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mariacallous · 6 months

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One of the section leaders for my computer-science class, Hamza El Boudali, believes that President Joe Biden should be killed. “I’m not calling for a civilian to do it, but I think a military should,” the 23-year-old Stanford University student told a small group of protesters last month. “I’d be happy if Biden was dead.” He thinks that Stanford is complicit in what he calls the genocide of Palestinians, and that Biden is not only complicit but responsible for it. “I’m not calling for a vigilante to do it,” he later clarified, “but I’m saying he is guilty of mass murder and should be treated in the same way that a terrorist with darker skin would be (and we all know terrorists with dark skin are typically bombed and drone striked by American planes).” El Boudali has also said that he believes that Hamas’s October 7 attack was a justifiable act of resistance, and that he would actually prefer Hamas rule America in place of its current government (though he clarified later that he “doesn’t mean Hamas is perfect”). When you ask him what his cause is, he answers: “Peace.”

I switched to a different computer-science section.

Israel is 7,500 miles away from Stanford’s campus, where I am a sophomore. But the Hamas invasion and the Israeli counterinvasion have fractured my university, a place typically less focused on geopolitics than on venture-capital funding for the latest dorm-based tech start-up. Few students would call for Biden’s head—I think—but many of the same young people who say they want peace in Gaza don’t seem to realize that they are in fact advocating for violence. Extremism has swept through classrooms and dorms, and it is becoming normal for students to be harassed and intimidated for their faith, heritage, or appearance—they have been called perpetrators of genocide for wearing kippahs, and accused of supporting terrorism for wearing keffiyehs. The extremism and anti-Semitism at Ivy League universities on the East Coast have attracted so much media and congressional attention that two Ivy presidents have lost their jobs. But few people seem to have noticed the culture war that has taken over our California campus.

For four months, two rival groups of protesters, separated by a narrow bike path, faced off on Stanford’s palm-covered grounds. The “Sit-In to Stop Genocide” encampment was erected by students in mid-October, even before Israeli troops had crossed into Gaza, to demand that the university divest from Israel and condemn its behavior. Posters were hung equating Hamas with Ukraine and Nelson Mandela. Across from the sit-in, a rival group of pro-Israel students eventually set up the “Blue and White Tent” to provide, as one activist put it, a “safe space” to “be a proud Jew on campus.” Soon it became the center of its own cluster of tents, with photos of Hamas’s victims sitting opposite the rubble-ridden images of Gaza and a long (and incomplete) list of the names of slain Palestinians displayed by the students at the sit-in.

Some days the dueling encampments would host only a few people each, but on a sunny weekday afternoon, there could be dozens. Most of the time, the groups tolerated each other. But not always. Students on both sides were reportedly spit on and yelled at, and had their belongings destroyed. (The perpetrators in many cases seemed to be adults who weren’t affiliated with Stanford, a security guard told me.) The university put in place round-the-clock security, but when something actually happened, no one quite knew what to do.

Stanford has a policy barring overnight camping, but for months didn’t enforce it, “out of a desire to support the peaceful expression of free speech in the ways that students choose to exercise that expression”—and, the administration told alumni, because the university feared that confronting the students would only make the conflict worse. When the school finally said the tents had to go last month, enormous protests against the university administration, and against Israel, followed.

“We don’t want no two states! We want all of ’48!” students chanted, a slogan advocating that Israel be dismantled and replaced by a single Arab nation. Palestinian flags flew alongside bright “Welcome!” banners left over from new-student orientation. A young woman gave a speech that seemed to capture the sense of urgency and power that so many students here feel. “We are Stanford University!” she shouted. “We control things!”

“We’ve had protests in the past,” Richard Saller, the university’s interim president, told me in November—about the environment, and apartheid, and Vietnam. But they didn’t pit “students against each other” the way that this conflict has.

I’ve spoken with Saller, a scholar of Roman history, a few times over the past six months in my capacity as a student journalist. We first met in September, a few weeks into his tenure. His predecessor, Marc Tessier-Lavigne, had resigned as president after my reporting for The Stanford Daily exposed misconduct in his academic research. (Tessier-Lavigne had failed to retract papers with faked data over the course of 20 years. In his resignation statement, he denied allegations of fraud and misconduct; a Stanford investigation determined that he had not personally manipulated data or ordered any manipulation but that he had repeatedly “failed to decisively and forthrightly correct mistakes” from his lab.)

