#and the new Santiago one also feels really young to me‚ in her 30s at the oldest

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

I'm using human ages in () as a reference point/general age brackets

[pascalpanic]

Alpha Beta Charlie- A Frankie Morales Story

Summary: Frankie is a lonely man with a big heart. His life changes when a new girl comes into his life.

W/C: 4.1k

Warnings: This one is a little heavy. Lots of language, talk of poor mental health (Frankie has depression and anxiety), Frankie’s recovering from a coke addiction, alcohol is prevalent here, harm to animals, lots of talk of blood and injuries.

A/N: This story is different than I normally write. There’s no reader in the story, this is just a story about Frankie Morales and a moment in his life. Please note that this is darker as it centers around an injured animal. Be warned of that. P.S. some of my friends might see ur names in here :) thank u to all of my friends who helped me pick Charlie’s name, and to @ilikechocolatemilkh who helped me create this whole story!

Frankie Morales is a kindhearted man. Anyone who meets him knows it instantly. He’s got a wonderful laugh that’s warm and inviting, and it’s often on display to anyone who chats with him for more than a few seconds. He’s caring, it’s clear, with big brown eyes that radiate compassion. 

His friends would describe him more as an idiot. Frankie, who they call Catfish from their days in the military, insists that they’re the idiots. He’s the voice of reason in their group, making the rational decisions and de-escalating fights within their group. 

That’s not to say Frankie is entirely sunshine and rainbows. He’s now several months sober from a long and grueling addiction to cocaine. It ruined him: it took away his pilot’s license, his everything in life. Flying helicopters was Frankie’s passion, but he’s recovering. He’s on the right track.

He had a girlfriend, who became his fiancée, and left him not long after he returned home from a dangerous mission in South America. It didn’t matter anyway; her child, who Frankie had dedicated all of his heart to before the birth, was revealed to be another man’s. As much as she resented him for taking the mission, he resented her for cheating and lying and holding the information back.

So now Frankie lives on his own. He resides out in a more rural town, not far from where Benny has his weekly fights and Will (also known as Ironhead) works with young military recruits. It’s been a couple of months, and it’s hard to be alone. Santiago pops into town once or twice a month, and it’s always the highlight of Frankie’s very being. His best friend brings light and laughter into his life. When he leaves again, Frankie’s small home feels massive and quiet.

He plays lots of CDs. He has bluetooth speakers all around the home and blasts his favorite songs. He’s learned how to cook and clean and has even learned how to bake a decent, basic version of a nice loaf of bread. He works as a mechanic at a shop in his small town’s center, working the odd hours that no one else wants, the hours where others want to be home with their families.

He’d considered different options to make the house more home-like, more welcoming. He tried his hand at gardening, only to find that he had the opposite of a green thumb. He painted the walls a warmer color, then painted them again. He was currently considering changing the colors for the third time. He’d burn candles that he thought smelled nice. He’d hung up a few photos of him and his friends, or his family. Nothing really worked.

A typical night for Frankie held one of two patterns:

-Night A: Frankie gets home from the shop at about 7:30, hands covered in grease and smelling of burnt motor oil. He gets in the shower and cleans up, then either ends up at Benny’s arena to cheer him on, or at the bar with both Miller brothers.

-Night B: Frankie gets home at the same time. He showers to clean himself, simply because he hates leaving smudges over his home. He cooks a nice dinner or orders takeout. He eats it on the couch and watches a new Netflix series. He gets sad and feels alone and drinks a beer, then a few more, to drown the sensation. He goes to bed early and calls into the shop to see if any of the morning shift workers want to go home early, because he can come in an hour or two before his shift. He claims it’s for the overtime pay. It’s really to avoid the loneliness.

Frankie likes patterns. He likes routine. It’s soothing. Maybe it’s a remnant of his military days, where not a second would pass without having a title affixed to the very second he was living in. Predictability made the hurt easier.

Tonight was an A Night. Frankie and the Miller brothers sat at the bar of McCreary’s and talked about everything and nothing at once. Will talked about the new girl he was seeing. Benny made lewd comments. Frankie smacked his arm and ordered another round for the other two, then nursed one beer for the entire night.

Winters were the worst for Catfish. He lived in the South, where snow was uncommon, but the dreary February weather stole whatever energy he could muster up and sent it up to join the gray masses that hung in the sky, yet never shed their raindrops. It gets dark early, another thing Frankie hates. It reminds him of the look on Tom’s face when he died. Of the way his bachelor home never made sounds unless he created them. Of the way the craving for one more hit of that devious white powder felt, the way it scrambled his brain until he thought it was the only thing that could take it away. 

This A Night, which also happened to be an especially chilly Tuesday, Frankie drove home from the bar at 12:21. The backroads that lead from the suburbs out to the rolling hills are dark, with a rare streetlight or two illuminating a fork in the road that led to a house. The radio droned on, some old Waylon Jennings song that was threatening to send Frankie into a fit of rage and smash a fist into his dashboard. He turned off the radio instead.

Another car drove the opposite way, far in the distance. He could see the lights approaching, then dim slightly. Frankie turned off his brights, instead allowing the road to be illuminated just by his front headlights. He turns up the heat in his truck as a shiver runs down his spine.

Something is running across the road. Frankie can see it now. It’s far from him, but visible in the other car’s light. He slams on his brakes, his body jerking forward.

The other car doesn’t slow.

He slams his horn several times, for whatever is in the road and the other driver.

The thing doesn’t move.

The car doesn’t slow.

The car and the creature- oh fuck, it’s an animal- collide.

Everything that happens next is too quick. The car stops for a moment. Frankie whips the truck into park and turns on his hazards.

The other car stops for a moment. Frankie can just make out a silhouette inside. He gets out of his truck, eyes wide and frantic. He runs to the animal’s side.

The car drives off.

Dust swirls across the road as the car’s tail lights fade into the distance. Leaving just Frankie and his truck and the mangled mess of fur and blood.

“Fucker!” Frankie screams after the car. “You fuckin’ bastard! You didn’t even check, you motherfucker!”

He gets closer and realizes it’s a dog. Its fur is white and brown and so painstakingly red with its own blood, and it whimpers and cries and Frankie realizes the poor fucking thing is still alive. Whether it’s his caretaking or his military instincts that kick in, Frankie isn’t sure, but before he knows it he’s ripping off his jacket and picking up the poor poor baby, oh you little angel, he coos to it, wrapping it in the denim and setting it in his passenger seat.

It’s still whimpering and crying, and Frankie gets in the driver’s seat and grabs his phone. “Nearest 24-hour pet hospital,” he shouts into it, hands shaking. He doesn’t realize either reaction is happening. It gets the words wrong. “No, fuck,” he groans, shifting the truck into drive and whipping a U-turn. He types in the words as he starts to speed back in the direction of the town. He knows he shouldn’t text and drive and normally he doesn’t, but he’s a fucking former military helicopter pilot, he rationalizes with himself, he can handle this. He finds the directions and types them in and tears start dripping from his eyes.

“Hang in there, buddy, hey,” he says and rubs the poor dog’s big ears as they drive. “It’s gonna be 30 minutes. Think you can hang on for me?” he asks it, not expecting a response. He wants to check the dog’s sex but now is certainly not the time, not while he’s doing 85 in a 60 zone and the dog’s blood is seeping into his denim jacket and his passenger seat.

The tears are flowing freely from his eyes now, his heart breaking. He can feel the animal’s shallow breaths as he drives, and he sobs to himself. “Hang on, buddy. It’s gonna be okay, I gotcha. I’m Frankie,” he introduces himself to the dog, “and I’m gonna take real good care of you. You’re gonna be alright and we’re gonna get you fixed up and back to your owners.”

The drive takes 24 minutes when Frankie is flying down the backroads. Fuck if a cop sees him. Fuck blowing a tire. That can be cared for later, when there’s not a dying creature next to him. A steady murmur of ‘it’s okay’ spills from Frankie’s lips. He’s not sure if he’s saying it to the dog or himself. One hand firmly grips the steering wheel and the other never leaves the animal’s body. He comforts the poor creature, murmuring more reassurances the closer they get. 

“Please hang in there for me, cariño,” Frankie whimpers, chewing his bleeding lip. “I gotcha. It’s all gonna be alright, bud.”

When he sees the hospital, he drives a little faster. He pulls into the emergency room area and parks in front of the door, turning on his hazards and running inside. There are a few veterinary nurses inside and they greet him, but their looks turn to fear when they see the denim-wrapped animal. “Please, please, Idon’tknowthisisn’tmydogitwasahitandrunandIpickeditup-”

“It’s alright, sir, come with us. Please breathe and tell us again,” a kind woman tells him with a hand on his arm, rushing him and the dog back. Frankie calms down after a moment and explains what happened. “It’s not my dog, I don’t know whose dog this is, you gotta check it for a chip-” he rambles.

“It’s alright, sir,” the nurse tells him kindly and takes the dog from his arms. Frankie clutches after it and a new woman pushes his arms down. “We’re going to take it back and operate on it. Would you please wait here for us? We’ll come give you updates as we get them,” she tells him, gesturing to the waiting room. He nods. “And is this your dog’s first time here?” She asks.

The tears come back, choking his throat as water falls steadily from his eyes. “It’s not even my fuckin’ dog, man,” he whimpers, worrying his lip between his teeth again.

The woman is still kind. “I see. Please, sit, Mr….”

“Morales,” he manages out.

She nods. “Mr. Morales. I understand you’re worried. Please just wait in here for us and we’ll bring you information when we have it.” He nods softly, grabbing a tissue from the front desk. He wipes his eyes and nose. “My truck is parked right outside, it’s in the way, I’ll go park it somewhere else,” he tells her.

“That’s perfectly fine, sir. You can even leave and come back if you’d like.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her and walk-jogs outside, getting in his car and bringing it around to park.

-

Frankie enters the emergency room again and sits in a chair. He worries and worries for hours, texting his group chat with the Millers and Santiago. He gives them a play-by-play, but only Santiago responds. He sits awake for another hour, nervously wringing his ball cap.

The dog must be alive, or at least be able to save, he rationalizes with himself. After a while, the worry fades and he falls asleep. Two hours later, no other patients around to disrupt him, he’s woken by the nurse who took the dog back. “Mr. Morales?” She calls out gently.

He jumps awake. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” He sits up from his slumped state, readjusting the cap from where it had been resting over his eyes.

The nurse smiles softly at him and sits in a chair across the waiting room from him. “The dog is safe now. We had to amputate her front left leg, and she had a lot of stitches, but she’s stable and looks like she’ll do well.” He lets out a sigh and her smile becomes more genuine. “You told us she isn’t yours?”

She. The dog is a girl. Of course she is, Frankie smiles a little. The smile falls as he remembers the fact again. “No, no. It was a hit and run. I saw it happen, the other guy took off, it wasn’t me who hit her, I’m-”

“Mr. Morales.”

“Right. No, she’s not mine.”

The nurse nods and writes that down. “Well, we scanned her several times. She has no chip, no identifiers at all. Our options now are to send her to some rescue or kennel of some sort, or you can take her home with you.”

His heart breaks at the image of the sweet dog in the front seat of his car going somewhere without daily love and affection. “She’ll come with me,” he answers before he can rationally think about it.

“Wonderful,” she nods, marking that down as well. “She’s looped up now on some drugs. We’ll let her sleep them off for a bit and then she’s all yours. We do have some procedures we’ll need you to follow, for caring for the wound and such. But after that, it should be all good. You’re free to head out now. We can call you when she wakes up.”

Frankie nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be great.” He looks down at his watch and notices how early in the morning it is. “Thanks,” he tells her with a genuine smile, taking off his cap and running his hands through his hair before replacing it.

- From that moment on, Frankie was enamored with the dog. He called in from work when the shop opened bright and early at 6:00 A.M. 

“Hey Carol. It’s Morales.”

“You can stop asking if you can come in early, Frank. Just do it,” the woman chuckles on the other line. A loud slurp is audible- it’s the coffee she’s always drinking, the dark sludgy shit that she brews in the break room that Frankie can’t stand but she absolutely adores.

“No, uh. Actually, I was calling in to see if someone else could cover for me today.” He explains the whole story to her, wringing his cap between his hands. “So. I was kind of hoping I could take the day to look for the dog’s owners and care for her.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. “Of course, Frankie,” the older woman says kindly. “You got a real big heart, kid. Real big. That’s awful kind.”

He smiles a little. “Just doing what I can. Thanks, Carol.”

“Keep me posted, Catfish.” The woman hangs up.

Frankie’s in more comfortable clothes now. He didn’t sleep at all once he got home, waiting for the hospital’s call. He distracts himself, cooking a breakfast he only picks at, watching his new series halfheartedly on the couch.

The animal hospital calls him again at 7:30. He gets off the couch immediately and into the truck. There’s a bit of blood on the passenger seat, from where the dog wasn’t immediately covered by his jacket. It’s not a worry, though, he thinks to himself. He’ll get some stain remover and maybe a new and nicer jacket. 

When he arrives, they usher him back to a check-up room. The dog is lying down but she wags her tail at Frankie, looking up at him with big brown eyes that could rival his own. “Hey, sweet thing,” he calls softly, and the dog stands and walks over to him. It’s pained, that much is clear, but she’s already adjusting to walking with one less limb. She rests her head on Frankie’s lap and he scratches her ears gently. 

Some paperwork is filled out and Frankie leads the dog out to his truck with the leash and collar the hospital provided. He lifts her into the passenger seat and she snuggles in. The scent is familiar to her. 

Frankie drives her to a pet store nearby, smiling over at her. She looks at ease with him, relaxed and trusting. Of course she is. This is the man who saved her. 

He helps her down once they arrive and leads her inside. Her walking is pained, he can tell. “Aw, honey,” he frowns. There are carts right inside; Frankie sees the immediate solution. He scoops her up and sets her in a cart. Her tongue hangs out happily as they go through the store. “We’re gonna get you all kinds of fun stuff, huh?” He asks, scratching her head. 

Frankie spares no expense for the dog. As they cross through the store, the cart fills: bags of food and treats, a new leash, and a pink collar decorated with donuts “because you’re such a sweetie, right cutie?”, doggie bags, and food and water dishes. Finally they reach the toy aisle. “Do you wanna pick your own toy?”

He picks her up and sets her down on the ground, unclipping her leash to allow her to explore the toy aisle. She meanders, sniffing toys here and there, even considering one big bone. A few moments later, she comes tottering back to the cart with a toy in her mouth. It’s a big plush hedgehog.  Frankie grins. “Aw, that’s a good one! Good choice, cutie.” He kisses her head as he puts her back in the cart. 

They check out and drive home, and Frankie allows her to wander inside. “Welcome home. At least for now. I suppose I should put an ad out for you online.” 

The dog doesn’t respond, just wanders around the house, sniffing the furniture warily and looking back at Frankie. Asking if he’s coming. He smiles and leads her to the couch, sitting down on it. “I know they say you shouldn’t let dogs on the furniture, but I think you and I can share.” She jumps up and Frankie praises her, giving her a smooch and earning a big lick in return. “Oh, pretty girl, I think you’ll like it here,” he coos to her. She snuggles into his side with a sigh and Frankie sighs too. 

Over the next few days, he posts ads for her, but no one responds. He reaches out to people from the area he was driving in, but no one responds. After Day 4 of searching, there’s no response and he allows himself to sigh in relief. “You’re mine now, baby girl,” he coos to the dog, who’s happily panting and grinning. 

During the first week, Frankie tries out different names for her. None of them seem to stick. He wonders if she ever even had a name before. Ada, Lucille, Thea, Sunny, Miki, Zulu, Fox, Pancake. None of them work right for her personality. 

It’s not until late one night when Frankie’s coke cravings decide upon a name for her. 

It’s 2:24 in the morning and Frankie is quaking like a leaf. The dog is cuddled up into his side on the bed. Wherever he goes around the house, she follows. He’s biting his lip so hard it’s drawing blood. Normally when he’s this anxious, when he yearns to call his dealer, he rides it out by balling his fists so tight his knuckles turn white. But his dog seems to notice. 

She rests her chin on his hip, wagging her tail against the mattress with a steady thump. She whines quietly. She knows. 

Frankie’s at least momentarily distracted. “Hey, beautiful, what’s wrong?” He asks her, scratching his head and rolling over to pet her. He’s still desperate but the focus shifts from the sensation of one last hit to the feeling of her soft fur beneath his fingers. She sighs happily and snuggles into Frankie’s side, and he starts to cry. 

No one has ever needed him. Not his plants: they’re succulents. He deals with them once every other week. Not his former fiancée. She didn’t need him, just liked him for his money and his dick late at night. Not his friends. They had other friends to go to. No, this dog needs him, and it makes his heart feel like it’s going to burst. 

Sitting up, Frankie turns on the television. He hits a random button to choose a channel, and Princess and the Frog comes on. He chuckles a little. “How about Tiana?” He asks his dog and scratches her ears. She doesn’t react. 

It’s near the beginning of the movie. The relaxing music soothes him as the movie starts. The dog lies with her head on his thigh, happily receiving scratchies from her new father. Her head perks up when she hears a shrill noise from the television: Tiana’s best friend in her puffy pink dress. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay baby. It’s just Charlotte.”

Charlotte. Her ears perk up and she looks at him. “Charlotte?” He asks again, and she looks at him in confusion. “Do you like that one? How about Lottie?” No response. “Or Charlie?”

The dog pounces on him with her one front paw and licks his face. Frankie laughs happily scratching her sides. “Is that your name, pretty girl? Is your name Charlie?”

The answer, it seems, is yes.

It’s funny, Frankie thinks. Charlie is the third letter of the military alphabet, after Alpha and Beta.

Before Delta.

She would be, he realizes. She’s more important to him than his Delta Squadron guys. More important to him than the terrible things he did in the military. She comes before Delta.

And that’s how Charlie got her name. 

-

The guys finally came over to Frankie’s house on Night 9 of owning Charlie. 

All of the men are dog lovers, and Charlie takes to Benny quickly. He gives her her favorite kind of scratches: one hand behind the ear, one hand on the tummy. “Yeah, that’s a good tripod,” he teases her as he snuggles her. 

“Hey man, cut it out,” Frankie frowns and smacks his arm. “She’s insecure about it! Be nice.”

Santiago laughs. “Hey, you know what, Fish? This isn’t what I meant when I said that you should get a girl, but I’ll take it. Especially when she’s such a sweetie- oh hi, beautiful,” he coos as Charlie hops his way and licks his face. 

Frankie shakes his head. “Isn’t she a cutie?” He laughs happily as he watches his dog. “I tried posting ads for her, but no one answered. She’s such a sweetheart, potty trained and everything. I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

Benny grins. “And all because we asked you to get a beer and you caved and said yes.”

“What the hell do you mean caved, Ben? I get beers with you two fuckers three times a week,” he laughs and shakes his head. 

He’s been home alone with her all week, but he hasn’t felt as anxious as he normally does. Her companionship is all he needs, the way she snuggles up tight against him, the way her meal schedule motivates him to eat more. He has a purpose now. 

