#janet Reno

[broadcastnewsarchive]

Attorney General Janet Reno speaks on the investigation into the Oklahoma City bombing, following statements by President Clinton.

Coverage by CNN

3:03 CDT/4:03 EDT (2003Z) 1995/04/19

[x]

[hyperboreandad-82]

The FBI and ATF would have continued slaughtering innocent white men, women and children during the 90's if not for Timothy McVeigh. Yes; he killed children; but so did the ATF and FBi. So it's just tit for tat. If you have a problem with that then you are saying that the government has a right to kill children. Nobody was being held accountable for Ruby Ridge and Waco. So the everyday man had to serve Justice in the only way he could.

[valkyries-things]

JANET RENO // LAWYER

“She was an American lawyer and public official who served as the first female and 78th United States attorney general. Reno, a member of the Democratic Party, held the position from 1993 to 2001, making her the second-longest serving attorney general, behind only William Wirt. She was elected to the Office of State Attorney five times and was the first woman to serve as a state attorney in Florida.”

[qupritsuvwix]

Is your church ATF-approved?

[sgreffenius]

Respect for institutions and rule of law

In a recent WSJ article, Peggy Noonan argues that when people lose faith in their institutions, the whole society suffers. It loses its cohesion. Faith in foundational institutions, such as rule of law, is essential for democracy to work, and for overall order and stability. Only cohesive societies can maintain these qualities.

A key implication of this argument - and Noonan is not subtle about this point - is that we should not undermine these institutions. People who do so undermine the whole society, and do no service to anyone. We can criticize our institutions, of course. That’s what it means to live in a democracy. We must not, however, lead people to lose faith in them, distrust them, or become alienated from them.

I am a good example of the latter type of critic. I have written dozens of articles, whose main point is to make people see that the FBI - and by extension the Department of Justice - are bad jokes. Their very existence undermines rule of law. The sooner we rid ourselves of these pustules on the state, the sooner we can restore rule of law, respect for legal institutions, and free ourselves of the fear that poisons our sense of community.

I need offer only one example here: Waco. We approach the thirtieth anniversary of that horrific travesty. The FBI and the Department of Justice are responsible for that mass murder. Yet no official, not Attorney General Janet Reno, not FBI Director William Sessions, not any of the FBI agents on the scene, took responsibility for the outcome. What was the outcome? A religious group that minded its own business was wiped out.

In my critiques, I have tried to stick with more recent transgressions, such as the FBI’s involvement in the 2016 election and its aftermath. Of course, you can go further back, to the 1950s, when the FBI illegally targeted Communists and homosexuals. No matter what decade you select, you can discover activities in the FBI inconsistent with the rule of law, or worse, activities that undermine our rights in ways we cannot repair.

Why then, should we maintain respect for institutions that do not deserve it? Noonan is not the only defender of so-called democratic institutions, who suggest that we cannot expect good government if critics constantly encourage people to run it down. I can only respond with a brief question: what if the criticisms are true? What if the FBI threatens democracy far more than its critics do?

[tenth-sentence]

By the twenty-third day, the frustrated FBI started considering tear gas as a non-lethal technique for getting everyone out, but they needed special clearance for that from Janet Reno, the attorney-general.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[hitchell-mope]

MCU/Anything Goes au

Natasha. Reno Sweeney.

Bruce. Evelyn Oakleigh.

Steve. Billy Crocker.

Wanda. Hope Harcourt.

Tony. Moonface Martin.

Darcy. Erma.

Hank. Elisha J. Whitney.

Janet. Evangeline Harcourt.

[glogster]

gleeposting day 2

i do like the disco episode… well my eyes glazed over the finn and rachel stuff but the music AND THE JOKES?? way better than usual

kurt = samantha jones, as far as being characters who are SO put together + charming + resourceful that it almost feels too easy to give them fav status. but he’s WORKING FOR IT. um and I like his relationship with rachel :)

puck is probably the most like my boyfriend so I do take note of him…

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

They have ah say they have anvils, and they may have other weapons of mass destruction.

NSA General Leghorn

[berlynn-wohl]

All-Time Greatest Similes by Rob Harvilla on "60 Songs That Explain The 90s"

-"Celine Dion sings her songs like they owe her money."

-"The key change in Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You is like being shot out of a cannon into another cannon."