In that first conversation, Saller told me that everyone was “eager to move on” from the Tessier-Lavigne scandal. He was cheerful and upbeat. He knew he wasn’t staying in the job long; he hadn’t even bothered to move into the recently vacated presidential manor. In any case, campus, at that time, was serene. Then, a week later, came October 7.

The attack was as clear a litmus test as one could imagine for the Middle East conflict. Hamas insurgents raided homes and a music festival with the goal of slaughtering as many civilians as possible. Some victims were raped and mutilated, several independent investigations found. Hundreds of hostages were taken into Gaza and many have been tortured.

This, of course, was bad. Saying this was bad does not negate or marginalize the abuses and suffering Palestinians have experienced in Gaza and elsewhere. Everyone, of every ideology, should be able to say that this was bad. But much of this campus failed that simple test.

Two days after the deadliest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, Stanford released milquetoast statements marking the “moment of intense emotion” and declaring “deep concern” over “the crisis in Israel and Palestine.” The official statements did not use the words Hamas or violence.

The absence of a clear institutional response led some teachers to take matters into their own hands. During a mandatory freshman seminar on October 10, a lecturer named Ameer Loggins tossed out his lesson plan to tell students that the actions of the Palestinian “military force” had been justified, that Israelis were colonizers, and that the Holocaust had been overemphasized, according to interviews I conducted with students in the class. Loggins then asked the Jewish students to identify themselves. He instructed one of them to “stand up, face the window, and he kind of kicked away his chair,” a witness told me. Loggins described this as an effort to demonstrate Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. (Loggins did not reply to a request for comment; a spokesperson for Stanford said that there were “different recollections of the details regarding what happened” in the class.)

“We’re only in our third week of college, and we’re afraid to be here,” three students in the class wrote in an email that night to administrators. “This isn’t what Stanford was supposed to be.” The class Loggins taught is called COLLEGE, short for “Civic, Liberal, and Global Education,” and it is billed as an effort to develop “the skills that empower and enable us to live together.”

Loggins was suspended from teaching duties and an investigation was opened; this angered pro-Palestine activists, who organized a petition that garnered more than 1,700 signatures contesting the suspension. A pamphlet from the petitioners argued that Loggins’s behavior had not been out of bounds.

The day after the class, Stanford put out a statement written by Saller and Jenny Martinez, the university provost, more forcefully condemning the Hamas attack. Immediately, this new statement generated backlash.

Pro-Palestine activists complained about it during an event held the same day, the first of several “teach-ins” about the conflict. Students gathered in one of Stanford’s dorms to “bear witness to the struggles of decolonization.” The grievances and pain shared by Palestinian students were real. They told of discrimination and violence, of frightened family members subjected to harsh conditions. But the most raucous reaction from the crowd was in response to a young woman who said, “You ask us, do we condemn Hamas? Fuck you!” She added that she was “so proud of my resistance.”

David Palumbo-Liu, a professor of comparative literature with a focus on postcolonial studies, also spoke at the teach-in, explaining to the crowd that “European settlers” had come to “replace” Palestine’s “native population.”

Palumbo-Liu is known as an intelligent and supportive professor, and is popular among students, who call him by his initials, DPL. I wanted to ask him about his involvement in the teach-in, so we met one day in a café a few hundred feet away from the tents. I asked if he could elaborate on what he’d said at the event about Palestine’s native population. He was happy to expand: This was “one of those discussions that could go on forever. Like, who is actually native? At what point does nativism lapse, right? Well, you haven’t been native for X number of years, so …” In the end, he said, “you have two people who both feel they have a claim to the land,” and “they have to live together. Both sides have to cede something.”

The struggle at Stanford, he told me, “is to find a way in which open discussions can be had that allow people to disagree.” It’s true that Stanford has utterly failed in its efforts to encourage productive dialogue. But I still found it hard to reconcile DPL’s words with his public statements on Israel, which he’d recently said on Facebook should be “the most hated nation in the world.” He also wrote: “When Zionists say they don’t feel ‘safe’ on campus, I’ve come to see that as they no longer feel immune to criticism of Israel.” He continued: “Well as the saying goes, get used to it.”