After the initial excitement, Charlie finds her place sitting at her dad’s feet, panting happily and looking around the room. “She fits in well,” Will nods and leans over as he scratches her head. “She’s the newest member of our group, I suppose.”

“She’s much less work than Fish. Maybe we replace him with her,” Santiago teases and Frankie flips him off, chuckling softly. 

This was a pattern that came to be known as the newly named C Night in Frankie’s head. These are the nights where they order a pizza or takeout and hang out in Frankie’s living room with Charlie. She’s the entertainer of the group, giving the men each some individual snuggles and wandering around the room. She’s funny, flopping onto her back at a human’s feet so that she can get tummy rubs, spending an absurd amount of time sniffing one specific spot on one man’s jeans. They all adore her. 

Life improves for Frankie when he has Charlie. He works shorter hours, spends time brushing her fur. He sleeps at better hours and cares for himself better as a result of caring for her. 

He takes her on a jog every morning. At first, he was nervous to do it. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to pass those Special Ops fitness tests. The thing that encourages him most is that Charlie is just the same speed as him. She runs along happily on three legs at the perfect pace for Frankie to match. 

Frankie lovingly refers to her as his copilot. She loves riding in the passenger seat of his truck, letting the wind from the open windows run through her fur. She gets excited when she hears the word truck and demands that Frankie snuggle her when they’re on a long drive. She even fell asleep on his lap once, with her face resting in the curve of the steering wheel.

Charlie is Frankie’s baby, and Frankie is her favorite human. The two of them are each other’s soulmates, Frankie thinks. His baby girl, his fluffy baby, his cuddlebug. His girl. His one true love is his dog, his Charlie. 

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal

[smokehqs]

PATRICK FINNEGAN

Occupation: Bartender and new owner of The Three Broomsticks Age: 30 Gender: Male Blood Status: Muggleborn Allegiance: Neutral Faceclaim: Dylan o’Brien

How dare she? How dare she not only break your heart, but take your kid when she did it? How dare she bring a new sort of magic into your life and then not only leave, but make you track her down into a warzone in order to see your son? It’s a wonder the two of you lasted as long as you did, but now you don’t even care about the rumors she’s seeing another man, you only care about breaking down those fancy doors she’s closed on you.

HISTORY:

No one expected anything to come from Patrick Finnegan's life and why should they? He was just another Irish boy that didn't come from anything special, his family wasn't known for anything in particular and even if it was, Patrick had two brothers that he would have needed to compete against in order to stand out. From a young age, this meant that Patrick had low expectations of himself, of what the world would give him without a fight, and how could he ever think anything else when the strain of living was written into his father's bones?

A railway worker, Patrick's father was a man with stooped shoulders and grimy hands that seemed to come back with stories about deaths on the job at least every week. If you listened to him talk, every bit of railway track was laid on the bones of the Irish and maybe it wasn't the sort of life that he wanted for his sons, but it was the only sort that Patrick expected.

Until the first time he used magic.

His mother swore he'd been taken by the fae, that something had replaced her son or that some other supernatural creature was working its magic when the incidents kept happening, but all the answers came when he turned eleven and a letter showed up clutched in an owl’s beak.

Patrick Finnegan, son of two ordinary people that worked hard for their livelihood and one out of three sons, had magic. 

Without even trying, Patrick found that he stood out amongst his family and if his brothers ever wondered ‘why is he the one with magic and not me?’ Maybe there were numbers about that somewhere, some fancy person with a good pedigree that knew how rare it was that he was the only one with magic, or what the odds were that he had magic at all, but Patrick never bothered to find out and none of his family seemed to care.

While his mother once worried about her little boy being stolen away, that changed with the letter and she resorted to pushing her fingers through his hair as Patrick tried to duck away, fondly saying that maybe his father was a little bit magical, maybe that’s why he had such a green thumb, why she was so charmed by him.

The love that coated the strain in those words always broke Patrick’s heart.

Hogwarts was an escape from a lot of things - from his family, from the muggle world, from all the expectations his old life put on him, but there were some things that remained the same. He was special in terms of his brothers, but not in terms of the magical community, his parentage garnering him the title of mudblood and Patrick wasn’t even surprised that even in the magical community, his family was enough to put some sort of black mark against him, that he was less valued than some others.

Still, there were certain facts that their bigotry and prejudice didn’t erase, like the fact he had access to an entirely different world than his family and unlike his father, he never, ever had to be a railway worker.

After he went back home to Ireland, he mostly focused on trying to help his family, his ability to use magic making it so much easier, so much faster, to help do things like repair their roof and help ready his mother’s little garden, and if sometimes he slipped potions into his dad’s tea to help with the pain, well, you couldn’t blame him, could you?

Patrick didn’t consider it any sort of secret that he was close with his family and losing part of it wrecked him more than he could imagine. Three brothers became two and Patrick grit his teeth at the unfairness of it all. Maybe that’s why, when given the chance, he was so quick to let his family grow again.

Hilda Dagna was something out of a fairytale. If Patrick’s mother was ever going to be right about Patrick fooling around with someone fae in the sense that she understood it, then it would have been with Hilda. She was beautiful and smart and far too good for him, but she wanted him anyway and Patrick didn’t even hesitate in handing over his heart to her, this magical woman from another world.

His family didn’t care that she was a witch, but they did wonder why Patrick couldn’t find a good Irish girl and Patrick could tell that they didn’t understand what he was doing with a rich girl, but Patrick ignored their concerns. Hilda had chosen him despite knowing he wasn’t the sort of man her family would approve of, so of course he would choose her in return and support her.

Which wasn’t to say they didn’t have their fights, they could tear into each other with words, but they could also stitch each other up with kisses and it was always worth it to Patrick and when he found out Hilda was pregnant, that was a gift. One child would turn into more and they would make up after every fight they had and their children would never feel limited to one future, those were things that Patrick was certain of even if he never spent much time picturing what the future would bring.

Of course, he paid a price for trying to predict the future. In what felt like the course of one day to the next, Patrick went from being someone’s husband and someone’s father to being on his own.

Not because his family was taken from him, there wasn’t any terrible accident on a railway to kill them, there was some attack because of the war, no, but because Hilda ran away from him. After so much sneaking around, after choosing him by marrying him and then having a baby with him, Hilda cut herself out of his life and left Patrick with a ripped up heart, the places where she and Seamus resided left empty and raw.

Anger was a familiar friend to Patrick and it ran through his blood at what he saw as undeniable betrayal. There weren’t any kisses to sooth him, there wasn’t the scent of perfume to settle him, there was only the quiet and the emptiness, the taste of whiskey on his tongue, and it really shouldn’t have been any wonder that Patrick chose not to take defeat lying down.

Defeat because that was how he felt. Beaten by his own foolhardy expectations, a loser of his future and bereft of his other half. He was cut on the pieces of his broken marriage, but he would not, could not, lose his son. If Hilda wanted to run away, fine, she was an adult and that was her right to try pretending like she’d never chosen him over her last name, but Patrick would be damned before he left Hilda do the same thing for their child.

He sold everything. The cottage they lived in, the vase he bought her the first time he brought home flowers, even his wedding ring was passed out to help collect as much money as Patrick could be after all, Hilda had made it clear their marriage didn’t mean anything to her, so he might as well get as much out of the ruins she’d left as he could.

It wasn’t that chasing after her would cost that much, but it was after he arrived in England that Patrick worried about. It would cost money to stay there while he fought her and it would take even more money to try getting hold of his son because Patrick didn’t have any doubt that Hilda would use the funds at her disposal to keep him and bay and that meant he would need to be ready for that, he wasn’t going to be caught off-guard and locked out of his son’s life just because her background was wealthy. 

Patrick was certain he would never be a railway worker, but he would if that’s what it took. He would work on the tracks of the Hogwarts Express even if he resented it, that was how badly he wanted his son back. It didn’t come to that, instead he found a home in the struggling pub known as the Three Broomsticks thanks to the business suffering after the owner’s murder a year later, but that one stroke of lucky wasn’t much comfort.

Sure, he had a job and a place to sleep above the pub, but he still didn’t have his son and he didn’t think he’d ever have his wife back. Patrick should have known from childhood that some things were too good for him, but he knew beyond doubt that he wasn’t too good for anything if it meant having Seamus back.

CONNECTIONS:

Hilda Dagna Finnegan: Ex-wife, still loves

Leona Podmore: Friends

Omar Santiago: Sympathized with by

Caleb Goldstein: Hates

Oberon Marchbanks: Eemies, finds arrogant

CLOSED · PENNED BY CL

[annethshirley-blog]

Week 5: Sep. 23 -25

Latin Moon in Manhattan by Jaime Manrique Part I  Jaime Manrique is a recognized poet/writer in his natal Barranquilla, Colombia, Many Latin American countries and the United States, that has won many literary awards such as  El Diario (EL Awards 2006): New York's most distinguished Latinos.  International Latino Book Award (Best Novel, Historical Fiction). (2007) and many others. In his book, Latin Moon in Manhattan, Manrique describes a series of shooking,  disturbing events that Santiago, a known poet in Colombia and Jackon Heights, NY in his Mid-30s goes through during a weekend at his mom house. The novel starts with Santiago riding the 7 train and thinking about his young years in Jackson heights made him at home with all the people talking in Spanish and the sudden change it is for him to be now living in manhattan a place that feels like a third world country. 

When I started reading the book I did not expect to read what was on those pages, this books it's so interesting yet so disturbing to me. it excites me but also makes me feel some sort of incommodity because some of the themes discussed om this book are so strong and controversial to be spoken in that manner, so bold and transparent. Themes such as AIDS and homosexuality, drugs/ addiction, rejection// love, Nationalism and pride, Sexuality, and perversion are often brought up into all of the 6 chapters of this book.

One of my favorite parts of the book is when Sammy is at a lady's house for his induction into the Colombian newspaper, eating Colombian dishes and talking about how much pride they take into being Colombian. "But I'm a Colombian at heart and will die Colombian." "Me too," Carmen Elvira said, full of patriotic fervor. "I just did it so that my children could have a better chance in this country” in this quote we can all experience the amount of pride these women show but what's really interesting that just like of them says she'll die for Colombia, on the contrary, Bobby, Santigo’s friend says that Colombia wasn't his place and that he  doesn't want to be buried there. the book shows opposite poles and almost all the themes they discuss. Another example can be when discussing the acceptance of homosexuality in Latin American families, for example, as the book describes Bobby’s mom Dona Leticia, can't even get close to her son’s because she’s afraid of contracting aids (here we can also see, the ignorance or lack of knowledge some people had back then about  this disease). Dona Leticia who is disliked by various characters in the book shows herself as a stubborn and close-minded woman while Santiago's mom, Lucy, is the opposite in the last chapter, Santiago confesses to his mother that he is not attracted to women and she understands and explains that all she wants is the best for him. 

I like the connections made in the book about the culture it was discussed in the first chapter, Gene and Santiago's appreciation for Colombian and American food, It was later mentioned in the Chapter Colombian queens, when Carmen Elvira, Olga, and the other lady thought Santiago was such a special boy because he loved to eat Colombian food and they were disappointed by their children because they only ate hamburgers.  

This book has been the most interesting book I've read in such a long time, don't know if it's based on a true story, but if it was, oh God, how traumatic I would say. I'm a  believer that all the things discussed in this book have been lived by many Latin@s and just to imagine that there a thousands of people that come to the States from all these different places around the world to start fresh and We have no idea what their past is like or all the sacrifices they have made into coming to America.

I took a quick look at the pictures by the Mexican Photographer Dulce Pinzon, and my favorite section was the one with NY workers dressed up as Superheroes. Personally, I really do think they should be seen as heroes, they help so much their family in their home country and some of them are working so hard and sending most of their money so that they can have a better life and that's something digno de admirar!

Credits to; Dulce Pinzon

[letsperaltiago]

love is to know that you are on my side (Jake x Amy)

I Love You-prompt request #85: It doesn’t bother me.

Geeez, it’s been a hundred years since I wrote a oneshot for this I love you-prompt list, but here is another one! Get ready for some sweet pining and pre-dating Peraltiago! 

Word count: 2.4k

The moon was bright, reigning over the pitch-black February sky that hovered over the beach house. After Jake talked it out with their captain, thus resolving the tension between the detectives and their boss, the weekend fun had continued with lots of “Real Ray or Fake Ray”, jokes, alcohol and laughs. Hours flew by without anyone noticing, and by the time anyone actually bothered to look at the clock again, it was 2 AM. Of course Holt was the first to do so.

“Oh my,” the man looked at his wrist watch, holding an almost empty beer bottle in his other hand. Tonight he’d had more than just his usual one beer, but didn’t mind even though his head felt slightly heavy. The squad had made him feel included and he’d definitely remember this weekend for a long time. “It is already 2 AM. I better head to bed, or I will miss out on my recommended 7 hours of sleep.”

Jake, who was sitting on the couch between Gina and a (still) passed out Amy with the woman’s legs stretched across his lap, had to frown at this. He was definitely too tipsy to deny that he really liked and enjoyed the company of his ‘stick in the mud’-captain. “Nooo, Captain. Don’t ruin the fun. We just got the fun back. Me like the fun,” he whined like a child.

If he hadn’t had 5 beers already and was nursing a 6th, Jake would’ve noticed his superior officers smile as a reaction to his words, but Holt was lucky enough to get away with it this time. “Thank you for tonight, everyone. And for bringing me along for the weekend. I know it did not  live up to your expectations right away, but I am glad to see that we have seemed to work it out.”

Everyone smiled widely, raising their drinks and sharing one last ‘Nine nine!’, before the captain headed to his room for the night. The chatter between the remaining detectives (Scully and Hitchcock having passed out in the upstairs living room about an hour ago, when going to grab their late midnight snacks) continued. Suddenly Jake felt something move in his lap, causing him to remember that hours ago he’d casually removed his passed out colleague’s legs from the couch to allow himself to sit. He’d of course been very careful to not wake her and had put her legs back in their spot, though this time resting across his lap. Since then, his hand (the one that wasn’t holding his beer) had casually rested on her knee. Said knee suddenly moved beneath his palm, causing his head to turn to look at Amy’s suddenly uncomfortable facial expression.

“Good morning, sunshine. Hope you slept like hell,” Jake sent the black-haired women a big smile, contradicting his words.

“Shut up, Peralta. I feel like shit,” she groaned, as he gently pulled back a leg in order to (gently) kick his thigh, where her leg had previously rested.

“Hey!” The young detective’s exclamation was a merge between playful and hurt, accompanying a frowning face as he managed to grab her attacking foot to keep it still. “I let you rest on me and this is what I get? I am hurt, Santiago. HURT!”

As he spoke, the tired look on Amy’s face suddenly twisted and expressed a whole new level of discomfort - panic even. She tried pulling back her foot, but his immature colleague wasn’t going to let her move. “Jake!” She pulled again and again. “If you don’t let go of me right now, you’ll be having barf resting in your lap!”

Understanding the magnitude of the situation, he immediately let go of the fighting foot and watched his friend stumble off the couch before running off to the bathroom with the speed Raymond Holt post street meat. The sound of talking suddenly drowned, everyone looking after a running Amy before looking at each other and then lastly at Jake.

“What?” His eyebrows rose to enhance the confusion he was feeling from the sudden attention.

“Don’t just sit around, man. Go check up on her!” Rosa nodded in the direction in which Amy had ran, sending him wide eyes that even a slightly drunk Jake Peralta could translate to ‘You obviously still like her so act like it’.

“Oh, um- Of course. I’ll go see if she uh- needs something,” he pushed himself off the couch, suddenly feeling much more sober as he made his way upstairs while the other detectives’ chatter rose again. Immediately upon arriving upstairs, he saw that the bathroom door was left ajar and heard the sound of a heaving Amy.

“Ames?” He carefully pushed open the door only to see her kneeling in front of the toilet with her back facing him. He winced feeling a mixture of malaise and sympathy, standing still in the door frame, unsure of what to do. That was until another heave rose from the bottom of her gut, immediately causing him to run over to kneel by his friend and hold her hair. Her stupid soft hair, he couldn’t help but notice. “There you go,” he said encouragingly, slowly stroking her back with his other hand. “I know it sucks right now, but you’ll feel better once it’s all out.”

Though she wanted to, Amy didn’t get to say anything before another heave made its presence known. For the next few minutes they both stayed in the same positions, the only sound coming from the bathroom being alcohols unfortunate counter-strike. When the sound of heaving suddenly stopped reappearing every 30 seconds or so, Jake carefully got off the floor and filled the glass by the sink with cold water.

“Here,” he sat back down on the cold marble floor, presenting the water to his friend.

She shook her head, squinting her eyes in displeasure. “Can’t swallow anything. It’ll just come back up again.”

“Nonsense. You need water, Amy. Drink.”

Against her will, knowing that he was right, the young woman grabbed the glass and clumsily pushed back her messy hair with her remaining hand. Jake, seeing how her hair bothered her, noticed a hair tie on her wrist and gently removed it. Before she could comprehend it entirely, Amy Santiago was sipping on cold water as Jake Peralta struggled, yet still managed, to pull her hair back into a (very) messy pony-tail.

“Feeling better?” He dropped his hand from her hair, but let one rest on her lower back in support.

“Feeling gross,” she shot back, causing Jake to chuckle at how she somehow managed to have a good comeback even during a crisis. “But I guess also better…” She continued, putting down the now empty glass,

“Good. Lets get you to bed then. It’s just down the hall.”

Another frown and groan told Jake that his friend was all but agreeing with his demands - not that this was any surprise to him. Amy Santiago was and would always be the no to his yes. As simple and as complicated as that.  “No, just leave me here. The floor is nice and cold. If I get up, I’ll just die.”

“You’re an idiot, Santiago,” Jake pushed himself off the bathroom floor, placing his hands on his hips in a knowing matter and looking down at the beautiful mess that was his sick partner. “Not only for thinking that a stupid hangover can kill you, but also for thinking that I’ll just leave you here.”

“But I don’t wan-“ her sentence was cut short, when she suddenly felt a pair of arms picking her up bridal style. All other thoughts, feelings and sickness suddenly seemed to clear. Apparently resting tired and limp in Jake Peralta’s, arms as he carries you to bed, was a perfect cure against (too much) alcohol. Her head rested against his shoulder, too tired to bother hold it up, whilst his heart beat against her arm. Amy Santiago never thought her stupid, immature partner’s pulsing heart could put her to ease like it apparently did. Though she secretly hoped it could’ve lasted all night (or longer for that matter), she felt herself gently slip out of his arms and onto a soft, cold mattress. Next thing she knew, he’d pulled the covers back over her and was tugging her in like a father would his sick child. Though the mattress was cold, Amy could only notice the heat that was radiating from his body and smell the distant but present remains of his cologne. A smile spread across her pale face.

“Don’t smile just yet,” he smiled back down at her as he pushed back some strands of hair that escaped his embarrassment of a pony-tail. “You’ll be feeling even shittier in the morning.”

