#Jeremiah J. White

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

Jeremiah J. White (American, b. 1981), "Painted Turtle"

[a-crappy-art1st]

Mix of Green Goblin and Joker, Spider-Bats worst Villain.

That's jokers long barrel gun on the side and the green goblin aspects of it are based on the Green Goblin from Spectacular Spider-Man.

[nowimyurdaisy]

best friends? - j. fisher

summary: You told yourself this summer would be different. You would be getting over Jeremiah fisher not pining over jeremiah. But things never go as planned especially not when you sign up to be a deb, with your other best friend. An escort and some ice cream?

warnings: bad grammar? some swear words

a/n: Im so excited to introduce you to my new series! I really hope all of you like it!! Watching season 2 Jere got me all inspired again ;) I know there isn't much Jere in the first chapter but I promise there will be so much more in future chapters and they'll be a little longer

masterlist

series masterlist

part one

This summer would be different. That's what you told yourself. You were going to Cousins, like you did every summer. you would hang out with the Fishers and Conklins, your best friend Jeremiah as always. But this summer you wouldn't pine over Jeremiah, as always.

Your family owned a house down the street from the Fisher's. You basically lived at their summer house, Susannah was like a second mother to you, and Conrad an older brother, and Jeremiah is well complicated. Belly was the only one who knew about your crush on Jere. Crush was an understatement, you were are madly in love with Jeremiah Fisher. Madly deeply in love.

Maybe you'd get a boyfriend, a new crush?

You had no idea what was in store for this summer, but as you breathed in the salty air of Cousins, you could just feel something different was gonna happen.

You pulled up to the Fisher's, honked twice to let them know you had arrived. Although your family had a house down the street your parents were traveling to Europe or something this summer. So you were staying with the Fishers and Conklins. That is the other thing that was changing this summer, you would be sleeping in the room next to Jeremiah's. All. Summer. Long.

Avoiding him will not be an option.

You saw Jere running out of the house, Belly following close behind with Susannah at her side. You stepped out of the car, and Jeremiah engulfed you in a hug, spinning you around.

"Damn y/n/n looking better than ever!"

You blushed, "why thank you Jere bear." He rolled his eyes at your nickname for him, you'd been calling him that ever since you'd met him. Belly was next to greet you. "BELLS!"

"Y/N!" Belly responded, laughing, pulling you into a hug.

"Missed you."

"Missed you too," then she gave you this look, and not so subtly nodded her head at Jere.

You shook your head in response. She frowned a litter, "this summer is gonna be the best one yet," whether you liked it or not things are changing.

Later at dinner Susannah brought up how she pulled a few strings and wanted you and Belly to be debs this year.

Jeremiah and Steven started laughing. "Belly a dev?" Steven laughed again.

"Shut up Steven!" Belly glared in his direction.

"Are you sure that's a good idea Beck? I mean debutante balls are outdated." Laurel asked.

Belly rolled her eyes at her mother's words, "I'll think about it Susannah"

"Great! Y/n what about you?" Susannah asked with pleading eyes.

You were about to respond when Jeremiah spoke up. "Y/n/n no way you're gonna do the deb ball scene." Jere clapped Stevens shoulder laughing. "You in a white dress?" What was with Jeremiah? You asked yourself.

"You know what Susannah, sounds super fun, I'm in" You directed your response at Susannah but held eye contact with Jeremiah.

"Ahh! This is so exciting!"

"I'll do it too Susannah" Belly said, speaking up again.

Laurel sighed but Susannah's smile lit up the whole room. Her eyes too, like it was Christmas morning. "I'll take the two of you shopping tomorrow! Laur you have to come too" and just like that it was decided that four of you would go shopping tomorrow.

The next day the four of you went downtown Cousins. Shopping for sun dresses and fascinators and a white dress of course. You were in a wedding dress shop, doing a 360° turn for Susannah and Laurel in a off the shoulder puffy dress.

You looked at Belly as she walked out of the dressing room across from you. Getting up next to you, also doing a 360°. And in unison the two of you sighed, "So?"

Susannah looks at you first, "Mm. No."

Laurel looked at Belly and without saying a word, grabbed the simple white dress that you had noticed Belly staring at the entire time you had been there. "What about this one?" Susannah went to argue with Laur, but you cut her off. "It is so Belly, Laur."

Bly's whole face lit up. She eagerly grabbed the dress and went into her changing room.

"Susannah" you sighed, "I've tried on like, twenty dresses," you complained.

"We just have to find the right one, don't give up." She responded. And because it was Susannah you listened.

When you came back out of the dressing room you saw Laurel and Susannah ogling over Bellying her new dress. You walked up to the rows of dress. Flipping through them until one dress caught your eye. It had a sweetheart neckline with little silver jewels lining the top of the hoop skirt. It was gorgeous. You quickly grabbed your size and rushed off to the dressing room

You snapped a quick mirror selfie to send to Jere. Then exited the room practically glowing and spinning around. Susannah gasped and clasped her hands together. "Oh y/n it's gorgeous" Laurel said actually gushing.

"I need to get a picture of you in that" Susannah said, grabbing her phone. Tears forming in her eyes?

"It is perfect" Belly said turning to you.

"It really is Bells, it really is" you agreed, a smile adorning your flushed face.

taglist: @sourcherryandsprinkles @bigassnocash @jeremiah-fisher @xtom-darling-x17 @buckys2thicc @almostcontentcreator @crazylokonugget @coolestgirlhere @abbygrace333

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

The Lamb Breaks the Seals

The first rider: conquest

1 Then I watched while the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice of thunder, “Come out!”

2 I looked, and before my eyes was a white horse. Its rider carried a bow, and he was given a crown. He rode out conquering and bent on conquest.

The second rider: War

3 Then, when the Lamb broke the second seal, I heard the second living creature, cry, “Come out!”

4 And another horse came forth, red in colour. Its rider was given power to deprive the earth of peace, so that men should kill each other. A huge sword was put into his hand.

The third rider: Famine

5a When the Lamb broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come out!”

5b-6 I looked again and there before my eyes was a black horse. Its rider had a pair of scales in his hand, and I heard a voice which seemed to come from the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a shilling, and three quarts of barley for a shilling—but no tampering with the oil or the wine!”

The fourth rider: Death

7 Then, when he broke the fourth seal I heard the voice of the fourth living creature cry, “Come out!”

8 Again I looked, and there appeared a horse sickly green in colour. The name of its rider was death, and the grave followed close behind him. A quarter of the earth was put into their power, to kill with the sword, by famine, by violence, and through the wild beasts of the earth.

The cry of the martyrs in Heaven

9-10 When the Lamb broke the fifth seal, I could see, beneath the altar, the souls of those who had been killed for the sake of the Word of God and because of the faithfulness of their witness. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, “How long, O Lord, holy and true, until you judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?”

11 Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to be patient a little longer, until the number of their fellow-servants and of their brethren, who were to die as they had died, should be complete.