Zionists, and indeed Jewish students of all political beliefs, have been given good reason to fear for their safety. They’ve been followed, harassed, and called derogatory racial epithets. At least one was told he was a “dirty Jew.” At least twice, mezuzahs have been ripped from students’ doors, and swastikas have been drawn in dorms. Arab and Muslim students also face alarming threats. The computer-science section leader, El Boudali, a pro-Palestine activist, told me he felt “safe personally,” but knew others who did not: “Some people have reported feeling like they’re followed, especially women who wear the hijab.”

In a remarkably short period of time, aggression and abuse have become commonplace, an accepted part of campus activism. In January, Jewish students organized an event dedicated to ameliorating anti-Semitism. It marked one of Saller’s first public appearances in the new year. Its topic seemed uncontroversial, and I thought it would generate little backlash.

Protests began before the panel discussion even started, with activists lining the stairs leading to the auditorium. During the event they drowned out the panelists, one of whom was Israel’s special envoy for combating anti-Semitism, by demanding a cease-fire. After participants began cycling out into the dark, things got ugly.

Activists, their faces covered by keffiyehs or medical masks, confronted attendees. “Go back to Brooklyn!” a young woman shouted at Jewish students. One protester, who emerged as the leader of the group, said that she and her compatriots would “take all of your places and ensure Israel falls.” She told attendees to get “off our fucking campus” and launched into conspiracy theories about Jews being involved in “child trafficking.” As a rabbi tried to leave the event, protesters pursued him, chanting, “There is only one solution! Intifada revolution!”

At one point, some members of the group turned on a few Stanford employees, including another rabbi, an imam, and a chaplain, telling them, “We know your names and we know where you work.” The ringleader added: “And we’ll soon find out where you live.” The religious leaders formed a protective barrier in front of the Jewish students. The rabbi and the imam appeared to be crying.

Saller avoided the protest by leaving through another door. Early that morning, his private residence had been vandalized. Protesters frequently tell him he “can’t hide” and shout him down. “We charge you with genocide!” they chant, demanding that Stanford divest from Israel. (When asked whether Stanford actually invested in Israel, a spokesperson replied that, beyond small exposures from passive funds that track indexes such as the S&P 500, the university’s endowment “has no direct holdings in Israeli companies, or direct holdings in defense contractors.”)

When the university finally said the protest tents had to be removed, students responded by accusing Saller of suppressing their right to free speech. This is probably the last charge he expected to face. Saller once served as provost at the University of Chicago, which is known for holding itself to a position of strict institutional neutrality so that its students can freely explore ideas for themselves. Saller has a lifelong belief in First Amendment rights. But that conviction in impartial college governance does not align with Stanford’s behavior in recent years. Despite the fact that many students seemed largely uninterested in the headlines before this year, Stanford’s administrative leadership has often taken positions on political issues and events, such as the Paris climate conference and the murder of George Floyd. After Russia invaded Ukraine, Stanford’s Hoover Tower was lit up in blue and yellow, and the school released a statement in solidarity.

When we first met, a week before October 7, I asked Saller about this. Did Stanford have a moral duty to denounce the war in Ukraine, for example, or the ethnic cleansing of Uyghur Muslims in China? “On international political issues, no,” he said. “That’s not a responsibility for the university as a whole, as an institution.”

But when Saller tried to apply his convictions on neutrality for the first time as president, dozens of faculty members condemned the response, many pro-Israel alumni were outraged, donors had private discussions about pulling funding, and an Israeli university sent an open letter to Saller and Martinez saying, “Stanford’s administration has failed us.” The initial statement had tried to make clear that the school’s policy was not Israel-specific: It noted that the university would not take a position on the turmoil in Nagorno-Karabakh (where Armenians are undergoing ethnic cleansing) either. But the message didn’t get through.

Saller had to beat an awkward retreat or risk the exact sort of public humiliation that he, as caretaker president, had presumably been hired to avoid. He came up with a compromise that landed somewhere in the middle: an unequivocal condemnation of Hamas’s “intolerable atrocities” paired with a statement making clear that Stanford would commit to institutional neutrality going forward.

“The events in Israel and Gaza this week have affected and engaged large numbers of students on our campus in ways that many other events have not,” the statement read. “This is why we feel compelled to both address the impact of these events on our campus and to explain why our general policy of not issuing statements about news events not directly connected to campus has limited the breadth of our comments thus far, and why you should not expect frequent commentary from us in the future.”