“I know,” the smile stayed stuck to her face even considering the awareness of her hungover fate.

“I’ll be right back,” he straightened back up before leaving the room, giving Amy a minute to turn onto her side and look at the empty space beside her. No one was going to lie there with her, but she wished someone would. Not only because 6-drink Amy felt very alone, but also because sober Amy had felt alone lately and she’d now finally realised just who she wanted to make her feel less so. After all the good and (many) bad times they’d been through, Amy had to admit that there really wasn’t anybody else but him who could make her feel less alone.

“I’m back with dessert,” she heard him enter the room and immediately turned back around to face him. “A fresh glass of water and the strongest pain-killer Charles could find. Enjoy.”

Though she mostly wanted to just… not ingest anything at all, she knew that Jake was just trying to take care of her and was actually right. She would definitely appreciate the water and medicine in the morning. So without too much complaining, Amy swallowed both the water and pill before sinking back down into the comfort of the bed.

“Great job. What a champ,” he jokingly praised as he grabbed the empty glass from her and placed it on the bedside table. He looked back at her, still smiling even though he was obviously more than exhausted himself. “I think my deed here is done. I’ve placed a bucket by your bed along with a clean towel.” He pushed himself off the edge of the bed as to stand up and leave.

“Jak-“ her voice was small and didn’t make it through the strong volume of his.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the bedroom next door,” he started making his way towards to the door, but halted when he noticed her calling out his name.”

“Jake.”

He spun around, looking at her with soft eyes and expecting a duty. “Yeah?”

“Could you… Would you mind sleeping in here? With me, I mean.”

Though the room was dark, she noticed his eyes widening in surprise. The bad or good kind? She had no idea and it made her want to throw up all over again.

“Uh- Yeah,” he shook his head upon realising how reluctant he sounded. “Of course.”

Seconds later, Amy felt the duvet on his side being lifted and soon after the mattress dipping beneath the weight of his body. A whole new feeling that she hoped wouldn’t be a one-time occurrence. She turned around in the bed, only to see that he’d already positioned himself to face her. They were now face to face, and Jake could see her brown eyes burning in the night. The hair-tie had given up and slipped out of her hair a long time ago, allowing it to fall down her shoulder and cheek like soft waves of pure black gold. For a few moments, neither said anything but just looked at the other. They were both taking it all in: the unbelievable moment and feelings that came rushing back from their hiding place behind the hopeless pining.

“Is this okay?” He asked carefully, wondering whether or not he was lying too close to her, when he felt her knees accidentally stroke his.  

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “For you?”

“Yeah,” he mirrored her, adding a nod.

“Thank you for doing this. Taking care of me and staying and all… You didn’t have to.”

His lips curled into a small smile, telling her that he was relaxing. “That’s where you’re wrong, Amy Santiago. Good partners always have each other’s backs. Through thick, thin and barf.”

Right there, upon hearing her chuckle at his comment, Jake could’ve died and gone to heaven. He could die a happy man, lying right next to his stupid beautiful partner in crime. A comfortable silence swallowed them, telling Jake that the woman probably wanted to sleep. He (against his will) closed his eyes and tried to ignore his insane heartbeat that kept him awake. After a few moments, he suddenly felt himself coming down from his high when suddenly the small body beside him scooted closer. Automatically, without even thinking twice, he lifted his arm as to welcome her inside. An implicit acceptance of this, in the form of Amy Santiagos chest pressing up against his and her face was buried in the safety of his necks crook, let him know that his body had made the right choice. Another silence fell over them as she settled into him and he in the meantime stroked back her hair with his already lifted hand. Her temple was now exposed like he wanted it to be, allowing him to place a comforting kiss to it. It was long, warm and tender, making Amy feel completely whole and safe in the moment. The feeling of his lips eventually vanished only to be replaced by the almost just as comforting feeling of his arms closing around her and his head resting on top of hers like a crown. She gently returned the favour by pecking his neck before settling back down in the crook.

“Sorry if my breath smells like barf…” she mumbled into the sensitive skin, sending shivers of happiness down his spine. She could feel his chest momentarily strike hers, when a chuckle was formed before escaping his lips.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

[capstagesweat]

Reading, PA Makes the News

The following is the New York Times article that Lynn credits with bringing the town of Reading to her attention. It ran in the Times on September 27, 2011:

Reading, Pa., Knew It Was Poor. Now It Knows Just How Poor. - Sabrina Tavernise

The exhausted mothers who come to the Second Street Learning Center here — a day care provider for mostly low-income families — speak of low wages, hard jobs and an economy gone bad.

Ashley Kelleher supports her family on the $900 a month she earns as a waitress at an International House of Pancakes. Louri Williams packs cakes and pies all night for $8 an hour, takes morning classes, and picks up her children in the afternoon. Teresa Santiago takes complaints from building supply customers for $10 an hour, not enough to cover her $1,900 in monthly bills.

These are common stories in Reading, a struggling city of 88,000 that has earned the unwelcome distinction of having the largest share of its residents living in poverty, barely edging out Flint, Mich., according to new Census Bureau data. The count includes only cities with populations of 65,000 or more, and has a margin of error that makes it difficult to declare a winner — or, perhaps more to the point, a loser.

Reading began the last decade at No. 32. But it broke into the top 10 in 2007, joining other places known for their high rates of poverty like Flint, Camden, N.J., and Brownsville, Tex., according to an analysis of the data for The New York Times by Andrew A. Beveridge, a demographer at Queens College.

Now it is No. 1, a ranking that the mothers at the day care center here say does not surprise them, given their first-hand knowledge of poverty-line wages, which for a parent and two children is now $18,530.

The city had been limping for most of the past decade, since the plants that sustained it — including Lucent Technologies and the Dana Corporation, a car parts manufacturer — withered. But the past few years delivered more closings and layoffs, sending the city’s poverty rate up to 41.3 percent.

Jon Scott, president of the Berks Economic Partnership, which helps businesses looking to stay in the area or move here, said that some of the city’s job losses were in fact furloughs, and that many businesses were considering opening in Reading, including an industrial laundry company at the former Dana site. 

According to Mr. Beveridge, employment in the city dropped by about 10 percent between 2000 and 2010. 

One of Reading’s more entrenched problems is education. Just 8 percent of its residents have a bachelor’s degree, far below the national average of 28 percent. 

“Without a bachelor’s degree, forget it,” said Ms. Williams, 28, who is taking classes to earn her G.E.D.. Only about 63 percent of Reading’s residents have a high school diploma, compared with more than 85 percent nationally. 

Lower education generally means higher poverty. About a fifth of people ages 25 to 34 with only a high school diploma in the United States were poor last year, compared with just 5 percent of college graduates, said Yiyoon Chung, a researcher at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. For those without a high school diploma, the rate was 40 percent.

Ms. Santiago, 36, has an associate’s degree from a local community college, but said that employers wanted to see more from job candidates. She lost her last full- time job in 2007, and has worked in low wage jobs without benefits through a temporary agency ever since.

“They even want a degree to be a secretary,” said Ms. Santiago, picking up her 8- year-old son at the center.This city has had a large influx of Hispanics over the past decade. They moved from New York and other large cities, drawn by cheaper rent and the promise of a better life. That raised the flagging population, but also reinforced the city’s already acute problems with education: Just 18 percent of Hispanics in Reading had some college education last year, compared with 30 percent of the city’s whites. Only 44 percent of Hispanics had a high school diploma.

Young men have been particularly hard hit. Because they are having trouble competing for jobs, they are dropping out of the labor force, leaving women to support the children. 

Ms. Kelleher, 23, said she had been supporting her three children as well as the father of two of them. She would not be able to survive, she said, without the $636 a month she gets in food stamps. 

“For the past five years, it has been me paying the bills,” she said at the day care center, still in her waitress uniform. She wants to get married someday, she said, but only to a partner who is financially stable. 

Sixty-two percent of young fathers in the United States earned less than $20,000 in 2002, according to Timothy Smeeding, a professor at the University of Wisconsin, citing the most recent data available from the National Survey of Family Growth.

Even for young people with a bachelor’s degree, the economy is making life difficult. Vickie Moll, who runs the day care center, said the number of applications from teachers who have lost their jobs had grown as the waves of budget cuts washed over the state. “We have people in here with bachelor’s degrees making $8 an hour,” she said.

Social services feel the effects, too. The Greater Berks Food Bank — Reading is the Berks County seat — is on track to distribute six million pounds of food this year, up from three and a half million pounds in 2007, said Doug Long, manager of marketing.

Pat Giles, a senior vice president at the United Way of Berks County, said: “It has really started to snowball. We have a growing population of younger, less educated, less skilled people. On top of that you have the economy going upside down.”

Modesto Fiume, president of Opportunity House, the organization that runs the day care center, as well as a homeless shelter and a transitional living facility, said the number of first-time families in the shelter was up sharply: of 23 new entries in June and July, 18 were homeless for the first time

“People are here because they honestly and truly can’t find work,” said Delia McLendon, who runs the shelters. “It didn’t used to be that way.“

In the mid-1990s, welfare reform resulted in more women joining the work force. At the time, jobs were plentiful, but now work is scarce and low-income families’ lives have become hectic balancing acts to keep the few benefits they have.

Ms. Santiago loses her subsidized day care if she is out of work for more than 13 days, she said. The loss would take months to reinstate, so she hurries to find any work, whatever it pays, every time her temp job ends. Earning more than $10 an hour means losing health insurance, she said, though her children remain covered through Medicaid.

And jobs just seem to pay less. Ms. Santiago recently took a temporary job at a candy factory where she had worked more than eight years ago, when she was still in her 20s, before she had completed her associate’s degree. At the time she was making $10.50 an hour. In her most recent stint, her hourly wage was $9.25. 

“Eight years ago I said, ‘I don’t want to do this, I have to further my education,’ ” she said. “And now here I am, still packing candy, and making less.”

[thedeaditeslayer]

Interview: Ray Santiago ready for the next chapter in life – whatever that is.

Ray Santiago (aka Pablo Simon Bolivar from Ash vs Evil Dead) stopped by to chat with us at 1428 Elm about his memories of the show, what is going on in his world and the future.

“I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.” – David Bowie

Along Came Pablo

The heart and soul of the Ghostbeaters on Ash vs Evil Dead was Pablo Simon Bolivar, played for three seasons by the always engaging actor, Ray Santiago. We fell in love with him as the shy clerk at Value Stop who carried a torch for the beautiful Kelly Maxwell (Dana DeLorenzo). We watched him grow into the self-confident El Brujo Especial who helped his Jefe (Bruce Campbell) save the world.

It was the role of a lifetime in a legendary franchise and Santiago played it to perfection. At 1428 Elm, we were fortunate enough to sit down with the actor to discuss his memories of the show, what is going on in his world and his hopes for the future.

The Interview

In the Rearview of the Delta

1428 Elm: Hi, Ray! It’s a pleasure to be speaking with you again. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us at 1428 Elm. We loved the finale and the entire journey of the third season.  What was the mood on the set the very last day of shooting? Was it difficult not knowing the fate of the show or is that just business as usual nowadays in tv?

Ray Santiago: I think it was just one of those moments. It was difficult. No one knew if we were coming back. We did our best with the finale so that it could ultimately be the last episode while setting it up for a great fourth season if that is what happened.

For all of us, we were more than a little bit sad that we didn’t really know. If you know the show is done, you can close the chapter and walk away.

We were going through the same thing the fans went through waiting for an answer as to whether or not we would be coming back. So, we were in a very similar place to them.

Looking at a Legacy

1428 Elm: In LA, we talked about the possibility of a spin off happening. Bruce has given you and Dana his blessing. How do you see the series continuing in the future? There has been some interest in an animated version of the show on the part of fans.

RS: I mean, listen, it’s really flattering that people want to keep these characters alive and that they generated such a fan base that people want to continue it. For me, bringing life to Pablo changed my life as Ray in a lot of ways.

So, I will always want to keep Pablo alive and keep the Ghostbeaters alive, as well as the franchise. If they call me in 30 years to do another version of this show, I would. It’s one of those series that is timeless.

I’ll be the voice of Pablo for an animated program, go for it!

1428 Elm: Were you pleased with Pablo’s story arc this season? Is there anything you wished the writers would have considered or done differently?

RS: I was very pleased with my arc. I had no idea that it would culminate in the way that it did. It was great that we got to see the evolution of a guy that started off as a sidekick and became a significant part of the team.

He became his own hero by embracing who he really is and by understanding the power he had within himself to bring to the group and to help save the world from evil. So, I was very pleased with my arc.

Ghostbeaters Never Leave a Man or Woman Behind

RS (Cont.):  Do I wish that the Ghostbeaters were there for the final fight? Yeah. Even though it was emotional for each person in that car when Ash sent us off, I really did feel like it would have been nice to see us in the battle with him or to see where we ended up.

Because it wasn’t like us to leave Jefe. For me, he spent three seasons grooming the Ghostbeaters so that they finally have all their strengths and they’re ready to do this and then Ash does it by himself.

It is called Ash vs Evil Dead but I would have loved to see the battle if we would have been a part of it. With that being said, it did make sense the way that they did it.

You know people want to see Ash kill that monster. I just felt bad that we left him.

Acknowledging the Journey

1428 Elm: I want to talk about that scene in the truck. It was very emotional. Watching you looking at Ash was heartbreaking. Were you caught up in the moment? Was that your real reaction?

RS: I think for me since I spent so much time shooting with Bruce what you saw were tears of joy and tears of sadness. They were also tears of recognition and acknowledging the journey that we had been on together as actors and as these characters.

What we started out to do, we did and we did it in a way that was beautiful and satisfying to the fans and to ourselves. For me, it was a moment of “Oh, you may not come back to this.”

You now know that you can walk alone in your next journey because you went through this. So, yeah, that moment that you saw, it was a tough moment for me.

I was pretty mad that we had to share that window because it wasn’t very easy. When I envisioned it, the doors of the vehicle were open and you could really see us.

You’re the Jefe Now

RS (Cont.): You sort of had to find that small window. For me it was hard because I knew I had like two seconds to find it. Originally, Bruce didn’t say anything to me in the last moment.

I said, “I think it’s bizarre that you say something to Kelly, and that you say something to your daughter but you don’t say anything to me.” He said, “Well, what do you think I should say?” I answered, “I don’t know. You’re the Jefe now?”

Bruce liked it and kept it. There was a lot of that between him and I where we would play and things would happen. I was glad that he threw that in because it makes sense when he gives us the final farewell.

It was emotional for all of us. I am glad that the moment worked and that the fans felt it.

Reflections of a Brujo

1428 Elm: Do you have any memories about life on the AVED set that you could share with the fans?

RS: I have a beautiful family at home that raised me but my tv family, my tv Dad and my tv Aunt (Lucy Lawless) and my tv hot stepsister, it was a beautiful thing. We were really a family unit.

Some of the memories I think about are Bruce chartering a boat and taking us out on Easter for Seasons 1 and 2. He also took us out to fancy dinners. We always wanted to hang out on our days off.

It’s not a thing that really happens when you’re around people all the time. There was that and there were wonderful dinners at Rob Tapert’s house where they had sommeliers and chefs that made beautiful meals.

Other great memories for me were becoming friends with the crew. By taking me and showing me their country, that meant a lot but they were also my moral support.

I became really good friends with my hair and makeup team and my wardrobe dresser. Being able to collaborate with everyone was terrific. The costume designer was very hands on with us. It was really nice having that experience.

Welcome to the Evil Dead

RS (Cont.): I will never forget the look I shared with Bruce whenever we showed up and they would tell us what we were doing and they would explain it. We would just look at each other in whatever dark basement we were in and in the midst of shooting and things being set up, we would just find each other’s eyes and start laughing.

It happened once and I thought am I the only one seeing the absurdity of the situation? Then as episodes went on and on, it became this thing that we did. “Yep. This is the Evil Dead. This is our life.”

I remember we hated the blood or we complained about the blood and I’m on this other horror shoot now and I’m thinking there is not enough blood! I am wondering where the rig is and what are we doing? We need more blood!

I am so used to the craziness of Ash vs Evil Dead. The other thing we experienced was we got to travel around the world with Bruce and meet our fans. He is such a showman.

Bruce is number one on that call sheet and he showed me how to be a leader. He has more energy than Dana and I and we’re much younger than he is!

We had a blast making the show and I had a blast watching it. Whenever it would premiere I would be like a little kid.

Now for Something Completely Different, Yet Somehow the Same

1428 Elm: You will be appearing in the very first episode of Blumhouse’s new horror anthology series, Into the Dark on Hulu this October. I know that each segment is going to be the length of a movie.  What can you tell us about The Body? Can you tease anything?

RS: I play a young Hollywood wannabe visual effects maker who is also creating a virtual reality experience. He’s a trust fund kid. There is a party on Halloween and a bunch of crazy things happen to him and his friends.

There is a body, it’s Halloween and it’s happening to me and my friends. This has been really fun because the action takes place all in the course of one night. We’re shooting in Los Angeles so I can just pop over to the set really quickly from my place.

We have this great, young horror director named Paul Davis who really knows his shit. He’s thrown a bunch of Easter eggs in the film and we have a great cast, it’s really fast paced.

It has an 80s really culty, Prom Night type of feel to it. It’s really beautiful the way we’re shooting it so I’m excited for it to be coming out. I’m excited to be working with Hulu and Blumhouse.

They’ve been really supportive in allowing us to do what we want to do. My character is sort of high strung, kind of an asshole. He reminds me of Matthew Lillard in Scream.

He’s a little bit different but you’re going to see my eyes bulging out of my head, just like Pablo. In the sense that I am trying to escape being tortured.

1428 Elm: Are you done shooting Speed of Life now?

RS: Yeah. We finished. That was a very amazing experience. I got to work with Ann Dowd. I had my first sex scene with her so I am super excited for the world to see.

It was a bizarre movie and it was nice to not rely on things that weren’t there. In other words, it was nice to act with another person. To have someone there and to have a conversation and let the action be in the words and not practical effects or CGI.

There are some of those things in this movie because it is about a guy who falls into a time warp and he comes back to the future. It seems like I am being followed by this strange portal and time zone kind of film taking me to different places.

I am excited to see where things go. Working with Ann and Allison Tollman was really wonderful because they’re such pros and leading ladies of this industry.

1428 Elm: How is the character that you are playing in Speed of Life different from the one that you are playing in the Body?

RS: The Body is a horror movie. In Speed of Life, it is a romantic comedy. My character loves cracking jokes. He doesn’t take anything seriously.

Then he becomes shaken up when he is thrown into a different time zone. He has to step up to the plate and be a man by trying to save his relationship in a way that he never thought he would have to.

Possibly Getting the Band Back Together in a Different Way

1428 Elm: Could you foresee a non-Ash collaboration with any of your former co-stars?

RS: Certainly! I told Bruce that I wanted to remake Fantasy Island with him. We would laugh about it.

1428 Elm: Is there anything else that you would like to experience in the future career wise? When you sang ‘At the Ballet’ from A Chorus Line at Dortmund, it was surprising! You have such a beautiful voice! Is there something you would like to do where people would say, wow! We didn’t know Ray could do that!