-"Janet Jackson sings like she's hitting on you in a daycare during naptime and she's trying not to wake up the kids."

-"Listening to an 80's Metallica album is like falling down the stairs for an hour."

-"Goodbye Earl is like they built the whole plane out of the black box that was Johnny Cash's line 'I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.'"

-"Paging through somebody’s Case Logic CD book in the mid-'90s was the single most intimate activity you could engage in with another human being. It was like drinking beer out of someone else’s mouth."

HONORABLE MENTION: "Direct quote from Salt [of Salt-N-Pepa]: 'An aquarium once told us that when they played Push It, the sharks started mating.' Yo, where...what...who...how...HOW was this discovered? Did someone just happen to walk into this aquarium with a giant boombox blasting Push It, or were the aquarium people sitting around like 'We gotta figure out how to get all these sharks horny' and Push It was some marine biologist's genius idea? Is this what marine biology is? You know how everyone in high school wants to be a marine biologist for like, ten minutes? I'd totally have gone through with it if I'd known this is what marine biologists did. If I'd known about this, I'd already have a Nobel Prize for playing Luther Vandross for some manatees. You want some variations on that joke? Sure you do. I got a list. I'd already have won a Nobel Prize for playing D'Angelo for some penguins. I'd already have won a Nobel Prize for playing Sade for some cuttlefish. That's the best one. I'd already have won a Nobel Prize for playing Jodeci for some polar bears."

[sharpened--edges]

While I was writing this to you, Janet Napolitano, the former U.S. secretary of Homeland Security, assumed her new post as the twentieth president of the University of California system, the first woman to occupy the office. The revolving door between institutions of policing, bordering, surveillance, incarceration, illegalization, militarization, and schooling is not new. Indeed, in San Diego, where I am based, Alan Bersin was superintendent of public schools from 1998 to 2005, after three years of running U.S.–Mexican border law enforcement for Attorney General Janet Reno under President Clinton. After his stint governing schools, Bersin governed the border (again) in 2009, this time for the Obama administration, working as ‘border czar’ under Janet Napolitano, then Homeland Security secretary, now UC president. However, it would be a misguided comparison to describe the bodies of faculty and students as analogous to the bodies of detainees and deportees and migrants and suspectees. It is not analogous power but technologies of power that recirculate in these imperial triangles, for example, debt financing, neoliberal market policies, information systems, managing noncitizen populations, land development. If we consider triangular connections between war abroad and refugee management within, antiblackness and the maintenance of black fungibility and accumulation, and militarization and Indigenous erasure throughout empire, then we can understand why the governors of war and the governors of schools can have similar résumés, without pretending that the governed suffer through identical conditions.

la paperson, A Third University Is Possible (Duke University Press, 2017), pp. 37–38.

[memecucker]

gm'd a call of cthulhu game involving a late 90s militia church and the way things came into place and fell together, the players ended up convincing Janet Reno to authorize and assault because they showed her a video with Nyarlathotep speaking to the cultists and which also curses people that watch it so now Nyarlathotep is following around Janet Reno in that universe

[shituationist]

say what you want about waco or whatever but janet reno would have burned down the texas capitol over eagle pass

[theinsatiables]

Present Imperfect

Aftersun opens with a home movie, a daughter filming her father. Sophie (Frankie Corio) has just turned eleven. Calum (Paul Mescal), who will turn thirty-one by the end of the film, is dancing. “These are my moves,” he smiles, and you can almost hear her eyes roll. “When you were eleven,” she asks, zooming in on his face, “what did you think you’d be doing now?” He looks down and the frame freezes. So this is to be an elegy.

It is the story of a parent who will die—who has died. This is a spoiler only insofar as knowing that the mother will die could ruin the experience of watching Tokyo Story, which is to say only insofar as the death of a parent is a surprise. It is, of course. But you knew it was coming. And then it did, and now you know. This temporality, from future to present perfect, eliding the unspeakable present imperfect and future perfect—“is dying,” “will have died”—gives force to Aftersun’s otherwise delicate narrative. It is a reminiscence haunted by dread, which might be a good definition of grief.

