#Louisiana Uproar

[jyoongim]

Hello!

I would to request if its alright.

Prisoner Human Alastor x Police!Reader.

Alastor were captured by police and was sent to jail and Reader was a professional police also she is virgin because shes too focus on her job even when she was in colloge she never experienced it.

Sorry im bad at explaining but like they fucked in alastor cell in middle of the night because Reader was assign to watch Alastor since hes the biggest criminal in the town.

So llike i dont know how reader ended up in his cell ummm you can just make a reason for it since i dont know how she also inside his cell and getting fuck

So like Reader Hate love when alastor fuck out of her brain for the first time and Instead of Escaping from the jail Alastor just Find a Toy to play with.

This been on my mind pleaseeee im on my knees just for this😭😭

THIS IS MY BIRTHDAY GIFT TO YALL

WHOOP WHOOP THATS THE SOUND OF THE POLICE!!!!

It’s giving Mrs.Officer by lil Wayne hahahaha 

themes: 18+! NSFW, fem!reader, human!alastor (criminal of the LAW), so many laws and regulations broken, flirty banter? Jail cell sex, slight dub con, manipulation, subjugation, Loss of virginity, handcuffs, black mail, humiliation, gun play, mention of murders,  toxic relationship?

Five years ago

“Alastor DuPont, you are charged with the Bayou Murders! You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…” you snarled at the man, as you slapped your handcuffs on his wrists, hoisting him up from the ground and forcing him to the cop car.

A strained laughed escaped his throat as he glanced over his shoulder at you, white teeth showing “never would have thought you would turn on me doll hehe. How unpredictable…I like that in my women ya know?”The lanky man grinned as you slammed the door, his breath fogging up the window. His deep brown eyes were wild as he maintained a calm composure. You narrowed your eyes at him “remember that it was me who put your ass behind bars”

His eyelids dropped, his crazed smile almost splitting his face “oooh doll I’ll never forget you”

Present Day

The prison was in an uproar when the higher ups found out who they’ll be housing.

Alastor DuPont.

New Orleans Most Beloved Radio Host…was a serial killer.

And you were the unfortunate soul who was his guard.

You looked over the paperwork of your new charge, brows furrowing as you read the arrest and charges.

Disgusting scrum! You thought with a sigh, setting down the papers on your desk.

”Why is he being transferred to my floor? Ain’t that conflict of interest?” You asked the Warden, an older man in his sixties.

You were the officer who had worked the Bayou Murders case, the officer who caught Louisiana's notorious killer and arrested him. 

You were just a rookie back then, fresh out of college and putting your all into your work. You were always at the office working late and gathering evidence. Your coworkers often joked that you had no sense of fun, always refusing to go out with them for dinners or parties. You were obvious to romantic advances and often threatened to write a report for misconduct for your male officers actions.

You often heard some of the male officers describe you as ‘Stuck-up, picky, prude’ but you didn’t see an issue with that.

You took your job serious, there was never room for error in this line of work.

You were very by the book. 

You saw everything in black and white.

Control and Regulations was your game.

Which is why you were tasked guarding some of the worst criminals in the city.

That now included Alastor.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Just treat him how you do the other inmates. You’re my best officer here to handle something like him” The warden said. You were the best for this. You took a deep breath “Fine, but I want a raise” you grumbled, smiling.

—————————————————————————————

“Inmate 666 rise n shine! put your hands through the open slot” you commanded. You stood outside the steel padlock door, waiting for hands to appear to be cuffed.

Nothing.

You knocked on the door again, a warning.

You huffed, “Last chance inmate! Or I’m dragging you out!”

Silence.

You cursed under your breath and looked to your backup guard

”open the door” he looked worried but followed your orders.

The security door whirled opened and you stood in the open doorway, you hand hovered over your baton as you approached the figure laying in bed, worst case he killed himself; best case…you kick his ass out of bed. “DuPont!” You sneered, kicking the edge of his bed. The figure stirred, groaning at the bright light pouring in the small room, he stretched, joints popping and made a move to sit upon the bed.

He rubbed his eyes, reached for his glasses and finally looked at you. A smile appeared on his face “Well i must have died and went to heaven” he drawled standing up.

You took a step back out of instinct. You scoffed at him ”you wish now put your shirt on and hands behind your back.”

Alastor let out a chuckle as he reached for his shirt.

Your eyes roamed his exposed skin. Smooth, skin riddled with scars. For a lanky bastard he had quite the muscle definition.

He was handsome, the type of guy you would have happily let chat you up.

But you were the truth behind that smile.

”so what pleasure am i owed that I get to see your pretty face after so long?” He asked like he was talking about the weather. You didn’t answer him as you locked the handcuffs and nudged him towards the open door to start walking.

———————————————————————————-

“You will be provided three meals a day. One hour of outdoors activities and you’ll have recreational if you earn good behavior, but i highly doubt that. Am I clear?” You ask as he stared at you with a stupid smile. You frowned “get that smile off your face DuPont.” He only smiled harder “I can’t help it. I enjoy being in your presence my dear” 

You leaned across the table, eyes hard as you got in his face.

”listen to me you irritating prick! In here I rule. You listen to everything I say and pray I am in a good mood to deal with your shit. I can make what remains of your life hell on earth. Do I make myself clear?” You hissed.

Alastor leaned back, an amused look on his face, shrugging “Crystal”

”Good”

You walked him back to his cell after he ate and uncuffed him. Walking out you slammed the door shut and waited to hear the lock before moving to make your rounds.

”I do hope you have a good night my dear” you hear him say as you walk down the corridor, ignoring him.

—————————————————————————-

Alastor sighed as he sat on his bed. A low chuckle escaped his throat. Oh how he missed you. 

When he met you five years ago, he knew you were the one for him. There was something about you that gave him a thrill. 

He admits he didn’t count on you being a police officer; you had fooled him flawlessly. 

His cock twitched in his pants. Those pretty eyes that once held warmth were ever so chilling. 

How he couldn’t wait to break that cold demeanor of yours.

He just had to bid his time and after all he had all the time in the world with you.

————————————————————————————-

You were focused on some paperwork when two male officers popped their heads in your office.

”hey a couple of us are going for a night out you coming?” Max asked with a smile as Danny was behind him with puppy eyes.

You didn’t even look up from your work “ill pass but maybe next time guys” you hear the groan before leaving.

You shook your head lightly as you finished filling in your notes.

You looked at your watch, it was almost time to patrol.

————————————————————————————-

Alastor could hear the footsteps of the two male guards that occasionally visited his floor.

”she never wants to hang out. Fucking bitch thinks she better than us or something?” A voice whined.

”oh you know how she is. Work on the brain. She wouldn’t be so strict if she loosened up a bit hahaha i would love to fuck that.”

Alastor grimaced. Disgusting trash 

He might have been a certified lady killer, but he was still a gentleman. And lowly scrum like them didn’t even deserve to think of you that way.

You were his.

And he’ll make sure of that.

A dark smile crept on his face just at the thought.

———————————————————————————-

It was fairly quiet tonight. 

You found yourself standing outside Alastor’s cell.

”You gone say something cherie or stand guard all night. I promise I have no intention of escaping.” He purred.

You frowned “I have nothing to say to you”

You heard him laugh “really? You had a lot to say five years ago”

He was baiting you, you knew this, but your temper was hot

”You are despicable you know that? You think you so smart, but you know something Alastor? You got sloppy. Tell me. Why? Why did you kill all them girls?” You hissed, now facing the door.

You hadn’t even realized his hands were out in the slot until his large hands grasped yours.

You tensed and went to tug your hands out of his, but he firmly kept a grip.

”why? What kind of question is that? The answer is simple.” His thumbs rubbed your hands.

”No the answer was stupid. You commited those crimes, killed those innocent women for pure fun? They should have sent you to the Ward.” You said angrily.

Alastor smiled, through you couldn’t see it

”Maybe but I’m completely in my right mind I assure you. The reason for all the mess? Simple…they weren’t you” he bent down to press his lips to your knuckles.

You ripped your hands back, eyes wide “you’re sick”

He hummed, rolling his eyes.

”doesn’t change how I feel about you darlin”

He was surprise to hear the lock to his cell and the door open to reveal you.

And you were angry.

Your face was balled into a frown “It was never about me! You think I would believe that shit!” Your hand pulled your gun, aiming it at him “You’re nothin’ but a liar and a killer. Ain’t no love in that dark heart of yours. You are incapable of love.” Your lip quivered slightly, giving way to your emotions under the glare you held.

Alastor walked up to you, right up to your gun pressing against his chest, his hands were up, but he was still craning his head down at you “is that what you tell yourself about me dear?” 

That sharp smile on his face, his eyes wide “then kill me. Pull the trigger and serve justice.”

His eyes were analyzing you. You were panting, chest constricted in your uniform, cheeks flushed with anger but your plump lips wobbled.

One of his hands gently wrapped around the gun, lowering it as he pressed against your body. The other taking hold of your chin.

He lowered his head til his lips were but a whisper away, ghosting yours lightly “What i feel for you darlin, love ain’t got nothing on it”

Your brain seemed to catch up with the situation you were in and you tried to reestablish control, but Alastor had already sunk his claws in you.

Your eyes widened when his lips slammed on yours, your hand with the gun whipped to hit him across the head, but he caught it and used the momentum of your body to twirl you around and pin your arm against your back, making you drop the weapon as you wince in pain.

His lips were at your neck, nose brushing against your ear

”never drop ya guard dear, didn’t they teach you that?” He taunted.

You struggled against him as he pushed you down on the small bed, pressing you down with his weight. 

You thrashed about, body filling with panic as you couldn’t throw throw him off you.

Alastor grunted as you kicked at him, narrowing his eyes as he pressed his full weight against you.

”easy doll easy. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Well too much hehehe” his brushed his nose against yours, trailing his lips to kiss your cheeks and jaw.

With his hips fixed between your parted thighs, he pressed his hardening length against the softness of your covered mound.

Large hands cupped your breasts, and before long you heard a tear. Your eyes widened as the cold air met your chest and gasped asho Alastor quickly made work of your bra. He let out a hoarse groan as he kneaded the tender flesh, mouth wrapping around a perky nipple, causing you to gasp.

He nipped and tugged the soft nip before lavishing it with his tongue, like an apology for the harsh treatment. ”I knew you’ll have the prettiest pair of tits. So full and soft. I can’t wait to see them bruised up from my teeth”

You clenched your teeth as you tried to ignore the rather pleasant sensations running through you. With your gun somewhere, all you had was your physical strength. You might couldn’t overpower him, but you could use his weight against him.

Taking the distraction of Alastor focusing on sucking at your chest, you tightened your legs around his waist and used his relaxed posture to flip the two of you over. With your arms free, you pressed your arm into his neck, thighs holding his hips down as you tried to regain your composure.

You tried held your elbow into his throat, glaring at him as he just smiled up you.

Alastor lazily placed his hands on your hips as he raked his eyes over you.

You were disheveled, hair fizzy and face flushed. Your eyes were filled with uncertainty and another emotion. Your lips were swollen and your neck was slowly turning red. With your uniform ripped, your tits were fully exposed, nipples perked and littered with bites.

 You were beautiful 

“I am going to walk out of here and pretend this didn’t happen. You are going to stay right here until I close that door and lock it.” You said sternly, but Alastor wasn’t listening, he was grinding up into you slowly as he trailed a hand up your front, finger fondling with your ripped uniform. You went to slap his hands away when he cupped your breasts but the cold air that met your entire body made you freeze.

”That’s much better don’t you think?” He mused, fingers tapping your hips as he palmed your ass cheeks in full.

You quickly sat up, ready to get off him, when Alastor followed you up, arms locking you against him. He whispered in your ear, voice low and deep “oh you’re so precious. I can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy of yours baby” he kissed your shoulder as he pulled your panties to dip two fingers inside you.

You pushed at his chest, trying to shift your hips away but the motion made you fall back and you grunted as you fell to the floor.

Alastor sucked his fingers, moaning at the taste of you. He sat looking at you, grinning as he moved towards you. You scrambled back, wanting to put distance between the two of you, but Alastor long legs carried him to you and he wrapped a hand around ankle and dragged you back towards him, taking top mount to prevent your from flaring about like a fish.

Tears welled in your eyes as he quickly made work of his pants, freeing his weeping cock. You pressed your hands against his chest, which he took in one hand and held them over your head. He hummed a tune as he pressed his lips to your cheeks, peppering your face in kisses before locking his lips onto yours. You tried to jerk your head away but that didn’t deter him, as he bit down on your lips, crying out, your mouth was invaded by his tongue.

You barely had time to counter, when your breath hitched in your throat, feeling an unknown pressure between your thighs.

A staggered gasp turned into a pained cry as narrow hips thrusted up into you, sheathing his cock to the brim.

Alastor laughed into your mouth, licking at your teeth “Oooh? So I’m your first hehe I’m honored.” He slotted his mouth against yours as he snapped his hips against yours, wanting you to quickly grow accustomed to his brute pace.

The sound of sticky slaps and muffled moans radiated through the cell. Your legs rested on either sides of Alastor’s hips, shaking as he rocked into your body.