RS: Yeah! I do like to sing. There was talk of them making “In the Heights” (Broadway show by Lin-Manuel Miranda) a film so I would love to do that kind of thing. I would love to be on Broadway whether it be a musical or just a straight play.

I have had a couple people say if there was a chance to do a Prince biopic would I jump at it? Absolutely. I have also been told that I remind people of Freddy Mercury and Jim Croce.

If the opportunity came up to do a multiple camera sitcom, that would be great. I learned so much from doing AVED exploring so many different avenues in a half hour. So, I am really ready for whatever the next chapter is.

It’s fascinating that Blumhouse went for someone like me to play the asshole and the trust fund kid. I don’t know very many Latino trust fund kids so I thought it was a real interesting play and I was happy to do it.

Saying So Long

1428 Elm: Do you have a message for AVED fans?

RS: I would like to thank them for accepting me into their households and into a franchise and for loving me. I love them! I would like them to continuously support and keep their eye on me because I am going to make more stuff. This is just the beginning.

What got me this far was making the choice everyday to believe in myself. When you look in the mirror, that’s all you have is yourself. If you believe, the world will believe in you.

I say to the fans that whatever they do, if they stay true to themselves, the world will speak to them, the same way it has spoken to me.

I want to thank them from the bottom of my heart. I’m happy that they are down with me because this lets me know that I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.

It’s All about Heart

This last part was a special message to Bruce Campbell and Lucy Lawless from Ray. It is touching and I am glad that he shared it with us. This is precisely why Ghostbeaters are for life.

RS: I learned a lot of things from my Dad but I learned more from Bruce. He was the best leader I could have ever had and it makes me sad that this great adventure has come to an end. The saddest thing about my job was when they said, “That’s a wrap,” and I had to go home.

People like Bruce and Lucy who have been in the industry for so long taught me how to do it and how to be happy doing it and what is the right way to do it.

I am so thankful for them and I am also thankful for the fans because without them, we would be nothing.

[supernaturallyfantastically]

Crush

This is my first posted fan fiction so please be gentle with me. This took a lot to do with my anxiety, pure panic attack mode right now.

Request: could you do anything you want with Murr from impractical jokers? 😂 xx

Pairing: Murr x reader

Content: fluff, humor

Warnings: one swear I think

Count: no clue, did it on my phone

There is something to be said about a city such as New York. So many different people going about their different lives with their different goals. Celebrities and average people coexisting and having a mutual understanding to just ignore each other and leave each other be. Yet still be helpful when they see a young woman crying on the street, or an old man taking a while to cross the road due to the deterioration of his cartilage. You had lived in New York your whole life and loved every minute of it. Granted you had moved from your original burrow a while ago and long since settled in Manhattan. Proudly you were originally from Staton Island and would tell anyone who asked. That's where you were born, had your first best friend, your first crush, kiss, and even first pregnancy scare. Your best friend had remained the same after ten years and constant contact. Her name was Jenna and she was six years older than you. That didn't matter much because you were pretty mature for your age and she helped you through a lot of things you couldn't talk to your mother about. She ended up being like a big sister to you and had been ever since. You would spend the night over at her house as often as possible and ended up getting to know her older brother and his three insanely goofy friends. Sometimes they would take you guys along on their adventures, getting into trouble and giving you amazing memories. Her brothers name was Sal and his friends were Joe, Q, and Murr. Come to think of it almost all of your firsts were with the boys and Jenna. Sadly as all good things come to and end your dad had gotten a job and your parents divorced. The courts decided your dad was better suited to be a parent since your mom had increasingly worrying mental problems. Just a couple days after your fourteenth birthday you were moved. It had been hard but you managed to get Jenna to stay with you for a week once a year until you hit twenty. She started dealing with her career and supposedly Sal had a tv show but you'd never seen it. As the years went on you had done really well in school and gotten a bachelors in nursing. You had a wonderful job in the emergency department at one of the Presbyterian hospitals in Manhattan, an apartment that you owned and even a German Shepherd whom you adored. Sometimes you still thought about the old days and wondered what happened to the boys though.

The night shift at the hospital just ended and of course you had gotten off late. Your scrubs were a deep charcoal color and your badge was still clipped the the front of your uniform. You had your phone in your pocket and headphones connected to your ears, completely emerging yourself in the music. The backpack you wore hung low on your back ending just above your rear, almost like a protective shield from people running into you. Your long hair, currently an unnatural color, had been pulled up into a high and tight ponytail with your bangs hanging down and some flyaway from work. At the moment you had just turned down the street with a coffee in hand heading home to catch some well deserved rest. You cut through a small park and took a second to enjoy all the different people living their lives. A woman was walking by carrying her heels obviously deep into her walk of shame, a man was reading the paper with an old looking dog laying in the sun. As you were looking around you noticed a tall man with gelled hair and a scraggly looking beard walk up to the woman carrying her heels. He smiled at her and without even a hello, he said the most random thing.

“Tell Santiago I'll pay him"

The woman looked confused and tried to walk away but he kept talking to her, not getting the hint that she just wanted to sleep one off. As you watched the exchange the gears in your head started turning incredibly slow. You've seen that man before, but where? Slowly you reached up and pulled your headphones out and almost like you were on auto pilot you walked towards the man and stopped right behind him. He turned around and looked at you with a weird look on his face and you two simply stared at each other for a moment. Five seconds later the gears in your head created enough energy for the lightbulb to turn on and the face you made must have made you look completely insane.

"Salvatore Vulcano" you spoke like a mother that had just caught her son peeing in the sink

"Um...yeah?" He raised his eyebrow at you

"Y/N Y/LN!!" You practically shouted and pointed to your badge

"Holy shit! Guys is Y/N!" He said while staring at you.

It was your turn to look at him strange. Just as you were about to excuse yourself a group of three grown men came charging out of nowhere towards you. In a split second you saw your life flash before your eyes and imagined how stupid your obituary was going to sound when mentioning the cause of death. However much to your delight, the group of middle aged men wrapped you up in the most amazing group hug you've ever had in your life. When they let go you looked at them all and it finally registered that it was the boys. Sure they had grown, lost some hair, and all had facial stubble but it was them none the less. However one of them in particular stood out to you in a way that was more than just reminiscent joy from your childhood. Murr stood back slightly and had the biggest most idiotic grin you've ever seen on a human being. He was bald with just a faint outline of where his hair once stood and was built with lean muscle. He had on a pair of nicely fitted jeans and a comfortable band tee, he looked almost like your teenage crush again. All of the guys, Murr included, started talking at once. They all pretty much shouted over each other about how you guys should go out and catch up, at some point they passed your phone around and put their numbers in it and even handed you theirs to do the same. Within moments they were being called back by a man wearing a black jacket and a drink holder full of coffees. You watched for a moment as they walked towards him. Murr turned his head to look back at you and for the briefest of moments you made eye contact with him. It was only a second but it seemed to last minutes. Definitely still had that school girl crush on the goofball.

With your surge of energy you pretty much speed walked to your apartment. As soon as you closed the door behind you a stupidly happy pup galloped towards you. He jumped up on you making sure to give you ridiculous amounts of kisses and to bark to show his excitement. You laughed and told him you missed him too before heading towards your bedroom. Keeping with your daily tradition you shed your clothes every step of the way until you were just in a pair of cotton panties and climbed into the bed. You leaned over to plug your phone in to charge when you noticed a text. It was from Murr of all people, and this made your stomach feel funny.

<Hey Y/N it’s Murr, I just wanted to make sure you got my number. I’d love to take you out for a drink sometime, you’ve sure changed since I last saw you. Text me when you can!>

You smiled at how sweet it was that he wanted to spend some time with you. He used to ignore you as a kid most of the time. You haven’t gotten much taller since the last time they’ve seen you, barely 5’2. However you will admit with a slight air of pride that puberty did good things to you. Curves in all the right places, not a huge chest but noticeable, and for some reason your ass looks like you’ve been doing squats every day for three years. Just like every woman though you were self conscious. Jesus it’s been over two years since your last relationship and even then you wouldn’t take your shirt off. With that thought you set your phone down and snuggled into your down covered bed. It’d been a long day.

—————

It had been a couple weeks since you reunited with the boys. The five of you went out for dinner a couple of times but you haven’t done anything one on one with any of them. Although the looks Murr was giving you did not go unnoticed. When you would laugh at the stories they told he would stare at you with the wonder of a child, like he’s never seen something like it before. It confused you on different levels, but it also warmed your heart. Yep, definitely more than a crush.

You were walking home from work when your phone went off. It was Murr and just seeing his name made your stomach get that feeling again. You opened the message and a broad smile crossed your lips.

<Y/N you busy tonight? I want to take you for that drink. 8:30 sound ok?>

With a giggle you texted him back and arranged where to meet. This time when you walked home you had a bounce in your step and felt as light as a feather. When you got home and laid down you called your trusty pup to lay with you. For what felt like an eternity you talked to him about James. About how he had confidence, dressed well, sense of humor to boot. The only reason you stopped talking was because you had drifted off to sleep.

You looked yourself over in the mirror. You had on a nice fitting pair of jeans (miss me’s of course), an off the shoulder mint green long sleeved blouse and a charcoal gray tank top underneath. For shoes you had on a simple pair of black Chuck Taylor’s. Your make up was simple and light and your hair was slightly wavy and had some wonderful volume going on. With a smile you decided you looked decent and grabbed your purse and tugged it across your chest. A quick kiss goodbye for your pup and you were out the door. It was 8:25 and the bar wasn’t too far so you ended up beating Murr there. When you did get there you promptly grabbed a table and ordered two shots of whiskey, two beers and a double Long Island. You sat up at the table and fiddled with your hair making sure you looked good without trying. The nervousness started to set in when the waitress set down the drinks and you were left with a large amount of alcohol and no one sitting with you. You arranged the table over and over and drank about two log islands in the course of fifteen minutes. You looked at your phone and frowned. He was late, no call, no text. Was he standing you up? Maybe he got hurt? Just as you were starting to think that this was a bad idea, the door swung open and your jaw hit the floor. Murr was standing there dressed nicely, however, on top of his balding head was a wig of thick black and gray hair. He strutted up to you and plopped down with a grin.

“Hey sorry I’m a little late, filming ran longer than expected. Did you get these drinks for me?”

You just stared at his head like you didn’t trust the thing that rested there

“Yeah. James? What the fuck is on your head?” You asked rather to the point

“Punishment” he said with a grin and a slight twitch. He still had that cute little nervous tick.

“You guys are so weird” You shook your head and held up one of the shot glasses for a toast

“To punishments” you said and he laughed and clanked his glass with yours.

The evening went rather well considering his twitching and constant readjustments to his wig. The two of you talked about what had happened in life since you were fourteen. He told you about his book, and the show of course, Tara, and his family. You told him about nursing and your apartment, kind of lame in comparison in your opinion, yet he listened intently like it was the most interesting thing. Without even realizing it the two of you had stayed until the bar closed, ever the gentlemen Murr covered the tab you’d opened. When you two walked outside he was telling you about the time they had shaved his head and eyebrows.

“The only reason I did it was because you can’t refuse a punishment. This is Q’s hair” he pointed to his head and you giggled. He was talking a mile a minute and his neck kept twitching.

“James?” You called innocently. He looked down at you and you leaned up and kissed his lips softly, innocently. When you pulled back and looked up at him he looked shocked.

“W-what was that f-for?” His face was very red.

“I needed to shut you up” You grinned and his face mimicked yours. A second later he had his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flat against him.

“It’ll take more than one little kiss to do that” his grinned changed from playful to sinister as he moved a hand to the back of your neck and kissed you deeply, his wig hair tickling your cheeks. This man is definitely more than just the class clown you remembered him as.

[newstfionline]

Headlines

Listening During a Pandemic (NYT) Crises have a way of shining a klieg light on the quality and depth of one’s relationships. Following major hurricanes, severe winter storms, electrical outages and terrorist attacks such as 9/11, there tends to be an uptick in divorces and breakups, as well as marriages and pregnancies. Lawyers and demographers are already predicting a wave of Covid-divorces and coronababies as the pandemic has the potential to both bring us together and drive us apart. Relationships, romantic and otherwise, are rewarding and resilient when both parties feel heard and understood. The trouble is that listening is a skill few diligently practice even in the best of times, and it can really fall by the wayside during periods of uncertainty, hardship and stress. With the world effectively on pause, now is a unique opportunity to listen to those close to you, or to those you wish were closer to you. Whether in-person or on the phone, listening is how you develop understanding, strengthen ties and show you care. And it’s also how you know when you’ve heard enough and it’s time to give each other some space.

Houses of worship gain audience by going online during virus (AP) On a rainy evening in St. Peter’s Square, Pope Francis delivered a special blessing, asking God for help against the coronavirus. The square in Vatican City would normally be packed with onlookers, but no one was standing on the glistening cobblestones in March as he implored God to “not leave us at the mercy of the storm.” Millions were watching on TV and online, however. From the Vatican, to the village church, to mosques and temples, shuttered places of worship are streaming religious services for a global audience seeking spiritual help and connections with others during the pandemic. Online viewership of Francis “has grown significantly,” Vatican spokesman Matteo Bruni told The Associated Press by email. “The numbers indicate that even people who would not have participated in religious services on a daily basis in the past are attending a Mass every morning and listening to the pope’s daily reflection on the gospel,” Bruni said.

Americans head back to shops and restaurants amid early signs of recovery (Washington Post) Americans on Saturday headed back to shops and restaurants trying to recapture routines the coronavirus pandemic had forced them to abandon two months ago, a sign that the U.S. economy may have hit bottom and is beginning the long climb back. The staggered commercial reopening is playing out amid hopes that warmer weather will contribute to a further easing in the spread of the sometimes-fatal respiratory illness. Though states accounting for roughly one-third of the $21 trillion U.S. economy remain largely closed, according to Goldman Sachs, real-time indicators of business activity show the first stirrings of a recovery.

TSA Preparing to Check Passenger Temperatures at Airports Amid Coronavirus Concerns (WSJ) U.S. officials are preparing to begin checking passengers’ temperatures at roughly a dozen airports as soon as next week, as the coronavirus pandemic has heightened travel anxieties, according to people familiar with the matter. Details of the plan are under review by the White House and are subject to change, the people said. It couldn’t be determined which airports will initially have the new scanning procedures. A senior Trump administration official said the initial rollout is expected to cost less than $20 million, and that passengers won’t be charged an additional fee. Airlines have been pushing for the Transportation Security Administration to start taking passengers’ temperatures as part of a multifaceted effort to keep potentially sick people from boarding planes and to make passengers feel more comfortable taking trips again. Demand for air travel has dropped more than 90% amid transport restrictions and stay-at-home orders.

Class of 2020 enters a world in crisis (AP) Mere months ago, the graduates of the Class of 2020 seemed all but assured of success. The economy was booming. The stock market had closed the year strong. The unemployment rate, on the decline for years, had dropped to a 50-year low of 3.5 percent in February. Jobs outnumbered applicants, and fears of a recession had faded. Then came the pandemic, shattering the economy. Last month, more than 20.5 million jobs vanished as the unemployment rate soared to 14.7 percent—the worst since the Great Depression. The high hopes of graduates crashed as corporations slashed budgets and rescinded offers of jobs and internships. For working-class students who defied the odds to get a college education, it’s hard to be optimistic about the future. There’s a sense of an unending crisis, with loans due and family members laid off. These graduates will be competing not just with experienced workers but with those in another Class of 2020—high school graduates who aren’t college-bound or have put their dreams on hold to join the job hunt, in some cases to help newly unemployed parents.

Adopt a grandparent: Young help the old in Bolivian pandemic (AP) Sergio Royela lived far from his parents in Bolivia and was concerned how they were faring in the quarantine imposed by interim President Jeanine Áñez to stop the spread of the coronavirus. “So, I looked for a neighbor to help me and I did the same in my condominium and adopted another grandfather,” Royuela said. Thus, a volunteer campaign was born. “Adopt a Grandparent” urges volunteers to help senior citizens if they need safe support. So far, about 20 young people have volunteered to help, said Royuela, who serves as the campaign coordinator. For most people, the global pandemic causes mild or moderate symptoms but older adults and people with existing health problems have been particularly vulnerable. In Bolivia, more than half of the 76 people confirmed to have been killed by the virus as of May 3 were elderly, according to health ministry data. For many elderly Bolivians, particularly those who are ill, it is difficult to shop for the basics and they are often far from their families.

Chile capital silenced amid lockdown over COVID-19 surge (AFP) With near-deserted streets and police checks, the seven million people of Chile’s capital, Santiago, began a strict quarantine Saturday after a sharp resurgence of coronavirus cases. Normal activity in the capital was down 85 percent, the government said, as people were only allowed to leave their homes for essential food and medicine and a short period of exercise. The lockdown order, announced by Health Minister Jaime Manalich and due to last at least a week, dealt a blow to earlier hopes the South American country could reopen its economy following evidence it had flattened the curve.

Europe bids adieu to cheek kiss in coronavirus era (Washington Post) Manon Fily took advantage of France’s eased coronavirus lockdown this week to see some old high school friends after two months shut away in her home in Brittany. But there was one big thing missing from her gathering: a peck on the right cheek, then a second on the left. The cheek kiss is fundamental to greetings among friends, colleagues and even national leaders in many countries in Europe. It is also exceedingly ill-suited during the coronavirus pandemic. As Europeans start meeting again with family and friends this month for the first time since the virus swept the world, they are discovering a need to suppress a seemingly inherent reflex. “We had the instinct to do the peck on the cheek,” said Fily, 30, a civil servant, of the visit at a friend’s house. “But we stopped ourselves. It’s tough.”

Thailand opens malls after nearly two months amid coronavirus outbreak (Reuters) Thailand on Sunday opened malls and department stores for the first time since March in its second phase of relaxing measures as the number of new coronavirus cases slowed. Scores of shoppers were seen queuing before entering the Iconsiam mall in central Bangkok. Customers are asked to scan a QR code and register on a government website before entering. A machine sprayed disinfectant at shoppers’ feet as they entered Iconsiam and another dispensed hand sanitizer.

Shanghai to restart classes (AP) China’s commercial hub of Shanghai announced the restart of classes for younger students amid falling virus cases. China’s airline regulator also reported numbers of flights had returned to 60% of pre-outbreak levels, exceeding 10,000 per day for the first time since Feb. 1. No new deaths have been reported in a month in the world’s second-largest economy where the coronavirus was first detected late last year. China reported just five new cases on Sunday, while South Korea recorded 13, raising hopes that a new outbreak linked to nightclubs in Seoul may be waning.