The wrath of God

12-17 Then I watched while he broke the sixth seal. There was a tremendous earthquake, the sun turned dark like coarse black cloth, and the full moon was red as blood. The stars of the sky fell upon the earth, just as a fig-tree sheds unripe figs when shaken in a gale. The sky vanished as though it were a scroll being rolled up, and every mountain and island was jolted out of its place. Then the kings of the earth, and the great men, the captains, the wealthy, the powerful, and every man, whether slave or free, hid themselves in caves and among mountain rocks. They called out to the mountains and the rocks, “Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb! For the great day of his wrath has come, and who is able to stand against it?” — Revelation 6 | J.B. Phillips New Testament (PHILLIPS) The New Testament in Modern English by J.B Phillips copyright © 1960, 1972 J. B. Phillips. Cross References: Genesis 3:8; Genesis 4:10; Exodus 29:12; Deuteronomy 4:10; Deuteronomy 32:43; 1 Samuel 6:20; Psalm 2:12; Psalm 76:7; Proverbs 5:5; Isaiah 2:10; Isaiah 13:10; Isaiah 34:4; Isaiah 54:10; Jeremiah 4:24; Jeremiah 14:12; Ezekiel 4:16; Hosea 10:8; Joel 2:31; Nahum 3:12; Zechariah 1:8; Zechariah 6:2-3; Zechariah 6:6; Matthew 10:34; Matthew 24:7; Matthew 27:66; Luke 15:22; John 1:29; Acts 20:24; Revelation 4:6,7 and 8

[mournus]

"Oh, shit. Not The Double J, man!" His smile was all pearly whites and fangs. "How many people them hands killed?"

Jeremiah forgot himself and almost laughed for a moment. Until he saw those fan - no. Surely not fangs. Just pointy teeth!!!!! Right???? But he mentioned eating him...

And what's with that question?!

"Oh. Like. A b- a billion. Totally. Lost count! Breakfast... Lunch... Double on a Tuesday!"

[your-nanas-house]

Can you pls do a Jerome X Reader where Jerome kidnaps a reader that creates weapon and other tech stuff. The reader is kind of known underground in terms of making weapons and villains also commission reader to make weapons for them or something like that 💕💕

Have a great day/ night!!

Hello! Of course 😌💕 Have a nice day/night too!!!

?Weapons builder?

Pairing: Jerome Valeska X Reader

Warnings: weapons, kidnapping, murder

Words: 511

Summary: in the request

Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

..................................................................................

It wasn't the first time this had happened to her but it was the first time someone, specifically a criminal, didn't know who she was.

Y/n had to deal with criminals of all kinds there in Gotham city since she was in the business of building weapons and other tech stuff, she had been doing this for years and was well known in the underground, she had received commissions from the best known villains like The Penguin, the Riddler, the Falcone family and others.

So now that she was tied to a chair, wearing her grey sweatpants and a white tank top, her hair y/h/c tied back, her glasses, that she wore when she worked, on her nose she was looking into the eyes of the criminal known to all as Jerome Valeska, she couldn't help but be surprised at his genuine question "why does Penguin deal with you?" also the way he examined her trying to figure out what she did and why she dealt with criminals.

So with a genuine question there was of course a genuine answer from her "don't you know who I am?" the ginger shook his head reflectively "am I supposed to know?" the girl nodded slightly offended "hell yes, you're a criminal who's been running around Gotham for years and I make weapons for people like you" he looked at her curiously, sitting down in front of her "weapons for people like me, doll?" she had to nod and explain to him what she did for living, finding herself quickly having to make a weapon for him.

He hadn't specified anything and from the few hours she had spent unintentionally with him she had guessed certain things like she always did.

The weapon for Jerome was a gun, with a red and white decoration with some orange, his name carved small in gold where only he…and she knew where it was, a J in italics near the trigger and the part of the weapon that he gripped with his hand, he also had personalized bullets of three types one with a carved J, another with his name carved on it and another one with his symbol that was also on the barrel of the gun.

It took her a while to build and decorate it but she succeeded and sent it to him inside a closed parcel with an orange bow, a note attached to it.

'I hope you like it, I wait for your payment.

P.s. Dinners are valid and I am free this Friday at 8pm.

~Y/n/n'

Jerome's smile widened as soon as he read the note opening the box like a child under the Christmas tree on Christmas, finding himself admiring his new gun for a moment and taking it in his hands carefully while looking at the bullets too; unable to stop himself he immediately pulled the trigger, shooting one of his followers groaning happily at how wonderful the gun was before going to get ready for the dinner he was sure to attend.

Taglist:

@gabile18

@mrsfullbuster500

@trainer--taylor

@elizamalfoyy

@eovjjj

@animefan3223

@jeremiah-va1eska

@gothamchic16

@rabbiteggz

@dieg0brandos-wife

@rottenecstasy

@lazyexuseforausername

@teh-vampire-bunny

[dailyspongebobmusical]

Cast for The Spongebob Musical's UK premiere announced

Casting has been unveiled for the UK premiere of The Spongebob Musical, based on the beloved animated series.

Featuring SpongeBob, Patrick, Squidward, Eugene and Gary the Snail, the musical has original tunes by the likes of Cyndi Lauper, John Legend, Panic! At the Disco, Sara Bareilles, Steven Tyler and Joe Perry of Aerosmith, Plain White T's and more. It is written by Kyle Jarrow and conceived by Tina Landau, and there are additional lyrics by Jonathan Coulton and additional music by Tom Kitt.

The tour will open at Southampton on 5 April 2023, before visiting Birmingham, Bradford, Oxford, Dublin, Manchester, Belfast, Cardiff, Blackpool, Peterborough, Wolverhampton, Norwich, Leicester and Aberdeen ahead of spending five weeks over the summer at the Southbank Centre's Queen Elizabeth Hall prior to visiting Plymouth.

Set to appear in the show will be Gareth Gates (he/him) as Squidward, Divina de Campo (she/her) as Sheldon J Plankton, Lewis Cornay (he/him) as SpongeBob, Irfan Damani (he/him) as Patrick, Chrissie Bhima (she/her) as Sandy, Richard J Hunt (he/him) as Mr Krabs, Sarah Freer (she/her) as Pearl, Eloise Davies (she/her) as Mrs Puff, Hannah Lowther (she/her) as Karen and Rebecca Lisewski (she/her) as Mayor.

They are joined by Sam Beveridge (he/him), Jeremiah Olaleye (he/him), Eleanor Turiansky (she/her), Rhys Batten (he/him) and Reece Kerridge (he/him).

Gates is not currently set to appear in Bradford, Manchester, Peterborough, Wolverhampton, Leicester, Aberdeen, London and Plymouth.

The tour is set to be directed by Tara Overfield Wilkinson (she/her), with choreographer Fabian Aloise (he/him), designer Steve Howell (he/him), musical supervisor Mark Crossland (he/him), musical director Marcus Carter-Adams (he/him), costume designer Sarah Mercade (she/her), lighting and video designer Ben Bull (he/him), sound designer Ben Harrison (he/him), costume and wig supervisor Megan Rarity (she/her), associate choreographer Paris Green (she/her) and casting director Harry Blumenau casting (he/him).

[handeaux]

J.C.F. Grumbine’s Spiritual Path Involved Larceny, Libel, Kidnapping & Seduction

Over the years, Cincinnati has spawned a plethora of unconventional religious leaders from Millerites to Theosophists, with Agnostics and Spiritualists tossed in for good measure. Few were as colorful or controversial as J.C.F. Grumbine.

Growing up in Cincinnati, Jesse Charles Fremont Grumbine was a deeply thoughtful lad. Over the years, his theological investigations took him along a highly unconventional and eventful transcendental journey that involved a lot of young women.

Jesse’s father, Jeremiah Grumbine, came to Cincinnati from Maryland and set up a business manufacturing trunks and suitcases. He later became a city police officer and eventually a clerk at the Post Office. Jeremiah and his wife, Mary, had five children, all of whom pursued professional careers. Jesse’s older sisters became teachers, one brother became a doctor and another a lawyer. Jesse, born in 1862, graduated from the old Woodward High School and went off to St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York. St. Lawrence was founded by the Universalist Church and Jesse joined the clergy of that church on graduation, assigned to a congregation in Syracuse, New York, where he married his first wife, Helen Gilbert.