“What would the other guards think if they found out you let a dangerous killer fuck you? Hmm? This breaks so many laws baby. Hehe fuck you feel good. You take me so good ha! I knew you could.” A soft whimper bubbled out your throat. Your mind was fighting, but your body was welcoming the unwanted assault. 

Your tongue lolled out your mouth as Alastor’s cock dragged along your insides, making your back arched as he hit a nerve that had you moaning.

Your soft moans spurred the man on as he angled his hips, pounding you into the cold floor.

Oh how long he had imagined fucking you. You were like nothing he could have imagined. Your tight cunt clinged to his dick as he bullied it through your walls.

He caught sight of your discarded gun and grabbed it, resting the cool metal against your skin. Your eyes widened, body freezing despite the jolts from his hips.

His brows quirked when your cunt clenched “Scared or horny baby?” He chuckled darkly, leaning back onto his knees, pulling you with him. 

He let out a soft moan as you sunk down on him, uttering dirty praise and encouragement. “You gonna ride me baby? Hmm? You gonna let a killer stretch this pussy out? Ill make you feel so good baby” he rocked up into you, softly thrusting.

You rested your head into the crook of his neck, shaking as Alatsor’s hands rubbed your back. The gun slowly trailing up your skin. One hand tangled in the roots of your hair, pulling your head back, as you felt the tip of the gun at your chin.

Alastor cooed as he pulled you down into his thrusts, making your jaw clench “k-kill me bastard” you hissed,  eyes clenched feeling his cock bury into you with a wet squish.

Alastor’s body vibrated as he let out a laugh “Kill you? Oh darlin no. then there wont be a pretty face to look forward to see everyday. I have no desire to paint the walls red with your blood haha no I want to paint your walls white” 

You leaned into his body, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. Your fingers dug into his skin and out of anger for the onslaughter of pleasure you sunk your teeth into his neck.

Alastor’s cock twitched as his hips snapped into yours as a response. 

Fuck! He eyes rolled slightly into his skull “careful baby. I hate to put a baby in you so soon” he chuckled.

Then the light bulb went off in his head

On second thought… 

————————————————————————————-

You shouldn’t be doing this as much. 

This was so wrong! On so many levels. 

Many many violations. 

Hell you could lose your job!

You almost hoped that another guard would come by and see what was happening so you could get out of here…but that wasn’t going to happen.

This is your floor and yours alone.

”OooH fuuuuccck, p-please! don’t… stop” you whined, throwing your head back, body leaned back with your arms trying to support your body as Alastor rammed up into your pussy. You hadn’t given much thought to sex, but he must be what girls in college use to call ‘packing’. His dick felt like it was splitting you in two, hitting that spongey nerve just right.

The man let out a gruff laugh beneath you, one hand on your hip to bounce you on his cock and the other holding that stupid gun against your clit. The cool metal sending shocks through your cunt. ”Oh you’ve made such a mess darlin” he tsked, eyes focused on his cock disappearing into you. A frothy cream coated the base of his cock, making both of your inner thighs sticky.

“But you’re so pretty when you’re messy.” He smirked, tilting his head

”I-I hate you!” You cried as he pinched your clit, slowly drawing tight circles on the bud. He hummed, kissing up the column of your neck “But your cunt says otherwise” he purred as he started pulling you down harder into his thrusts. Your eyes rolled as loud moans and whines left your throat. You might didn’t realize, but you had been fucking him back since the very beginning.

All that pent up frustration and tightly bound moral code snapping the second his cock breached your virgin walls.

Your cunt fluttered around him as he sucked a tit into his mouth. He released the sore nipple with a pop,tonguing it as he watched your face distort with pleasure as he had you met his thrusts.

“You’re everything I imagined and so much more” he whispered. He couldn’t help but admire you like this.

You opened your mouth to say something snarky, but he caught your lips as he sped up his pace, swallowing your gasps as he hit the sweet spot that had you mewling.

He felt your cunt clench and contract, allowing him deeper access to nirvana.

“Don’t you wanna cum baby? Because i know i do fuuck! Be a good little slut for me baby” Alastor hissed, feeling his dick twitch.

Your orgasm must have been approaching because you started to push against him, hips trying to raise and get off his dick.

Oh you weren’t going anywhere.

A gasp escaped you, your eyes wide as he tightened his hold on your hips “N-no no no no Alastor stop! Dont!” You pressed your hands against his chest to try and lift off him, but to no avail.

He laughed in your ear wickedly ”you are going to cum on my cock whether you like it or not baby ”

He wrapped his arms around you, forcing you to take the full force of his thrusts, wanting to break you from his cock.

You whimpered, eyes clenching as you buried your head in his shoulder. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, making you tense and hips grind into his to instinctively ride out the pleasure 

“I’m cumming ooh fuck fuck fuck! Alastor!” You whined loudly, body slumping as you shook against him.

Alastor kissed your shoulder as your cunt fluttered, hips stuttering and with a groan he cummed inside you, pressing you down to take all his dick as he painted your walls.

His dick twitched before he pulled out of you, smiling as his cum slowly leaked out of you as you slipped off his lap, glaring at him as he smiled at you.

Your eyes widened as he pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket.

”I think your boss would be very surprised to hear you fucking a criminal heheh”

tears welled in your eyes as you reached for the device, but he held it out of reach, opting to grab your hair and pull you flush against his cum covered cock.

”but don’t worry my dear, no one will know your little secret…as long as you play nice” his teeth split through his smile as he tapped the tip of of his dick against your lips.

”After all I wouldn’t want to lose my assistant again after breaking her in finally don’t you agree?” He hummed as he pushed his dick into your mouth, sighing as you gagged around him.

“That’s my good girl”

He never forgot about you. 

How could he?

You were his favorite doll after all….

—————————————————————————————-

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[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 12, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

APR 13, 2024

At 4:30 a.m. on April 12, 1861, Confederate forces fired on Fort Sumter, a federal fort built on an artificial island in Charleston Harbor. 

Attacking the fort seemed a logical outcome of events that had been in play for at least four months. On December 20, 1860, as soon as it was clear Abraham Lincoln had won the 1860 presidential election, South Carolina lawmakers had taken their state out of the Union. “The whole town [of Charleston] was in an uproar,” Elizabeth Allston recalled. “Parades, shouting, firecrackers, bells ringing, cannon on the forts booming, flags waving, and excited people thronging the streets.” 

Mississippi had followed suit on January 9, 1861; Florida on January 10; Alabama on January 11; Georgia on January 19; Louisiana on January 26; and Texas on February 1. By the time Lincoln took the oath of office on March 4, 1861, seven southern states had left the Union and formed their own provisional government that protected human enslavement. 

Their move had come because the elite enslavers who controlled those southern states believed that Lincoln’s election to the presidency in 1860 itself marked the end of their way of life. Badly outnumbered by the northerners who insisted that the West must be reserved for free men, southern elites were afraid that northerners would bottle up enslavement in the South and gradually whittle away at it. Those boundaries would mean that white southerners would soon be outnumbered by the Black Americans they enslaved, putting not only their economy but also their very lives at risk.

To defend their system, elite southern enslavers rewrote American democracy. They insisted that the government of the United States of America envisioned by the Founders who wrote the Declaration of Independence had a fatal flaw: it declared that all men were created equal. In contrast, the southern enslavers were openly embracing the reality that some people were better than others and had the right to rule. 

They looked around at their great wealth—the European masters hanging in their parlors, the fine dresses in which they clothed their wives and daughters, and the imported olive oil on their tables—and concluded they were the ones who had figured out the true plan for human society. As South Carolina senator James Henry Hammond explained to his colleagues in March 1858, the “harmonious…and prosperous” system of the South worked precisely because a few wealthy men ruled over a larger class with “a low order of intellect and but little skill.” Hammond dismissed “as ridiculously absurd” the idea that “all men are born equal.” 

On March 21, 1861, Georgia’s Alexander Stephens, the newly-elected vice president of the Confederacy, explained to a crowd that the Confederate government rested on the “great truth” that the Black man “is not equal to the white man; that…subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition.” Stephens told listeners that the Confederate government “is the first, in the history of the world, based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth.”

Not every white southerner thought secession from the United States was a good idea. Especially as the winter wore into spring and Lincoln made no effort to attack the South, conservative leaders urged their hot-headed neighbors to slow down. But for decades, southerners had marinated in rhetoric about their strength and independence from the federal government, and as Senator Judah P. Benjamin of Louisiana later wrote, “[t]he prudent and conservative men South,” were not “able to stem the wild torrent of passion which is carrying everything before it…. It is a revolution...of the most intense character…and it can no more be checked by human effort, for the time, than a prairie fire by a gardener’s watering pot.”

Southern white elites celebrated the idea of a new nation, one they dominated, convinced that the despised Yankees would never fight. “So far as civil war is concerned,” one Atlanta newspaper wrote in January 1861, “we have no fears of that in Atlanta.” White southerners boasted that “a lady’s thimble will hold all the blood that will be shed” in establishing a new nation. Senator James Chesnut of South Carolina went so far as to vow that he would drink all the blood shed as a consequence of southern secession. 

Chesnut’s promise misread the situation. Northerners recognized that if Americans accepted the principle that some men were better than others, and permitted southern Democrats to spread that principle by destroying the United States, they had lost democracy. "I should like to know, if taking this old Declaration of Independence, which declares that all men are equal upon principle, and making exceptions to it, where will it stop?” Lincoln had asked in 1858.

Northerners rejected the white southerners’ radical attempt to destroy the principles of the Declaration of Independence. They understood that it was not just Black rights at stake. Arguments like that of Stephens, that some men were better than others, “are the arguments that kings have made for enslaving the people in all ages of the world,” Lincoln said. “You will find that all the arguments in favor of king-craft were of this class; they always bestrode the necks of the people, not that they wanted to do it, but because the people were better off for being ridden…. Turn in whatever way you will—whether it come from the mouth of a King, an excuse for enslaving the people of his country, or from the mouth of men of one race as a reason for enslaving the men of another race, it is all the same old serpent….”

Northerners rejected the slaveholders’ unequal view of the world, seeing it as a radical reworking of the nation’s founding principles. After the Confederates fired on Fort Sumter, Lincoln called for 75,000 to put down the rebellion against the government. He called for “loyal citizens to favor, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the honor, the integrity, and the existence of our National Union, and the perpetuity of popular government; and to redress wrongs already long enough endured.”

Like their southern counterparts, northerners also dismissed the idea that a civil war would be bloody. They were so convinced that a single battle would bring southerners to their senses that inhabitants of Washington, D.C., as well as congressmen and their wives packed picnics and took carriages out to Manassas, Virginia, to watch the Battle of Bull Run in July 1861. They decamped in panic as the battle turned against the United States army and soldiers bolted past them, flinging haversacks and rifles as they fled.

For their part, southerners were as shocked by the battle as the people of the North were. “Never have I conceived,” one South Carolina soldier wrote, “of such a continuous, rushing hailstorm of shot, shell, and musketry as fell around and among us for hours together. We who escaped are constantly wondering how we could possibly have come out of the action alive.” 

Over the next four years, the Civil War would take more than 620,000 lives and cost the United States more than $5 billion. By 1865, two-thirds of the assessed value of southern wealth had evaporated; two-fifths of the livestock— horses and draft animals for tilling fields as well as pigs and sheep for food— were dead. Over half the region's farm machinery had been destroyed, most factories were burned, and railroads were gone, either destroyed or worn out. But by the end of the conflagration, the institution of human enslavement as the central labor system for the American South was destroyed. 

On March 4, 1865, when a weary Lincoln took the oath of office for a second time, he reviewed the war’s history. “To strengthen, perpetuate and extend [slavery] was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war while the government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it,” he said. “Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph and a result less fundamental and astounding. 

“Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces but let us judge not that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered—that of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes.”

“Both parties deprecated war but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish,” he said. 

“And the war came.” 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[justinssportscorner]

Manny Fidel at The Guardian:

When Caitlin Clark was on the receiving end of a hard foul from Angel Reese on Sunday, the sound and fury around the Indiana Fever rookie intensified once again. She has been the focus of a number of controversies lately. After Clark was left off the USA women’s basketball Olympic team earlier this month, I raised an eyebrow myself. She’s a phenomenal player and athlete and someone who should hold the lion’s share of the credit for the WNBA’s massive increase in popularity. But, as is often the case in sports discourse, multiple things can be true at once. Clark is also an inexperienced rookie, who, aside from a few standout performances (including Sunday’s win over the Chicago Sky), has had a rocky start to her WNBA career – she leads the league in turnovers per game. And when it comes to adding her to the Olympic roster, the US selection committee would have had to alter the roles of skilled guards like Diana Taurasi and Sabrina Ionescu.

Sure, some level of head-scratching was justified. But when you look at the full picture, it’s clear why Clark was left off the Olympic roster, and any further uproar about the situation is a waste of breath. Unfortunately though, we live in a political culture that loves to waste breath. Politicians, pundits, and fans from across the right decried the decision. Former South Carolina governor Nikki Haley took to X, as did the official account for the House Judiciary GOP, further inflaming a conversation around Clark that was already chaotic. ESPN’s Pat McAfee even invoked Clark’s race when he argued that she deserved more credit than the rest of the WNBA’s (mostly Black) rookie class for helping to popularize the sport. “Nah, just call it for what it is – there’s one white bitch for the Indiana team who is a superstar,” he said (and later apologized saying in that manner). McAfee was countering some who argued that Clark’s whiteness makes her a little more marketable than her equally talented Black peers.