Stuck at Home, Men in Japan Learn to Help. Will It Last? (NYT) Susumu Kataoka was just looking for a diversion from long days sheltering at home with his family during the coronavirus outbreak. He grabbed his drone and took it for a spin around their Tokyo house, snapping some pictures and posting them on Facebook. His wife, Aki, was not amused. If he had time to play around like that—revealing their household clutter, no less—shouldn’t he have time to take on more domestic chores and child care? Mr. Kataoka, a marketing web consultant, believed he was already doing his share. He gave his wife a list of tasks he regularly performs: bathing their two pre-school-age children, washing dishes, overseeing tooth brushing. How little he knew. In a meticulous spreadsheet, Ms. Kataoka, a nursing student, enumerated her 210 tasks to his 21. For working couples, Japan’s efforts to combat the spread of the virus—encouraging teleworking and asking residents to stay inside—have highlighted disparities in the division of domestic work that shape households across the globe but are especially pronounced in Japanese society. Men who usually see their families only briefly in the morning and at night have been spending weekdays at home during Japan’s coronavirus state of emergency, allowing them to witness just how many chores must be done. Women who toil invisibly doing laundry, dealing with finances and cooking meals are now asking their husbands to pitch in. The results can be combustible.

Lebanese are despairing over their next meal as the economic crisis worsens (Washington Post) The Lebanese love their food. Their elaborate spreads of grilled and sauteed meats, colorful salads and various vegetable dips, usually garnished with pine nuts, are a source of pride and the shared meals a symbol of generosity. Today, more than ever, food is on everyone’s mind—because there is so little to be had. From the butchers and taxi drivers of Beirut to the aficionados of Tripoli’s famed sweets to the anti-government protesters in the streets, hunger is on everyone’s tongue. Lebanon’s escalating economic crisis and its collapsing currency are putting the price of many foodstuffs beyond the reach of the Lebanese. The price of meat, for example, has doubled since March, with ground beef now running at about $9 a pound. Decades of fiscal mismanagement and corruption have deepened Lebanon’s economic troubles. The value of the Lebanese pound has collapsed, dollars are nearly impossible to find, and unemployment is soaring. Protests that erupted in October, demanding an end to corruption and nepotism, quieted down for a time but have returned on a smaller scale in the past few weeks as the local currency’s value fell below 4,000 pounds to the dollar, after being pegged for decades at 1,500 to the dollar.

[cgsolano]

Ciao ciao 2019. Here we are, 2020.

I keep doing this on the last day of the year... I was thinking of starting yesterday, but I guess there are things that never change... So yes, here we are... at the doorstep of 2020. A new year, a new decade.

Twenty years ago I was still living in Texas, working for Motorola. Making preparations for the infamous Y2K --which was such a big disappointment. A big nothing burger. Ten years ago, I was living here in Illinois, working for Kraft. Going through the motions of their Leadership Program. And now, I am entering 2020 building software at Walgreens. More mature, growing a beard and with a lot more salt in my hair --the pepper is clearly getting overpowered.

2019 was not a bad year. Before we go into the chronicle of the year, here’s my takeaway from it...

I was able to remain healthy, the same as my family. More than ever, I realize that without health you have nothing. A friend of mine, Kim, passed away from cancer. It did hit me, because she was such a good person. Full of life, laughs, art, music, love for her daughters and her husband. I have a painting I bought from her hanging in my room. She started making these to support her cancer treatments. In the end, she passed away peacefully at her home and surrounded by her family and closest friends. Godspeed, Kimmy.

Make every effort to remain healthy. Eat well, try to squeeze in some exercise --even if it is not at a gym: park your car the furthest you can so you can walk, take the stairs instead of the elevator, walk to the store and carry your bags. If you can’t change your circumstances, don’t let the circumstances change you. Don’t let stress take over your life. Beat anxiety. And if you see that the circumstances are changing you, change them instead. Someway somehow.

I also had the chance to make significant new connections and rekindle existing ones.

One of these new connections was so unexpected and a blessing to me. She lives her life with no regrets. She lives by her beliefs and is true to herself and what’s important to her. She’s all out there. ALL! And I love that! Because not everybody is or can be --or is willing to be. And it’s such a refreshing thing to see and learn and feel. Not everybody walks the talk, and she’s passionate about walking her talk, unfiltered. This year I became a better person because of her.

So, make the effort to make interesting and new connections. There’s a whole world out there. And connecting with people just enriches your own life. Go and rekindle your interesting old connections as well. You never know what new surprises you’ll get from people you thought you know.

I also reminisced about being young (a teen), and having my own problems and challenges. Sabina turned 14, and she’s in 8th grade. Making a decision on what High School to attend, and making it happen, is such a big deal --at least here in The Chi. Studying, prepping for the placement test, taking tutoring on weekends, HS open houses, homework, practice tests, gymnastics, friends,, family. Wherever she lands, I know she’ll do great.

Support the teens in your life. It is such an emotionally fragile stage. They look up to you, adults. They really do. And I am happy to say that we were able to support her every step of the way.

Finally, I am receiving this new year with open arms. Completely open to opportunities and challenges --even if they rock the boat hard. Even if they change the life I’ve known for the last 2 decades...

And talking about boats... If I can leave you with a thought:

“Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves, when our dreams have come true because we have dreamed too little, when we arrive safely because we sailed too close to the shore. Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess, we have lost our thirst for the waters of life,  having fallen in love with life, we have ceased to dream of eternity, and in our efforts to build a new earth,  we have allowed our vision of the new heaven to dim. Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, to venture on wider seas, where storms will show your mastery, where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars. We ask you to push back the horizon of our hopes, and to push us into the future in strength, courage, hope, and love.”

― Sir Francis Drake

This 2020, dare more boldly. Be happy, and be well. Happy New Year!

Now, below is my personal account of 2019... So, if you’re interested, keep reading!

So, here’s the customary account of 2019...

I ended up at 50% goal, again... I tried to read 12 books this year, but I ended up at 6. Not great, but here we are... Can I read more? Sure. Do I spend inglorious amounts of time on wasteful activities? Absolutely. But you know, some of these wasteful activities also give me joy. So, are they really wasteful? Something to think about. Anyways, this is what I read this year:

Bad Blood -- This book is INSANE !!! I absolutely loved it! A story of greed, ego, tech and deceit It has everything! I’ve been in the medical devices/pharma world for a little over 5 years now, and this account of events is completely crazy. Go pick it up, now!

Netflixed -- This was another great book about our beloved streaming company. The epic battle between Netflix and Blockbuster has no equal.

The Road to Chapultepec Park -- This dystopian book was marginally ok. I picked it up because 1) it’s the end of the world and 2) because it talks about the journey from the US to Mexico City by a group of people during the end of the world as we know it due to climate change. Chapultepec Park, which I know and have walked, becomes a sanctuary during this time and people are trying to get there by any means.

Small Fry -- So, everyone who knows me knows that I am a fan of Steve (Jobs), but not an Apple fanboy. I’ve read a lot about Steve but this book, written by Lisa, his daughter, gave me a completely different view of Steve and his life. There were new things I learned about him, and I realized this book humanizes him, a lot. He had his own problems, and insecurities (!!!), and demons to exorcize, and amends to make, he bit his nails. I absolutely loved it.

Midnight in Chernobyl -- Wow. This book was such an amazing read. This book, which can be considered an end-of-the-world type book, was crazy --and more because it was REAL! This is the very well researched account of what happened before, during and after the Chernobyl catastrophe more than 30 years ago. You can’t even imagine. Go get it!

The Handmaids Tale -- This is another dystopian book. And before I watched the series, I wanted to read it. What a harsh world... and with all that’s been happening in real life, not only here in the USA but in other countries, it is such a cautionary tale. I will not spoil it, but this is a very good read about a very bad world.

I’ll try to read at least 8 books this 2020. If I can’t do 12, maybe I can do 8 since I’ve been doing 5-6 books a year for a while now. And whatever goes above and beyond that, it’s all for the win.

I also traveled a little here and there. The highlights were, in some chronological order, as follows...

Las Vegas for the Dynatrace Perform conference, staying at the Cosmo, which was amazing! I want to go again. Vegas is such an amazing place! I don’t think I did any shows or concerts this time :-( But I did go to a couple of cool places: TAO and Marquee. These were amazing venues and great experiences.

We went to Holland, MI. We were there for a bat mitzvah for one of Sabina’s friends. This was such a great experience! The small town is amazing and has great breweries and things to do.

Ah, and Mexico in the summer. Never ever disappoints. Had the chance to see family and old friends in Mexico City, Queretaro and Tequisquiapan. Great food, great chats, great activities. This time we flew directly into Queretaro instead of Mexico City. What a difference! Way smaller airport, no traffic, no waits. And the drive from Queretaro to Tequisquiapan is just 20 mins --compared to the 3+ hours we would normally drive from Mexico City due to traffic and distance.

I also went to Monterrey, Mexico. There is some very interesting stuff happening there... I will not say more, but there’s stuff happening. I had the chance to reconnect with old friends during this very short trip and to eat amazing tacos. Those norteños really know their meats.

Sports and concerts? I went to see the Rockies vs Cubs, Giants vs Cubs, Packers vs Bears on opening day, Knicks vs Bulls, Nets vs Bulls, Cowboys vs Bears for Santiago’s birthday and Bulls vs Hawks. Definitely a lot of sports this year! And I’ve really enjoyed it. Santiago absolutely loved his first football game. There was this specific run that Trubisky did and scored... Santi and I hugged and jumped and screamed. What a moment. I don’t think we did as many concerts as we should. We did go see the Chicago Sinfonietta and it was outstanding.

Other things we did... A couple of times to Steppenwolf Theater --which I don’t think we do enough. Teatro ZinZanni which we did for Adriana’s birthday and was absolutely amazing, BATL Axe Throwing which is insanely fun, Hamilton for Sabina’s birthday which she loved, Champions of Magic for Christmas Eve for the whole family, Lincoln Park Zoo to see the lights, watched Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker, and had a memorable Christmas Eve dinner at Tocco in Winnetka, IL. For New Year’s we’re going to Bodega Sur, which will be amazing for sure.

Health? Well, as I mentioned, I kept myself out of trouble. Continued with the excuses to not exercise more. However, I think I ate well all things considered. I was able to maintain my weight throughout the whole year --which is a huge accomplishment in my mind. If I’m not exercising, at least I am eating well and not gaining weight. I tried to do some personal training/gym, but I almost died... I guess I need to come back little by little. I’ll try other avenues and see how it works out.

I grew a beard. And I like it.

I’ve also been learning (or trying to) some Italian. And it has been going well, I think. I listen to Italian podcasts and follow Italian people on Instagram. I use Google Translate a lot and it has definitely helped me. I listen to Italian music in my car. La dolce vita, baby!

Finally, I’ve been cooking a new tech concept with a friend of mine... Let’s see how that develops in 2020. We think there’s potential. This has to do with Blockchain... and has a social conscience. So it’s geeky, and it helps people. What else could I ask for?! Stay tuned...

Well, I guess that’s that... 2019 was a very good to all of us. And we are grateful about all things experienced and received. Let 2020 be as good, or better! Thanks for reading!

[biofunmy]

Who Made Your Clothes? – The New York Times

Rumsinah, 44

Role: Zipper operator at PT. Fajarindo Faliman Zipper, which focuses largely on in-house brands

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

“Most of my co-workers and I are all old-timers,” said Ms. Rumsinah, who has been working at the same factory for 26 years. “It’s a good factory, so no one really quits. There’s seldom any job openings — only if someone retires.”

She is paid about 3.4 million rupiah, or $241, per month, which she said is tight as a single parent. Her son recently finished high school. “He can’t work at my factory because there’s no openings,” she said. “He wants to be a teacher, but we don’t have enough money to send him to go to university.”

Though her job is tiring, “all jobs are tiring,” she said. “At least weekends are off, and the hours are not too bad.”

Waheed, 38

Role: Sewing bedsheets and curtains at a textile mill

Where: Pakistan

Waheed, who is being identified only by his first name, has been in the textile industry for 20 years and works seven days a week to support his wife and two young sons. They share a house with his parents, his sisters and his brothers.

“Most factories place a lot of restrictions on garment workers. Once they come in for their shift around 8 in the morning, there’s no knowing when supervisors will let them out. It may be 8 p.m. or 10 p.m. by the time they are allowed to leave for the day.

Workers at my factory don’t have it as bad. That’s why I’ve been here for the past 10 years. It’s a nice place to work. But some of the resources that workers really need aren’t provided, such as first-aid kits or pension cards.

It’s pretty common to get your fingers injured — sometimes needles break and get stuck in your bone if your hand gets in the way of the machine. Then you have to go to the hospital and get X-rays yourself.

It’s difficult to manage on the salary I earn. My expenses amount to about 2,000 rupees a day, including the cost of my children’s clothes, their education, my family’s groceries and other bills. But I barely make 1,000 rupees a day.”

Seak Hong, 36

Role: Sews outdoor apparel and bags at Horizon Outdoor

Where: Khum Longvek, Kampong Chhnang, Cambodia

Six days a week, Ms. Hong wakes up at 4:35 a.m. to catch the truck to work from her village. Her workday begins at 7 and usually lasts nine hours, with a lunch break. During the peak season, which lasts two to three months, she works until 8:30 p.m.

Ms. Hong has been in the garment business for 22 years. She earns the equivalent of about $230 a month and supports her father, her sister, her brother (who is on disability) and her 12-year-old son.

She hopes he will not end up in a factory, too, but the price of a quality education — about $20 per month — is beyond her means. While she is at work, her sister manages the household, taking care of their oxen and rice farming their land for extra food.

“I feel tired, but I have no choice,” Ms. Hong said. “I have to work.”

Yurani Tascon, 34

Role: Tracks daily production numbers at Supertex, which works with major active wear brands

Where: Yumbo, Colombia

“They spoil us a lot here,” Ms. Tascon said. “It’s a job with good stability.” Her workplace blasts music — usually salsa or something traditional — from speakers throughout the day while employees make coats, bathing suits and sportswear.

At 11 a.m., employees get “pausas activas”: active breaks with music.

Sarjimin, 39

Role: Makes shoes for a comfort footwear brand at PT. Dwi Naga Sakti Abadi

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

Mr. Sarjimin has worked at the same factory for about 12 years. The job is relatively stable, and his workplace is spacious, bright and safe.

He earns the equivalent of $250 a month, and his wife also works at a factory. The family is able to send their children, a 13-year-old and a 9-year-old, to good schools. They recently purchased a computer for their older son, who is passionate about technology.

Mr. Sarjimin farms catfish to supplement his family’s grocery money. He started six months ago, filling a big empty drum with starter fish as an experiment. Now he has two drums with 300 fish each, and he sells them to friends, family and neighbors.

One day, he would like to raise catfish full time. “There’s a motivational speaker I heard once, ‘You have to dare to dream, how to get there is a question for a different time,’” he said. “I like remembering those words.”

Saida, 38

Role: Sewing machine operator at Pinehurst Manufacturing, which works with major active wear brands

Where: San Pedro Sula, Honduras

The factory where Saida has worked for the last 12 years is one of the few in the area. She earns about 8,200 lempira each month, roughly $331. “It doesn’t cover everything,” she said. “Vivimos sobregirados.” (“We live overdrawn.”)

Saida lives with her mother and her 19-year-old daughter, who goes to school. “I am the one who provides everything at home. The house, the water, the electricity,” she said. “You have to stop buying certain things to be able to cover the necessities.”

Her unit currently has one primary client, a major sportswear brand. This is a source of anxiety for her and her co-workers because they fear mass layoffs if the client leaves the company. “It’s really difficult having one client,” she said.

Bui Chi Thang, 35

Role: Stitching denim together for sustainability-focused brands at Saitex International

Where: Bien Hoa, Vietnam

Mr. Bui has been at his factory for seven years. “It matches my skill,” he said, “and the salary is enough for my family.” He earns approximately 90 million dong annually, roughly $3,880, which he uses to support his mother, wife and son.

During the average nine-hour workday, “I can finish 1,000 to 1,200 pieces a day, depending on the difficulty,” he said.

Santiago, 48

Role: Sews clasps and zippers onto dresses, blouses and pants at a factory

Where: Los Angeles

“I’m from Guatemala. I’ve been doing garment work for 16 years. I started because it was the only thing I knew how to do after leaving my home country,” Santiago said. “I came here because there were not as many opportunities back home, and with six children, there are a lot of expenses.”

In the last five years, he has worked in five to eight factories. They are often windowless and dirty, with little ventilation, he said.

When he first moved to Los Angeles, Santiago was working 11-hour shifts, seven days a week. Now he works about 50 hours a week, taking home up to $350. The majority of his co-workers — around 30 other people — are Spanish speakers from Guatemala, El Salvador and Mexico.

“I’m just making ends meet,” he said. “I’m always trying to figure out how to save money, how to buy food, how to not eat out too much.” Still, he said it is better than what he was earning in Guatemala.

Maria Valdinete da Silva, 46

Role: Self-employed seamstress

Where: Caruaru, Brazil

The last factory Ms. da Silva worked at produced men’s street wear. She spent eight years there, stitching side seams together in an assembly line with an hourly quota.

“Some companies, like the one I worked for, no longer have employees inside the factory and the seamstresses work from home,” she said. “They establish small groups, tiny factories, and they are paid per item, so they basically have the same production without any costs.”

In order to make minimum wage, outsourced employees “have to work from day to night,” she said.

Ms. da Silva now makes women’s clothing independently, producing fewer pieces and selling them locally. She makes “maybe half” of minimum wage, but she said it’s worth it to work at her own pace. “I love what I do,” she said. “I no longer see myself in that situation of sitting in front of a machine doing the same thing every day.”

She is planning on taking fashion design courses soon. “Seamstresses are the key element in the fashion chain, we are the ones who put the clothes together,” she said. “You basically have to kill yourself in front of a sewing machine in order to provide for your family.”

Antonio Ripani, 72

Role: Leather quality control at Tod’s Group

Where: Casette d’Ete, Italy

Mr. Ripani, who began working with leather at 14, has been employed by Tod’s for more than 40 years, where he assesses “practically all the hides that arrive” for quality.

“Alone it’s hard to do everything, so I have a group of ragazzi [guys] under me and I have taught them everything I’ve been able to understand after all these years,” he said.

Mr. Ripani doesn’t earn much, he said, but he sets his own schedule, often working eight to 12 hours a day. He has assistants and has received awards for his highly specialized work.

“It’s not so much the salary, it’s that I am here because we’re all one family,” he said. “When I started, I had long hair. Now, I am bald.”

Rukhsana, 48

Role: Security at Sitara Textile Industries

Where: Faisalabad, Pakistan

Rukhsana began working in the garment industry shortly after her husband died seven years ago. She works seven days a week.

“The hardest thing about working in a textile mill is that management kind of cuts you off from the world for the duration of your shift. If anyone calls you from home — with good news or bad news — you can’t take the call and management doesn’t tell you until the day is over.

Two years ago, my nephew died in an accident when I was working. My brother tried calling me, but management didn’t tell me about it until my family had already held his funeral. I was so upset, I quit my job.

Now that I’m in security, I know when someone comes to the mill and tries to contact a worker. But I’m still not allowed to tell the worker their relative has been trying to reach them.