Jesse’s restless spirit found the Universalist Church too confining and transferred his credentials to the Unitarians. In his new church, Jesse occupied pulpits in New York, Missouri and Illinois. The Missouri posting, although reported back in Cincinnati as providing a “large salary” didn’t cover Rev. Grumbine’s rent. He lost other positions because of his liberal politics and bounced to Pittsburgh and St. Paul where he finally gave up traditional religion for Spiritualism. Within a few years, Grumbine was listed among the top practitioners of that occult sect in a book titled “Light of Truth Album”:

“Mr. Grumbine is one of our most active workers at present. He was tor many years a highly respected Unitarian minister at Geneseo, Ill. Being free from orthodox bias, he had the courage to look into Spiritualism with the inevitable result of proper investigation. Seeing more truth in Spiritualism than in creedalism, he gradually merged into the former and is now a regular speaker in our ranks. He is yet a young man, and highly gifted intellectually. His lectures are both scientific and spiritual.”

In Chicago, Washington, D.C., and Boston, J.C.F. Grumbine established a variety of educational organizations under several names, including the College of Divine Science and Realization. He also called his organization “The Order of the White Rose,” which he described as a branch of the Rosicrucians who received guidance from beyond the grave from the late poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. A description of his new society appeared in a 1905 spiritual directory:

“The objects of this Order are to establish a Universal Religion, generically designated the Spiritual Movement. It does not occupy the place or sphere of any other kindred organization. Any graduate of the College of Psychical Sciences or member of the Order can organize a Chapter where such reside. Application for membership in the Main Order. must be presented through an official channel, or addressed to J. C. F. Grumbine, 1285 Commonwealth Ave., Boston, Mass.”

Grumbine was a prolific writer, churning out a couple dozen brief books on occult topics and constantly on the lecture circuit, visiting some cities, notably Chicago and Washington, so often that he was considered a resident pastor.

It was in Washington that Grumbine’s morality was called into question. His lectures caught the attention of teenaged Lucille Hunt, daughter of a young, socially connected widow. In 1901, when Lucille turned 18, Grumbine hired her as his secretary and gave her a teaching position in the College of Divine Science. She moved into Grumbine’s rented house, and claimed that her mother had stolen some important church papers she had been studying.

Grumbine fired off a nasty note to Mom, demanding the immediate return of church property. His heated missive was accusatory to the extent that Mrs. Hunt had Grumbine arrested and charged with libel. She told the newspapers that Grumbine had hypnotized her daughter and was holding her prisoner in his house.

As the Washington Globe [13 October 1901] reported, the “church property” were very personal letters from Rev. Grumbine to Miss Hunt.

“One of these letters leaves no room to doubt the relations of Grumbine and his victim. It is too obscene to even outline and consists principally of the most passionate description of every portion of the body of the young lady, omitting nothing! It is unspeakably obscene and shocking. The man who penned it ought to be locked up for life as a sexual pervert. ‘Lillies’ are the flowery designation he gives her breasts, but in the letter in question he does not confine his description to the language of flowers but vulgarly names each and every portion of her body.”

No wonder Grumbine wanted the “property” back. All the scandalous newspaper coverage consistently reminded readers that he had an invalid wife and two young daughters back in Syracuse, New York.

And then, the case took a turn to the bizarre. Mrs. Martha Hunt, Lucille’s mother, was herself arrested and charged with grand larceny by a wealthy Washingtonian named James Fox. Mrs. Hunt, Fox alleged, rented his furnished house while he and his family spent a year in Europe. On their return, they found books, household linen, glassware and “bric-a-brac” missing. After some months, they brought charges against Mrs. Hunt after, it was revealed, they were tipped off by none other than Mrs. Hunt’s daughter, Lucille.

Despite the salacious content, both lawsuits faded out, Mrs. Hunt being cleared of charges and her libel accusation against Rev. Grumbine settled quietly. Lucille returned home to Mom and they moved to Brooklyn, where Mrs. Hunt got a job as a bookkeeper for a jewelry store and Lucille taught in the public schools. Lucile never married.

Rev. Grumbine’s long-suffering wife, Helen, succumbed to heart disease in 1908. Five years later, in Los Angeles, at age 50, he married a 30-year-old member of his congregation. The couple relocated to Portland, Oregon, the bride’s hometown. It was there that the Rev. J.C.F. Grumbine passed beyond the veil. His obituary, in the Portland Oregonian [8 June 1938] noted:

“At the time of his death, Rev. Mr. Grumbine was general missionary for the General Assembly of Spiritualists of the United States and Canada. He was a Life Fellow of the Society of Science, Letters and Art, of London.”

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

Jeremiah J. White (American, b. 1981), "Best Friends"

[oldpunkfromda90s-blog]

Lineages of Protest: A Brief Review Of, Reflection On, and Postscript to Season 1 of the podcast Mother Country Radicals By Chris  White

Lineages of Protest:

A Brief Review Of, Reflection On, and Postscript to Season 1 of the podcast Mother Country Radicals

By Chris  White

The first season of Zayd Dohrn’s podcast, Mother Country Radicals, is exceptional.  First, in an era where everyone releases recordings of tired conversations into the world for 15 minutes of fame, it is well written, well produced, and well paced. My friend who told me about it  said something to the effect of, “Have you heard that Serial podcast about the Weather Underground?” Zayd has such a unique intimate connection to the material and an access to people about a part of their lives that is closely guarded. And also, he discovers things in the reporting that he did not know or realize before.  But also, I like it especially because it fills in a lot of context of both my family’s life and my own journey. 

Zayd Dohrn is the oldest son of Bernadine Dohrn and William Ayers who were part of an underground, sometimes violent, direct action movement against U.S. Imperialism and racism beginning in the 60s.. He was born while his parents were still in hiding and grew up as they emerged from it. 

William Ayers, once served on a foundation board with Barack Obama, and was therefore a central figure in the opposition research about Obama the candidate. My favorite tv moment during the 2008 election was the Saturday Night Live skit in which they portray William Ayers and Jeremiah Wright performing the Gnarls Barkley song Crazy. 

One of the episodes, the fourth one I believe, describes the death of Diana Oughton in a Greenwich Village townhouse due to a bomb that exploded during manufacture. I first heard about Diana Oughton when I was in high school. I lived in my mother’s basement where one of her bookshelves was. There was a sensational biography of Diana Oughton next to an anthology of underground newspapers. My mom told me about almost getting kicked out of high school for distributing the newspaper and making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for protests that Oughton was a part of. 

Someone in the podcast says something to the effect of, “Those who do don’t tell and those who tell can’t do.” I assume that if Mother Country Radicals was a movie, my parents and some of my other relatives would be composite characters and extras. I imagine them in the closing credits with role names like Hippy Making Sandwiches #2 and Woman Living In Commune. But what do I know? None of them would want to have burdened me with any information nor would they have shared specifics about themselves or their friends.  

 When I was growing up in the 80s I remember the feeling that my parents were from the 60s. My mom has so many stories, but the accuracy of them is unclear. My dad mostly just says that it was a very difficult time and that it’s hard for him to think about. 

In the 80s, there were a lot of cultural tropes about the 60s.  There were reruns of Laugh In and The Monkees. I went through a period of being obsessed with The Beatles.

During my childhood, there were many pop culture references to groups like the Weather Underground and also to the Symbionese Liberation Army or SLA who were known for allegedly kidnapping and possibly recruiting the heiress Patty Hearst. The one I remember most vividly was a two part Laverne & Shirley episode. I saw the films Flashback and Rude Awakening in the theater which were both screwball comedies about radicals emerging from the underground into a world they struggle to understand.  I wonder if the Dohrn Ayers family has ever seen either of these films, because I can almost hear their eyes rolling. 