[...]

But the striking thing about the strife around Caitlin Clark is that she has done nothing to provoke the controversy herself. An inherently uncontroversial figure, Clark is the personification of far-right pundit Laura Ingraham’s infamous “shut up and dribble” sentiment, which echoes a long-standing belief on the right that athletes – or the ones they disagree with anyway – should leave politics out of sports. And yet, it is those very same people who are attempting to draw Clark away from neutrality. Indiana congressman Jim Banks, for example, sent a letter to WNBA commissioner Cathy Engelbert asking her to discipline Chicago Sky guard Chennedy Carter for knocking Clark down during a game earlier this month. Like Reese’s hit on Sunday, it was a hard foul, but the idea that it needed to be escalated by an elected official is just as ridiculous as when Louisiana governor Jeff Landry proposed stripping the scholarships of LSU women’s basketball players who were not present during the national anthem at the start of one of their games. As LSU coach Kim Mulkey explained, the players only happened to miss the anthem because of a pre-game routine, but no explanation will ever be good enough for conservatives who weaponize innocuous events to make a name for themselves. Republicans are experts at opposition because it’s kind of the point of their party: to conserve or even regress on the issues that matter most to Americans. Without a sense of progress, they have resorted to self-serving stances that are increasingly desperate. Clark appears to want to do little more than win basketball games, but she remains in the eye of the kind of political hurricane we’ve seen with activism-driven athletes like Megan Rapinoe and Colin Kaepernick. When those two kneeled during the national anthem to protest against social injustice, for example, the storm that followed was expected, even if it was unwarranted.

Clark, on the other hand, has inspired waves of bombast without actually offering much in the way of political or social opinions.

The right-wing fury over Caitlin Clark is about everything except her, as their goal is turn everything political.

[rockislandadultreads]

New Title Tuesday: Thrillers

Midnight is the Darkest Hour by Ashley Winstead

For fans of Verity and A Flicker in the Dark, this is a twisted tale of murder, obsessive love, and the beastly urges that lie dormant within us all...even the God-fearing folk of Bottom Springs, Louisiana. In her small hometown, librarian Ruth Cornier has always felt like an outsider, even as her beloved father rains fire-and-brimstone warnings from the pulpit at Holy Fire Baptist.

Unfortunately for Ruth, the only things the townspeople fear more than the God and the Devil are the myths that haunt the area, like the story of the Low Man, a vampiric figure said to steal into sinners' bedrooms and kill them on moonless nights. When a skull is found deep in the swamp next to mysterious carved symbols, Bottom Springs is thrown into uproar—and Ruth realizes only she and Everett, an old friend with a dark past, have the power to comb the town's secret underbelly in search of true evil.

The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

Gracetown, Florida, June 1950: Twelve-year-old Robbie Stephens, Jr., is sentenced to six months at the Gracetown School for Boys, a reformatory, for kicking the son of the largest landowner in town in defense of his older sister, Gloria. So begins Robbie’s journey further into the terrors of the Jim Crow South and the very real horror of the school they call The Reformatory.

Robbie has a talent for seeing ghosts, or haints. But what was once a comfort to him after the loss of his mother has become a window to the truth of what happens at the reformatory. Boys forced to work to remediate their so-called crimes have gone missing, but the haints Robbie sees hint at worse things. Through his friends Redbone and Blue, Robbie is learning not just the rules but how to survive. Meanwhile, Gloria is rallying every family member and connection in Florida to find a way to get Robbie out before it’s too late.

The Spy Coast by Tess Gerritsen

Former spy Maggie Bird came to the seaside village of Purity, Maine, eager to put the past behind her after a mission went tragically wrong. These days, she’s living quietly on her chicken farm, still wary of blowback from the events that forced her early retirement.

But when a body turns up in Maggie’s driveway, she knows it’s a message from former foes who haven’t forgotten her. Maggie turns to her local circle of old friends—all retirees from the CIA—to help uncover the truth about who is trying to kill her, and why. This “Martini Club” of former spies may be retired, but they still have a few useful skills that they’re eager to use again, if only to spice up their rather sedate new lives.

Complicating their efforts is Purity’s acting police chief, Jo Thibodeau. More accustomed to dealing with rowdy tourists than homicide, Jo is puzzled by Maggie’s reluctance to share information—and by her odd circle of friends, who seem to be a step ahead of her at every turn.

As Jo’s investigation collides with the Martini Club’s maneuvers, Maggie’s hunt for answers will force her to revisit a clandestine career that spanned the globe, from Bangkok to Istanbul, from London to Malta. The ghosts of her past have returned, but with the help of her friends—and the reluctant Jo Thibodeau—Maggie might just be able to save the life she’s built.

This is the first volume of "The Martini Club" series.

When I'm Dead by Hannah Morrissey

On a bone-chilling October night, Medical Examiner Rowan Winthorp investigates the death of her daughter’s best friend. Hours later, the tragedy hits even closer to home when she makes a devastating discovery—her daughter, Chloe, is gone. But, not without a trace.

A morbid mosaic of clues forces Rowan and her husband to question how deeply they really knew their daughter. As they work closely to peel back the layers of this case, they begin to unearth disturbing details about Chloe and her secret transgressions…details that threaten to tear them apart.

Amidst the noise of navigating her newfound grief and reconciling the sins of her past, an undeniable fact rings true for Rowan: karma has finally come to collect.

This is the third volume of the "Black Harbor" series.

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Agreed," Dorian nodded with a little smile-while he was certain all of Louisiana and a good number of the neighboring states would be in all sorts of an uproar upon realizing they weren't getting the wedding of the century, he doubted the good people of the Golden State would worry too much about what was happening in the South, not enough to scrutinize the two pairs of newlyweds moving in around the same time.

(He would feel a little bad for all the wedding guests, who went to all the trouble of getting ready for such a huge day for nothing, but given how many of them were self-absorbed twits who had more money than sense and were more excited about earning bragging rights in regards to such an extravagant wedding than being really, truly happy for the "happy couple", he didn't feel so guilty-that, and he was sure they'd be well taken care of, able to enjoy the lavish catering and beautiful garden, where the wedding was to take place.)

At that moment, there was a subtle knock on the door-it was Beau, smiling warmly to the pair as he announced, "Master Randall has arrived, he's in the drawing room. Miss Henshaw has also said to tell you that she's almost ready, and will meet you there before the festivities get underway."

"Thank you, Beau," Dorian grinned brightly, his heart skipping an excited beat at the prospect of the evening ahead: Spending it with his bride-to-be, his best friend, and his bride-to be sounded like the perfect last hurrah for all of them, before they left Gracey Manor-and New Orleans-behind for good.

[reasoningdaily]

Rapper Boosie Badazz says if he were back in the antebellum South, he would probably be a slave.

During an interview with former battle rapper turned talk show host Math Hoffa, the “Wipe Me Down” chart-topper was asked about the almost equally controversial Kanye West.

Boosie shares on the “My Expert Opinion” show that he was “p##### off at Kanye West” last year when he made several inflammatory statements about the Black Lives Matter movement, George Floyd, the Jews, and slavery. He said he was so upset that he could not stop tweeting and “misspelling words” trying to get his outrage out on Twitter.

“I don’t like what Kanye do to our Black race,” the Louisiana recording artist said. “I don’t know what Blacks done done to him, bro.”

Math Hoffa jumped in and asked if he was referring to the White Lives Matter shirts— which caused an uproar with the other guests in the barber shop setting.

Still, Boosie didn’t get distracted. He was clear on what he feels Kanye’s perspective on is on Black people.

“[Ye] said slavery was a choice,” the guest blurted out.

Math Hoffa dropped a bomb and said he felt the same way, shifting the conversation to what he would have done if he was a victim of the Transatlantic Slave Trade (the MAAFA).

“I don’t,” Boosie said, vehemently shaking his head “no,” and mimicking what a whip might look like going against an enslaved person’s back.

Hoffa tried to challenge that and ask why didn’t people rise up and fight back or stop Europeans from going into Africa and stealing his ancestors. He asked why people didn’t risk their lives or choose death.

Boosie (nor many of the other guests) jacking Hoffa.

“I don’t agree with nothing Kanye West says about Blacks. I feel as a person, from what I seen him do and talk about Black people, I feel like he has no love or respect for the Black race,” the rapper said, adding, “I feel he loves the white race more.”

To this point, Math Hoffa brought the infamous 2005 Hurricane Katrina telethon and Ye’s comments about the then-sitting president.

Boosie was clear.

“He said ‘George Bush doesn’t care about Black people,’” the rapper said, “but he shows he doesn’t love Black people.”

One of Boosie’s problems with Kanye is that he believes the artist has a dynamic platform but has chosen to use it multiple times to tear down and “disgrace” Black people, particularly pointing at his comments regarding Floyd.

As the conversation intensified, Hoffa asked Boosie if would he have fought to the death to not be enslaved or have his family members enslaved.

“At that time, I am going to do what I have to do to stay alive,” Boosie said. “If I run, I’ma die.”

“Now let me flip it on you. If a million of your brothers and sisters got burned up in a fire, would you like somebody talking about them or saying anything that is not supporting them?” he asked Math Hoffa.

Hoffa didn’t answer the question, perhaps not understanding that Boosie was referencing the Jewish Holocaust.

During the discussion, Hoffa continued to be challenged, even by his co-host who said, “You’re speaking from the perspective of a free man. You don’t know what it feels like to be in captivity. You have no idea what that is like and to sit there and judge someone who was…”

Boosie jumps in and says, “You don’t know if you’ve never been in captivity. Some people not gonna run if you over them with guns and whips on your back.”

Hoffa asked, “What you gonna do?”

“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t in captivity,” Boosie, a man from the deep South, answered.

“If I run, I’ma die. I probably would have been a motherf##king slave,” he said. “If I was born in captivity…”

Math interrupts and says, “You? That’s hard to believe.”

The consensus of Boosie and the other host, “It’s hard to think about being born into captivity.”

“That’s just like me being born in the hood and staying a hood n##ga. If I was born into captivity and all I know since a child is praising and being took care by a white man I probably would have been a f##king Django or a slave overseer. I would probably be f##k up,” he said.

Check out the very powerful interview by clicking here.

[mrpagesfrontispiece]

you wanna know a fun fact about the flag of Arkansas?

no, you don't. However, I’ll tell you anyway, just in case! Arkansas’s flag originally designed by a Ms. Willie Hocker, had three stars in the middle, like this:

solid flag, right? It’s a diamond because Arkansas makes diamonds, 25 outer stars, because Arkansas was the 25th state in the US, and three central stars, representing how the land that is now Arkansas was owned by the Spanish Empire, the French Empire, and the United States of America before the Louisiana Purchase and Spanish-American war and all that. (it was also owned by the Indigenous Americans who had lived there for centuries but I digress) so far, so good! Then, Arkansas updated their flag to this:

United States Star is on top, (because they were of course who Arkansas was at this moment a part of, perfectly justified) and they put the word “Arkansas” in the middle. Kind of tacky, sure, but I guess that if they really want to make sure no one forgets who’s flag they’re looking at, then it works. But then, in the dark year of 1923, they changed the flag once more, to this:

Oh my, they've added a fourth star! I wonder what that one symbolises! Can you guess, loyal viewers?

If you guessed the traitorous rebellion that attempted to shatter the Union over owning human beings, you'd be right! THE FORTH STAR REPRESENTS THE CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA! As you can imagine, this caused an uproar. The Traitors being represented on the official state flag was not without precendent; look to Florida, the old Missisippi flag, Alabama, and countless county flags in the American South to see examples there, but symbolically putting them on the same level as the real United States of America was a step too far. Also, it made the flag really ugly and destroyed the deeper heraldic meanings I haven't gone into today. So, an emergency session was called, and the new flag of Arkansas was forged:

Alright, they've rearranged the stars. They kept their precious “cultural heritage” through the Confederate Star, but now it’s on the bottom, where it belongs.

Right?

RIGHT!?!?

NO! THEY PUT THE CONFEDERATE STAR ABOVE ALL THE OTHER ONES! I’M CITING THE WEBSITE OF THE ARKANSAS SECRETARY OF STATE WHEN I SAY IT WAS TO, QUOTE, “commemorate Arkansas’ membership in the Confederacy.” AND THEY JUST LOOKED AT THAT AND SAID “YEP! THIS IS FINE! WE SHOULD PLACE THE REPRESENTATION OF THE TRAITORS WHO LOST ABOVE OUR CURRENT ALLEGIANCE!” AND THE NATION LET THEM GET AWAY WITH IT! But that’s not the end of the story! In February 2019, Arkansas Representative Charles Blake introduced a bill that would change the meaning of the Confederate Star to mean, wait for it, those Indigenous peoples I mentioned earlier! You know the ones who lived in Arkansas before any of the stars on the flag! But because it’s Arkansas the bill was actually never even voted on. Anyway, what’s the moral of the story? I'm not sure, other than maybe to avoid Arkansas when possible.