I asked Saller why he had changed tack on Israel and not on Nagorno-Karabakh. “We don’t feel as if we should be making statements on every war crime and atrocity,” he told me. This felt like a statement in and of itself.

In making such decisions, Saller works closely with Martinez, Stanford’s provost. I happened to interview her, too, a few days before October 7, not long after she’d been appointed. When I asked about her hopes for the job, she said that a “priority is ensuring an environment in which free speech and academic freedom are preserved.”

We talked about the so-called Leonard Law—a provision unique to California that requires private universities to be governed by the same First Amendment protections as public ones. This restricts what Stanford can do in terms of penalizing speech, putting it in a stricter bind than Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, or any of the other elite private institutions that have more latitude to set the standards for their campus (whether or not they have done so).

So I was surprised when, in December, the university announced that abstract calls for genocide “clearly violate Stanford’s Fundamental Standard, the code of conduct for all students at the university.” The statement was a response to the outrage following the congressional testimony of three university presidents—outrage that eventually led to the resignation of two of them, Harvard’s Claudine Gay and Penn’s Liz Magill. Gay and Magill, who had both previously held positions at Stanford, did not commit to punishing calls for the genocide of Jews.

Experts told me that Stanford’s policy is impossible to enforce—and Saller himself acknowledged as much in our March interview.

“Liz Magill is a good friend,” Saller told me, adding, “Having watched what happened at Harvard and Penn, it seemed prudent” to publicly state that Stanford rejected calls for genocide. But saying that those calls violate the code of conduct “is not the same thing as to say that we could actually punish it.”

Stanford’s leaders seem to be trying their best while adapting to the situation in real time. But the muddled messaging has created a policy of neutrality that does not feel neutral at all.

When we met back in November, I tried to get Saller to open up about his experience running an institution in turmoil. What’s it like to know that so many students seem to believe that he—a mild-mannered 71-year-old classicist who swing-dances with his anthropologist wife—is a warmonger? Saller was more candid than I expected—perhaps more candid than any prominent university president has been yet. We sat in the same conference room as we had in September. The weather hadn’t really changed. Yet I felt like I was sitting in front of a different person. He was hunched over and looked exhausted, and his voice broke when he talked about the loss of life in Gaza and Israel and “the fact that we’re caught up in it.” A capable administrator with decades of experience, Saller seemed almost at a loss. “It’s been a kind of roller coaster, to be honest.”

He said he hadn’t anticipated the deluge of the emails “blaming me for lack of moral courage.” Anything the university says seems bound to be wrong: “If I say that our position is that we grieve over the loss of innocent lives, that in itself will draw some hostile reactions.”

“I find that really difficult to navigate,” he said with a sigh.

By March, it seemed that his views had solidified. He said he knew he was “a target,” but he was not going to be pushed into issuing any more statements. The continuing crisis seems to have granted him new insight. “I am certain that whatever I say will not have any material effect on the war in Gaza.” It’s hard to argue with that.

People tend to blame the campus wars on two villains: dithering administrators and radical student activists. But colleges have always had dithering administrators and radical student activists. To my mind, it’s the average students who have changed.

Elite universities attract a certain kind of student: the overachieving striver who has won all the right accolades for all the right activities. Is it such a surprise that the kids who are trained in the constant pursuit of perfect scores think they have to look at the world like a series of multiple-choice questions, with clearly right or wrong answers? Or that they think they can gamify a political cause in the same way they ace a standardized test?

Everyone knows that the only reliable way to get into a school like Stanford is to be really good at looking really good. Now that they’re here, students know that one easy way to keep looking good is to side with the majority of protesters, and condemn Israel.

It’s not that there isn’t real anger and anxiety over what is happening in Gaza—there is, and justifiably so. I know that among the protesters are many people who are deeply connected to this issue. But they are not the majority. What really activates the crowds now seems less a principled devotion to Palestine or to pacifism than a desire for collective action, to fit in by embracing the fashionable cause of the moment—as if a centuries-old conflict in which both sides have stolen and killed could ever be a simple matter of right and wrong. In their haste to exhibit moral righteousness, many of the least informed protesters end up being the loudest and most uncompromising.

Today’s students grew up in the Trump era, in which violent rhetoric has become a normal part of political discourse and activism is as easy as reposting an infographic. Many young people have come to feel that being angry is enough to foment change. Furious at the world’s injustices and desperate for a simple way to express that fury, they don’t seem interested in any form of engagement more nuanced than backing a pure protagonist and denouncing an evil enemy. They don’t, always, seem that concerned with the truth.