My parents met at a concert in Gallup Park in Ann Arbor organized by the 60s activist John Sinclair. It was the MC5 opening for Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen. Do you remember the end of Back To The Future where Michael J Fox has to play Johnny B Goode so his parents will kiss or else he will cease to exist? That’s how I feel about these two bands.

In particular, the stoner country stylings of Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen are particularly bizarre cultural artifacts. I have a live album in which they do an epic cover of the long form narrative country classic “Hot Rod Lincoln.” In this version, the singer has to convince the police officer that pulls him over that he is not some “long haired hippie S-L-A  commie weirdo.” “I had to show him my house.”.

My parents have such very hippy wedding photos.They were two hippies that loved to cook and planned to get married and open a little hippy restaurant.  And then they have the most awkward photo of my dad with a haircut and a shirt and tie with my mom in a sprawling apartment complex . At this point my dad has stopped being counter cultural and is being mentored in food service management by a man named Michael from whom I got my middle name. By the time I was born, my dad was an assistant manager at the Stouffer’s Restaurant at 666 Fifth Avenue in New York City.  

 In between, there are stories. There is the honeymoon where they attempt to hitchhike to California. My mom says that the Bay Area was exhausting, because my dad was constantly wandering off and she had to rescue him from being taken by cults. She says he would come up to her and say something like, “These guys in the van have these really good free burritos and they just want us to go with them so they can show us this really cool place.”

And after I was born, we eventually  moved back to the Midwest, and my mom’s stories continue. They are of a different era. My dad took a job in Flint, Michigan,  as the assistant food service manager of Hurley Hospital where part of his brand was that he went along to get along with his employees’ union.  While the Fair Housing Act passed in 1969, our historically white Flint neighborhood was only just beginning to integrate in the 80s. And for my mom, what we would say in today’s anti-racist parlance  is that she was recruited by black leaders to do the organizing and emotional labor with the parents who supported integration.

 I did get taken to protests growing up. I remember seeing Jesse Jackson get in a heated exchange with police in Washington D.C at an Anti-Apartheid protest. during a family road trip. But more often, I was at community meetings and canvasses. Slow careful populist organizing was what I witnessed, not the frantic disruption of “Days of Rage.”

Meanwhile, the generation between us, perhaps the youngest siblings or older niblings of the Weather Underground, were supporting Latin American uprisings like the Sandinistas and attempting to infiltrate factories. One epicenter of this was the factories around me in Southeastern Michigan, and another was the textile factories in Greensboro, North Carolina.

Also, in Flint, you could see the traces of the old left. Every year, my cub scout troop would march in a parade with the surviving sitdown strikers who in 1936 occupied Chevy In The Hole, over by my house, and won recognition for the UAW.

About first grade, I had a friend Juanita, a white kid with a Latin name, who started coming over after school so her hippy mom could stay at work. And then in return, I would sometimes go over there or join them on camping trips. I only met her dad a couple times, but he was one of those leftists who had long hair, worked in the factory, and sold radical newspapers on street corners. Juanita and I got enrolled in a weekly Alvin Ailey style dance class at the arts center on the historically African-American side of Flint. We were the only white kids and I was the only boy in the class. I felt insecure about having to wear tights. I remember my Republican grandparents coming from Ann Arbor for the recital.

But the initial attempts to build left wing factions inside the UAW and in nonunion factories sputtered due partly to a lack of rank and file interest in leftist theory and also the intense wave of deindustrialization.The big auto companies slashed the Michigan workforce through automation, outsourcing parts and processes to nonunion suppliers, and also exporting jobs to Texas and Mexico  I remember when the Detroit Tigers played a Texas Rangers home game and half the stadium was wearing Tiger hats. Michael Moore’s Roger & Me came out when I was in middle school and talked about how this process led to Flint falling apart and having more rats than people. These days, people who hear my wife and I spent part of our childhoods in Flint ask us about the water crisis, but that happened long after we had lived there. And also, the block I grew up on was devastated by disinvestment and abandonment years before the water crisis.

The water crisis in Flint is better understood when you look at what happened years earlier when Coleman Young was Mayor of Detroit. So many white families refused to live in a city with black leadership that Southeastern Michigan became a ring of suburbs who used and extracted resources from Detroit but fought viciously against any resources going into Detroit. It was a similar pattern of racism and neglect that lead to the takeover and mismanagement of Flint’s government and failed to continue the water treatment that had previously prevented lead from leaching into the taps.

There were some activists who got their coworkers involved in a stronger more authentic space in the labor movement, but it was from talking about occupational health and safety more than Marx and Lenin. There was also an organizing wave of “pink collar” office jobs that was  informed by feminism and lead by the organization “9 to 5” which inspired Jane Fonda to help make the film 9 to 5 that I saw in the theaters.

Also,  in 1979, a group of Greensboro counter protesters were shot and killed at a Klan rally, and the movement there scattered. Many of them would eventually be in the staff and/or leadership of unions and nonprofits I would later work with. 

My parents split up, my mom got sick, and the late 80s found me in high school and living with her in affordable housing on the edge of the increasingly fluent Ann Arbor. My mom bought me an army surplus jacket like she used to wear as an SDS militant and I covered it in art and buttons. I started going to punk shows in a basement on Hill Street where bands like Green Day played a couple years before they became big names playing stadiums.

The first Gulf War led to a resurgence of radical youth organizing. A group of students at my high school threatened a walk out and then negotiated with the principal to have a “teach in” forum about the war instead. A member of the Bush Sr. cabinet flew in to speak in between our parents’ generation of anti war activists.  The war, along with the collapse of Soviet Communism, led to a revival of interest in Anarchism.

But also, the collapse of the leftist movement in the factories devolved into what felt like fifty mostly white middle class students in sixty different partisan leftist organizations that constantly fought over a shrinking amount of  attention. If you’ve ever seen the heated argument between the Judean People’s Front and the People’s Front of Judea in the Monty Python movie LIfe of Brian, then you know exactly what it was to sit in a cafe near the University of Michigan in the 80s and 90s watching stacks of rival leftist newspapers fall over each other while people argue about interpretations of Marxism while drinking expensive coffees.. 

 Some of my friends went to the selective enrollment Community High School, Commie High,  as it was affectionately called,  was where there was an open campus, rampant alternative chic, students calling teachers by their first names, and other values and practices that seemed to come out of the 60s cultural space. However, most kids did not get into Community. There were so few spots and so much demand that at one point parents were literally camping out to be in line for enrollment. The kids in my mostly POC neighborhood disproportionately ended up in the mainstream high school which felt less pressure to reform because families with resources who wanted something different should just go to the alternative school. While Community High students could leave campus for any reason without penalty, an Ann Arbor police officer at my high school would literally hide in the bushes to bust you for doing the same.

That was a strange part of my upbringing. The values of intervention and attention to the disparities in the world that the Weather Underground wanted to address in solidarity with the Black Panthers and Black Liberation Army turned into a lot of spaces that were supposed to create a container for those values but became exclusive spaces for people who were mostly wealthy and white. One of the reasons that I got into punk was that between Grateful Dead tickets, organic cotton clothing, and high grade marijuana, I couldn’t really afford to be a hippy. Parents in Ann Arbor were very interested to read about neighborhoods like mine, but lost their freaking minds if the African American kid next door to me got in one little fight at their kid’s school.  Being a white articulate poor person helped me get a lot of financial aid that allowed me to attend a small, high tuition “progressive” liberal arts college. We boycotted Pepsi over their involvement in Burma and took classes about Saul Alinsky, but we had very few African American students if any. 