[renaissanceclassics]

Up From Slavery: Part 16

of 18 parts. Chapter XV. The Secret Of Success In Public Speaking

As to how my address at Atlanta was received by the audience in the Exposition building, I think I prefer to let Mr. James Creelman, the noted war correspondent, tell. Mr. Creelman was present, and telegraphed the following account to the New York World:—

Atlanta, September 18.

"While President Cleveland was waiting at Gray Gables to-day, to send the electric spark that started the machinery of the Atlanta Exposition, a Negro Moses stood before a great audience of white people and delivered an oration that marks a new epoch in the history of the South; and a body of Negro troops marched in a procession with the citizen soldiery of Georgia and Louisiana. The whole city is thrilling to-night with a realization of the extraordinary significance of these two unprecedented events. Nothing has happened since Henry Grady's immortal speech before the New England society in New York that indicates so profoundly the spirit of the New South, except, perhaps, the opening of the Exposition itself.

When Professor Booker T. Washington, Principal of an industrial school for coloured people in Tuskegee, Ala. stood on the platform of the Auditorium, with the sun shining over the heads of his auditors into his eyes, and with his whole face lit up with the fire of prophecy, Clark Howell, the successor of Henry Grady, said to me, "That man's speech is the beginning of a moral revolution in America."

It is the first time that a Negro has made a speech in the South on any important occasion before an audience composed of white men and women. It electrified the audience, and the response was as if it had come from the throat of a whirlwind.

Mrs. Thompson had hardly taken her seat when all eyes were turned on a tall tawny Negro sitting in the front row of the platform. It was Professor Booker T. Washington, President of the Tuskegee (Alabama) Normal and Industrial Institute, who must rank from this time forth as the foremost man of his race in America. Gilmore's Band played the "Star-Spangled Banner," and the audience cheered. The tune changed to "Dixie" and the audience roared with shrill "hi-yis." Again the music changed, this time to "Yankee Doodle," and the clamour lessened.

All this time the eyes of the thousands present looked straight at the Negro orator. A strange thing was to happen. A black man was to speak for his people, with none to interrupt him. As Professor Washington strode to the edge of the stage, the low, descending sun shot fiery rays through the windows into his face. A great shout greeted him. He turned his head to avoid the blinding light, and moved about the platform for relief. Then he turned his wonderful countenance to the sun without a blink of the eyelids, and began to talk.

There was a remarkable figure; tall, bony, straight as a Sioux chief, high forehead, straight nose, heavy jaws, and strong, determined mouth, with big white teeth, piercing eyes, and a commanding manner. The sinews stood out on his bronzed neck, and his muscular right arm swung high in the air, with a lead-pencil grasped in the clinched brown fist. His big feet were planted squarely, with the heels together and the toes turned out. His voice range out clear and true, and he paused impressively as he made each point. Within ten minutes the multitude was in an uproar of enthusiasm—handkerchiefs were waved, canes were flourished, hats were tossed in the air. The fairest women of Georgia stood up and cheered. It was as if the orator had bewitched them.

And when he held his dusky hand high above his head, with the fingers stretched wide apart, and said to the white people of the South on behalf of his race, "In all things that are purely social we can be as separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to mutual progress," the great wave of sound dashed itself against the walls, and the whole audience was on its feet in a delirium of applause, and I thought at that moment of the night when Henry Grady stood among the curling wreaths of tobacco-smoke in Delmonico's banquet-hall and said, "I am a Cavalier among Roundheads."

I have heard the great orators of many countries, but not even Gladstone himself could have pleased a cause with most consummate power than did this angular Negro, standing in a nimbus of sunshine, surrounded by the men who once fought to keep his race in bondage. The roar might swell ever so high, but the expression of his earnest face never changed.

A ragged, ebony giant, squatted on the floor in one of the aisles, watched the orator with burning eyes and tremulous face until the supreme burst of applause came, and then the tears ran down his face. Most of the Negroes in the audience were crying, perhaps without knowing just why.

At the close of the speech Governor Bullock rushed across the stage and seized the orator's hand. Another shout greeted this demonstration, and for a few minutes the two men stood facing each other, hand in hand.

So far as I could spare the time from the immediate work at Tuskegee, after my Atlanta address, I accepted some of the invitations to speak in public which came to me, especially those that would take me into territory where I thought it would pay to plead the cause of my race, but I always did this with the understanding that I was to be free to talk about my life-work and the needs of my people. I also had it understood that I was not to speak in the capacity of a professional lecturer, or for mere commercial gain.

In my efforts on the public platform I never have been able to understand why people come to hear me speak. This question I never can rid myself of. Time and time again, as I have stood in the street in front of a building and have seen men and women passing in large numbers into the audience room where I was to speak, I have felt ashamed that I should be the cause of people—as it seemed to me—wasting a valuable hour of their time. Some years ago I was to deliver an address before a literary society in Madison, Wis. An hour before the time set for me to speak, a fierce snow-storm began, and continued for several hours. I made up my mind that there would be no audience, and that I should not have to speak, but, as a matter of duty, I went to the church, and found it packed with people. The surprise gave me a shock that I did not recover from during the whole evening.

People often ask me if I feel nervous before speaking, or else they suggest that, since I speak often, they suppose that I get used to it. In answer to this question I have to say that I always suffer intensely from nervousness before speaking. More than once, just before I was to make an important address, this nervous strain has been so great that I have resolved never again to speak in public. I not only feel nervous before speaking, but after I have finished I usually feel a sense of regret, because it seems to me as if I had left out of my address the main thing and the best thing that I had meant to say.

There is a great compensation, though, for this preliminary nervous suffering, that comes to me after I have been speaking for about ten minutes, and have come to feel that I have really mastered my audience, and that we have gotten into full and complete sympathy with each other. It seems to me that there is rarely such a combination of mental and physical delight in any effort as that which comes to a public speaker when he feels that he has a great audience completely within his control. There is a thread of sympathy and oneness that connects a public speaker with his audience, that is just as strong as though it was something tangible and visible. If in an audience of a thousand people there is one person who is not in sympathy with my views, or is inclined to be doubtful, cold, or critical, I can pick him out. When I have found him I usually go straight at him, and it is a great satisfaction to watch the process of his thawing out. I find that the most effective medicine for such individuals is administered at first in the form of a story, although I never tell an anecdote simply for the sake of telling one. That kind of thing, I think, is empty and hollow, and an audience soon finds it out.

I believe that one always does himself and his audience an injustice when he speaks merely for the sake of speaking. I do not believe that one should speak unless, deep down in his heart, he feels convinced that he has a message to deliver. When one feels, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, that he has something to say that is going to help some individual or some cause, then let him say it; and in delivering his message I do not believe that many of the artificial rules of elocution can, under such circumstances, help him very much. Although there are certain things, such as pauses, breathing, and pitch of voice, that are very important, none of these can take the place of soul in an address. When I have an address to deliver, I like to forget all about the rules for the proper use of the English language, and all about rhetoric and that sort of thing, and I like to make the audience forget all about these things, too.

Nothing tends to throw me off my balance so quickly, when I am speaking, as to have some one leave the room. To prevent this, I make up my mind, as a rule, that I will try to make my address so interesting, will try to state so many interesting facts one after another, that no one can leave. The average audience, I have come to believe, wants facts rather than generalities or sermonizing. Most people, I think, are able to draw proper conclusions if they are given the facts in an interesting form on which to base them.

As to the kind of audience that I like best to talk to, I would put at the top of the list an organization of strong, wide-awake, business men, such, for example, as is found in Boston, New York, Chicago, and Buffalo. I have found no other audience so quick to see a point, and so responsive. Within the last few years I have had the privilege of speaking before most of the leading organizations of this kind in the large cities of the United States. The best time to get hold of an organization of business men is after a good dinner, although I think that one of the worst instruments of torture that was ever invented is the custom which makes it necessary for a speaker to sit through a fourteen-course dinner, every minute of the time feeling sure that his speech is going to prove a dismal failure and disappointment.

I rarely take part in one of these long dinners that I do not wish that I could put myself back in the little cabin where I was a slave boy, and again go through the experience there—one that I shall never forget—of getting molasses to eat once a week from the "big house." Our usual diet on the plantation was corn bread and pork, but on Sunday morning my mother was permitted to bring down a little molasses from the "big house" for her three children, and when it was received how I did wish that every day was Sunday! I would get my tin plate and hold it up for the sweet morsel, but I would always shut my eyes while the molasses was being poured out into the plate, with the hope that when I opened them I would be surprised to see how much I had got. When I opened my eyes I would tip the plate in one direction and another, so as to make the molasses spread all over it, in the full belief that there would be more of it and that it would last longer if spread out in this way. So strong are my childish impressions of those Sunday morning feasts that it would be pretty hard for any one to convince me that there is not more molasses on a plate when it is spread all over the plate than when it occupies a little corner—if there is a corner in a plate. At any rate, I have never believed in "cornering" syrup. My share of the syrup was usually about two tablespoonfuls, and those two spoonfuls of molasses were much more enjoyable to me than is a fourteen-course dinner after which I am to speak.

Next to a company of business men, I prefer to speak to an audience of Southern people, of either race, together or taken separately. Their enthusiasm and responsiveness are a constant delight. The "amens" and "dat's de truf" that come spontaneously from the coloured individuals are calculated to spur any speaker on to his best efforts. I think that next in order of preference I would place a college audience. It has been my privilege to deliver addresses at many of our leading colleges including Harvard, Yale, Williams, Amherst, Fisk University, the University of Pennsylvania, Wellesley, the University of Michigan, Trinity College in North Carolina, and many others.

It has been a matter of deep interest to me to note the number of people who have come to shake hands with me after an address, who say that this is the first time they have ever called a Negro "Mister."

When speaking directly in the interests of the Tuskegee Institute, I usually arrange, some time in advance, a series of meetings in important centres. This takes me before churches, Sunday-schools, Christian Endeavour Societies, and men's and women's clubs. When doing this I sometimes speak before as many as four organizations in a single day.

Three years ago, at the suggestion of Mr. Morris K. Jessup, of New York, and Dr. J.L.M. Curry, the general agent of the fund, the trustees of the John F. Slater Fund voted a sum of money to be used in paying the expenses of Mrs. Washington and myself while holding a series of meetings among the coloured people in the large centres of Negro population, especially in the large cities of the ex-slaveholding states. Each year during the last three years we have devoted some weeks to this work. The plan that we have followed has been for me to speak in the morning to the ministers, teachers, and professional men. In the afternoon Mrs. Washington would speak to the women alone, and in the evening I spoke to a large mass-meeting. In almost every case the meetings have been attended not only by the coloured people in large numbers, but by the white people. In Chattanooga, Tenn., for example, there was present at the mass-meeting an audience of not less than three thousand persons, and I was informed that eight hundred of these were white. I have done no work that I really enjoyed more than this, or that I think has accomplished more good.

These meetings have given Mrs. Washington and myself an opportunity to get first-hand, accurate information as to the real condition of the race, by seeing the people in their homes, their churches, their Sunday-schools, and their places of work, as well as in the prisons and dens of crime. These meetings also gave us an opportunity to see the relations that exist between the races. I never feel so hopeful about the race as I do after being engaged in a series of these meetings. I know that on such occasions there is much that comes to the surface that is superficial and deceptive, but I have had experience enough not to be deceived by mere signs and fleeting enthusiasms. I have taken pains to go to the bottom of things and get facts, in a cold, business-like manner.

I have seen the statement made lately, by one who claims to know what he is talking about, that, taking the whole Negro race into account, ninety per cent of the Negro women are not virtuous. There never was a baser falsehood uttered concerning a race, or a statement made that was less capable of being proved by actual facts.

No one can come into contact with the race for twenty years, as I have done in the heart of the South, without being convinced that the race is constantly making slow but sure progress materially, educationally, and morally. One might take up the life of the worst element in New York City, for example, and prove almost anything he wanted to prove concerning the white man, but all will agree that this is not a fair test.

Early in the year 1897 I received a letter inviting me to deliver an address at the dedication of the Robert Gould Shaw monument in Boston. I accepted the invitation. It is not necessary for me, I am sure, to explain who Robert Gould Shaw was, and what he did. The monument to his memory stands near the head of the Boston Common, facing the State House. It is counted to be the most perfect piece of art of the kind to be found in the country.

The exercises connected with the dedication were held in Music Hall, in Boston, and the great hall was packed from top to bottom with one of the most distinguished audiences that ever assembled in the city. Among those present were more persons representing the famous old anti-slavery element that it is likely will ever be brought together in the country again. The late Hon. Roger Wolcott, then Governor of Massachusetts, was the presiding officer, and on the platform with him were many other officials and hundreds of distinguished men. A report of the meeting which appeared in the Boston Transcript will describe it better than any words of mine could do:—

The core and kernel of yesterday's great noon meeting, in honour of the Brotherhood of Man, in Music Hall, was the superb address of the Negro President of Tuskegee. "Booker T. Washington received his Harvard A.M. last June, the first of his race," said Governor Wolcott, "to receive an honorary degree from the oldest university in the land, and this for the wise leadership of his people." When Mr. Washington rose in the flag-filled, enthusiasm-warmed, patriotic, and glowing atmosphere of Music Hall, people felt keenly that here was the civic justification of the old abolition spirit of Massachusetts; in his person the proof of her ancient and indomitable faith; in his strong thought and rich oratory, the crown and glory of the old war days of suffering and strife. The scene was full of historic beauty and deep significance. "Cold" Boston was alive with the fire that is always hot in her heart for righteousness and truth. Rows and rows of people who are seldom seen at any public function, whole families of those who are certain to be out of town on a holiday, crowded the place to overflowing. The city was at her birthright fête in the persons of hundreds of her best citizens, men and women whose names and lives stand for the virtues that make for honourable civic pride.