At the protest last month to prevent the removal of the sit-in, an activist in a pink Women’s March “pussy hat” shouted that no rape was committed by Hamas on October 7. “There hasn’t been proof of these rape accusations,” a student told me in a separate conversation, criticizing the Blue and White Tent for spreading what he considered to be misinformation about sexual violence. (In March, a United Nations report found “reasonable grounds to believe that conflict-related sexual violence,” including “rape and gang rape,” occurred in multiple locations on October 7, as well as “clear and convincing information” on the “rape and sexualized torture” of hostages.) “The level of propaganda” surrounding Hamas, he told me, “is just unbelievable.”

The real story at Stanford is not about the malicious actors who endorse sexual assault and murder as forms of resistance, but about those who passively enable them because they believe their side can do no wrong. You don’t have to understand what you’re arguing for in order to argue for it. You don’t have to be able to name the river or the sea under discussion to chant “From the river to the sea.” This kind of obliviousness explains how one of my friends, a gay activist, can justify Hamas’s actions, even though it would have the two of us—an outspoken queer person and a Jewish reporter—killed in a heartbeat. A similar mentality can exist on the other side: I have heard students insist on the absolute righteousness of Israel yet seem uninterested in learning anything about what life is like in Gaza.

I’m familiar with the pull of achievement culture—after all, I’m a product of the same system. I fell in love with Stanford as a 7-year-old, lying on the floor of an East Coast library and picturing all the cool technology those West Coast geniuses were dreaming up. I cried when I was accepted; I spent the next few months scrolling through the course catalog, giddy with anticipation. I wanted to learn everything.

I learned more than I expected. Within my first week here, someone asked me: “Why are all Jews so rich?” In 2016, when Stanford’s undergraduate senate had debated a resolution against anti-Semitism, one of its members argued that the idea of “Jews controlling the media, economy, government, and other societal institutions” represented “a very valid discussion.” (He apologized, and the resolution passed.) In my dorm last year, a student discussed being Jewish and awoke the next day to swastikas and a portrait of Hitler affixed to his door.

I grew up secularly, with no strong affiliation to Jewish culture. When I found out as a teenager that some of my ancestors had hidden their identity from their children and that dozens of my relatives had died in the Holocaust (something no living member of my family had known), I felt the barest tremor of identity. After I saw so many people I know cheering after October 7, I felt something stronger stir. I know others have experienced something similar. Even a professor texted me to say that she felt Jewish in a way she never had before.

But my frustration with the conflict on campus has little to do with my own identity. Across the many conversations and hours of formal interviews I conducted for this article, I’ve encountered a persistent anti-intellectual streak. I’ve watched many of my classmates treat death so cavalierly that they can protest as a pregame to a party. Indeed, two parties at Stanford were reported to the university this fall for allegedly making people say “Fuck Israel” or “Free Palestine” to get in the door. A spokesperson for the university said it was “unable to confirm the facts of what occurred,” but that it had “met with students involved in both parties to make clear that Stanford’s nondiscrimination policy applies to parties.” As a friend emailed me not long ago: “A place that was supposed to be a sanctuary from such unreason has become a factory for it.”

Readers may be tempted to discount the conduct displayed at Stanford. After all, the thinking goes, these are privileged kids doing what they always do: embracing faux-radicalism in college before taking jobs in fintech or consulting. These students, some might say, aren’t representative of America.

And yet they are representative of something: of the conduct many of the most accomplished students in my generation have accepted as tolerable, and what that means for the future of our country. I admire activism. We need people willing to protest what they see as wrong and take on entrenched systems of repression. But we also need to read, learn, discuss, accept the existence of nuance, embrace diversity of thought, and hold our own allies to high standards. More than ever, we need universities to teach young people how to do all of this.

For so long, Stanford’s physical standoff seemed intractable. Then, in early February, a storm swept in, and the natural world dictated its own conclusion.

Heavy rains flooded campus. For hours, the students battled to save their tents. The sit-in activists used sandbags and anything else they could find to hold back the water—at one point, David Palumbo-Liu, the professor, told me he stood in the lashing downpour to anchor one of the sit-in’s tents with his own body. When the storm hit, many of the Jewish activists had been attending a discussion on anti-Semitism. They raced back and struggled to salvage the Blue and White Tent, but it was too late—the wind had ripped it out of the ground.