 Meanwhile after the end of the Vietnam War, another wave of anti war activists calling themselves Movement For A New Society or MNS moved en masse to a working class neighborhood in West Philadelphia. The ones with means would buy some of the large houses that were dropping in price so that people could have an inexpensive room and the free time to be part of organizing. Many found jobs and leadership positions in the American Friends Service Committee, the social justice ministry of the Quaker Church. MNS  and allied activists created a training institute, a book publisher, a food coop, a land trust, and other social and economic infrastructure that supported an activist lifestyle.  

Meanwhile or a little later, a number of activists began taking over and squatting large tenement buildings on the Lower East Side of New York that had either been abandoned or kept vacant by speculators. Many were part of the punk rock or new wave art scenes. Some that left New York bought or squatted in Philadelphia and enjoyed the immense infrastructure that Movement For a New Society had built. One house I lived in off and on for 8 years, was a former squat that the residents had managed to purchase at a tax sale.

The new wave of anarchists that came out of opposition to the first gulf war during my high school years turned into, during my college years, what I jokingly refer back to as the golden age of anarchist franchise organizing. On weekends, I would hitch hike from my isolated college campus  into town and end up sleeping on the floor of an activist household. This group of people had met at protests and conferences and moved there together. They bottomlined the regional or local chapters of  Earth First, Food Not Bombs, Anti Racist Action, Radical Cheerleaders, radical library, 60’s poltical prisoner support group, books to prisoners project, etc.  I started showing up and eventually traveled and visited projects across the country, especially in California’s  Bay Area. 

On New Years Day 1994, the Zapatista Army of National Liberation or EZLN rose up in arms to seize the land from the handful of wealthy families that owned most of the state of Chiapas in Mexico  It was the first post Soviet revolution. This indigenous army, many of which had survived Reagan’s bloody intervention in the political tumult in neighboring Guatemala, immediately declared a ceasefire and attempted negotiations. People from across Mexico and the world organized support caravans and delegations of human rights observers. I would eventually spend time there in the late 90s. While the Mexican Government has mostly failed to honor its promises and conducted a low intensity war, the EZLN has mostly held on to the land and created a development model on its own terms lead by its own people.  

After graduation and before and after my trips to Chapas, I ended up in West Philly. A Zagat review of my favorite neighborhood Eritrean restaurant described it as being in the “Anarchist Section of Philadelphia.” I was enticed to get the “West Philly Deal” which was the idea that if you moved to West Philly and joined the activist community you would get a cheap room, six romantic dates (or dried figs), a bicycle made out of spare parts, and a role in a band. Also, West Philly was where the Food Not Bombs (a movement of radical food distribution collectives) and ACT-UP chapters were becoming more diverse and having more traction with and ownership by affected communities of color, though progress was slow and not without problems. .  

During my second trip to Chiapas, I missed the 1999 World Trade Organization Protest in Seattle. I had been traveling around the country going to different protests with what felt like the same 200 people and therefore had planned to go to Mexico instead. But then just about every other activist in North America was there as well as the activists who were about to take over SEIU, HERE, and  the AFL-CIO. It was the zenith of the movements that had started organizing in reaction to the first Gulf War. I was then part of a number of follow up mega-protests though they seemed to dwindle in size and effectiveness.

The September 11th attacks seemed to change the political space in which movements operated. Also, the legal fallout from the protests at the 2000 Republican National Convention had taken years to clear up.

 About that time,  I’d heard that the janitors union needed someone bilingual in English and Spanish to help. I showed up and was shocked to learn that I was getting paid for a 9 week internship normally reserved for members. I had been surviving off of odd jobs and medical studies for five years and never been paid to be part of a movement (although protest movements had allowed me access to a lot of resources.)  I stayed at the union for six years and then followed the man who hired me back into community organizing. Now twenty years have passed and I have bounced between paid labor organizing, community organizing, and fair housing enforcement ever since . 

And now my stepkids think I’m a strange old guy from the 90s. They think of me in a foggy photo of a sea of black denim of filthy white kids screaming along at a Los Crudos show in a Losaida Squat.(not that this happened all at once as far as I can remember).  There’s a goofy clip of me on the news in Eugene Oregon in 1996  and a picture of me in a boxcar a few days later wearing a shirt with a Propagandhi patch.These look so retro now, but to me that was almost yesterday. 

I’m hoping there will be more seasons of Mother Country Radicals. I would love for Season 2 to cover the era when middle class, mostly white,  leftists coming of age in the 80s who supported left wing uprisings in Latin America  tried to become factory workers. Maybe there could be prequel seasons about Alinsky and the Civil Rights Movement and the characters in Reds. Maybe I would be a background character in the season about the 90s.   

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

The First Lord’s Day: Jesus Rises

1-7 When the Sabbath was over, just as the first day of the week was dawning Mary from Magdala and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. At that moment there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from Heaven, went forward and rolled back the stone and took his seat upon it. His appearance was dazzling like lightning and his clothes were white as snow. The guards shook with terror at the sight of him and collapsed like dead men. But the angel spoke to the women, “Do not be afraid. I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here—he is risen, just as he said he would. Come and look at the place where he was lying. Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead. And, listen, he goes before you into Galilee! You will see him there! Now I have told you my message.”

8 Then the women went away quickly from the tomb, their hearts filled with awe and great joy, and ran to give the news to his disciples.

9-10 But quite suddenly, Jesus stood before them in their path, and said, “Peace be with you!” And they went forward to meet him and, clasping his feet, worshipped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go now and tell my brothers to go into Galilee and they shall see me there”

11-15 And while they were on their way, some of the sentries went into the city and reported to the chief priests everything that had happened. They got together with the elders, and after consultation gave the soldiers a considerable sum of money and told them, “Your story must be that his disciples came after dark, and stole him away while you were asleep. If by any chance this reaches the governor’s ears, we will put it right with him and see that you do not suffer for it.” So they took the money and obeyed their instructions. The story was spread and is current among the Jews to this day.

Jesus gives his final commission

16-17 But the eleven went to the hill-side in Galilee where Jesus had arranged to meet them, and when they had seen him they worshipped him, though some of them were doubtful.

18-20 But Jesus came and spoke these words to them, “All power in Heaven and on earth has been given to me. You, then, are to go and make disciples of all the nations and baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Teach them to observe all that I have commanded you and, remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the world.” — Matthew 28 | J.B. Phillips New Testament (PHILLIPS) The New Testament in Modern English by J.B Phillips copyright © 1960, 1972 J. B. Phillips. Cross References: Proverbs 8:15; Isaiah 9:6; Jeremiah 26:2; Daniel 7:9; Daniel 10:6; Matthew 9:31; Matthew 12:14; Matthew 12:40; Matthew 14:27; Matthew 16:21; Matthew 23:7; Matthew 26:32; Matthew 27:2; Matthew 27:8; Matthew 27:56 Matthew 27:60-61; Matthew 27:65-66; Mark 1:45; Mark 14:28; Mark 15:41; Mark 16:4; Mark 16:7; Mark 16:11; Luke 24:47; John 20:14; John 20:17; Acts 1:2-3; Acts 1:8; Acts 18:10; Revelation 1:17

[rustbeltadventure]

Lineages of Protest: A Brief Review Of, Reflection On, and Postscript to Season 1 of the podcast Mother Country Radicals By Chris  White

Lineages of Protest

A Brief Review Of, Reflection On, and Postscript to Season 1 of the podcast Mother Country Radicals

By Chris  White

The first season of Zayd Dohrn’s podcast, Mother Country Radicals, is exceptional.  First, in an era where everyone releases recordings of tired conversations into the world for 15 minutes of fame, it is well written, well produced, and well paced. My friend who told me about it  said something to the effect of, “Have you heard that Serial podcast about the Weather Underground?” Zayd has such a unique intimate connection to the material and an access to people about a part of their lives that is closely guarded. And also, he discovers things in the reporting that he did not know or realize before.  But also, I like it especially because it fills in a lot of context of both my family’s life and my own journey. 