Battle-music had filled the air. Ovation after ovation, applause warm and prolonged, had greeted the officers and friends of Colonel Shaw, the sculptor, St. Gaudens, the memorial Committee, the Governor and his staff, and the Negro soldiers of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as they came upon the platform or entered the hall. Colonel Henry Lee, of Governor Andrew's old staff, had made a noble, simple presentation speech for the committee, paying tribute to Mr. John M. Forbes, in whose stead he served. Governor Wolcott had made his short, memorable speech, saying, "Fort Wagner marked an epoch in the history of a race, and called it into manhood." Mayor Quincy had received the monument for the city of Boston. The story of Colonel Shaw and his black regiment had been told in gallant words, and then, after the singing of Mine eyes have seen the glory Of the coming of the Lord,

Booker Washington arose. It was, of course, just the moment for him. The multitude, shaken out of its usual symphony-concert calm, quivered with an excitement that was not suppressed. A dozen times it had sprung to its feet to cheer and wave and hurrah, as one person. When this man of culture and voice and power, as well as a dark skin, began, and uttered the names of Stearns and of Andrew, feeling began to mount. You could see tears glisten in the eyes of soldiers and civilians. When the orator turned to the coloured soldiers on the platform, to the colour-bearer of Fort Wagner, who smilingly bore still the flag he had never lowered even when wounded, and said, "To you, to the scarred and scattered remnants of the Fifty-fourth, who, with empty sleeve and wanting leg, have honoured this occasion with your presence, to you, your commander is not dead. Though Boston erected no monument and history recorded no story, in you and in the loyal race which you represent, Robert Gould Shaw would have a monument which time could not wear away," then came the climax of the emotion of the day and the hour. It was Roger Wolcott, as well as the Governor of Massachusetts, the individual representative of the people's sympathy as well as the chief magistrate, who had sprung first to his feet and cried, "Three cheers to Booker T. Washington!"

Among those on the platform was Sergeant William H. Carney, of New Bedford, Mass., the brave coloured officer who was the colour-bearer at Fort Wagner and held the American flag. In spite of the fact that a large part of his regiment was killed, he escaped, and exclaimed, after the battle was over, "The old flag never touched the ground."

This flag Sergeant Carney held in his hands as he sat on the platform, and when I turned to address the survivors of the coloured regiment who were present, and referred to Sergeant Carney, he rose, as if by instinct, and raised the flag. It has been my privilege to witness a good many satisfactory and rather sensational demonstrations in connection with some of my public addresses, but in dramatic effect I have never seen or experienced anything which equalled this. For a number of minutes the audience seemed to entirely lose control of itself.

In the general rejoicing throughout the country which followed the close of the Spanish-American war, peace celebrations were arranged in several of the large cities. I was asked by President William R. Harper, of the University of Chicago, who was chairman of the committee of invitations for the celebration to be held in the city of Chicago, to deliver one of the addresses at the celebration there. I accepted the invitation, and delivered two addresses there during the Jubilee week. The first of these, and the principal one, was given in the Auditorium, on the evening of Sunday, October 16. This was the largest audience that I have ever addressed, in any part of the country; and besides speaking in the main Auditorium, I also addressed, that same evening, two overflow audiences in other parts of the city.

It was said that there were sixteen thousand persons in the Auditorium, and it seemed to me as if there were as many more on the outside trying to get in. It was impossible for any one to get near the entrance without the aid of a policeman. President William McKinley attended this meeting, as did also the members of his Cabinet, many foreign ministers, and a large number of army and navy officers, many of whom had distinguished themselves in the war which had just closed. The speakers, besides myself, on Sunday evening, were Rabbi Emil G. Hirsch, Father Thomas P. Hodnett, and Dr. John H. Barrows.

The Chicago Times-Herald, in describing the meeting, said of my address:—

He pictured the Negro choosing slavery rather than extinction; recalled Crispus Attucks shedding his blood at the beginning of the American Revolution, that white Americans might be free, while black Americans remained in slavery; rehearsed the conduct of the Negroes with Jackson at New Orleans; drew a vivid and pathetic picture of the Southern slaves protecting and supporting the families of their masters while the latter were fighting to perpetuate black slavery; recounted the bravery of coloured troops at Port Hudson and Forts Wagner and Pillow, and praised the heroism of the black regiments that stormed El Caney and Santiago to give freedom to the enslaved people of Cuba, forgetting, for the time being, the unjust discrimination that law and custom make against them in their own country.

In all of these things, the speaker declared, his race had chosen the better part. And then he made his eloquent appeal to the consciences of the white Americans: "When you have gotten the full story of the heroic conduct of the Negro in the Spanish-American war, have heard it from the lips of Northern soldier and Southern soldier, from ex-abolitionist and ex-masters, then decide within yourselves whether a race that is thus willing to die for its country should not be given the highest opportunity to live for its country."

The part of the speech which seems to arouse the wildest and most sensational enthusiasm was that in which I thanked the President for his recognition of the Negro in his appointments during the Spanish-American war. The President was sitting in a box at the right of the stage. When I addressed him I turned toward the box, and as I finished the sentence thanking him for his generosity, the whole audience rose and cheered again and again, waving handkerchiefs and hats and canes, until the President arose in the box and bowed his acknowledgements. At that the enthusiasm broke out again, and the demonstration was almost indescribable.

One portion of my address at Chicago seemed to have been misunderstood by the Southern press, and some of the Southern papers took occasion to criticise me rather strongly. These criticisms continued for several weeks, until I finally received a letter from the editor of the Age-Herald, published in Birmingham, Ala., asking me if I would say just what I meant by this part of the address. I replied to him in a letter which seemed to satisfy my critics. In this letter I said that I had made it a rule never to say before a Northern audience anything that I would not say before an audience in the South. I said that I did not think it was necessary for me to go into extended explanations; if my seventeen years of work in the heart of the South had not been explanation enough, I did not see how words could explain. I said that I made the same plea that I had made in my address at Atlanta, for the blotting out of race prejudice in "commercial and civil relations." I said that what is termed social recognition was a question which I never discussed, and then I quoted from my Atlanta address what I had said there in regard to that subject.

In meeting crowds of people at public gatherings, there is one type of individual that I dread. I mean the crank. I have become so accustomed to these people now that I can pick them out at a distance when I see them elbowing their way up to me. The average crank has a long beard, poorly cared for, a lean, narrow face, and wears a black coat. The front of his vest and coat are slick with grease, and his trousers bag at the knees.

In Chicago, after I had spoken at a meeting, I met one of these fellows. They usually have some process for curing all of the ills of the world at once. This Chicago specimen had a patent process by which he said Indian corn could be kept through a period of three or four years, and he felt sure that if the Negro race in the South would, as a whole, adopt his process, it would settle the whole race question. It mattered nothing that I tried to convince him that our present problem was to teach the Negroes how to produce enough corn to last them through one year. Another Chicago crank had a scheme by which he wanted me to join him in an effort to close up all the National banks in the country. If that was done, he felt sure it would put the Negro on his feet.

The number of people who stand ready to consume one's time, to no purpose, is almost countless. At one time I spoke before a large audience in Boston in the evening. The next morning I was awakened by having a card brought to my room, and with it a message that some one was anxious to see me. Thinking that it must be something very important, I dressed hastily and went down. When I reached the hotel office I found a blank and innocent-looking individual waiting for me, who coolly remarked: "I heard you talk at a meeting last night. I rather liked your talk, and so I came in this morning to hear you talk some more."

I am often asked how it is possible for me to superintend the work at Tuskegee and at the same time be so much away from the school. In partial answer to this I would say that I think I have learned, in some degree at least, to disregard the old maxim which says, "Do not get others to do that which you can do yourself." My motto, on the other hand, is, "Do not do that which others can do as well."

One of the most encouraging signs in connection with the Tuskegee school is found in the fact that the organization is so thorough that the daily work of the school is not dependent upon the presence of any one individual. The whole executive force, including instructors and clerks, now numbers eighty-six. This force is so organized and subdivided that the machinery of the school goes on day by day like clockwork. Most of our teachers have been connected with the institutions for a number of years, and are as much interested in it as I am. In my absence, Mr. Warren Logan, the treasurer, who has been at the school seventeen years, is the executive. He is efficiently supported by Mrs. Washington, and by my faithful secretary, Mr. Emmett J. Scott, who handles the bulk of my correspondence and keeps me in daily touch with the life of the school, and who also keeps me informed of whatever takes place in the South that concerns the race. I owe more to his tact, wisdom, and hard work than I can describe.

The main executive work of the school, whether I am at Tuskegee or not, centres in what we call the executive council. This council meets twice a week, and is composed of the nine persons who are at the head of the nine departments of the school. For example: Mrs. B.K. Bruce, the Lady Principal, the widow of the late ex-senator Bruce, is a member of the council, and represents in it all that pertains to the life of the girls at the school. In addition to the executive council there is a financial committee of six, that meets every week and decides upon the expenditures for the week. Once a month, and sometimes oftener, there is a general meeting of all the instructors. Aside from these there are innumerable smaller meetings, such as that of the instructors in the Phelps Hall Bible Training School, or of the instructors in the agricultural department.

In order that I may keep in constant touch with the life of the institution, I have a system of reports so arranged that a record of the school's work reaches me every day of the year, no matter in what part of the country I am. I know by these reports even what students are excused from school, and why they are excused—whether for reasons of ill health or otherwise. Through the medium of these reports I know each day what the income of the school in money is; I know how many gallons of milk and how many pounds of butter come from the dairy; what the bill of fare for the teachers and students is; whether a certain kind of meat was boiled or baked, and whether certain vegetables served in the dining room were bought from a store or procured from our own farm. Human nature I find to be very much the same the world over, and it is sometimes not hard to yield to the temptation to go to a barrel of rice that has come from the store—with the grain all prepared to go in the pot—rather than to take the time and trouble to go to the field and dig and wash one's own sweet potatoes, which might be prepared in a manner to take the place of the rice.

I am often asked how, in the midst of so much work, a large part of which is for the public, I can find time for any rest or recreation, and what kind of recreation or sports I am fond of. This is rather a difficult question to answer. I have a strong feeling that every individual owes it to himself, and to the cause which he is serving, to keep a vigorous, healthy body, with the nerves steady and strong, prepared for great efforts and prepared for disappointments and trying positions. As far as I can, I make it a rule to plan for each day's work—not merely to go through with the same routine of daily duties, but to get rid of the routine work as early in the day as possible, and then to enter upon some new or advance work. I make it a rule to clear my desk every day, before leaving my office, of all correspondence and memoranda, so that on the morrow I can begin a new day of work. I make it a rule never to let my work drive me, but to so master it, and keep it in such complete control, and to keep so far ahead of it, that I will be the master instead of the servant. There is a physical and mental and spiritual enjoyment that comes from a consciousness of being the absolute master of one's work, in all its details, that is very satisfactory and inspiring. My experience teaches me that, if one learns to follow this plan, he gets a freshness of body and vigour of mind out of work that goes a long way toward keeping him strong and healthy. I believe that when one can grow to the point where he loves his work, this gives him a kind of strength that is most valuable.

When I begin my work in the morning, I expect to have a successful and pleasant day of it, but at the same time I prepare myself for unpleasant and unexpected hard places. I prepared myself to hear that one of our school buildings is on fire, or has burned, or that some disagreeable accident has occurred, or that some one has abused me in a public address or printed article, for something that I have done or omitted to do, or for something that he had heard that I had said—probably something that I had never thought of saying.

In nineteen years of continuous work I have taken but one vacation. That was two years ago, when some of my friends put the money into my hands and forced Mrs. Washington and myself to spend three months in Europe. I have said that I believe it is the duty of every one to keep his body in good condition. I try to look after the little ills, with the idea that if I take care of the little ills the big ones will not come. When I find myself unable to sleep well, I know that something is wrong. If I find any part of my system the least weak, and not performing its duty, I consult a good physician. The ability to sleep well, at any time and in any place, I find of great advantage. I have so trained myself that I can lie down for a nap of fifteen or twenty minutes, and get up refreshed in body and mind.

I have said that I make it a rule to finish up each day's work before leaving it. There is, perhaps, one exception to this. When I have an unusually difficult question to decide—one that appeals strongly to the emotions—I find it a safe rule to sleep over it for a night, or to wait until I have had an opportunity to talk it over with my wife and friends.