Calum and Sophie are on vacation in Turkey. We can guess, given the presence of a consumer camera that shoots on digital video and, later, the most natural-looking performance of the Macarena you’ve seen since Janet Reno was attorney general, that it’s about 1997 or 1998. It is eventually made clear that adult Sophie (Celia Rowlson-Hall), a millennial with a baby of her own, is watching these old tapes—fleeting documents of what she and her dad were like, Calum’s sly humor, Sophie’s antic energy—and remembering or imagining what happened outside the frame. Aftersun could be understood as the art project that she makes as she sits with her memories and recordings and tries to piece together a portrait of her father. Calum, meanwhile, turns out to have been reminiscing while still on vacation, watching the tapes each night like dailies, holding fast to the experience while it’s fresh in his mind.

Clips from the home movies punctuate the film, the pale, watery light of digital video testifying to their cinematic factuality. In between, on celluloid, the languorous days of vacation: father and daughter laze by the pool, play billiards, go to a mud bath and a sauna, visit a rug merchant, tease each other, swim, apply sunscreen during the day and toner at night. Looking back on her younger self, a child on the cusp of adolescence with an adored father whose fallibility she is beginning to grasp, adult Sophie sees a perceptive, sensitive girl approaching a loss she is still struggling to understand.

Adult Sophie, or perhaps the director, Charlotte Wells. Wells also happens to be a Scottish thirtysomething whose father died when she was young. In interviews she has said that Aftersun is not strictly factual but “emotionally autobiographical.” This idea should be familiar to anyone who has ever recounted a story whose details they’ve forgotten.

For a film with only the barest exposition, which dedicates its oblique framing and patient editing to the careful construction of feeling, Aftersun is dense with meaning and unspoken narrative. Calum and Sophie arrive in Turkey, take a tour bus to a tacky resort peopled by other British tourists, explore the local environs, and grow closer and further apart. He and Sophie’s mom, who has primary custody back in Scotland, are on friendly terms, but Calum, who moved to London, is a restless young man, given to a third beer with dinner, standing on the hotel balcony late at night smoking a cigarette, looking at the sky, and dancing.

The vacation is clearly a special occasion, not least because it must have cost dearly for Calum, whose current job is “this new thing going on with Keith.” On the first night in their room, they discover that there is only one small bed. Calum dutifully calls down for a cot, ceding the mattress to his daughter. The next morning they are awakened by the ringing sounds of construction: the hotel is being renovated in the off-season. Yet this flat disappointment—the deflating indignities of poverty, even while on vacation—intensifies the sense of freedom, the delight of time alone with a parent, the need to enjoy a rare luxury.

But outlining the film’s plot feels like a graver betrayal than spoiling the end. Works of grief are typically described as “raw,” as if the creator had simply ripped off a limb. Aftersun is fragile, as befits a film with the title of a poetry collection. Each scene delicately brushes its meaning like layers of paint: by the pool on the morning after their arrival, Calum rubs sunscreen into Sophie’s back, apologizing for the resort’s limitations while trying to pick up on the last conversation they had together, a conversation she glancingly remembers. Underneath their dialogue, the shrill ping of hammers. This is the awkward rhythm of reuniting with the noncustodial parent, who is nonetheless determined to care for you, scored by the impingement of money, obligation, and the adult world.

Orbiting the story of a parent’s mortality is that of a child’s maturity. Sophie, who will start at a secondary school in the fall, takes alternately tentative and bold steps toward adulthood, and therefore away from her father. “Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself?” Calum asks her, indicating two children who must be around eight and six years old. “Dad, no, they’re like kids,” Sophie scoffs. Instead, she invites two teenage boys to join them in a game of pool, confidently breaking the rack herself. Where Calum largely confines his attention to Sophie, she is drawn to these long-limbed adolescents, who swan about in yellow bracelets that mark them as the privileged few with access to the all-inclusive experience—“You can get as much as you want of anything,” says a girl with a pierced ear, inadvertently advertising the adolescent fantasy of adulthood. (Sophie is also, mysteriously, briefly captivated by a bright pink swizzle stick in the shape of a woman’s naked body.) And always in the film’s background, swarms of paragliders—a risky adult pastime she is not allowed to try—flit about like dragonflies.

Wells sees everything with equanimity: Sophie getting affectionately teased by the big kids, recalling the episode of The Simpsons where Lisa befriends a group of oceanside teens and feels cool for once; or swimming with ease in the ocean with her dad but finding herself in over her head when the older kids start making out with each other in the pool. The role calls for the sensitivity of the budding artist, the impishness of childhood, the yearning of adolescence, security and sudden insecurity, the unspoken intimacy of parent and child. Corio is marvelous.