Zayd Dohrn is the oldest son of Bernadine Dohrn and William Ayers who were part of an underground, sometimes violent, direct action movement against U.S. Imperialism and racism beginning in the 60s.. He was born while his parents were still in hiding and grew up as they emerged from it. 

William Ayers, once served on a foundation board with Barack Obama, and was therefore a central figure in the opposition research about Obama the candidate. My favorite tv moment during the 2008 election was the Saturday Night Live skit in which they portray William Ayers and Jeremiah Wright performing the Gnarls Barkley song Crazy. 

One of the episodes, the fourth one I believe, describes the death of Diana Oughton in a Greenwich Village townhouse due to a bomb that exploded during manufacture. I first heard about Diana Oughton when I was in high school. I lived in my mother’s basement where one of her bookshelves was. There was a sensational biography of Diana Oughton next to an anthology of underground newspapers. My mom told me about almost getting kicked out of high school for distributing the newspaper and making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for protests that Oughton was a part of. 

Someone in the podcast says something to the effect of, “Those who do don’t tell and those who tell can’t do.” I assume that if Mother Country Radicals was a movie, my parents and some of my other relatives would be composite characters and extras. I imagine them in the closing credits with role names like Hippy Making Sandwiches #2 and Woman Living In Commune. But what do I know? None of them would want to have burdened me with any information nor would they have shared specifics about themselves or their friends.  

 When I was growing up in the 80s I remember the feeling that my parents were from the 60s. My mom has so many stories, but the accuracy of them is unclear. My dad mostly just says that it was a very difficult time and that it’s hard for him to think about. 

In the 80s, there were a lot of cultural tropes about the 60s.  There were reruns of Laugh In and The Monkees. I went through a period of being obsessed with The Beatles.

During my childhood, there were many pop culture references to groups like the Weather Underground and also to the Symbionese Liberation Army or SLA who were known for allegedly kidnapping and possibly recruiting the heiress Patty Hearst. The one I remember most vividly was a two part Laverne & Shirley episode. I saw the films Flashback and Rude Awakening in the theater which were both screwball comedies about radicals emerging from the underground into a world they struggle to understand.  I wonder if the Dohrn Ayers family has ever seen either of these films, because I can almost hear their eyes rolling. 

My parents met at a concert in Gallup Park in Ann Arbor organized by the 60s activist John Sinclair. It was the MC5 opening for Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen. Do you remember the end of Back To The Future where Michael J Fox has to play Johnny B Goode so his parents will kiss or else he will cease to exist? That’s how I feel about these two bands.

In particular, the stoner country stylings of Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen are particularly bizarre cultural artifacts. I have a live album in which they do an epic cover of the long form narrative country classic “Hot Rod Lincoln.” In this version, the singer has to convince the police officer that pulls him over that he is not some “long haired hippie S-L-A  commie weirdo.” “I had to show him my house.”.

My parents have such very hippy wedding photos.They were two hippies that loved to cook and planned to get married and open a little hippy restaurant.  And then they have the most awkward photo of my dad with a haircut and a shirt and tie with my mom in a sprawling apartment complex . At this point my dad has stopped being counter cultural and is being mentored in food service management by a man named Michael from whom I got my middle name. By the time I was born, my dad was an assistant manager at the Stouffer’s Restaurant at 666 Fifth Avenue in New York City.  

 In between, there are stories. There is the honeymoon where they attempt to hitchhike to California. My mom says that the Bay Area was exhausting, because my dad was constantly wandering off and she had to rescue him from being taken by cults. She says he would come up to her and say something like, “These guys in the van have these really good free burritos and they just want us to go with them so they can show us this really cool place.”

And after I was born, we eventually  moved back to the Midwest, and my mom’s stories continue. They are of a different era. My dad took a job in Flint, Michigan,  as the assistant food service manager of Hurley Hospital where part of his brand was that he went along to get along with his employees’ union.  While the Fair Housing Act passed in 1969, our historically white Flint neighborhood was only just beginning to integrate in the 80s. And for my mom, what we would say in today’s anti-racist parlance  is that she was recruited by black leaders to do the organizing and emotional labor with the parents who supported integration.

 I did get taken to protests growing up. I remember seeing Jesse Jackson get in a heated exchange with police in Washington D.C at an Anti-Apartheid protest. during a family road trip. But more often, I was at community meetings and canvasses. Slow careful populist organizing was what I witnessed, not the frantic disruption of “Days of Rage.”

Meanwhile, the generation between us, perhaps the youngest siblings or older niblings of the Weather Underground, were supporting Latin American uprisings like the Sandinistas and attempting to infiltrate factories. One epicenter of this was the factories around me in Southeastern Michigan, and another was the textile factories in Greensboro, North Carolina.

Also, in Flint, you could see the traces of the old left. Every year, my cub scout troop would march in a parade with the surviving sitdown strikers who in 1936 occupied Chevy In The Hole, over by my house, and won recognition for the UAW.

About first grade, I had a friend Juanita, a white kid with a Latin name, who started coming over after school so her hippy mom could stay at work. And then in return, I would sometimes go over there or join them on camping trips. I only met her dad a couple times, but he was one of those leftists who had long hair, worked in the factory, and sold radical newspapers on street corners. Juanita and I got enrolled in a weekly Alvin Ailey style dance class at the arts center on the historically African-American side of Flint. We were the only white kids and I was the only boy in the class. I felt insecure about having to wear tights. I remember my Republican grandparents coming from Ann Arbor for the recital.

But the initial attempts to build left wing factions inside the UAW and in nonunion factories sputtered due partly to a lack of rank and file interest in leftist theory and also the intense wave of deindustrialization.The big auto companies slashed the Michigan workforce through automation, outsourcing parts and processes to nonunion suppliers, and also exporting jobs to Texas and Mexico  I remember when the Detroit Tigers played a Texas Rangers home game and half the stadium was wearing Tiger hats. Michael Moore’s Roger & Me came out when I was in middle school and talked about how this process led to Flint falling apart and having more rats than people. These days, people who hear my wife and I spent part of our childhoods in Flint ask us about the water crisis, but that happened long after we had lived there. And also, the block I grew up on was devastated by disinvestment and abandonment years before the water crisis.

The water crisis in Flint is better understood when you look at what happened years earlier when Coleman Young was Mayor of Detroit. So many white families refused to live in a city with black leadership that Southeastern Michigan became a ring of suburbs who used and extracted resources from Detroit but fought viciously against any resources going into Detroit. It was a similar pattern of racism and neglect that lead to the takeover and mismanagement of Flint’s government and failed to continue the water treatment that had previously prevented lead from leaching into the taps.

There were some activists who got their coworkers involved in a stronger more authentic space in the labor movement, but it was from talking about occupational health and safety more than Marx and Lenin. There was also an organizing wave of “pink collar” office jobs that was  informed by feminism and lead by the organization “9 to 5” which inspired Jane Fonda to help make the film 9 to 5 that I saw in the theaters.

Also,  in 1979, a group of Greensboro counter protesters were shot and killed at a Klan rally, and the movement there scattered. Many of them would eventually be in the staff and/or leadership of unions and nonprofits I would later work with. 