As to my reading; the most time I get for solid reading is when I am on the cars. Newspapers are to me a constant source of delight and recreation. The only trouble is that I read too many of them. Fiction I care little for. Frequently I have to almost force myself to read a novel that is on every one's lips. The kind of reading that I have the greatest fondness for is biography. I like to be sure that I am reading about a real man or a real thing. I think I do not go too far when I say that I have read nearly every book and magazine article that has been written about Abraham Lincoln. In literature he is my patron saint.

Out of the twelve months in a year I suppose that, on an average, I spend six months away from Tuskegee. While my being absent from the school so much unquestionably has its disadvantages, yet there are at the same time some compensations. The change of work brings a certain kind of rest. I enjoy a ride of a long distance on the cars, when I am permitted to ride where I can be comfortable. I get rest on the cars, except when the inevitable individual who seems to be on every train approaches me with the now familiar phrase: "Isn't this Booker Washington? I want to introduce myself to you." Absence from the school enables me to lose sight of the unimportant details of the work, and study it in a broader and more comprehensive manner than I could do on the grounds. This absence also brings me into contact with the best work being done in educational lines, and into contact with the best educators in the land.

But, after all this is said, the time when I get the most solid rest and recreation is when I can be at Tuskegee, and, after our evening meal is over, can sit down, as is our custom, with my wife and Portia and Baker and Davidson, my three children, and read a story, or each take turns in telling a story. To me there is nothing on earth equal to that, although what is nearly equal to it is to go with them for an hour or more, as we like to do on Sunday afternoons, into the woods, where we can live for a while near the heart of nature, where no one can disturb or vex us, surrounded by pure air, the trees, the shrubbery, the flowers, and the sweet fragrance that springs from a hundred plants, enjoying the chirp of the crickets and the songs of the birds. This is solid rest.

My garden, also, what little time I can be at Tuskegee, is another source of rest and enjoyment. Somehow I like, as often as possible, to touch nature, not something that is artificial or an imitation, but the real thing. When I can leave my office in time so that I can spend thirty or forty minutes in spading the ground, in planting seeds, in digging about the plants, I feel that I am coming into contact with something that is giving me strength for the many duties and hard places that await me out in the big world. I pity the man or woman who has never learned to enjoy nature and to get strength and inspiration out of it.

Aside from the large number of fowls and animals kept by the school, I keep individually a number of pigs and fowls of the best grades, and in raising these I take a great deal of pleasure. I think the pig is my favourite animal. Few things are more satisfactory to me than a high-grade Berkshire or Poland China pig.

Games I care little for. I have never seen a game of football. In cards I do not know one card from another. A game of old-fashioned marbles with my two boys, once in a while, is all I care for in this direction. I suppose I would care for games now if I had had any time in my youth to give to them, but that was not possible.

[northcarolinaprelawland-blog]

A Look Into Protesters Rights and The First Amendment

By Elliona Bannerman, North Carolina Central University, Class of 2022

December 29, 2023

The First Amendment of the constitution states Congress makes no law according to religion or prohibiting the free exercise [1]. This amendment protects the freedom of speech, press, assembly, and the right to petition the Government without fear of punishment [1]. Simply put, this amendment affords a citizen the right to exercise their freedom to voice their thoughts without Congress being able to make a law against it. This can be difficult as it relates to protesters which can end in rioting and as a result people end up killed, beatings, pepper spray, and so forth. This often leads into those protesting being charged and sentenced to jail time, which is the purpose of this article to take a closer look into cases of protester rights and see how the first amendment contributes to the case.

In 2016, the case, Doe v. McKesson, involved a protest led by DeRay Mckesson that was based around the Black Lives Matter platform [2]. During the protest, an attendee struck a police officer named John Doe who is a part of the Baton Rouge Police Department, with an object that caused severe injuries to the officer [2]. The officer sued McKesson, stating that he organized and led the protest, so he “should have known” that violence is likely to follow [2]. This is because the protest was conducted in front of the police department, blocking entry and access to the street, with McKesson directing the protest throughout [2]. A history is shown of McKesson protests across the country that often leads to violence that includes property damage [2]. The case was dismissed in 2017 by the District Court of Louisiana that held the First Amendment and the constitutional rule that protesters and leaders can’t be liable for the actions (violent or not) of a third party unless that intentional or personally “authorized” the violence [3].

The case then went through a series of appeals with the Fifth Circuit reversing the decision and which led towards the U.S. The Supreme Court heard the case, and they ruled to vacate the Fifth Circuit decision and direct it back to the Louisiana Supreme Court to address the case in relation to the state law [3]. The case is currently in review stage by the Supreme Court, which was filed by McKesson on October 5, 2023 [3]. This case is an example of the challenge of the First Amendment and Protesting, with how it is a complex case to decide whether an individual involved in a protest can be held accountable for their actions if it results in violence or rioting. In May 2020, there were various protests happening across the world due to the killing of George Floyd by the police, and some resulted in violence between law enforcement and citizens. Since then the uproar of protests has been increasing around the country with some being held accountable for their actions in the court of law. In the state of North Carolina, Governor Cooper introduced two bills into law that discusses anti-rioting which is titled Prevent Rioting and Civil Disorder bill [4]. This increases the punishments of rioting or inciting a riot by individuals that leads to damage to property,injury, or death [4].

Those who advocate for the new law acknowledge the constitutional right of the First Amendment, but they feel those who cause peaceful protests to turn into chaos, must be held accountable in the court of law [4]. While opponents of the law fear the bill can silence voices because of the possibility of losing your right to vote if they are charged by this bill which is considered a felony [4].

The American Civil Liberties Union has established on their website information for protesters to know to protect themselves according to the First Amendment and what steps to take for preparation [5]. However, the police and government are allowed to place certain restrictions on the speech rights according to their laws to ensure the safety of communities within that specific city and state.

______________________________________________________________

[1] White House Gov. (2023). The constitution. Retrieved from https://www.whitehouse.gov/about-the-white-house/our-government/the-constitution/#:~:text=The%20First%20Amendment%20provides%20that,the%20right%20to%20bear%20 arms. [2] US Courts. (2023). United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth circuit. Retrieved from https://www.ca5.uscourts.gov/opinions/pub/17/17-30864-CV4.pdf [3] ACLU. (2023). Retrieved from https://www.aclu.org/cases/doe-v-mckesson [4] ABC 11. (2023). Anti-rioting bill becomes law without Gov. Cooper’s signature. Retrieved from https://abc11.com/rioting-stiffer-penalties-for-rioters-gov-roy-cooper-anti-rioting-bill/129 75325/ [5] ACLU. (2023). Know your rights: Protesters’ rights. Retrieved from https://www.aclu.org/know-your-rights/protesters-rights

[handfulxfhearts]

OC Bio: Mercy Miller

TW: PTSD, domestic abuse, s*xual assault, racism, bigotry, religious fundamentalism.

Age: 21 years

DOB: 4th July 2002

Nationality: American

Gender: cis-female (she/her)

Sexuality: unsure

FC: Kristen Stewart

Mercy is the second eldest of four siblings; she has an older brother, Peter, and two younger twin sisters, Chastity and Grace. Mercy was brought up in the Bible Belt of America, in Belcher, Louisiana. Her father, Paul, was one of many local farmers in this rural town, and her mother, Sarah, was a stay-at-home mother, who did lots of volunteer work in the community, such as occasionally running bible study, Sunday school and various day care provisions. Her older brother Peter is set to inherit the farm, and the three daughters were expected to do just as their mother did. While there were a few more forward thinking members of their small community, Mercy’s family was not among them; Mercy was brought up in an extremely conservative, religious household; your typical bible belt white family. The views she was brought up on were bigoted, racist, and highly intolerant of more ‘liberal’ views and people. Mercy was brought up to believe in all of this, and was told anything else she heard was wrong. Anything that went against her parents’ beliefs resulted in strict corporal punishment, usually administered by their father. Around their house you’d most likely find the confederate flag, various religious iconography, and not a whole lot of books outside of the bible. The Miller girls were expected to wear very conservative clothing, such as long skirts and stockings, and cardigans and blouses, and were not allowed to wear makeup. Paul and Peter were quite fond of their drink, and would often join the other men and husbands of the town each Friday, at the local bar, whereas the girls were expected to stay home; all of the Miller children were home schooled. When drunk, both Paul and Peter could become violent, and it was usually Mercy who received the brunt of it, mostly from her brother. She would try to protect her sisters, as they were a lot younger than her. However, despite this, Mercy genuinely believed that everything happened as God intended, and was content with her lot, believing her brother and father to be the patriarchs of the family and therefore entitled to do as they pleased. Mercy’s mother was much the same when Paul would hit her.Mercy was quite happy being ignorant of any other way of life, and would frequently engage in anti-abortion protests with her sisters and mother, and help out at religious events. But this all started to change when she was 20 years old. Mercy had been travelling, by bike, to fetch some medicine for Grace, who was unwell (none of the Millers believed in vaccinations), but was knocked off in a hit and run, by a drunk driver. She was on the side of the deserted country road for about an hour before anyone found her. She prayed and prayed for someone to come, but when that someone did, it wasn’t who she expected; a gay couple - one black, one white - who had been travelling through town on a road trip, found her and took her to hospital; they even paid for her hospital bills as she had no money and no insurance. When Mercy came to, years of bigotry and racism told her that these people were dangerous, but in truth she had never even met a gay or black person. When she realised what they had done for her, all sorts of questions began to pour into her head. Why had she been taught that this way of life was so wrong when they had saved hers, and with no expectation of being paid back? She talked with them for a while; initially she had begged them not to call her parents, knowing that there would be uproar if Mercy was found even speaking to the kinds of people her parents and community deemed so ‘wrong’. In talking to them, she found them to be some of the kindest people she had ever met. When they had promised they would leave before her parents arrived, she allowed them to call her father. She spent the next few days healing a broken femur and some bruising, listening to everyone praise God for rescuing her. Eventually, after a couple of days, she plucked up the courage to tell her mother what had really happened. Her mother was furious and told her father, and Mercy was hurt again. Throughout it all, she tried to understand why her parents had told her these people were wrong when they had saved her life. She tried to verbalise it, but only kept getting hurt. She realised her parents didn’t have a real answer. When she was fully healed from the injury, she brought it up again. Her father, furious that she wouldn’t let it go, made her homeless, telling her that she was ungrateful and that she would be punished for her sins.Now, Mercy is desperately trying to educate herself, but finds it hard to unlearn everything she’s been brainwashed into believing. She’s trying to learn what life can be like, and lives her life from shelter to shelter. She’s been arrested a couple of times for stealing food, knowing it to be wrong, but having no way of looking after herself. Because she’s been unable to pay the fine, she’s had to do community service a few times. She’s been told, one more strike, and she’ll be shipped off to prison. During community service, she’s met all sorts of different people from different walks of life and all the while she can hear her parents’ voices in her head, telling her they’re wrong, but she wants to unlearn that, even though she finds it hard. These days, she has to resign herself to doing whatever she can to get by, even if it means doing things she believes to be wrong, such as drug running and stripping. She is still a virgin, but having to strip as meant meeting some lecherous men who have paid her for sexual favours. She can’t get out of her head that for that, she’s going to Hell and that terrifies her.

Personality traits: she is quite open about her ‘beliefs’ and though she’s questioning them, sometimes she forgets herself and it comes across as intolerant and rude. She’s not particularly educated, and makes some stupid comments, and comes across quite ignorant. Outside of her upbringing, she is friendly and helpful and is open to learning more.

Appearance: She is quite skinny and pale, and has long brown hair and blue eyes. She has many scars on her back, put there by belts. She doesn’t have much of a fashion sense, and has been reduced to stealing clothes from the trash or charity bins, due to being homeless. She’s trying to find her own style, and experiments with makeup she finds.

Triggers: aggressive men.

Qualifications: none - homeschooled.

Occupation: unemployed.

Mental/Physical Issues: she is quite malnourished and has some PTSD relating to her home abuse and s*xual a*sault on the streets - suffers from night terrors.

[college-girl199328]

The University of Lethbridge says a speech by a former Mount Royal University professor fired in 2021 amid an uproar over her controversial comments on residential schools won't be allowed space on campus.

But the academic says she still intends to show up and give her talk entitled, "How "Woke-ism" Threatens Academic Freedom."

Widdowson had been scheduled this week to provide a lecture Wednesday night on the University of Louisiana campus.

Mike Mahon, president and vice chancellor of the university, wrote in a statement Monday that the U of L had sought guidance over the past few days upon learning of the planned lecture involving Widdowson.

That was a turnaround from a Thursday statement from the U of L. In that statement, Mahon wrote that Widdowson's views conflict with those held by the university, including its stated commitment to the Calls to Action of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada.

However, it added that the lecture would be allowed to proceed, citing its policies on free expression.

On Monday, Mahon said that the U of L had received "considerable input" from internal and external communities.

Mahon was responding to days of protests from students and some faculty. Widdowson had been invited to speak on campus by faculty member Paul Viminitz, who works in the philosophy department at the university. Viminitz declined a request for an interview.

Two petitions had received more than 2,500 signatures demanding the speech be cancelled as of publication time.

Before being fired, Widdowson had been a tenured professor at MRU in economics, justice, and policy studies. She made headlines in 2020 after saying the Black Lives Matter movement had destroyed the university and that there had been an educational benefit to residential schools.

