sense the weight of melancholy upon him. You think to yourself that maybe today will be the day you tell him how much he means to you. Not to cheer him up–but because it’s the truth, and you’ve known it for a while now. He should too.

“Paul…”

He turns to you with hope in those soulful dark eyes, after hearing that certain note in your voice. He knows you so well. Almost like…you were made for him too.

“I–”

Of course, Juan and his entourage choose that very moment to enter the fair, greeted with shouts of, “It’s the Aragóns!” as they ride under the stone arch. You have to admit that they do cut a dashing picture, dressed to the nines upon their fine horses. You feel a reluctant kindling of pride in your heart. Juan winks at you as he trots by, but you give him nothing, except for resting your chin on Paul’s shoulder. 

You all watch as the Padre invokes the blessing of the wine–a thing you’re sure he's happy to do, as he is a notorious lush. 

After watching some of the horse show, you sit down to eat with Josefa, Anjélica, and their husbands. The levity of the fiesta has been good for all of you, after losing Papa. In the distance, you see Juan with his head bent, speaking to a severe looking anglo man in a dark suit. Juan is nodding to whatever the man is telling him, a terrible smile curling his lips. Dread settles like a stone in your gut, all your joy siphoned away in a matter of a second. You just know something bad is going to happen.

The bus to the train station in the next town has already gone. But before you can suggest to Paul that the two of you go back to your hotel to hide, don Juan swaggers up to your table, his two worst henchmen and the man in the suit in tow. 

His eyes are all for you.

“My dear, sweet, y/n. What a naughty girl you’ve been.”

You frown up him. “¿Perdón?” 

“Oh, don’t play the innocent now.” 

Where this man gets his nerve, you’ll never know, but you begin to have an inkling of what he’s about.  

“Don’t speak to me as though you’re my father,” you hiss, standing. “Come on, Paul.” Suddenly you know that the two of you need to get somewhere that don Juan does not feel as though he owns. You fear you won’t reach it until you get all the way back to San Francisco. 

“I may not be your father…but I will be your guardian, now that he’s gone. This man is not your legal husband.”

You shake your head, even as your heart falls to your feet. More Old World nonsense. Yet it matters here…because he says so. That is the true measure of power. 

“Of course he is.” 

“Oh no. I’ve had it looked into. May I introduce Mr. Smith of the highly reliable Pinkerton Detective Agency. He has found zero record of your legal union anywhere in California.” You shift your glare to the man in the suit. 

“Good for him.” 

“Prove us wrong? Where’s your certificate?” 

“I don’t have it with me.” 

Because it doesn’t exist…

 Juan smirks, that low-banked fire in his eyes you remember all too well from when he knew he was winning an argument. That familiar rage fills you, that this man thinks he has any right to tell you anything, just because he is Man. 

“This is ridiculous. We’re going.” You take Paul’s arm to lead him away, but more of Juan’s men block your exit. Eyes wide with panic, you look to your sisters. Anjélica is shocked, and Josefa’s jaw is set with disapproval. By the steely expressions on their husband’s faces, you know they are Juan’s men, no matter how much they came to like Paul. In the conservative, patriarchal world of Las Nubes, you have committed a terrible sin. Perhaps even an unforgivable one. 

Juan’s smirk only widens, and he holds his hand out to you. “Be a good girl for once and come quietly, y/n. We’re going home.”

This is when Paul steps in front of you. “She’s not going anywhere with you.” 

“Stay out of it, gringo. You have no standing here, and none of this concerns you.” 

“I’m not letting you take her.” 

Don Juan makes a sound through his teeth like the hissing of a snake. “You don��t have a choice, cabrón.”

That is when all Hell breaks loose. 

You don’t really see who throws the first punch, but suddenly the two men are on each other like mad dogs in a furious exchange of blows. When Juan’s lackeys try to go to his aid you are quick to pick up the heavy ceramic water pitcher on the table, breaking it over one of their heads. A strong arm grabs you around your waist, trying to drag you off. You flail and screech and scratch and bite, until whoever has you drops you with a string of curses.

You see that Paul is straddling Juan on the ground, delivering punch after punch. 

That is when the Sheriff himself arrives, flanked by two deputies. They drag Paul off of Juan, the latter of whom is laughing with blood in his teeth. 

You realize he must have arranged all this ahead of time, paying off anyone he needed to, to be sure his will was done.  

“Lock this madman up!” declares don Juan, spitting out blood. “He attacked me with no provocation! These soldiers are like wild animals, thinking they may do as they please!” 

In the end it takes four men to subdue Paul, who fights like a trapped bear to get free, shaking off one of the deputies as he tries to put the soldier in handcuffs. “Y/n! Get off me! Don’t let him take her! Y/n!”

You try to go to him, but Juan’s biggest minion has you in his grasp again, your arms twisted behind your back. 

“Señor!” you beg the sheriff, even as you know it’s futile. “He has done nothing wrong! Please don’t hurt him!” The moment you say it one of the deputies hits Paul hard in the temple, and you see him slump in their grasp. “No!” You are crying, angry, ugly tears streaming down your face. “No, this isn’t right!” 

Smirking like the devil, Juan gets to his feet, making a show of brushing himself off before fixing his attention on you. He steps in close, speaking just for your ears. “Behave yourself, and he’ll just sit in a cell for a few days to cool off. Make trouble…and I’ll make certain they hurt him.” 

You slump in Borrachio’s iron grasp, your knees going out from under you. 

You look to your family, who have watched this exchange wide-eyed, but made no move to help you. You understand. Their homes, their whole lives, take place on don Juan’s land. He is their master. You are just inconvenient–and you always have been. 

“Please don’t hurt him.” You sound as defeated as you feel, and Juan clicks his tongue, chucking you under the chin. 

“Pobrecita. That’s up to you, now.” He wipes a bit of blood from his split lip, then turns to his minions. “Put her in the truck,” he instructs Borrachio. “I’ll be there shortly.” You behave yourself, until Borrachio gives you an opportunity while he is opening the truck with one hand. You nearly twist away, fighting again like a hellcat. Losing patience with you, the big man cuffs you across the face, hard. It knocks the lights out of you, and when you come to again you are trussed in the back with your hands tied and a gag in your mouth.

________

*muñequita - little doll **¿Perdón? - pardon? *** pobrecita - poor little girl