My parents split up, my mom got sick, and the late 80s found me in high school and living with her in affordable housing on the edge of the increasingly fluent Ann Arbor. My mom bought me an army surplus jacket like she used to wear as an SDS militant and I covered it in art and buttons. I started going to punk shows in a basement on Hill Street where bands like Green Day played a couple years before they became big names playing stadiums.

The first Gulf War led to a resurgence of radical youth organizing. A group of students at my high school threatened a walk out and then negotiated with the principal to have a “teach in” forum about the war instead. A member of the Bush Sr. cabinet flew in to speak in between our parents’ generation of anti war activists.  The war, along with the collapse of Soviet Communism, led to a revival of interest in Anarchism.

But also, the collapse of the leftist movement in the factories devolved into what felt like fifty mostly white middle class students in sixty different partisan leftist organizations that constantly fought over a shrinking amount of  attention. If you’ve ever seen the heated argument between the Judean People’s Front and the People’s Front of Judea in the Monty Python movie LIfe of Brian, then you know exactly what it was to sit in a cafe near the University of Michigan in the 80s and 90s watching stacks of rival leftist newspapers fall over each other while people argue about interpretations of Marxism while drinking expensive coffees.. 

 Some of my friends went to the selective enrollment Community High School, Commie High,  as it was affectionately called,  was where there was an open campus, rampant alternative chic, students calling teachers by their first names, and other values and practices that seemed to come out of the 60s cultural space. However, most kids did not get into Community. There were so few spots and so much demand that at one point parents were literally camping out to be in line for enrollment. The kids in my mostly POC neighborhood disproportionately ended up in the mainstream high school which felt less pressure to reform because families with resources who wanted something different should just go to the alternative school. While Community High students could leave campus for any reason without penalty, an Ann Arbor police officer at my high school would literally hide in the bushes to bust you for doing the same.

That was a strange part of my upbringing. The values of intervention and attention to the disparities in the world that the Weather Underground wanted to address in solidarity with the Black Panthers and Black Liberation Army turned into a lot of spaces that were supposed to create a container for those values but became exclusive spaces for people who were mostly wealthy and white. One of the reasons that I got into punk was that between Grateful Dead tickets, organic cotton clothing, and high grade marijuana, I couldn’t really afford to be a hippy. Parents in Ann Arbor were very interested to read about neighborhoods like mine, but lost their freaking minds if the African American kid next door to me got in one little fight at their kid’s school.  Being a white articulate poor person helped me get a lot of financial aid that allowed me to attend a small, high tuition “progressive” liberal arts college. We boycotted Pepsi over their involvement in Burma and took classes about Saul Alinsky, but we had very few African American students if any. 

 Meanwhile after the end of the Vietnam War, another wave of anti war activists calling themselves Movement For A New Society or MNS moved en masse to a working class neighborhood in West Philadelphia. The ones with means would buy some of the large houses that were dropping in price so that people could have an inexpensive room and the free time to be part of organizing. Many found jobs and leadership positions in the American Friends Service Committee, the social justice ministry of the Quaker Church. MNS  and allied activists created a training institute, a book publisher, a food coop, a land trust, and other social and economic infrastructure that supported an activist lifestyle.  

Meanwhile or a little later, a number of activists began taking over and squatting large tenement buildings on the Lower East Side of New York that had either been abandoned or kept vacant by speculators. Many were part of the punk rock or new wave art scenes. Some that left New York bought or squatted in Philadelphia and enjoyed the immense infrastructure that Movement For a New Society had built. One house I lived in off and on for 8 years, was a former squat that the residents had managed to purchase at a tax sale.

The new wave of anarchists that came out of opposition to the first gulf war during my high school years turned into, during my college years, what I jokingly refer back to as the golden age of anarchist franchise organizing. On weekends, I would hitch hike from my isolated college campus  into town and end up sleeping on the floor of an activist household. This group of people had met at protests and conferences and moved there together. They bottomlined the regional or local chapters of  Earth First, Food Not Bombs, Anti Racist Action, Radical Cheerleaders, radical library, 60’s poltical prisoner support group, books to prisoners project, etc.  I started showing up and eventually traveled and visited projects across the country, especially in California’s  Bay Area. 

On New Years Day 1994, the Zapatista Army of National Liberation or EZLN rose up in arms to seize the land from the handful of wealthy families that owned most of the state of Chiapas in Mexico  It was the first post Soviet revolution. This indigenous army, many of which had survived Reagan’s bloody intervention in the political tumult in neighboring Guatemala, immediately declared a ceasefire and attempted negotiations. People from across Mexico and the world organized support caravans and delegations of human rights observers. I would eventually spend time there in the late 90s. While the Mexican Government has mostly failed to honor its promises and conducted a low intensity war, the EZLN has mostly held on to the land and created a development model on its own terms lead by its own people.  

After graduation and before and after my trips to Chapas, I ended up in West Philly. A Zagat review of my favorite neighborhood Eritrean restaurant described it as being in the “Anarchist Section of Philadelphia.” I was enticed to get the “West Philly Deal” which was the idea that if you moved to West Philly and joined the activist community you would get a cheap room, six romantic dates (or dried figs), a bicycle made out of spare parts, and a role in a band. Also, West Philly was where the Food Not Bombs (a movement of radical food distribution collectives) and ACT-UP chapters were becoming more diverse and having more traction with and ownership by affected communities of color, though progress was slow and not without problems. .  

During my second trip to Chiapas, I missed the 1999 World Trade Organization Protest in Seattle. I had been traveling around the country going to different protests with what felt like the same 200 people and therefore had planned to go to Mexico instead. But then just about every other activist in North America was there as well as the activists who were about to take over SEIU, HERE, and  the AFL-CIO. It was the zenith of the movements that had started organizing in reaction to the first Gulf War. I was then part of a number of follow up mega-protests though they seemed to dwindle in size and effectiveness.

The September 11th attacks seemed to change the political space in which movements operated. Also, the legal fallout from the protests at the 2000 Republican National Convention had taken years to clear up.

 About that time,  I’d heard that the janitors union needed someone bilingual in English and Spanish to help. I showed up and was shocked to learn that I was getting paid for a 9 week internship normally reserved for members. I had been surviving off of odd jobs and medical studies for five years and never been paid to be part of a movement (although protest movements had allowed me access to a lot of resources.)  I stayed at the union for six years and then followed the man who hired me back into community organizing. Now twenty years have passed and I have bounced between paid labor organizing, community organizing, and fair housing enforcement ever since . 

And now my stepkids think I’m a strange old guy from the 90s. They think of me in a foggy photo of a sea of black denim of filthy white kids screaming along at a Los Crudos show in a Losaida Squat.(not that this happened all at once as far as I can remember).  There’s a goofy clip of me on the news in Eugene Oregon in 1996  and a picture of me in a boxcar a few days later wearing a shirt with a Propagandhi patch.These look so retro now, but to me that was almost yesterday. 

I’m hoping there will be more seasons of Mother Country Radicals. I would love for Season 2 to cover the era when middle class, mostly white,  leftists coming of age in the 80s who supported left wing uprisings in Latin America  tried to become factory workers. Maybe there could be prequel seasons about Alinsky and the Civil Rights Movement and the characters in Reds. Maybe I would be a background character in the season about the 90s.   