It’s not just difficult, it’s impossible to survive on the salary the textile mills pay. Are we supposed to choose between buying food and roti or paying for clothes and medicine? And there’s always rent to pay in addition to that.”

(Employees store their phones in a locker before beginning their shift, a company spokesman said in a phone interview, and they aren’t allowed to leave the organization “without any written acknowledgment from the manager.”

He said that family can reach employees on their cellphones or by calling the factory directly, and that he was not aware of any incidents in which family was prevented or delayed from contacting an employee during an emergency. )

Vu Hoang Quan, 21

Role: Sews dress shirts for mass retailers at TAL Apparel

Where: Binh Xuyen, Vinh Phuc, Vietnam

Mr. Vu has spent the last four years working on a production line with about 30 other employees, each overseeing parts of the sewing process. On average, he earns about 10 to 12 million dong (about $432 to $518) monthly. He sends most of it back to his family.

“My favorite time is at 3 p.m., when we have an exercise session,” he said. “We stay at our work spot. We pause our work process, line up and follow the exercise instructions of team leaders.”

He recently participated in a talent show hosted by the company, where he performed modern dance. “I don’t have plans to leave this job anytime soon,” he said. “I’m quite satisfied with it.”

Catherine Gamet, 48

Role: Leather goods artisan at Louis Vuitton

Where: Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule, France

Ms. Gamet began working with leather when she was 16 years old and has been employed by Vuitton for 23 years. “To be able to build bags and all, and to be able to sew behind the machine, to do hand-sewn products, it is my passion,” she said. “That’s how I got into it.”

About 800 employees work in Saint-Pourçain, spread out across four sites. Ms. Gamet said the workshops are well organized, bright and modern. “The time flies by,” she said.

S, 33

Role: Tailor making pants and socks for fast fashion and active wear brands at Shahi Exports

Where: India

S.’s shift begins at 9 a.m. She feels a lot of pressure from supervisors to reach quotas of about 90 to 120 pieces per hour and said many workers are afraid to take breaks or use the restroom because it will waste time.

Employees who can’t keep up are often pulled aside at the end of each hour, she said, and supervisors will yell at them and bang on tables. Many workers spend most of their 30-minute lunch breaks scrambling to finish more pieces to get back on track.

“We don’t even have the freedom to drink water,” S. said, adding that management doesn’t allow employees to bring in water bottles.

Instead, water is handed out by the factory. In the spring of 2018, the supplied water was making workers sick, and when employees gave management a letter with a variety of basic requests, including clean water, they were beaten in response. Their clothes were torn, and many of their valuables, including phones and jewelry, were taken.

The employees took their complaint to the labor department. The issues were resolved three months after the incident, after the factory faced public pressure from a report by an American watchdog group, social media and brands that worked with the factory.

Some conditions have improved: Employees get mineral water now. But the pay is still bad, S. said, and the main work space doesn’t have windows, air-conditioning or heaters.

“We want to ask for more salary, but people are scared after what happened last year to ask again,” she said.

(In an email, a spokesman from Shahi Exports acknowledged the 2018 incident and forwarded a statement outlining the preventive measures the company has since enacted.

In a separate email, a spokesman said that berating employees in any way “constitutes misconduct,” and instances brought to management’s attention would “initiate action” against the perpetrator.

“While we do strive to drive efficiencies, there is no scope to berate any employee on account of non-performance or deficient performance,” he said. The spokesman added that there “is adequate ventilation” within the work space and that the entire factory is “in compliance with the law.”)

S. is a single parent and picks up extra work in the evenings, along with taking out loans, to support herself and her daughter. “There are thousands of people” in her city in the same situation, she said. “My story is just one of them.”

Phool Bano, 38

Role: Tailor at Friends Factory

Where: Noida, India

Ms. Bano has been a tailor for about 22 years and works at a progressive factory that makes small batches of garments for high-end independent brands. The building has little luxuries like air purifiers.

“It feels nice working here,” Ms. Bano said. “It’s clean. There are some plants and trees also, you know, the kind that are meant for decoration.”

Helena Lúcia Santos da Conceição da Silva, 54

Role: Seamstress at Fantasia D!kas Roupas

Where: Nova Friburgo, Brazil

“I’ve always thought of myself as a seamstress. I even made my daughter’s sweet-16 dress. It looks like overlapping petals. It’s my greatest pride.

I start work at 7 a.m. We make everything: pants, shorts, tops. I work eight hours a day Mondays to Fridays with a one-hour lunch break. It’s a small company: me and five other seamstresses. We don’t have a quota. Here they value quality over quantity. I don’t even know how many pieces I work on in a given day. We don’t keep track.

Ms. da Silva does not make enough money from her day job, so she picks up extra work from private clients to complete on evenings and weekends, sometimes working until 10 p.m.

I prefer working for this manufacturer because I’m on the payroll, I’m entitled to vacations. It’s more secure. But my dream is to have my own atelier at home.”

Knvul Sheikh contributed reporting.

Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style

from WordPress http://bit.ly/36UqSZg via IFTTT

[killingthebuddha]

KtB’s co-editor Emily Mace spoke with author Susan Katz Miller about her newly released book The Interfaith Family Journal, published by Skinner House Books. Our conversation ranged from multi-sensory religious experience, atheists and agnostics in relationships with believers, and how to handle death, Miller’s intention is to help interfaith couples and families “figure out how to be the most joyful and creative and successful interfaith family that you can be, whatever that looks like.” Their conversation has been edited for clarity and length.

Emily Mace: Tell me about your first book, Being Both: Embracing Two Religions in One Interfaith Family, for those readers who may not be familiar with it. 

Susan Katz Miller: My first book, Being Both, was a work of memoir, journalism, and qualitative research. I’m an interfaith kid with grown interfaith children, but I didn’t see my mostly positive experiences reflected in the literature, which tends to be dominated by a narrative that problematizes interfaith families.

I was interested in and part of a grassroots movement of families deciding to honor, practice, and even affiliate with both [Judaism and Christianity] rather than feeling forced to choose one. The book is based on surveys of hundreds of Jewish and Christian interfaith parents across the country who were doing both, and also on a smaller survey of young adults who had been formally educated in both by trailblazing communities offering dual-faith religious education for children in cities including Chicago, New York, and Washington D.C. The book was very controversial, because religious institutions and most clergy still urge families to pick one religion. There was also a strong negative reaction to the idea of normalizing a complex religious identity, even though religious fluidity is far more common in parts of the world other than the U.S.

EM: When did you have the idea to create The Interfaith Family Journal, which is more of a workbook or activity-style book?

SM: After Being Bothcame out, I began traveling around the country speaking, and I became more aware of how interfaith families other than Jewish-Christian families are on the rise. The largest group is actually Christian and “religious none” couples. 

Then, couples began asking me to coach them. I’m not a therapist, but sometimes they sought me out because they wanted to hear about my experience as a grown interfaith child, and as a parent who has adult interfaith children. After a while I realized I can’t help everybody individually, and I thought, “I need a tool that will help people everywhere.” And that was the idea behind the journal.

EM: Can you say more about how the journal is written, and what kind of families it’s helpful for? 

SM:It’s specifically written to be helpful to families whether they’re atheist, Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Jewish… all the way to Zoroastrian! It’s written for all families, not just young, heterosexual, white couples. The book works for empty nesters who are re-evaluating their own desire for ritual and spirituality after their children have grown and flown, or for a single parent who has an adopted child from another culture or religion and wants to honor that heritage, or for parents of a teenage child who’s made their own decisions about religion and the parents are trying to figure out what to do about that. 

There are creative activities in each chapter, some of which are designed to have roles for children. I’ve been deeply influenced by S. Brent Plate, religious studies scholar and author of A History of Religion in 5 1/2 Objects: Bringing the Spiritual to Its Senses (and KtB e-book author of By The Way: Dispatches, Devotions, and Deliriums from the Camino de Santiago) and the idea that the multisensory—that smells, sounds, and tastes are these touchstones that have incredible power for a lot of people, whether they consider themselves religious or not. I tried to approach figuring out how to be an interfaith family through the five senses, to stimulate people to think about what were the smells and tastes and sounds of religion in their backgrounds that feel most important them, and which they want to maintain and pass on. 

EM: I’d love to talk more about your inclusion of atheist and agnostic people in your approach, particularly because of the statistical rise among younger people of unaffiliated “religious nones” or those who identify as “spiritual but not religious”—people who may not think of religion as playing a large role in their lives. Are atheists, agnostics, and humanists finding the journal to be useful? 

SM: Atheists have told me that it is going to be equally helpful to them. The goal of the book is not for you to pick a religion. The goal of the book is to figure out how to be the most joyful and creative and successful interfaith family that you can be, whatever that looks like. If you’re an atheist, you still have a religious heritage, unless you’re a multigenerational atheist family, which does exist, but the majority of atheists come from some religious heritage. Our experiences are formative even if we rebel against them. 

EM: Could you talk us through the chapters so we can get a sense of the Interfaith Family Journal’s process?  Perhaps staying with the example of the atheist in a couple, since that’s one of the pairings that might be of interest to some of our KtB readers?

SM: The book is structured around the idea of working through each chapter during one week. The first chapter, “Honoring Origins,” is about your background, your experiences, your formation. The second chapter, “Creating Home,” is about your dreams, your visions, your desires for how you want to be as an interfaith family. It’s going to be helpful to work through that, even if the answer is “I want nothing to do with religion; I don’t feel spiritual in the least,” et cetera. 

The third chapter is on “Finding Community.” It helps you go through a process of thinking about, for example, “What is Ethical Culture? What is Sunday Assembly? How do atheists feel in my local Unitarian Universalist community, and what are my options? Do I want a community? Do any of these feel right to me?” 

Week four is “Marking Transitions,” on life-cycle ceremonies. If you are a secular humanist, you still are going to experience births, coming of ages, marriages, and deaths in your family. The question here is, how are you going to mark those? It doesn’t presume that God has to be part of the celebration. 

The fifth chapter, “Reaching Out to Family,” is on dealing with extended family, which is relevant for a lot of atheists who have extended family who are more religiously oriented. The book helps you frame those relationships in a really positive way, or reframe them if they’ve been negative. 

EM: Yes, as I was reading through the book, I was amazed at how many questions there are. It goes into so much depth!

SM:The people that did beta testing said it was very powerful to just answer a lot of questions in a short period. It stimulates your brain to think about it in a different way than just once in a while wondering about one of these questions. 

EM: Can you say more about how The Interfaith Family Journal may be helpful to families who may already have children or who already have chosen or fallen into a way of doing things? 

SM: A lot of the couples who felt that they already had talked about interfaith life said, “oh, but yeah, we really hadn’t talked about death.” And you can’t assume you’re not going to face it until you’re eighty. A death in the family is one of those transitional moments when often people reevaluate religion, spirituality, culture, and the ritual practices in their lives. Too often you have to make some pretty big decisions fairly quickly in terms of officiation, burial, cremation, how you’re going to eulogize, or what liturgies you might use, what readings you might use. One activity in the chapter on marking transitions is to write up what you want for your own funeral, which sounds macabre, but it’s actually incredibly practical and also empowering to say “these are the hymns or readings I like, but not these,” and realize that somebody actually might honor that.

EM: There’s also something about facing those things that we really fear and giving them structure, which makes them more manageable.

SM: Another activity that a lot of families found useful is interviewing parents and grandparents (if they’re still alive) about their religious histories. When you ask them to tell stories through the lens of religion, you sometimes learn about changes, conflicts, or discoveries they made in their lives about religion or spirituality, and you begin to realize how religious identity is not a static, lifelong, unchanging, affiliation for a lot of people. That process can be a really enriching way of interacting with elders and honoring them, especially if they are dubious about what you’re doing or not doing with your life religiously. 

EM: I’m curious about the choice to make this a paper workbook that couples will write in, in pen. 

SM: A lot of people have said, “Oh, if you want to reach people under the age of 30, it shouldn’t be a book. It should be a website.” And I wonder if we will keep printing books on dead trees. Despite this, I think there is a beauty to having the book when you’re done. I’m imagining your adult children finding the journal as they clean out your house someday, with this recordabout your history, your beliefs, your practices. It would be incredibly valuable for future generations to have it in that format. 

EM: You’ve mentioned some of the aspects that readers and test couples have found most helpful, such as doing the questions in such a focused space of time, the death activity, and interviews with elders in the family. But what have they found to be particularly difficult or challenging? 

SKM: The Interfaith Family Journalgives people a structure in which to have difficult conversations. The format of doing the writing prompts on your own, then having your partner read what you wrote, and then engaging together over it, creates a safe space in which to have some of those uncomfortable conversations. Often one partner wants to be more religious in some ways than the other, or they feel there’s a conflict in the religious practices that they each want to bring for some reason, either theologically or practically speaking, and being able to work that out in the format of the journal is helpful to people.

EM: I love the cover that you have for this book. The cover for Being Bothhad two intersecting circles, but The Interfaith Family Journal adds so many colors, almost like stained glass.

SM: The cover has circles overlapping in all different ways and they’re translucent circles of color, as if light is coming through them. You can see the layering and the texture, and this represents communities and people and the ways we overlap and interplay. I didn’t want a cover with a bunch of little religious symbols on it because that’s going to exclude whoever’s symbol we forgot to put on there. I wanted it to be metaphorical, and it is. Someone elsesaid to me justthis week that it looks to them like stained glass, and it’s funny, maybe because I was raised Jewish, that this actually didn’t occur to me at first. ButI guess it’s obvious for people who have a more Christian formation.

I wanted the colors to signal that this book is more multiple and even more open. My first book was primarily about a very narrow slice of interfaith families, Jewish-Christian families who are doing both. ButI always say all families are interfaith families because no two people share identical experiences or beliefs or practices. As I’ve been going around talking about the book,people have been saying to me, “oh, that’ll be really helpful, we’re an interfaith couple,” or, “hey, we’re both Jewish, but that sounds like it would be helpful anyway.”

EM: We have one of those overlapping holiday times coming up soon, Passover and Easter. I’d like to end with a question specifically about how The Interfaith Family Journal helps families handle these high-drama times of the year. 

SM: The book helps you to figure out how to and whether to celebrate a holiday or multiple holidays occurring in the same timeframe, which they often do. This year the first night of Passover falls on Good Friday, which can be a theological, emotional, and practical issue for families where there’s a Christian partner observing Good Friday. The book stimulates you to bring your family histories forward and to wrestle with them when these holidays come around. 

Editor’s Note: Find out more about Being Bothand The Interfaith Family Journal, including a list of helpful resources for interfaith families and couples, at Miller’s website, susankatzmiller.com. Susan Katz Miller is a former correspondent for Newsweekand New Scientist. She spent years in West Africa and Brazil, and now lives in the Washington DC area. Find her on Twitter @susankatzmiller. 

 [

[how2to18]

WAYÉTU MOORE, WHO teaches Africana Studies at the City University of New York, is the founder of One Moore Book, a nonprofit publisher that encourages reading among children of countries with low literacy rates and underrepresented cultures. In her debut novel, She Would Be King, Moore explores the birth of the state of Liberia. The story introduces us to Norman, a light-skinned maroon who left Jamaica with the intention to sojourn to Freetown in Sierra Leone; June Dey, an American child of slaves whose attempt to reach New York lands him in Liberia; and Gbessa, the main character, an outcast from her tribe, the Vai. Each character seeks to reconnect with their roots but soon finds the journey more complex than they initially thought, just like the formation of Liberia itself. Through their linked stories, Moore explores parallels with present-day diaspora communities and their connections to Africa. 

I recently talked with Wayétu Moore about her novel, the power of black bodies, and the importance of acknowledging our pasts and finding “home.”

¤

MARIATU SANTIAGO: Why was it important to tell this story now?

WAYÉTU MOORE: The book was actually sold in 2015, so I don’t know if, three years ago, it would have been considered in the same terms, socially and politically, as it is right now. But I do think its timeliness has less to do with intentionally seeking to align the book’s distribution with the current political environment than with just wanting to explore the big, complex history of a country that’s very close to the United States.

During my public school career in Texas and afterward, I got pretty used to the erasure of African histories and the prevalence of ahistorical perspectives. This book was my way of delving into that history, which in many ways is pan-Africanist in nature. My dad always emphasized that Liberia, in its essence, was supposed to be a safe haven for black people from all over the world. Obviously, what was revealed over time was that it was not so easy to build that haven, but I do think that that was the goal.

I think that spreading information about pan-Africanism is important. Right now, black bodies are so under attack that some sort of recognition of the strength in all these diasporic groups can be a reconciliation of what’s going on to black people around the world. So, in that way I think it’s fortunate that the book has come out when it has. But I would be lying if I said that I wrote it intentionally as a response to what’s going on politically. I think it really came from a place of me not being exposed to Liberian history in the way that I thought was deserved. I’m proud of my home and wanted to find a way to engage with my craft while also engaging with and exposing this history.

How long did it take to write the novel, once you had conceived the subject matter?

The first draft took me about a year to write. I finished that in 2009, then I put the manuscript away for a couple of years. I returned and edited it from 2013 to 2015, and obviously that was at the height of various social movements, particularly Black Lives Matter. And so, at the end of the book, the settlers who raise their hands and say, “Don’t shoot” — that scene was in direct conversation with and paying homage to that social movement. So those connections emerged during the editing phase but were not part of the original conception.

I know that you left Liberia at the age of five and you moved around a lot. As a result, your knowledge of West Africa — and Liberia specifically — was limited to what you learned at home. Many in the African diaspora, whether they are first-generation American or not, have had a similar experience. How did that background lend itself to She Would Be King?

Yes, we moved here when I was very young. We moved around quite a bit and my parents did what they could to tether us to our history, but I recognize that the absence was profound. When I started to write, I knew that I wanted to explore Liberian history. My parents are academics — they work for the University of Liberia, and they were always reading and transferring that knowledge to us.

When we lived in Memphis, for instance, the man my grandmother married and the man one of my aunts married were both from Mississippi, and I think they gave us an early understanding of the black struggle in the United States. That, coupled with the African political work my father read (by Kwame Nkrumah and Sékou Touré, among others) led me to believe that I was part of a global black community and was moored in my blackness. Telling the story of Liberia was telling the story of pan-Africanist identity.

Spreading pan-Africanist thinking became something I grew more and more curious about, specifically in my art. I wanted to show how the struggles of black bodies in Flint, Michigan, are connected with the struggles of black bodies in Rio De Janeiro and in Dubai and, yes, even in Liberia. How do I negotiate those relationships with my art? That was the seed and that was how my upbringing blends into it.

You make wonderful use of magic realist elements in the novel — such as Norman’s ability to disappear. What was the thinking behind your use of this technique?

I never heard stories growing up from my mother or aunties that didn’t include some aspect of the supernatural. When we moved here, that was all relegated to the world of Disney. Yet, in the West African storytelling context, those supernatural aspects weren’t seen as spectacle. The architecture of story is different if you are a Western author as compared with, say, a griot in a Vai village in southern Sierra Leone or northern Liberia. I can’t say that I consciously made the decision to use magic realism. I just decided, I want to tell this story. Mysticism, superstition, and the supernatural are so entwined with my identity that they set the pace and tone throughout the story.