The next day, the weary Jewish protesters returned to discover that their space had been taken.

A new collection of tents had been set up by El Boudali, the pro-Palestine activist, and a dozen friends. He said they were there to protest Islamophobia and to teach about Islam and jihad, and that they were a separate entity from the Sit-In to Stop Genocide, though I observed students cycling between the tents. Palestinian flags now flew from the bookstore to the quad.

Administrators told me they’d quickly informed El Boudali and his allies that the space had been reserved by the Jewish advocates, and offered to help move them to a different location. But the protesters told me they had no intention of going. (El Boudali later said that they did not take over the entire space, and would have been “happy to exist side by side, but they wanted to kick us off entirely from that lawn.”)

When it was clear that the area where they’d set up their tents would not be ceded back to the pro-Israel group willingly, Stanford changed course and decided to clear everyone out in one fell swoop. On February 8, school officials ordered all students to vacate the plaza overnight. The university was finally going to enforce its rule prohibiting people from sleeping outside on campus and requiring the removal of belongings from the plaza between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. The order cited the danger posed by the storm as a justification for changing course and, probably hoping to avoid allegations of bias, described the decision as “viewpoint-neutral.”

That didn’t work.

About a week of protests, led by the sit-in organizers, followed. Chants were chanted. More demands for a “river to the sea” solution to the Israel problem were made. A friend boasted to me about her willingness to be arrested. Stanford sent a handful of staff members, who stood near balloons left over from an event earlier in the day. They were there, one of them told me, to “make students feel supported and safe.”

In the end, Saller and Martinez agreed to talk with the leaders of the sit-in about their demands to divest the university and condemn Israel, under the proviso that the activists comply with Stanford’s anti-camping guidelines “regardless of the outcome of discussions.” Eight days after they were first instructed to leave, 120 days after setting up camp, the sit-in protesters slept in their own beds. In defiance of the university’s instructions, they left behind their tents. But sometime in the very early hours of the morning, law-enforcement officers confiscated the structures. The area was cordoned off without any violence and the plaza filled once more with electric skateboards and farmers’ markets.

The conflict continues in its own way. Saller was just shouted down by protesters chanting “No peace on stolen land” at a Family Weekend event, and protesters later displayed an effigy of him covered in blood. Students still feel tense; Saller still seems worried. He told me that the university is planning to change all manner of things—residential-assistant training, new-student orientation, even the acceptance letters that students receive—in hopes of fostering a culture of greater tolerance. But no campus edict or panel discussion can address a problem that is so much bigger than our university.

At one rally last fall, a speaker expressed disillusionment about the power of “peaceful resistance” on college campuses. “What is there left to do but to take up arms?” The crowd cheered as he said Israel must be destroyed. But what would happen to its citizens? I’d prefer to believe that most protesters chanting “Palestine is Arab” and shouting that we must “smash the Zionist settler state” don’t actually think Jews should be killed en masse. But can one truly be so ignorant as to advocate widespread violence in the name of peace?

When the world is rendered in black-and-white—portrayed as a simple fight between colonizer and colonized—the answer is yes. Solutions, by this logic, are absolute: Israel or Palestine, nothing in between. Either you support liberation of the oppressed or you support genocide. Either Stanford is all good or all bad; all in favor of free speech or all authoritarian; all anti-Semitic or all Islamophobic.

At January’s anti-anti-Semitism event, I watched an exchange between a Jewish attendee and a protester from a few feet away. “Are you pro-Palestine?” the protester asked.

“Yes,” the attendee responded, and he went on to describe his disgust with the human-rights abuses Palestinians have faced for years.

“But are you a Zionist?”

“Yes.”

“Then we are enemies.”

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twelfthhaus · 2 years

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Life has gotten tougher & tougher each day. It's so easy to think back & recall an event in the last year, two years, three years, that has knocked us off our feet. the world is changing. that is quite clear. the world is changing.

we constantly find ourselves on the glaring edge of history. another march. another protest. another slaughter. it almost feels easier to sit back and wait. it almost feels easier to give up.

but we've created a tidal wave already, there's a feeling abuzz. we have shaken this world & forced it to recognize our dreams. in this age where they've tried to keep us blind, mute, & deaf, we have found our redemption in our love & care for one another. in our hope for this generation's future. in our small things - in shared blankets, in celebratory toasts, in secret laughs, in raised fists, in eyes of the resilient who stand strong in the face of death & despicable slaughter but whose eyes burn & sparkle & shine with hope.

