#fighting nazis

[cloudstrychnine]

I'm DIYing some old clothes with bleach printing and taking inspiration from old Soviet posters. This first one is a practice shirt; I'm learning it's best to cover everything outside the image to prevent a halo of bleach. I'll also try using a weaker bleach mixture on the midground.

I'm using cardboard for the stencils but freezer paper works even better for crisp lines. I wouldn't say no to a cricut machine.

I cut cardboard stencils and used waxed paper around the edges:

[tomorrowusa]

I belatedly discovered this excellent parody of a UK WWII newsreel. Instead of Britain fighting German Nazis in the 1940s, it has more to do with Ukraine fighting Russian Nazis in the 2020s.

It was produced by NAFO – an international collective which has successfully taken on disinformation from Russian troll farms. They sprang into action after Putin's illegal and unprovoked invasion of Ukraine.

They don't do it by uploading terabytes of meticulously researched and footnoted (but boring) information. Instead, they use memes with accurate and incisive text which undercut Putin's propaganda narrative. This vid, produced last summer, was a NAFO production.

While you still see Russian trolls on social media, they have largely been neutered by NAFO and other pro-democracy meme creators.

NAFO has shown the way forward. If groups like them had been more robust, persistent, and clever in 2016, we might have been spared the nightmare of the Trump administration.

[antvnger]

First of all, good for you! The Indiana Jones trilogy is soooooo awesome! 

Don’t watch the fourth one. Just remember that we learn Indy has a son with Marion. That’s all you need to know.

Secondly…holy shit! Captain America and Indiana Jones fighting nazis? Together? Holy shit holy shit holy shit!

@askazara

[stinalotte]

Why I'm not a pacifist

Note: sorry for the Tiktok newspeak, apparently they're not allowed to say certain words on there which is why OP had to write "not-see" instead of Nazi.

I grew up in West Germany in the 1980s. My parents' whole social circle consisted of peace activists. One of my earliest memories is being pushed in a stroller at a peace march. I've always considered myself a pacifist, until a couple years ago. (Any last remnants of that were thoroughly destroyed at the beginning of last year, but that's another story)

You cannot have a peaceful conversation with a Nazi. You cannot negotiate with them. You cannot reason with them. They are not interested in exchanging ideas with you, they are not interested in coexisting with you. They want to destroy anyone who isn't them. Yes, you too. Maybe not today because you're white and cis and straight, maybe not tomorrow because you're able-bodied and "a hard worker". But eventually they will come for you too, and no amount of tolerance will save you.

You need to shout them out of your streets, out of your restaurants and bars, out of your schools, out of your places of worship, out of your gyms and online spaces. If you don't, they will take root and fester until they are so established that you can't get rid of them anymore. They will not spare you because you were nice to them.

This is why tolerance is a contract: if one party violates it, the other party is not obligated to keep it. You can't tolerate Nazis.

But Stina, not everyone who disagrees with you is a Nazi!

"Pizza with pineapple is not good" is a disagreement. Basic human rights ARE NOT UP FOR DISCUSSION. END OF. If they say Nazi things, they are Nazis.

I'm German. The Nazis in 1933 didn't fall from the sky. They don't fall from the sky in 2023 either. One of our great writers, Berthold Brecht, said, "the womb is still fertile from which it crept".

If you belong to a marginalised group and can't confront Nazis like the guy in the video, that's ok. But we need those guys too. Lots of them. If you are in a position to be the guy in the video, do it.

We do not negotiate with terrorists, and we do not tolerate Nazis.

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[luxshine]

Alguna vez se han preguntado porque Abraham Lincon puede cazar vampiros, pero nuestros heroes nacionales no? Bueno, aqui les traemos una novela donde nuestra gran Chavela Vargas lucha contra nazis y Chtuhlu! No se pierdan la oportunidad de apoyar este proyecto y obtener grandes recompensas.

[bypatia]

The bjp government introduced the ucc bill in Uttarakhand which has made it mandatory for live in couples to register with the government and a copy of the registration will be sent to respective families. It also added the father as a first class legal heir for inheritance of property, encroaching upon the the right of the mother, wife, daughter (the actual victims of patriarchy, who most likely did not have any social right to gain access to financial independence or inheritance from other family members) to accommodate the father, who more than likely than not already has financial freedom and ownership rights over land property. Moving on, they removed the Muslim personal law, which guaranteed the rights of the daughter in a fixed inheritance percentage. Not to mention the whole act is modelled after hindu personal laws and demanding other religions to bend according to it is inherently regressive no matter how progressive the law on paper looks to be. So should I just bang my head against the wall right now and be done with it or watch as the bjp government slowly sets fire to all our lives?

[brw]

"but hamas is getting funded by extremist islamic hate groups!" do you think the U.S. government and military giving funding for israeli's war efforts against palestinians is a morally neutral and inherently righteous body that had no influence in the politics of southwest asia as a global colonial superpower. do you really think anything you can say about the people resisting oppression can't be said about the oppressors.

[gwinforth]

Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror (1942) | 🤚 deerstalker ⛔

Sorry, I haven't made gifs in roughly 100 years.

First, really cute and I love the Rathbone-Bruce pair. Watson chiding Holmes like a child for reaching for his deerstalker, which we just saw him wearing in 39's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Holmes realizes his mistake, and reaches for his fedora. It's a new era, it's a good joke!

Second, the script weaves something in from the opening titles, where we're assured that Sherlock Holmes is immortal and has turned himself to the problems of the modern day. It reads as a workmanlike explanation of the sudden change in setting - but this little touch suggests that Holmes and Watson are aware of it, too.

Did they awake in 221B like Arthur, in England's hour of need? The meta nod makes this first modern day adventure feel like waking up after a long sleep, with echoes of a pleasant dream.

[lil-gingerbread-queen]

So, I cannot show support to Palestine at my university (flyers for protest, the colors and the flag, you get it...) because it's "encouraging violence and antisemitism" but when my university was tagged with antisemitic symbols, they did NOTHING. When the students union was targeted with threat of violence and their office was destroyed, covered with neo-nazis symbols, they did NOTHING.

The Neo-Nazis student association (which has been multiple times reported for their hate-crimes) were distributing flyers at the entrance yesterday WITHOUT ANY ISSUES, because they support Israel.

[cutie-chimera]

Might be living in the dawn of a fascist regime, but I still hit all my lift targets today 💪💪💪

[laurapetrie]

A sailor kisses his girl goodbye as he leaves for active service, September 1939.

[brandyschillace]

We can never fight against prejudice and hatred later. We can only do it now. Because it is always only and ever NOW. If you wish you could have fought against the Nazis, you can fight them this moment. If you wish you had marched with MLK, you can stand with him today. Hope is always *right now.* 🗳️

[marvel-lous-guy]

Tony: okay, so we're all on the same page here?

Peter: yeah, but it's the last page of a book called 'I don't know what the fuck I'm doing'

Tony: Great! We're still all on the same page!

Steve: Let's go fight some Nazis!

[allhailthe70shousewife]

Vote Harris/Walz. Vote True Blue Democrat down ballot.

[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