That prompted more than 6,000 people to call for her firing via a petition. She was dismissed from the Calgary institution in late 2021. At the time, she attributed her firing to her criticizing "woke ideas" and suggested that "identity politics" had prevented people from discussing ideas at the university.

Since then, she's made such subjects a regular part of her public appearances. That page had raised more than $39,000 as of January 30. She wrote that the school's faculty association was taking her case to arbitration this month.

Widdowson has been hailed as an example of the alleged erosion of academic freedom on university campuses. But her comments have also drawn heavy criticism, with others suggesting they amount to harmful historical falsehoods.

Nathan Crow, a full-time student at the U of L and the Indigenous student representative on the University of Lethbridge student's union council, said false narratives can be harmful.

CBC News has reached out to Alberta's minister of advanced education, Demetrios Nicolaides, for comment.

[ohiomailboxvirtual]

Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox: Kyrie Irving tweet draws fans wearing “Fight Antisemitism” shirts to game

Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox: Kyrie Irving tweet draws fans wearing “Fight Antisemitism” shirts to game Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox Kyrie Irving tweet draws fans wearing “Fight Antisemitism” shirts to game by Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox on Tuesday 01 November 2022 06:56 AM UTC-05 | Tags: #lasvegasnevadamailbox las-vegas-nevada-mailbox The Brooklyn Nets star posted a link to an antisemitic film, then yanked the tweet after it sparked an uproar. Ohio Oklahoma Oregon Pennsylvania Puerto Rico Rhode Island South Carolina South Dakota Tennessee Texas United States Wyoming US Virgin Islands Utah Vermont Virginia Washington D.C. Washington West Virginia Porters Sideling Pennsylvania Folsom Louisiana November 01, 2022 at 05:56AM Tags: #lasvegasnevadamailbox las-vegas-nevada-mailbox Columbus Illinois Gorham Maine De Borgia Montana Crossville Alabama Wilmer Alabama https://unitedstatesvirtualmail.blogspot.com/2022/11/las-vegas-nevada-mailbox-kyrie-irving.html November 01, 2022 at 07:50AM https://lasvegasnevadamailbox.tumblr.com/post/699727554239741952

[unitedstatesmailboxvirtual]

Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox: Kyrie Irving tweet draws fans wearing "Fight Antisemitism" shirts to game

Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox: Kyrie Irving tweet draws fans wearing "Fight Antisemitism" shirts to game Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox Kyrie Irving tweet draws fans wearing "Fight Antisemitism" shirts to game by Las Vegas Nevada Mailbox on Tuesday 01 November 2022 06:56 AM UTC-05 | Tags: #lasvegasnevadamailbox las-vegas-nevada-mailbox The Brooklyn Nets star posted a link to an antisemitic film, then yanked the tweet after it sparked an uproar. Ohio Oklahoma Oregon Pennsylvania Puerto Rico Rhode Island South Carolina South Dakota Tennessee Texas United States Wyoming US Virgin Islands Utah Vermont Virginia Washington D.C. Washington West Virginia Porters Sideling Pennsylvania Folsom Louisiana November 01, 2022 at 05:56AM Tags: #lasvegasnevadamailbox las-vegas-nevada-mailbox Dousman Wisconsin Castroville Texas Katie Oklahoma Goodfield Illinois Virtual Mailbox November 01, 2022 at 06:50AM

[thelouisianauproar]

Louisiana Uproar - Chapter 27

Summary: Jason takes in Anna, an escaped member of the Ensanglante Cult; Dottie travels to Empire Bay and meets an old friend of Vito Scaletta’s.

I met with Travis at the Frazier offices.

“You here because of the rumor that I want out?” “Do you?” “What’s the right answer?” He makes a drink. “Don’t worry, I told him you wanted out, too.” “Who?” “Maguire. Dude from the state department.” He seems to so impressed with himself. “We could put these guys out, Dot.” “No.” The anger boils inside of me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” “Dottie. You’re gonna be worth more than them. Cut it before the boardwalk.” “That’s fine, the man is an investigator. I came to you for a reason. I knew your name.” I pause. “You want to get us killed?” I need to put fear in him. “I want to save us.”

“I assure you---this isn’t the way.” I pause. “Tell you what? I appreciate what you were trying to do. Keep your head down and I’ll consider how to keep us alive.�� “That guy is a resource.” “I don’t need him, yet.” I sigh, before leaving.

When I get home, Nicki is watching the television. We haven’t been the same since my drunken conversation with John. She doesn’t look to the door when I get in. The phone rings and I grab it, because I am closer. “Burke-Jetson.” “Dot, I’d like to see you at my place.” “Sure, what’s up?” “I’ll be here.” Jason hangs up. I guess that means now. I grab my keys and leave again.

“Jason.” I greet when he lets me inside. “Shhh. She’s asleep.” “Who?”  Jason points to the petite woman, she’s sleeping on his couch. “Her name is Anna.” “Oh, Anna.” I pretend like I have an idea who she is. “Ray and I heard of a place.” He says, “we went over there, today, and she came bursting out. A few men were after her.” “The men?” “Ray and I dealt with ‘em. Freakish looking.” He says, “she’s pretty gone in the head.” He hands me the horrific photos. Pictures of dead people, carved up, it looks ritualistic.

“What do we do with her?”

“She has some information that I need.” He says, “but she can’t stay here.” “So you want me to find a place for her?” “That I can access.’ “Okay.” I take some time to think. “I’ll be back.”

Today is turning longer than I planned.

“Good evening, father, is this a bad time?” “Dorothy. Come in.” “I won’t be long.” I step in. “I came to ask you for a favor.” “What’s going on?” “We found a girl running from a cult. It was a bad situation and she’s damaged.” “So, you need her out of the city?” “Hidden.” I say, “these people don’t seem right. Neither is she, I hear.” “I have...a parishioner who is out of town. Her apartment is safe. In Tickfaw.”

“I’ll call my guy.”

By midnight, we have Anna moved to that apartment. I haven’t had much to say to her, but I want to find out what she knows.

It turns out that Father knows a bit about the Ensanglante. Sammy and a few others had battled them, in the past.

“Anna.” I saw while the two men talk. “B-Bonnie?” “No, I’m Dottie. Nice to meet you.” I nod. The men join us. “You remember Jason. This here’s father.” I gesture to them. “Anna.” Jason sits. “You know anything about this?” He gives her a painted playing card.

She tells us her story. At times, she seems perfectly coherent. I can’t help but look at the splashes of blood on her clothes. Poor girl, it sounds terrible what she went though. “And the tears and...the bl-blood. He was choking. Th-th-the...sadness.” “Anna.” Jason says, “People like this have a process for indoctrination. Where else did Bonnie take you?” She looks out of breath. “..A night club...Uh...Nuit Blanche. That’s where they bring people to the family.” “Familiar to you?” “They took that bar.” Jason says, “hippie club.” “And that playing card...it’s the only way they’ll let you in.” “Got you.” He gets up. “You did good here, Anna.” I assure her. “Be careful, Jason.” He nods to me. “I did...good. I-I...good.” She repeats. She looks like she’s gonna lie back down. She’s saying something to herself. “Be careful of the fallen sky!” Whoa. I can’t gather the rest of what she repeats, I don’t understand. She plops down to rest.

---

Is anything in my life stable, at this point?  The company is about it.

“Dottie.” Stacy says. “Stacy.” I greet. “Mr. Saggio is here to see you.” Great. After my last conversation with Larry and Pierre, I don’t want to be seen with him. “Send him in.” “Hi there.” “Hello.” I put my files down. “Danna is not happy.” “Yeah, I’d imagine not.” “Don’t worry, kid.” He shrugs. “With all of us. He’s upset with you about the committee, me about this Ensanglante business. Shit, Morty is the only person he hasn’t shut out.”

Well, that’s not how you do business. “He wants us to announce everything to the team---today.” “Today?” “Today.” He starts a cigarette. Danna is having a hissy fit. “Watch your ass after this, kid.” He says, “you’d think you’re exempt from being put down.” “You thought you were exempt.” “I didn’t.” He adds. “Kid, I’ve been in this business a lot of years. No one is exempt.” He pushes out a breath and offers me a cigarette. What the hell? I shrug and he lights. “You met our friend, Anna?” “I did.” “How is she?” “Resting when I left her.” I say, “She isn’t right.” “No.” Ray slightly shakes it off. “Those people...are beating me, DOt.”

“We’ll  get them.” “They might be my Lincoln Clay. A fucking cult.” He says, “and that guy, Jason? I knew you were holding out on me.” “Is it holding out if he’s working with you?” I turn to him. “Ray, I gotta prepare for today.” “Pity parties don’t last for you, huh?” He stands and finishes his drink.

It’s hard to describe the looks on their faces when I made the announcement. I try to give a good opener, drop the bombshell, tell them what I know, and end with a supportive finish. This is a rough time for the team, and it’s only gotten worse.

“Nicki.” I catch up to her as she’s headed to her car. “Hey.” She pauses. Despite her being upset with me, I can see her empathy.

“I tried.” “I know you did.” She touches my cheeks. “You did the best you could.” “Thank you.” We share a quick kiss. “I’ll see you at home.” I say, seeing Morty run up. “Dot, hey, the Don wants to see you.” Oh, great. Nicki and I exchange one more look before I leave.

“Good work out there.”

“Seriously?” “You did the best you could.” “So what’s going on?” Morty starts a cigarette.

“It’s a shit show-”

The Don spots me. “Don Danna.” “Dot.” He nods to me. Morty leaves. “Dot, someone with the commission has been tipped off about the committee forming. They want answers.” “Great.” “You had it under control back there. We all had good things to say about you, the last time you went to meet with the Commission. Work your charm and get them off our backs.”

“Understood. Yes, sir.”

---

I flew out with Danna to Empire Bay. This place is always associated with death to me. I think about Vito, when I came here to meet Ray and Danna. I feel like I’m potentially walking into an ambush. I look over at the Don, we’re sitting in first class. I don’t trust him, I don’t even think he should be the Don. He’s just throwing me under the bus.

The first night, we were invited to a very nice restaurant. I’m nervous and I’m expecting a gunshot to the back of my head. I have to remind myself to keep a plastic smile. It’s like all the etiquette that my father taught me is working.

Ninety minutes in and I’m hating all of this. These men have come together to suck their own dicks. The compliments flow like water. It looks like one big reunion for the Don. My only escape is the bar or bathroom.

“Who is this young lady?” A heavy set man, slightly older than me, says.

“This is one of my associates, Dottie.” We shake hands. “Dottie, this is Randy Barbozo.” “Pleased to meet you.” “The pleasure is mine.” “Randy used to run around with me, a few years back.” More dick sucking.

As the night progresses, Randy is still making eyes at me. I’m bored and I’m game for something different.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, you know that?” “I’ve noticed.” “It’s nearly ten. You can leave now.” He attempts to dismiss me. My head snaps to him. “A-alls I’m saying is I have a better place to take you.”

“I’m fine.” Now, he wants to save me. “Hey, I’m bored too. Why not change pace?” I look around at the white men in the room. “I’ll bring my car around.” He raises his eyebrow once or twice.

I don’t want to stay in the love fest, but going with Randy is how women get murdered. I slip outside to call a taxi. He’s outside.

“Hey!” He honks, noting my embarrassment, he laughs.  What the hell? I’m a made guy. A made guy who is probably gonna die on this trip, either way.  I get in his car and check his backseat. “Hey, it’s all good.” He shrugs. “We might even make it.” “Where are we going?”

He took me to a boxing match. The seats are pretty good. There is a man yelling at the fighters. He gives a head nod to us both. Nice crowd.

“That’s my friend, Joe. He’s friends with the guy who runs this joint.” He gestures. We take a seat, at the front, with Joe.

What time is it? I’m actually having a good time, already. His friend, Joe, gestures for me to switch seats with Randy, so he does. Now, I’m sitting next to Joe. We pop up and stand as one fighter staggers before getting knocked out. Everyone is so excited. It’s deafening in here!

“Nice to meet you.” Joe puts out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Joe Barbaro.”

My legs nearly give out from under me. I bring both my hands to hold his. “I-” Fix your face, Dot.

“Have we met?” Joe notices my reaction. I get on my the tips of toes to say, in his ear:

“Only in my dreams.” “Oh?” He takes my hand and kisses it.

The night progressed and I’m glad I’m here. Joe is a cool cat. Towards the end of the night, he dismissed Randy. “I’ll get you a ride out of here.” “Sure.” He’s such a gentleman.

We walked through the crowd and take an elevator downstairs.

“So, where ya headed after this?” “I’m headed to the Empire Arms.” “Oh. Big meeting after this?” “You bet.” I don’t want to talk about that right now.

“What do ya do? Randy said Don Danna brought you to an event.” “He did. I handle his affairs.” The door opens and he gestures for me to leave first. He gestures at something. “Car’s coming.” He tells me. “Listen, if you’ll be here tomorrow night. I could take you on a nice night.” “I could use more fun like tonight.” I nod. “Sure.” “I’ll find you at the Empire Arms.” “Or with Danna.” A black vehicle pulls up and Joe gets the door. “Thanks for this, Joe.” “Thanks for showing up.” I take a step closer. “I would have loved to see what Joe Barbaro and Vito Scaletta were like as kids.” “What?” “I named a restaurant after Vito. Scaletta’s Ristorante.” Joe doesn’t know what to say. I simply get in the car.