We must save each other NOW. RIGHT THIS SECOND. Every minute we ignore our power is a chance our ruling classes get to raze, burn, & destroy our futures for a pathetic profit margin increase!! We must stand up NOW or we will drown.

OUR COMMUNITY IS HERE. OUR PEOPLE ARE HERE.

ADD TO THIS POST!!

ADD AN ORGANIZATION, A CHARITY, A GROUP THAT NEEDS OUR HELP - that needs more helping hands, that is struggling with workers!

NOW! THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE. FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE! OR THEY ARE GOING TO TAKE IT!

WAYS YOU CAN HELP:

Feeding America (feedingamerica.org) lets you locate a local food bank where you can volunteer or donate food. Because of the pandemic, rising food & housing costs (among several other things), many, many people are displaced & needing someone to just lend a hand. Even one visit to your local shelter is enough to make an impressionable difference in someone's life. Go to their site!!! go go go!!!!

You can donate new/gently used professionall clothing to Dress For Success (dressforsuccess.org). This organization helps empower women's economic independence by providing professional attire & support to women entering the workforce. Imagine the confidence you can help bring to someone by donating something like a nice blouse. TELL YOUR FRIENDS & FAMILY!! TOGETHER YOU CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE!!

Join the movement to inspire young people everywhere to build the future we all imagine for them at The Future Project (thefutureproject.org). Share your story or help boost someone else's & inspire a greater future. What are you doing, check it out now!!!!!! Someone needs to hear your voice!

"Let there be justice for all. Let there be peace for all. Let there be work, bread, water, & salt for all...

The time for the healing of the wounds has come. The moment to bridge the chasms that divide us has come. The time to build is upon us..." - Nelson Mandela

"...Over the bleached bones & jumbled residues of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: "Too Late!"" - Martin Luther King, Jr.

#socialism #community #organization #charity #aoc #millenial #gen z #donation #help #future #society #sociology #humanities #arts #ukraine #russia #qatar #iran #100k #top post #meme #quote #poem #poetry

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 1 year

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Marjorie Taylor Greene had to leave the Trump arraignment rally after she was drowned out by counter-protesters.

During her chaotic arrival in New York on Tuesday, there appeared to be more members of the media than protesters present.

Ms. Greene was joined by the New York Young Republicans – a group with ties to embattled congressman George Santos, who also made a brief appearance at the rally before departing after being mobbed by the media. Ms. Greene was also met by counterprotesters holding their own “emergency noise demo” to drown out her “hate speech”.

The New York Young Republicans at one point responded with a USA-chant.

As clashes between pro- and anti-Trump demonstrators took place, the NYPD tried to separate the groups. Both camps were separated with NYPD barricades and community affairs officers between them.

Ms. Greene took aim at New York Mayor Eric Adams, saying that “you send your henchmen down here to commit assault against people by making loud noises”.

Per Ben Collins of NBC News, the reason it was difficult to hear Ms. Greene may have been because a Trump supporter handed out whistles. He was apparently unaware that Ms. Greene was attending.

Ms. Greene urged Americans to “take a stand” during her brief speech, large parts of which were drowned out by the sounds of counter-protesters.

She claimed that the government has been “weaponized” against Americans, adding: “I’m here to protest and use my voice and take a stand. Every American should take a stand. This is what happens in communist countries – not the United States of America. We have to take a stand against the injustice, the corruption, and the communist Democrats.”

She continued: “They’re taking our legal code, twisting it, manipulating it, and perverting it into something it was never meant to be. Donald J Trump is innocent, this is election interference. DA Alvin Bragg is nothing but a George Soros-funded tool. He is a tool for the Democrats to try to hijack the 2024 presidential election. This is a travesty!”

Ms. Greene soon left the rally and appeared on RSBN, saying that Mr. Trump “is joining some of the most incredible people in history being arrested today. Nelson Mandela was arrested, served time in prison. Jesus! Jesus was arrested and murdered”.