Mescal no less so. His handsome, charming Calum can’t be mawkish, awash in self-pity, because he is struggling mightily to keep Sophie from seeing his demons. She evinces some anxiety on his behalf, noting with a tremble in one of her video diaries that he has gone on “some scuba diving thing” despite not having a diving license. “He’ll be fine. Yeah. He’ll be fine, I’m sure,” she reassures herself. We get a child’s glimpses of his recklessness: crossing the street in front of a bus or balancing precariously on the balcony railing. For the first half of the movie, he sports an arm cast—from an accident he doesn’t remember—in which he fumbles to light his cigarettes.

But he is a doting father, protective and thoughtful, negotiating Sophie’s desire for independence with his responsibility to keep her safe. He indulges her in an intimate, grown-up rapport; they start their trip sharing a private joke at an English tour guide’s expense, Sophie laughing richly at her father’s impersonation. Calum practices tai chi, occasionally to Sophie’s embarrassment, but he is good at it, just as he is good at dancing. In one scene his movements rhyme with those of a fan in the corner of the room, which twists and blows cool air in time with him.

“If you let it rest on an object for a wee while it gets the lighting right,” Calum observes early on as he tries out the camcorder, and Aftersun seems to abide by this premise. The eccentric compositions—people and props placed about the frame in seemingly random order—are held until a balance reveals itself. Gregory Oke’s cinematography is complemented by Blair McClendon’s elliptical editing so that individual scenes have the aura of memory, an experience broken down to its elements: Sophie, Calum, ocean. Hand, face, cotton ball. Boat, mountain, shore. Through a toilet stall keyhole, a glimpse of the arm of an older girl as she mimes jerking someone off while telling her friend about a recent escapade with a boy. Experimental techniques are used less in a spirit of inquiry for its own sake than for their effect. Wells plays with a mostly shallow depth of field to highlight presences on the rim of Sophie’s awareness, pulling focus from Sophie to the arm of Michael, the boy playing arcade games with her, as he brushes her own, Calum in the deep background ordering at the bar.

At the furthest edge of Sophie’s awareness is a nagging anxiety, formed right at the seam of her maturity and Calum’s mortality. On one of their last nights in Turkey, she volunteers the two of them to sing REM’s “Losing My Religion,” a shared enthusiasm, at a resort karaoke show. Calum, drunker, perhaps, than he intended, and dwelling on his private miseries, refuses to go onstage. Sophie, in a mortifying and triumphant display, presses on alone in several long takes that showcase Corio’s tremendous performance as her anxiety gives way to disbelief and finally disappointment and sadness, mixed in with a brave insistence on finishing the song. Afterward, Sophie decides to spend her evening with the teens, and has her first kiss with clumsy Michael.

Calum, chastened and ashamed, gets drunker, stumbles down to the shore, and walks into the sea. The camera looks out at the dark water for several agonizing moments. He does not return. It is Aftersun’s first explicit acknowledgment of what has otherwise only been suggested, but it is also not Calum’s death. The film has been told to this point from Sophie’s perspective, and she wouldn’t have seen Calum’s lonely descent. It is, rather, the manifestation of her terror, a nightmare illustrated with the almost pure archetype of a parent vanishing into darkness.

After her kiss, Sophie returns to their hotel room to find herself locked out. Hours later, when the concierge wakes up to let her back into the room, we are as shocked and relieved as she is to find Calum passed out on her bed. With the quick elasticity of a child’s mind, she incorporates this news and the story returns to its gentler course. The next morning, Calum apologizes at the mud bath, and they wash each other’s backs. The camera pans over the water as eddies of mud and silt curl away under the sun. She was being silly after all, no need to worry.

The final scenes, following the introduction of a haunted adult Sophie in Brooklyn, signify much harder, abruptly jostling what has otherwise been cradled. Father and daughter’s joyful last day on vacation, dancing together at a supper club, Calum at his most handsome and charming, are intercut with a metaphorical vision of his death, sweaty, drunk, and high, dancing in a strobing nightclub, as adult Sophie screams soundlessly, desperate to get his attention.