“Ray speaking.”

“Ray, it’s Dot. I need a favor.” “It’s late.” “In the morning. Call Joe Barbaro and vouch for me.” “Vouch what?” “That I know Vito.” There’s a pause. “You got it. Now, how’s it going out there?”

---

The next morning, I have meetings with commission regarding the hearing. Just like my first meeting with Ray, Danna, and Mr. Galante; it’s a lot of talk. I just had to make these men trust that I know what I’m doing. It’s not easy, considering I’m the only black person in the room.

After the meeting, I stood at the bar of Empire Arms hotel. He knows that I want him. He just has to get here. “You uuhhh come here, often?” “Just one more night.” I flash him a bright smile. “Let’s make it count.” He extends his arm for me to hook.

We start off at a diner.

“Ray tells me that you and Vito were friends.” “He thought you died.” “Hey, me too. I thought Galante took care of Vito in that very car.” “Hmm.” I paused. “I loved Vito.”

We spend time relating to each other over food. They seem so different, yet similar. Joe is forty-seven. He’s married with two daughters in high school. They happen to be out of town. Like Vito, he’s done prison time.

I hear him chuckle when he returns from the bathroom.

“What?” I follow his smile. “So, old Vito mentored you?” “Among other things.” “I must say that I’m impressed.” he says, “You talk about me and Vito. You and...Clay must have been something.” “We’re far from you and Vito. Why do you think so?” “Unique looking.” Because we’re black? “That guy was a monster. I have to give him a double take.” “What does that say about me?” I ask, teasingly. “Hey, kid, something is different about you. Maybe it’s because you don’t look like you belong here.” We make eye contact and he winks. I try to hide my smile.

“Do you miss him?” “Sure, you can’t have a friend like that and not miss him.” He pauses. “You got any friends like that, kid?”

I pause to think. Maybe Nicki? Or Betty? Betty, more so than Nicki. I look at Joe and I guess my answer is telling. The waiter comes with two drinks in small glasses.

“You serve alcohol at diners?” “Only for special guests.”

“Cheers.” We both take a drink. He’s still looking at me. “I miss him.”

“Yeah.” “I get this sinking feeling that if he were alive. He’d be doing my job.” “I wouldn’t say that too loud, kid. On account of people might think things.” “I didn’t kill him.” I shrug. “I’ll have you know, I killed people because I thought they killed him.” I think I’ve had enough of this conversation.

“Hey, kid, I got some old pics of Vito back at my place. We could---” This sounds interesting. I lean forward and he nearly stops speaking. “I think you’re very interesting, Joe.” I say, “So I want to be honest with you.” Joe says nothing. “Tonight...when we go back to your place and...you know. Could I call you his name?” “Oh.” He thinks. “Vito?” “Please. I’m going to do it, either way. I just want to show you...respect.” “That’s a hell of an ask, kid.” He pauses. “Let me think on it. Let’s go someplace darker.”

Joe took me for a drive around Empire Bay. He showed me some historical spots. It’s nice. Maybe this is just how Vito was. I always heard he was old school, you just don’t meet people like them these days.

He brought me to some bar. Do they know him everywhere he goes? We walk arm in arm, Joe says it’s so people know that I’m cool. I’m him, always in his direct sight.

I haven’t played this role in a long time: girlish, young, still learning. It’s refreshing.

“Your drink.” I put it down next to Joe, he’s playing poker. “Hey, thanks.” “Who is the girl.” One guy asked. “She’s a friend of mine. My right hand for tonight.” Interesting choice of words.  “Hey, are you having a good time?” “A great time.” I pause. “What time is it?” “It’s nearly midnight.” I check his watch. I’m not sure why I took his wrist. I’m too drunk to read time. “I have to catch a flight in six hours.” “We should get you out of here, then.”

My hormones are running wild in his car and I can’t feel my face.

“How are ya doing over there?” He checks on me.

“I can’t believe you can drive, right now.” I smile. “Years of practice.” His hand finds between my legs. He’s touching me harder than I’m used to.  I close my eyes and imagine Vito’s hand. “You alright?”

“Are you really taking me to your place?” “Sure.” “What about your family?” “They won’t be back tonight.”

He lives in a nice place. I’d hoped to see Vito live in a place like this. The thought sobers me.

“Get comfortable.” He offers a drink. “I got something for ya.”

Joe leaves and returns with a photo album. “What’s this?” “I told ya.” I start to flip. I always knew Vito was an attractive young man.

“What’s the attraction here, kid?” “Between us?” “Between you and Vito.” “I told you. He was my boss, he looked out for me.” A lot. “I…” I think back to those days. I think of Alma, she loved him too. “This business… it changes you and-” I try to breathe in my tears. “He made me feel I wasn’t so alone. He heard me. He..” I chuckle. “Taught me how to be around them, without going yes, master.”

“Sounds deep, kid.” “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.” “You’re different...he always liked those.” I stand and try to gather myself.

“Joe, I’m gonna ask you again.” Joe gestures lightly like he wants to hear it. “In about ten minutes…” A smile forms across my face. “Could I call you his name?” “You have no clue how sick of a request that is.” he stops, “Yes, you can call me what you want.”

---

Nothing special was accomplished by having sex with Joe Barbaro, besides that I slept with someone new. He didn’t feel like Vito. How could he? They were shaped differently. Joe didn’t fuck me, I fucked him, he was too fat. The name “Vito” escaped my lips, just as I was sure it would.

It was just great to relate to Joe. He made me think about things. I thought I was a terrible person for cheating on Nicki. Look at Joe, he brought me to the bed that he shares with his wife. I must be in good company.

Nonetheless, Joe drove me to the airport with no sleep in our system. “You’re one of a kind, kid.” He tells me as he pulls over. “And you’re a wild ride.” We pop out to get my luggage. “You wanna know a tip? Between us?” “One for the road.” “Invest in the Jetson Organization.” I tell him. “Don’t tell your friends. Just you.” “Will do.” “We’re gonna blow up by October. Trust me.”

When we arrived back to New Bordeaux’s airport. There are men waiting to take us to our respective homes.

“Good job out there.” Danna gives me a nod. “It’s a waiting game.” The man in black opens the backseat.

“Have a good day.” I slip inside and the doors close. I feel a shift in my seat and my car speeds away. The man who closed the door doesn’t have the time to load my bags. My head snaps behind me to see Danna in the distance. I’m about to get whacked. “Driver! Driver!” I hit the glass.

The vehicle is armored, of course. I can’t get out. I try to yell to any drivers but the windows are tinted. The window to the driver rolls down and something is thrown to me. It smokes heavily. Is he trying to drug me? It looks like a joint so I roll it against the window to put it out. The energy feels like it is being sucked out of me before I can’t take it anymore.

[provokedgoalie]

If you've never tried doritos (or any other chips) and/or pizza with hot sauce, I pray for your soul

[yourreddancer]

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

May 4, 2022 (Wednesday)The uproar over the leaked draft of the Supreme Court decision overturning Roe v. Wade continues. You can tell just how furious the reaction has been by the fact that establishment Republicans are desperately trying to turn the public conversation to the question of who leaked the document.

They are baselessly blaming the opposition to the decision—a Newsmax host blamed Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson, who hasn’t even taken her seat yet—for the leak, although observers point out that the leak seems more likely to have come from a hard-core right-wing antiabortion activist, since it will make it very hard for any of those justices currently in the majority to soften their stance.

The draft decision takes a sweepingly broad position against Roe v. Wade, declaring that the Fourteenth Amendment cannot protect the right to abortion because such a right is not “deeply rooted in this Nation’s history and tradition.” This opens the door to similar attacks on constitutional rights previously established by the Supreme Court: the right to use birth control, marry regardless of race and gender lines, and engage in sexual intimacy between consenting adults.

 Republican lawmakers are downplaying the reach of the apparent decision, avoiding the question of whether gay rights are next on the chopping block. Bryan Metzger of Business Insider asked “nearly a dozen” Republican senators whether they think the draft decision overturning Roe v. Wade threatens the 2015 Obergefell v. Hodges decision recognizing the right to same-sex marriage, and whether they supported overturning the Obergefell decision. Metzger wrote: “None gave a clear yes or no answer, and several outright declined to comment.” A year ago, seventy percent of Americans supported gay marriage.

The popularity of civil rights might not matter much: law professors Melissa Murray and Leah Litman noted in the Washington Post that “[p]erhaps the most stunning feature of the opinion is that its indignant tone and aggressive reasoning make clear how empowered this conservative majority believes itself to be.”

Indeed, right-wing commentators are emboldened by the apparent success of their drive to take away the constitutional right to abortion. The Committee on Administration of Criminal Justice in the Louisiana legislature today reported favorably on a fetal personhood bill that protects “human life, created in the image of God…equally…from fertilization to natural death,” meaning that abortion is homicide and prosecutors can charge patients with murder.

Right-wing commentators today called for the court to end recognition of the right to gay marriage, and Texas governor Greg Abbott said that Texas might challenge the 1982 Plyler v. Doe decision, in which the Supreme Court ruled that the state could not withhold state funds to educate undocumented immigrant children from local school districts. “I think we will resurrect that case and challenge this issue again,” Abbott told a talk show host, “because the expenses are extraordinary and the times are different than when Plyler versus Doe was issued many decades ago.”

The draft decision has been a clarifying moment for the country. Washington Post columnist Jennifer Rubin told journalists to stop referring to the convulsions in the country today as “culture wars,” as if they were “a battle between two sides over hemlines or movie ratings.” Instead, she wrote, “This is religious tyranny…in which the right seeks to break through all restraints on government power in an effort to establish a society that aligns with a minority view of America as a White, Christian country.” 

When reporters asked him about the draft, President Joe Biden said: “This MAGA crowd is really the most extreme political organization that’s existed in American history.”

Today documents from the Department of Justice revealed that on the evening of January 6th, after the rioters had left the Capitol, Stewart Rhodes, the leader of the right-wing Oath Keepers militia group, begged an individual who was in contact with then-president Trump to authorize his and similar groups to stop the transfer of power with force. The group had quick reaction force (QRF) teams, firearms, and combat gear stashed outside the city to use if called upon. The individual refused to put Rhodes into direct contact with Trump, but the person appears to have been within the president’s inner circle, bringing the investigation closer to Trump. That night, court documents recorded, “Rhodes continued to discuss the need to prepare for a larger fight against the government akin to the American Revolutionary War.” (There seem to be an awful lot of references to 1776 around January 6, don’t there?)

Yet another leaked tape from House minority leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA), in which he said that “what the president did is atrocious and totally wrong,” showed that immediately after the insurrection, even Republicans realized that Trump had gone too far, and their hope was simply to move him offstage and get people to focus on moving forward. The party quickly snapped back to his side, though, when it became clear that his base wouldn’t abandon him.

"One of the most stunning and sad things in my view that has happened since January 6 has been the realization that the vast majority of...my party, when the chips were down and the time of testing came, they didn't do the right thing," Representative Liz Cheney (R-WY), one of the two Republicans to sit on the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol, said today.

The events of January 6 did not prompt many leading supporters to break from the Republican Party, but this attempt to erase our rights and establish a state religion might spark a political realignment. 

This moment seems to echo the days after the 1857 Dred Scott v. Sandford decision took away voters’ ability to stop the spread of human enslavement. Like the draft decision we have seen this week, that decision was clearly political and drew on appallingly bad history to reach a conclusion that gave extraordinary power to the country’s wealthiest men. Horace Greeley, the prominent editor of the New York Daily Tribune, wrote that the Dred Scott decision was “entitled to just so much moral weight as would be the judgment of a majority of those congregated in any Washington bar-room.” Three months later, the Illinois Republican Party nominated Abraham Lincoln for senator. With his acceptance speech, he began the process of reclaiming equality as the central principle of the United States by giving his famous House Divided speech in which he warned that there was a plan afoot to spread enslavement across the entire country.

In the present, not only are the streets full of protesters, but also the three Republican governors in New England—Charlie Baker (MA), Chris Sununu (NH), and Phil Scott (VT)-—have all said they will protect abortion rights in their states. Levi Strauss & Company, the clothing manufacturer, today called on business leaders to protect the health and well-being of their employees, defending the reproductive rights that have enabled women to participate more fully in the economy in the past 50 years. 

The world has changed since the Supreme Court decided Roe v. Wade in 1973. Levi Strauss noted that today, 58% of its workforce is female. And as Rebecca Solnit pointed out in The Guardian, the various groups now under attack form a broad coalition. “It doesn’t really matter if they’re coming for you, because they’re coming for us,” she wrote. And “[u]s these days means pretty much everyone who’s not a straight white Christian man with rightwing politics.” 

Justice Samuel Alito, the author of the draft opinion, has canceled a public appearance tomorrow. And tonight, according to Washington, D.C., journalist Lindsay Watts, security officials have begun to install nonscalable fencing around the Supreme Court. THEY SHOULD STOP INSTALLING THAT FENCE!  LET THE MOB GET AHOLD OF THOSE ASSHOLES!