Did your parents’ intellectual background lead you to start the nonprofit One Moore Book?

My parents, because they are very generous, loving people, always raised us to believe that it isn’t about us — we have to find ways to give back, to contribute in a substantive way. Through my professional career, I mostly worked with nonprofits, one of which was an organization called “Everybody Wins,” which is based in DC. I would go to schools in the District of Columbia and I would facilitate literacy workshops for third to fifth graders who just couldn’t read, they couldn’t read a word. And I quickly realized that they were totally uninterested in the texts that were being presented to them. After having conversations about their individual interests, I started to bring books that were relevant to those interests but also culturally relevant. And their interest piqued, their scores improved, our time together was more efficient, and that experience stayed with me.

When I moved back to New York after graduate school in 2009, I was dealing with the frustrations of a literary career — just the expectation bias of it all. I would say to editors, “You know, I have this magical realism novel that I just did for my thesis if anyone is interested.” But I found that publishers wanted the immigrant story first because obviously it’s a proven model. And out of those frustrations dealing with the industry, trying to find representation in my skin and in my body, I found that I needed the agency to create what’s being read and what’s being consumed by underrepresented readers.

I called my younger sister and asked her if she would be interested in illustrating a book with me. We collaborated on a book called J is for Jollof Rice. I remember taking that text into a Liberian classroom and seeing the shock on their faces, some of them were giggling, just seeing Jollof Rice on a page. It was telling and alienating, and that’s profound to think about — that something that is true to your life and your experience can be seen as comical because it is so rare. And so I knew that something else had to be done with this.

I’m not a children’s book writer, but I did collaborate with my sister and younger brother, who are both illustrators. They worked on a few books that I used as pilots for some groups that I wanted to feature and collaborate with. The goal of One Moore Book is to work with writers and illustrators in these countries to create culturally relevant material that can be used in classrooms. We try to sell to ministries of education and NGOs on the ground, as well as here in the United States. We sell of course on Amazon and other online bookstores and we’re also distributed through Scholastic Book Clubs. I haven’t had the time to dedicate to this in the way that it deserves, but because now what I do is write and teach, I have been able to commit more time. Over the next year, we are fundraising and hiring full-time or part-time staff to help build up a functional organization and establish some sort of organizational culture that I hope presents an opportunity to scale.

I’ve noticed that people of the diaspora, when they come to the United States, feel a deep need to give back or do more for their place of origin. Even though you didn’t live in Liberia for 30 years, there’s this strong longing to stay connected. Why is that?

White immigrants are usually accepted and embraced as American, because there’s institutional power in whiteness. There’s little incentive for them to say, “I am Italian or Polish,” even though those identities still exist for them. Being able to benefit from saying that you’re white takes precedence to the point that many assume that as their identity. Black immigrants, understanding the value of black bodies in this country, are more incentivized to connect with and remain tethered to their home cultures because those identities seem more valuable than their status as black bodies in the United States. It’s discouraging but that’s the reality for many. So, there’s a little of that, but there’s also guilt, especially for those of us whose families moved here because of social conflict. Knowing that I made it out, I live with the feeling that I have to do something to make sure I am contributing in some way to those who didn’t have an opportunity to escape.

While your book deals with the sense of connectedness the people of the diaspora feel toward Africa, it also highlights the disconnectedness felt by those generations who are more distant from the act of immigration or more removed from their ethnic group.

Absolutely, and I think that’s linked to contemporary conversations about identity across the diaspora. For my character June Dey, there’s this initial obliviousness and then there’s excitement — “Oh wow, I’m on the continent!” But once he’s there, he doesn’t feel the connectedness you would assume you probably would feel for a place that was home to your ancestors.

Sometimes you hear people ask, “Well, why did Africans sell each other?” and that’s so flawed. Because “Africa” is an external designation. If you go to the continent, people say I’m Yoruba or I’m Fante or I’m Vai or I’m Bassa or I’m Ibo. Those are their countries. In a conversation toward the end of the novel, when June Dey says to Norman, in effect, “I can’t believe that this black trader would do this to us,” Norman has to explain that there’s no us here — us is a function of oppression, us is a function of colonialism. June Dey and Norman have to negotiate the fact that their understanding of blackness is very different from what ethnic identity means on the continent.

There’s a moment where June Dey tells the baobab in the forest that he feels alone, like he isn’t African. Was it important to depict each character’s ultimate loneliness before they come together to fight for Liberia?

There is a profound sadness and realization that: “Oh, this place that I’ve come to help, that I want to be a part of, there’s something much more complex going on intraracially that we need to figure out before we conquer anything externally.” And it’s in the silence that a lot of us deal with that.

Norman, he’s a complex character because he spends a lot of his time alone. All of them did spend their formative years in isolation, but Norman less so because he had the support of the maroons even though he was being ostracized in different ways. But he was dealing with depression and things like that before he went.

I wanted them — June and Norman — to show, in their decision to go to Liberia and in their relationship with each other, two things. First, I wanted it to be clear that they were supporting characters, while Gbessa is the main protagonist. And then, second, I wanted to show that these people are incomplete without each other’s powers. They can manage for a little while, but in many ways they need each other. And that goes back to the theme of pan-Africanism we discussed before.

So, how do they rely on each other? How does the absence of June Dey or the absence of Norman affect the others? Of course, Gbessa totally rejects Norman and June Dey when she first sees them in the forest, but then she’s excited by the fact that there’s a similarity among them. And, by the time she’s domesticated, Christianized, and “civilized” in the absence of these other two, she doesn’t exercise her power at all, she’s afraid of it, she doesn’t want anything to do with it. The different times that they all cross paths are the only times they are able to fully realize their potential.

In terms of their special powers, can you say why it was important, specifically, that Norman should be able to disappear, that Gbessa should live forever, and that June Dey should be incredibly strong?

Gbessa’s immortality speaks to the indigenous identity on the continent — how she was Vai before Liberia even had a name. And when Liberia no longer has a name and it becomes something else, the Vai people will still be there, immortal. June Dey’s strength pays homage to the resilience of African Americans in this country and what their struggle has meant for black bodies around the world. I recognize, as a black immigrant, that the privileges I exercise were fought for and earned by the black bodies that were present here when my ancestors weren’t.

Norman’s power comes from the occult beliefs of the maroon. The maroon people are rumored to have practiced “witchcraft,” including making themselves disappear. They also escaped up to the mountains of Jamaica during the rebellion. So I wanted his power to be in conversation with the different forms of resistance exercised by these groups who were enslaved during that period.

Lastly, what is next for you?

My memoirs are coming out through Graywolf in May. I am also working on another novel that is more contemporary but will be seen as another example of what people categorize as magical realism. It is a speculative fiction novel.

¤

Mariatu Santiago works at New America, a DC-based think tank. She holds a BA in international relations with a focus on international development in sub-Saharan Africa from American University.

The post Identity Across the Diaspora: A Conversation with Wayétu Moore appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://bit.ly/2AzPHMc via IFTTT

[topmixtrends]

WAYÉTU MOORE, WHO teaches Africana Studies at the City University of New York, is the founder of One Moore Book, a nonprofit publisher that encourages reading among children of countries with low literacy rates and underrepresented cultures. In her debut novel, She Would Be King, Moore explores the birth of the state of Liberia. The story introduces us to Norman, a light-skinned maroon who left Jamaica with the intention to sojourn to Freetown in Sierra Leone; June Dey, an American child of slaves whose attempt to reach New York lands him in Liberia; and Gbessa, the main character, an outcast from her tribe, the Vai. Each character seeks to reconnect with their roots but soon finds the journey more complex than they initially thought, just like the formation of Liberia itself. Through their linked stories, Moore explores parallels with present-day diaspora communities and their connections to Africa. 

I recently talked with Wayétu Moore about her novel, the power of black bodies, and the importance of acknowledging our pasts and finding “home.”

¤

MARIATU SANTIAGO: Why was it important to tell this story now?

WAYÉTU MOORE: The book was actually sold in 2015, so I don’t know if, three years ago, it would have been considered in the same terms, socially and politically, as it is right now. But I do think its timeliness has less to do with intentionally seeking to align the book’s distribution with the current political environment than with just wanting to explore the big, complex history of a country that’s very close to the United States.

During my public school career in Texas and afterward, I got pretty used to the erasure of African histories and the prevalence of ahistorical perspectives. This book was my way of delving into that history, which in many ways is pan-Africanist in nature. My dad always emphasized that Liberia, in its essence, was supposed to be a safe haven for black people from all over the world. Obviously, what was revealed over time was that it was not so easy to build that haven, but I do think that that was the goal.

I think that spreading information about pan-Africanism is important. Right now, black bodies are so under attack that some sort of recognition of the strength in all these diasporic groups can be a reconciliation of what’s going on to black people around the world. So, in that way I think it’s fortunate that the book has come out when it has. But I would be lying if I said that I wrote it intentionally as a response to what’s going on politically. I think it really came from a place of me not being exposed to Liberian history in the way that I thought was deserved. I’m proud of my home and wanted to find a way to engage with my craft while also engaging with and exposing this history.

How long did it take to write the novel, once you had conceived the subject matter?

The first draft took me about a year to write. I finished that in 2009, then I put the manuscript away for a couple of years. I returned and edited it from 2013 to 2015, and obviously that was at the height of various social movements, particularly Black Lives Matter. And so, at the end of the book, the settlers who raise their hands and say, “Don’t shoot” — that scene was in direct conversation with and paying homage to that social movement. So those connections emerged during the editing phase but were not part of the original conception.

I know that you left Liberia at the age of five and you moved around a lot. As a result, your knowledge of West Africa — and Liberia specifically — was limited to what you learned at home. Many in the African diaspora, whether they are first-generation American or not, have had a similar experience. How did that background lend itself to She Would Be King?

Yes, we moved here when I was very young. We moved around quite a bit and my parents did what they could to tether us to our history, but I recognize that the absence was profound. When I started to write, I knew that I wanted to explore Liberian history. My parents are academics — they work for the University of Liberia, and they were always reading and transferring that knowledge to us.

When we lived in Memphis, for instance, the man my grandmother married and the man one of my aunts married were both from Mississippi, and I think they gave us an early understanding of the black struggle in the United States. That, coupled with the African political work my father read (by Kwame Nkrumah and Sékou Touré, among others) led me to believe that I was part of a global black community and was moored in my blackness. Telling the story of Liberia was telling the story of pan-Africanist identity.

Spreading pan-Africanist thinking became something I grew more and more curious about, specifically in my art. I wanted to show how the struggles of black bodies in Flint, Michigan, are connected with the struggles of black bodies in Rio De Janeiro and in Dubai and, yes, even in Liberia. How do I negotiate those relationships with my art? That was the seed and that was how my upbringing blends into it.

You make wonderful use of magic realist elements in the novel — such as Norman’s ability to disappear. What was the thinking behind your use of this technique?

I never heard stories growing up from my mother or aunties that didn’t include some aspect of the supernatural. When we moved here, that was all relegated to the world of Disney. Yet, in the West African storytelling context, those supernatural aspects weren’t seen as spectacle. The architecture of story is different if you are a Western author as compared with, say, a griot in a Vai village in southern Sierra Leone or northern Liberia. I can’t say that I consciously made the decision to use magic realism. I just decided, I want to tell this story. Mysticism, superstition, and the supernatural are so entwined with my identity that they set the pace and tone throughout the story.

Did your parents’ intellectual background lead you to start the nonprofit One Moore Book?

My parents, because they are very generous, loving people, always raised us to believe that it isn’t about us — we have to find ways to give back, to contribute in a substantive way. Through my professional career, I mostly worked with nonprofits, one of which was an organization called “Everybody Wins,” which is based in DC. I would go to schools in the District of Columbia and I would facilitate literacy workshops for third to fifth graders who just couldn’t read, they couldn’t read a word. And I quickly realized that they were totally uninterested in the texts that were being presented to them. After having conversations about their individual interests, I started to bring books that were relevant to those interests but also culturally relevant. And their interest piqued, their scores improved, our time together was more efficient, and that experience stayed with me.

When I moved back to New York after graduate school in 2009, I was dealing with the frustrations of a literary career — just the expectation bias of it all. I would say to editors, “You know, I have this magical realism novel that I just did for my thesis if anyone is interested.” But I found that publishers wanted the immigrant story first because obviously it’s a proven model. And out of those frustrations dealing with the industry, trying to find representation in my skin and in my body, I found that I needed the agency to create what’s being read and what’s being consumed by underrepresented readers.

I called my younger sister and asked her if she would be interested in illustrating a book with me. We collaborated on a book called J is for Jollof Rice. I remember taking that text into a Liberian classroom and seeing the shock on their faces, some of them were giggling, just seeing Jollof Rice on a page. It was telling and alienating, and that’s profound to think about — that something that is true to your life and your experience can be seen as comical because it is so rare. And so I knew that something else had to be done with this.

I’m not a children’s book writer, but I did collaborate with my sister and younger brother, who are both illustrators. They worked on a few books that I used as pilots for some groups that I wanted to feature and collaborate with. The goal of One Moore Book is to work with writers and illustrators in these countries to create culturally relevant material that can be used in classrooms. We try to sell to ministries of education and NGOs on the ground, as well as here in the United States. We sell of course on Amazon and other online bookstores and we’re also distributed through Scholastic Book Clubs. I haven’t had the time to dedicate to this in the way that it deserves, but because now what I do is write and teach, I have been able to commit more time. Over the next year, we are fundraising and hiring full-time or part-time staff to help build up a functional organization and establish some sort of organizational culture that I hope presents an opportunity to scale.

I’ve noticed that people of the diaspora, when they come to the United States, feel a deep need to give back or do more for their place of origin. Even though you didn’t live in Liberia for 30 years, there’s this strong longing to stay connected. Why is that?

White immigrants are usually accepted and embraced as American, because there’s institutional power in whiteness. There’s little incentive for them to say, “I am Italian or Polish,” even though those identities still exist for them. Being able to benefit from saying that you’re white takes precedence to the point that many assume that as their identity. Black immigrants, understanding the value of black bodies in this country, are more incentivized to connect with and remain tethered to their home cultures because those identities seem more valuable than their status as black bodies in the United States. It’s discouraging but that’s the reality for many. So, there’s a little of that, but there’s also guilt, especially for those of us whose families moved here because of social conflict. Knowing that I made it out, I live with the feeling that I have to do something to make sure I am contributing in some way to those who didn’t have an opportunity to escape.

While your book deals with the sense of connectedness the people of the diaspora feel toward Africa, it also highlights the disconnectedness felt by those generations who are more distant from the act of immigration or more removed from their ethnic group.

Absolutely, and I think that’s linked to contemporary conversations about identity across the diaspora. For my character June Dey, there’s this initial obliviousness and then there’s excitement — “Oh wow, I’m on the continent!” But once he’s there, he doesn’t feel the connectedness you would assume you probably would feel for a place that was home to your ancestors.

Sometimes you hear people ask, “Well, why did Africans sell each other?” and that’s so flawed. Because “Africa” is an external designation. If you go to the continent, people say I’m Yoruba or I’m Fante or I’m Vai or I’m Bassa or I’m Ibo. Those are their countries. In a conversation toward the end of the novel, when June Dey says to Norman, in effect, “I can’t believe that this black trader would do this to us,” Norman has to explain that there’s no us here — us is a function of oppression, us is a function of colonialism. June Dey and Norman have to negotiate the fact that their understanding of blackness is very different from what ethnic identity means on the continent.

There’s a moment where June Dey tells the baobab in the forest that he feels alone, like he isn’t African. Was it important to depict each character’s ultimate loneliness before they come together to fight for Liberia?

There is a profound sadness and realization that: “Oh, this place that I’ve come to help, that I want to be a part of, there’s something much more complex going on intraracially that we need to figure out before we conquer anything externally.” And it’s in the silence that a lot of us deal with that.

Norman, he’s a complex character because he spends a lot of his time alone. All of them did spend their formative years in isolation, but Norman less so because he had the support of the maroons even though he was being ostracized in different ways. But he was dealing with depression and things like that before he went.

I wanted them — June and Norman — to show, in their decision to go to Liberia and in their relationship with each other, two things. First, I wanted it to be clear that they were supporting characters, while Gbessa is the main protagonist. And then, second, I wanted to show that these people are incomplete without each other’s powers. They can manage for a little while, but in many ways they need each other. And that goes back to the theme of pan-Africanism we discussed before.

So, how do they rely on each other? How does the absence of June Dey or the absence of Norman affect the others? Of course, Gbessa totally rejects Norman and June Dey when she first sees them in the forest, but then she’s excited by the fact that there’s a similarity among them. And, by the time she’s domesticated, Christianized, and “civilized” in the absence of these other two, she doesn’t exercise her power at all, she’s afraid of it, she doesn’t want anything to do with it. The different times that they all cross paths are the only times they are able to fully realize their potential.

In terms of their special powers, can you say why it was important, specifically, that Norman should be able to disappear, that Gbessa should live forever, and that June Dey should be incredibly strong?

Gbessa’s immortality speaks to the indigenous identity on the continent — how she was Vai before Liberia even had a name. And when Liberia no longer has a name and it becomes something else, the Vai people will still be there, immortal. June Dey’s strength pays homage to the resilience of African Americans in this country and what their struggle has meant for black bodies around the world. I recognize, as a black immigrant, that the privileges I exercise were fought for and earned by the black bodies that were present here when my ancestors weren’t.

Norman’s power comes from the occult beliefs of the maroon. The maroon people are rumored to have practiced “witchcraft,” including making themselves disappear. They also escaped up to the mountains of Jamaica during the rebellion. So I wanted his power to be in conversation with the different forms of resistance exercised by these groups who were enslaved during that period.

Lastly, what is next for you?

My memoirs are coming out through Graywolf in May. I am also working on another novel that is more contemporary but will be seen as another example of what people categorize as magical realism. It is a speculative fiction novel.

¤

Mariatu Santiago works at New America, a DC-based think tank. She holds a BA in international relations with a focus on international development in sub-Saharan Africa from American University.

The post Identity Across the Diaspora: A Conversation with Wayétu Moore appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://bit.ly/2AzPHMc

[marriagebase]

50 Photos That Make Me Miss The Hell Out Of Cuba

There really are few places in this world that are as unique and as beautiful as Cuba. I have only been to the island nation just 90 miles from Key West, Florida twice, but the first time was an unforgettable 30-day road trip across the entire country. So how could I possibly top that on my return trip to co-lead a workshop with The Giving Lens? Well, quite simply, the answer is, I couldn’t. The road trip was easily one of the best experiences of my life. It was so unique and visually stunning, I even have a whole article devoted to just iPhone shots. But the one thing I remember most about that road trip? The faces. The beautiful, welcoming, animated faces of the Cuban people. Yes, I have an entire article devoted to just the Cuban faces I encountered. To make a long story short, those 30 days in Cuba were maybe my most rewarding experiences in travel and travel photography. So again, how could I possibly top that?