[jenarys]

Bruce ❤️ Jeremiah: {The Vampire & The Hunter~ AU🥀🦇}

Chp1. Masquerade Ball

[sweet-soul-sister]

Roadtrip Music

Do you plan to go on a roadtrip? Still looking for some songs, maybe some that you didn’t know yet? Well, these are my go-to roadtrip songs, maybe you find something that you really like :)

· Blue Side by J-Hope      probably one of the most relaxed songs i’ve listened to in the last few months. a bit sad, a bit emotional but nothing too much

· Cold Cold Cold by Cage the Elephant      a bit of indie music is never bad and cage the elephant are geniuses

· Hypocritical Kiss by Jack White      perfect when you’re driving through the night and don’t want something heavy

· Je veux by Zaz      a bit faster, french, so many good vibes and so much more. just listen to this song. trust me, it is awesome

· Kozmic Blues by Janis Joplin      Janis Joplin has a magnificent voices and in this version... i love it

· Lake Shore Drive by Aliotta Haynes Jeremiah      this song is actually on our annual holiday roadtrip album from 2017 and my mother does still listen to the cd because “the rhythm of this one song is so good.” well, she’s not wrong.

· Love Scenario by iKON      so sad but at the same time so happy. also: you can sing along even if you don’t understand a single bit which is great

· Rock in the Rain by Money Mark      the beat is just awesome

· Someday by Flipsyde      just a really chill rap song with an actually really great message behind it. also: perfect summer vibes

· Sing by My Chemical Romance      classic. no other words needed.

· Tetris Techno Remix by DaCaV5      memories~

· Venus by Kraftklub      a bit passive agressive? nooo... never. but it is perfect for letting off some steam while “driving” through traffic jams.

· Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi      well, besides the obvious fact that the lyrics are just perfect for a roadtrip, the whole song bon jovis voice is great

· We are the Champions by Queen      everybody knows at least the lyrics of the chorus and when the whole car is shaking, you’re doing it just right.

· White Sparrows by Billy Talent      you need at least some sad songs on a roadtrip. and this is a classic.

Bonus: Sonic Temple by The Cult.      this album is perfect. i love guitars and this whole album... just listen to it. you won’t regret it

[larryland]

REVIEW: "Appropriate" at Albany Civic Theater

REVIEW: “Appropriate” at Albany Civic Theater

Is Branden Jacobs-Jenkins’ Obie-winning APPROPRIATE just another play about a dysfunctional family, with siblings fighting for their share of the estate after the recent death of their father? Or is there something darker and more significant behind its vitriol? A glance at the program provided by the Albany Civic Theater gives us clues:  the play’s title can be used both as an adjective…

[your-nanas-house]

The maze

pairing: Jerome Valeska x villain!Reader, Jeremiah Valeska x villain!Reader

warnings: ???

words: 1060

summary: The J Squad (including Reader) meet Jerome's twin brother.

note: I think this story came out badly. I apologise for the English.(Reader in this story is a villain and I used the name "Jester" as a criminal name).

..................................................................................

It was time, Jervis Tetch, Jonathan Crane and Jester were in front of the entrance to the bunker they had reached after following the secretary of this presumed man they didn't know much about yet.

Jervis managed to hypnotize the woman as they met her and as they continued through the labyrinth they tried not to lose each other.

Following the path of the labyrinth they collided with Jim and Harvey who noticed them immediately raising their weapons pointing them at the trio.

Jester continued through the labyrinth's ways looking for the exit being left alone after losing sight of the other two. She turned another corner walking quietly, now slightly bored, keeping her hands in her trouser pockets.

That day she wore comfortable light grey trousers held up by coloured braces and a short-sleeved white shirt tucked into the trousers, with a design in the centre of a jester's hat identical to the one she was wearing at that moment. She also wore her iconic make-up which included red heart-shaped lipstick and a small heart drawn on her left cheekbone in green and a blue star on the other cheekbone.

She raised her head as she heard voices, noticing Jerome and another person in front of him of the same height, she moved towards them leaning against the wall with her shoulder without taking her eyes off the person with neatly combed orange hair wearing a brick red suit, who stepped back slightly from Jerome making to turn and run in the other direction stopping immediately finding himself in front of her gasping and stepping back again.

Jester began to smile in amusement giggling at the reaction of the ginger with glasses "that's not very nice though, I don't think I'm as scary or ugly as the person in front of you currently might be", Jerome looked at her pretending to be offended, she giggled again murmuring "just the scary part, not the part where I say ugly", she winked at him moving away from the wall in one move switching her gaze back to the boy that was between her and Jerome "introductions?" Jerome nodded smiling with a grin pointing his gun at the ginger with glasses "Jesty, this is my dearest twin, Jeremiah…. brother, she..is Jester", she nodded slightly raising an eyebrow studying Jeremiah as she slowly moved next to Jerome.

She noticed the ginger's quick gaze turned towards the direction where moments before she was standing interrupting his thoughts "hmm, I don't know if you should seriously run that way, you're a smart man, or so it seems, would you rather go up against a scarecrow and an Alice in Wonderland obsessed man who have weapons that are certainly more powerful than what your brother and I currently have or would you prefer your brother who is currently armed with a gun...and he hasn't killed you yet?" she raised an eyebrow, noticing Jeremiah's slight eyebrow raise, ending up chuckling understanding the thoughts of the boy in front of her "yes, I think I would choose the first option too, your brother knows how to intimidate...I'm sorry, I won't interrupt any more, last question... Did you create the maze?", Miah nodded slightly still scared, she nodded impressed bowing theatrically "well, respect", she met his gaze again saying "it's not bad, a bit boring though, it didn't take me long to find the exit and I didn't have the map because I lost sight of the other two", she cast a glance at Jerome trying not to laugh at his expression apologizing again stepping aside watching their family reunion.

Several minutes passed that seemed like hours to Jeremiah unlike the way Jerome perceived them, he turned to Jester continuing to share what had happened when he and Jeremiah were little stopping to look at her when he noticed she was eating, she continued to look at him slowly handing him the box of popcorn clearing her throat "should I step in and say something?" he reached over taking a popcorn eating it "where did you find popcorn? ", Jester chuckled shrugging her shoulders "I thought there would be some drama so I brought it...I have to admit you didn't disappoint me", she nodded again impressed eating more popcorn "so he's the one who ruined your life from the way you're telling the story", Jester looked at Jeremiah slightly closing her eyes nodding again opening them fully looking at Jerome "appearances can be deceiving".

Soon after they were interrupted by Jervis and Crane coming around the corner running and warning them that the two detectives were behind them as they quickly exited the maze.

Jim and Harvey turned the corner stopping at the sight of Jerome who was now holding his brother still with his arm pointing the gun at his temple, they shifted their gaze to Jester frowning in confusion.

Jim shifted the gun towards her continuing to keep an eye on them "I thought The Jester worked alone" she sighed finishing her popcorn checking the box "what can I say, how can you say no to a freckled ginger?....And I have to thank you, Jimmy, it's only because of you, if you hadn't locked me up at Arkham I don't think I would have ever joined the J Squad....my name starts with a J too, was it fate?" She stepped back slightly looking up again meeting their eyes smiling with her signature smile shaking her hand saluting without adding anything else quickly leaving a few moments before Jerome, who left his brother after saying goodbye too, running out joining the others arriving at the van that was waiting for them a few metres away from the bunker.

The return to their base was quieter than the other times, Jervis moved over and sat down next to Jester who had been looking down for almost twenty minutes totally lost in thought which broke when Jervis opened his mouth to ask her if she was alright, she lifted her face up meeting the mad hatter's gaze nodding slightly returning to smiling as before "just lost in thought...I'm fine...thank you".

She frowned slightly as she looked away from her colleague, thinking back to her encounter with Jerome's twin, who still seemed quite familiar, as if she had already met him somewhere...