At my mom’s wake, I asked an old family friend who had also lost his mom unexpectedly, many years before, if it ever got less painful. “Eh,” he said. This was comforting. My mother’s books and sunhats, her collection of sea glass and stacks of notepads are arrayed about my home, and I have taken to using her preferred sunscreen, Olay Complete. Letting any of it go is unthinkable. Wells knows the solace of holding onto grief. 

A cliché about maturity is that you learn to appreciate your parents more fully, as nonidealized people, as human beings who struggled also, who don’t know the answers, who have been plodding along all this time, just like you. This is half true. You also come to see them as fragile, weakened by struggles you don’t yet, or might never, know. Then one day you see their lives entire, a complete form that will fall away behind you—that has fallen away behind you. 

-Daniel Drake

[queersatanic]

"Lucien Greaves" on the Oklahoma City Bombing and bad PR

Via The.Satanic.Wiki

On Sept. 11, 2003, future co-owner of The Satanic Temple Doug “Lucien Greaves” Misicko, his friend and collaborator Shane Bugbee, and Shane Bugbee’s wife Amy Stocky hosted a 24-hour Internet radio stream with guests and callers to mark the release of their new edition of the proto-fascist manifesto Might Is Right. This is an excerpt from that recording.

CW: terrorism, praise of white nationalist violence, misogyny

Full transcript:

Shane Bugbee: Yeah, no, but that Waco- that Waco chunk was given to us by a guy in Waco. One of the survivors had half his body burned off, that we just played. And that's something that a doc, a gentleman doing a documentary had done. And he couldn't get it released, couldn't get it played anywhere. Nothing. And he basically just gave it to those- the fine folks at the Branch Davidian. And, um... that was it. They distributed to who they thought was trustworthy and such, and I wanted to disseminate that information for you. I'd like to hear if anyone is listening. Get on the chat boards at RadioFreeSatan.com. Leave a voicemail message at RadioFreeSatan.com. I think the number is... I'll get you the number in a second.

Amy Bugbee: A major person who did help pass around Day 51 was Tim McVeigh.

Shane Bugbee: Yeah, exactly. That was one of the people that gave it to and we're trying to live to- some people call McVeigh a terrorist and American terrorist. I call him an American hero. Okay?

Amy Bugbee: That's right. And I just finished reading American Terrorist, Timothy McVeigh story, and it's... fascinating. It's really a shame and the major- the thing that he was most upset about what the Oklahoma City bombing was the fact that the children dying outshined what the message was he was trying to convey by blowing up the building. And it's a real shame. He said, if he would have known that there were- there was a daycare center in there, he would have picked a different target because of that.

Doug Misicko: All right, that was the biggest mistake. And of course, it was easy for the media to take that away.

Shane Bugbee: What was the biggest mistake?

Doug Misicko: The fact that there was kids in there.

Shane Bugbee: That was your... you consider that a mistake?

Doug Misicko: Well, it's a PR mistake.

Shane Bugbee: Who gives a fuck? They're cops' kids. The only thing that would be better is if the cops were inside that building as the kids in the fucking wives got to watch their fucking husbands burn like pigs.

Doug Misicko: True, but he didn't generate any support.

Shane Bugbee: He wouldn't have no matter what he does he could fire a gun up in the air, he's gonna get arrested and treated like an asshole.

Doug Misicko: Nonetheless, anytime a cunt like Janet Reno runs amok and pulls a Waco, you're gonna produce hundreds of more McVeigh's or people that McVeigh mindset it's like they say about Iraq now. Or Afghanistan. You know, whereas you might have had one Osama bin Laden, now you have legions.

Shane Bugbee: Now when you talk about "bad PR", the real powerful folk don't give a fuck about bad PR. You think the- the Bush folks or people that go into Ruby Ridge and slaughter a pregnant woman, slaughter 14-year-old kid, shooting them two times in the back, all that bullshit? They didn't give a fuck about mowing down those kids at Waco. They did that shit so incredibly intense. Man, we saw this video where they've got- they've got infrared cameras above Waco and they're showing guys with M-16s sharpshooting in where the kids and women are running out. The fucking cop- and the army guys are shooting at these kids and- they don't give a fuck. They don't give a fuck about bad PR, do they?

Doug Misicko: Yeah, they figured they can cover the PR. You look at...

Shane Bugbee: Nah, it's about fear. They fucking scared everyone in the fucking listening again.

Doug Misicko: People don't believe it'll happen. Why do you think Junior's crew now is trying to buy out radio?