For my second trip to Cuba, I was primarily doing a video project for The Giving Lens. So, when I returned home, I was surprised to see how few photos I actually took during the nearly two week trip. Maybe feeling dejected, I never even looked at them. After the incredible scenes and people I had met on my first Cuban adventure, how could I have captured anything remotely close that would convey my love for the Cuban people and their culture. Almost two years have gone by since that trip, and it took a swift kick in the ass by my friend David DuChemin to inspire me to go back and look through the folder of photos. I recently spent three days studying David’s new course ‘The Traveling Lens,’ and it really reminded me about what I love about photography. I was so inspired, I immediately wrote ’20 Lessons David DuChemin Taught Me About Travel Photography.’ 

I was suddenly filled with excitement to get back on a plane and take the lessons I learned from the course and put them into action when I return to Morocco and Jordan this fall. But, what did the course teach me most of all? A lesson I don’t think David ever planned me learning from it. It taught me that, even though my Instagram is filled with mostly outdoor adventure photos and landscape shots, what really makes my heart race is the connections that I make while documenting a culture. All too often, I am too consumed with finding the photos that weave into my Instagram profile that I forget WHY I love photography in the first place. The milisecond moments in time that unfold in front of our eyes as travelers. Moments that will never, ever be recreated. Real, authentic moments that aren’t being carried out for the ‘Gram. These moments are playing out in front of us because, well, that’s life. Whether it is the shopkeeper selling goods, the food stand cart owner handing out hot, tasty empanadas or the old lady sitting and watching the day pass out of her window. This is there lives. And I am honored and humbled to capture it and share it with the world. I need to remind myself of that the next time I am looking for a colorful sunset to post on my Instagram. Am I posting that for me? Or am I posting it for the people who follow me?

I am finding myself inspired to get back to basics. To share these moments. To begin to tell travel stories again. To inspire people to let go of their fears and doubts and throw themselves out there, to get lost on the colorful cobblestone streets in a land they never dreamed of seeing. To show them that there is so much more to the world than vibrant sunsets. So thanks to David DuChemin, you now get the pleasure (or annoyance) of seeing some of my favorite photos from my last trip to Cuba.

Looking back through these, it sure as hell makes me miss Cuba. Maybe, just maybe, more than I have ever missed a country or its people before.

Fidel Castro had died just three days before we landed in Cuba. The government had imposed a nine day mourning period where alcohol, music and dancing were outlawed. All through the country, there were tributes to the leader that many Cubans had lived under their entire lives.

A man who had lost an arm holds a Fuji Instax print that I had taken and given to him just minutes earlier in Trinidad.

The capitol building in Havana as seen from a rooftop hotel bar.

While traveling with The Giving Lens, we work with a local non-profit, Amigo Skate Club. The aim of the organization is to help the local youth stay active and learn art skills such as photography, painting, and dance.

A woman waits for her ride to work under the watchful eye of her father. After she left, her father was excited to receive a Fuji Instax photo of himself to give to his wife.

Is it just me or does this kid look like the Cuban Justin Bieber?

Just two guys hanging out in the trunk of their car.

Sometimes, the best moments in Havana are high above you.

I am not entirely convinced that this Jeep mechanic wasn’t wearing women’s loafers. And they look damn good!

The best time to hit the streets of Havana? In the early morning as the city comes alive.

It’s easy to just sit down and get lost in your own thoughts as Havana goes a mile a minute around you.

Is that room still for rent?

Two woodworkers hard at work.

A woman sits in her house, surrounded by her own thoughts, which she has recorded on the walls of her house in thick permanent marker. 

A father and son share a moment in front of their car, complete with “Che” Guevara stickers on the headlights.

A butcher prepares for the after work rush of his neighbors needing meat for dinner. A school girl walking to class in Trinidad. A woman holds up a Fuji Instax that I had given her one early morning in Trinidad.

We found a bunch of cowboys in a remote farming village, and they were as awesome as they look. Also proven. It’s never too early to drink a bottle of Havana Club.

Village school children leave class as their fathers and the local farmers return home from a day in the fields.

There really is no place like Havana after the sun goes down.

After I had finished putting together this photo essay, I got inspired to re-visit my original Cuban adventure and edit some photos I had never shared before. So, here you go! Inspired to go to Cuba? Feel free to check out my travel guide and ask me anything via my Instagram!

No matter how hard we tried, this girl would not say a word to us.

A farmer returns from a day of grazing his herd of cattle.

Outside of a cemetery in Holguín, a man makes a living by selling roses on the streets to mourners as they pass the cemetery gates.

The further east you go, the worse the road conditions become. This is two of three ‘broken’ bridges we had to pass over while driving the coastal road between Cabo Cruz and Santiago de Cuba. The man is explaining to us that there is no detour and that the only way is to drive over the partially collapsed bridge.

Concentration is key when driving on the far eastern coast, outside of Baracoa.

The east coast has an entirely different vibe than the hustle of the west coast.

A hat weaver takes a break in the hot sun to light up a cigar.

A recent visit from the Pope was still highly talked about, as evident by the amount of pictures and posters taped up on shop and house walls.

A man looks out of the back of a transport truck in the smokey east coast.

A military veteran who had lost his arm in service tells us his story as his dog curiously looks on.

A woman hangs her clothes to dry on the roof of her apartment as the heavy industrial sites of Niquero looms in the background.

A merchant at the local farmer’s market easily wins the award for biggest produce.

A woman watches the day go by from the comfort of her window in Havana.

American flags are EVERYWHERE in Cuba, like on this bike taxi in Ciego De Avila.

A tobacco farmer takes a break in the late afternoon after a long day of hanging leaves to dry.

A girl waits to go to school in Havana.

A young couple takes a shower as the mother laughs at us for being so interested in this unforgettable moment on the southern coast.

Cubans are the most hospitable people I have ever met. They will always invite you into their home for coffee or rum. In the case of the Cuban Chuck Norris, it was both.

The post 50 Photos That Make Me Miss The Hell Out Of Cuba appeared first on Resource.

[biofunmy]

Who Made Your Clothes? – The New York Times

Rumsinah, 44

Role: Zipper operator at PT. Fajarindo Faliman Zipper, which focuses largely on in-house brands

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

“Most of my co-workers and I are all old-timers,” said Ms. Rumsinah, who has been working at the same factory for 26 years. “It’s a good factory, so no one really quits. There’s seldom any job openings — only if someone retires.”

She is paid about 3.4 million rupiah, or $241, per month, which she said is tight as a single parent. Her son recently finished high school. “He can’t work at my factory because there’s no openings,” she said. “He wants to be a teacher, but we don’t have enough money to send him to go to university.”

Though her job is tiring, “all jobs are tiring,” she said. “At least weekends are off, and the hours are not too bad.”

Waheed, 38

Role: Sewing bedsheets and curtains at a textile mill

Where: Pakistan

Waheed, who is being identified only by his first name, has been in the textile industry for 20 years and works seven days a week to support his wife and two young sons. They share a house with his parents, his sisters and his brothers.

“Most factories place a lot of restrictions on garment workers. Once they come in for their shift around 8 in the morning, there’s no knowing when supervisors will let them out. It may be 8 p.m. or 10 p.m. by the time they are allowed to leave for the day.

Workers at my factory don’t have it as bad. That’s why I’ve been here for the past 10 years. It’s a nice place to work. But some of the resources that workers really need aren’t provided, such as first-aid kits or pension cards.

It’s pretty common to get your fingers injured — sometimes needles break and get stuck in your bone if your hand gets in the way of the machine. Then you have to go to the hospital and get X-rays yourself.

It’s difficult to manage on the salary I earn. My expenses amount to about 2,000 rupees a day, including the cost of my children’s clothes, their education, my family’s groceries and other bills. But I barely make 1,000 rupees a day.”

Seak Hong, 36

Role: Sews outdoor apparel and bags at Horizon Outdoor

Where: Khum Longvek, Kampong Chhnang, Cambodia

Six days a week, Ms. Hong wakes up at 4:35 a.m. to catch the truck to work from her village. Her workday begins at 7 and usually lasts nine hours, with a lunch break. During the peak season, which lasts two to three months, she works until 8:30 p.m.

Ms. Hong has been in the garment business for 22 years. She earns the equivalent of about $230 a month and supports her father, her sister, her brother (who is on disability) and her 12-year-old son.

She hopes he will not end up in a factory, too, but the price of a quality education — about $20 per month — is beyond her means. While she is at work, her sister manages the household, taking care of their oxen and rice farming their land for extra food.

“I feel tired, but I have no choice,” Ms. Hong said. “I have to work.”

Yurani Tascon, 34

Role: Tracks daily production numbers at Supertex, which works with major active wear brands

Where: Yumbo, Colombia

“They spoil us a lot here,” Ms. Tascon said. “It’s a job with good stability.” Her workplace blasts music — usually salsa or something traditional — from speakers throughout the day while employees make coats, bathing suits and sportswear.

At 11 a.m., employees get “pausas activas”: active breaks with music.

Sarjimin, 39

Role: Makes shoes for a comfort footwear brand at PT. Dwi Naga Sakti Abadi

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

Mr. Sarjimin has worked at the same factory for about 12 years. The job is relatively stable, and his workplace is spacious, bright and safe.

He earns the equivalent of $250 a month, and his wife also works at a factory. The family is able to send their children, a 13-year-old and a 9-year-old, to good schools. They recently purchased a computer for their older son, who is passionate about technology.

Mr. Sarjimin farms catfish to supplement his family’s grocery money. He started six months ago, filling a big empty drum with starter fish as an experiment. Now he has two drums with 300 fish each, and he sells them to friends, family and neighbors.

One day, he would like to raise catfish full time. “There’s a motivational speaker I heard once, ‘You have to dare to dream, how to get there is a question for a different time,’” he said. “I like remembering those words.”

Saida, 38

Role: Sewing machine operator at Pinehurst Manufacturing, which works with major active wear brands

Where: San Pedro Sula, Honduras

The factory where Saida has worked for the last 12 years is one of the few in the area. She earns about 8,200 lempira each month, roughly $331. “It doesn’t cover everything,” she said. “Vivimos sobregirados.” (“We live overdrawn.”)

Saida lives with her mother and her 19-year-old daughter, who goes to school. “I am the one who provides everything at home. The house, the water, the electricity,” she said. “You have to stop buying certain things to be able to cover the necessities.”

Her unit currently has one primary client, a major sportswear brand. This is a source of anxiety for her and her co-workers because they fear mass layoffs if the client leaves the company. “It’s really difficult having one client,” she said.

Bui Chi Thang, 35

Role: Stitching denim together for sustainability-focused brands at Saitex International

Where: Bien Hoa, Vietnam

Mr. Bui has been at his factory for seven years. “It matches my skill,” he said, “and the salary is enough for my family.” He earns approximately 90 million dong annually, roughly $3,880, which he uses to support his mother, wife and son.

During the average nine-hour workday, “I can finish 1,000 to 1,200 pieces a day, depending on the difficulty,” he said.

Santiago, 48

Role: Sews clasps and zippers onto dresses, blouses and pants at a factory

Where: Los Angeles

“I’m from Guatemala. I’ve been doing garment work for 16 years. I started because it was the only thing I knew how to do after leaving my home country,” Santiago said. “I came here because there were not as many opportunities back home, and with six children, there are a lot of expenses.”

In the last five years, he has worked in five to eight factories. They are often windowless and dirty, with little ventilation, he said.

When he first moved to Los Angeles, Santiago was working 11-hour shifts, seven days a week. Now he works about 50 hours a week, taking home up to $350. The majority of his co-workers — around 30 other people — are Spanish speakers from Guatemala, El Salvador and Mexico.

“I’m just making ends meet,” he said. “I’m always trying to figure out how to save money, how to buy food, how to not eat out too much.” Still, he said it is better than what he was earning in Guatemala.

Maria Valdinete da Silva, 46

Role: Self-employed seamstress

Where: Caruaru, Brazil

The last factory Ms. da Silva worked at produced men’s street wear. She spent eight years there, stitching side seams together in an assembly line with an hourly quota.

“Some companies, like the one I worked for, no longer have employees inside the factory and the seamstresses work from home,” she said. “They establish small groups, tiny factories, and they are paid per item, so they basically have the same production without any costs.”

In order to make minimum wage, outsourced employees “have to work from day to night,” she said.

Ms. da Silva now makes women’s clothing independently, producing fewer pieces and selling them locally. She makes “maybe half” of minimum wage, but she said it’s worth it to work at her own pace. “I love what I do,” she said. “I no longer see myself in that situation of sitting in front of a machine doing the same thing every day.”

She is planning on taking fashion design courses soon. “Seamstresses are the key element in the fashion chain, we are the ones who put the clothes together,” she said. “You basically have to kill yourself in front of a sewing machine in order to provide for your family.”

Antonio Ripani, 72

Role: Leather quality control at Tod’s Group

Where: Casette d’Ete, Italy

Mr. Ripani, who began working with leather at 14, has been employed by Tod’s for more than 40 years, where he assesses “practically all the hides that arrive” for quality.

“Alone it’s hard to do everything, so I have a group of ragazzi [guys] under me and I have taught them everything I’ve been able to understand after all these years,” he said.

Mr. Ripani doesn’t earn much, he said, but he sets his own schedule, often working eight to 12 hours a day. He has assistants and has received awards for his highly specialized work.

“It’s not so much the salary, it’s that I am here because we’re all one family,” he said. “When I started, I had long hair. Now, I am bald.”

Rukhsana, 48

Role: Security at Sitara Textile Industries

Where: Faisalabad, Pakistan

Rukhsana began working in the garment industry shortly after her husband died seven years ago. She works seven days a week.

“The hardest thing about working in a textile mill is that management kind of cuts you off from the world for the duration of your shift. If anyone calls you from home — with good news or bad news — you can’t take the call and management doesn’t tell you until the day is over.

Two years ago, my nephew died in an accident when I was working. My brother tried calling me, but management didn’t tell me about it until my family had already held his funeral. I was so upset, I quit my job.

Now that I’m in security, I know when someone comes to the mill and tries to contact a worker. But I’m still not allowed to tell the worker their relative has been trying to reach them.

It’s not just difficult, it’s impossible to survive on the salary the textile mills pay. Are we supposed to choose between buying food and roti or paying for clothes and medicine? And there’s always rent to pay in addition to that.”

(Employees store their phones in a locker before beginning their shift, a company spokesman said in a phone interview, and they aren’t allowed to leave the organization “without any written acknowledgment from the manager.”

He said that family can reach employees on their cellphones or by calling the factory directly, and that he was not aware of any incidents in which family was prevented or delayed from contacting an employee during an emergency. )

Vu Hoang Quan, 21

Role: Sews dress shirts for mass retailers at TAL Apparel

Where: Binh Xuyen, Vinh Phuc, Vietnam

Mr. Vu has spent the last four years working on a production line with about 30 other employees, each overseeing parts of the sewing process. On average, he earns about 10 to 12 million dong (about $432 to $518) monthly. He sends most of it back to his family.

“My favorite time is at 3 p.m., when we have an exercise session,” he said. “We stay at our work spot. We pause our work process, line up and follow the exercise instructions of team leaders.”

He recently participated in a talent show hosted by the company, where he performed modern dance. “I don’t have plans to leave this job anytime soon,” he said. “I’m quite satisfied with it.”

Catherine Gamet, 48

Role: Leather goods artisan at Louis Vuitton

Where: Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule, France

Ms. Gamet began working with leather when she was 16 years old and has been employed by Vuitton for 23 years. “To be able to build bags and all, and to be able to sew behind the machine, to do hand-sewn products, it is my passion,” she said. “That’s how I got into it.”

About 800 employees work in Saint-Pourçain, spread out across four sites. Ms. Gamet said the workshops are well organized, bright and modern. “The time flies by,” she said.

S, 33

Role: Tailor making pants and socks for fast fashion and active wear brands at Shahi Exports

Where: India

S.’s shift begins at 9 a.m. She feels a lot of pressure from supervisors to reach quotas of about 90 to 120 pieces per hour and said many workers are afraid to take breaks or use the restroom because it will waste time.

Employees who can’t keep up are often pulled aside at the end of each hour, she said, and supervisors will yell at them and bang on tables. Many workers spend most of their 30-minute lunch breaks scrambling to finish more pieces to get back on track.

“We don’t even have the freedom to drink water,” S. said, adding that management doesn’t allow employees to bring in water bottles.

Instead, water is handed out by the factory. In the spring of 2018, the supplied water was making workers sick, and when employees gave management a letter with a variety of basic requests, including clean water, they were beaten in response. Their clothes were torn, and many of their valuables, including phones and jewelry, were taken.

The employees took their complaint to the labor department. The issues were resolved three months after the incident, after the factory faced public pressure from a report by an American watchdog group, social media and brands that worked with the factory.

Some conditions have improved: Employees get mineral water now. But the pay is still bad, S. said, and the main work space doesn’t have windows, air-conditioning or heaters.

“We want to ask for more salary, but people are scared after what happened last year to ask again,” she said.

(In an email, a spokesman from Shahi Exports acknowledged the 2018 incident and forwarded a statement outlining the preventive measures the company has since enacted.

In a separate email, a spokesman said that berating employees in any way “constitutes misconduct,” and instances brought to management’s attention would “initiate action” against the perpetrator.

“While we do strive to drive efficiencies, there is no scope to berate any employee on account of non-performance or deficient performance,” he said. The spokesman added that there “is adequate ventilation” within the work space and that the entire factory is “in compliance with the law.”)

S. is a single parent and picks up extra work in the evenings, along with taking out loans, to support herself and her daughter. “There are thousands of people” in her city in the same situation, she said. “My story is just one of them.”

Phool Bano, 38

Role: Tailor at Friends Factory

Where: Noida, India

Ms. Bano has been a tailor for about 22 years and works at a progressive factory that makes small batches of garments for high-end independent brands. The building has little luxuries like air purifiers.

“It feels nice working here,” Ms. Bano said. “It’s clean. There are some plants and trees also, you know, the kind that are meant for decoration.”

Helena Lúcia Santos da Conceição da Silva, 54

Role: Seamstress at Fantasia D!kas Roupas

Where: Nova Friburgo, Brazil

“I’ve always thought of myself as a seamstress. I even made my daughter’s sweet-16 dress. It looks like overlapping petals. It’s my greatest pride.

I start work at 7 a.m. We make everything: pants, shorts, tops. I work eight hours a day Mondays to Fridays with a one-hour lunch break. It’s a small company: me and five other seamstresses. We don’t have a quota. Here they value quality over quantity. I don’t even know how many pieces I work on in a given day. We don’t keep track.

Ms. da Silva does not make enough money from her day job, so she picks up extra work from private clients to complete on evenings and weekends, sometimes working until 10 p.m.

I prefer working for this manufacturer because I’m on the payroll, I’m entitled to vacations. It’s more secure. But my dream is to have my own atelier at home.”

Knvul Sheikh contributed reporting.

Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style

from WordPress http://bit.ly/35COLEs via IFTTT