She was slammed by New York congressman Jamaal Bowman, who told her to “go back to your district. What are you doing here? You’re here for politics, you’re here because you want to be VP ... you’re here for your own nonsense”.

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littlemuoi · 1 year

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The tiny woman with dazzling blue eyes who turned me from a republican to a royalist by Louis de Bernières (September 2nd 2023)

Somewhere in my possession I have a snotty letter I wrote to my mother from university about not being interested in the Queen's 1977 anniversary. I was a young philosophy student at the time and being enthusiastic about the Monarchy was definitely not cool, especially as there was some kudos to be accrued from pretending to be Leftist.

I found myself puzzled and irritated by all the street parties and general celebrations, as if it was nothing to do with me. A few years earlier I had 'enjoyed' five months of officer training at Sandhurst where I had to swear allegiance to the Queen, her heirs and successors and I remember protesting inwardly that if one were to fight, it should be for a cause and not for a person.

However, in the 1990s I won the Commonwealth Writers Prize in three of its iterations. It meant that I had had my books chosen not by the usual London literati, with whom I have never been in favour, but by judges from all over Africa, Asia and indeed the world.

As I found out, the Queen's great passion was for the Commonwealth rather than Great Britain. It had been the means whereby the British Empire had miraculously and almost seamlessly transformed itself into a cultural and diplomatic club, so successfully that by the end of the Queen's reign there were countries in it that had never been in the Empire at all.

As the head of it, the Queen had, let's face the truth, literally charmed a succession of heads of state out of any post-colonial resentment that may have been niggling away inside of them.

She treated them with love and respect and had her love and respect returned. Julius Nyerere [Tanzania's leader] and Nelson Mandela are examples of two people who became close to her.

One of the perks of winning that writers prize was that the winners in all the categories were invited to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen. You were advised about steps to be taken, how to bow and so on, and then you went in.

Some people are apparently tongue-tied and terrified but I found myself face-to-face with a tiny woman in sparkly clothes, with dazzlingly blue eyes, perfect complexion and a smile that seemed to break her face in half.

If you said anything boring or inane, she would say: 'How fascinating.' She made a joke about somebody important and self-important she had just met, which I am honour-bound not to repeat.

Her voice and turns of phrase were just like my mother's, they being of the same vintage. My problem was not that I was terrified or tongue-tied but that I felt warmly enough, relaxed enough, to want to be over-familiar. As the cliché goes, I went in a republican and came out a royalist.

I remembered how I had adored her as a little boy because she was so outstandingly pretty, and now I reflected that perhaps my previous resentment of her had been nothing more than the pique of somebody who had no hope of ever entering such a charmed circle.

Now that I had entered it for a few minutes, all the pique and sullenness suddenly evaporated.

If you had met the Queen, you assumed that she really wanted to know you and would become a little sad when no more invitations ever arrived. I was relatively lucky in winning that prize three times because I automatically got to see her three years running. Somebody told me she'd read my book Captain Corelli's Mandolin on a long flight to New Zealand but I have no idea if that is true or who told me; perhaps it was a lady-in-waiting.

There was one present on one occasion with a fag in her hand and I remember thinking: 'The Queen must be very tolerant to put up with that.' I bent down to pat the dogs when I should have been talking to her but she seemed unperturbed, as she was when I trod on one and made it squeal.

She had recently invented the Dorgi and was pleased about it.

I can no longer remember the order of things. As I drove (and still do) a Morris Minor, and had even worked as a mechanic in a Morris Minor garage for a year, I had been able to rescue a young woman in a broken down Morris near Richmond Park, who worked for the Royal Academy.

Thereafter I received free invitations to everything as long as she worked there. There was a do where I found myself in the company of the likes of Paul McCartney and Brian May, who are both outstandingly tall, but no one was talking to me until the Queen spotted me and made a beeline.

She was ever conscious of the number of people she had to talk to and would end her conversations very suddenly, even a very entertaining one, by suddenly turning her head to one side. Then the rest of her body would swivel sideways and she was off, like someone in a hurry to catch a train. It should have been very rude but it was both comical and endearing.

She had a party for poets at Buckingham Palace, which struck me as a dangerous and peculiar idea. I was standing with another poet when the Master of the Household approached me and said: 'Don't move, the Queen wants to have a chat with you.'

There was another beeline, another brief conversation, another swivel of the head, another charging away. I got on so well with the Master of the Household that we are still friends years later.

She had a party at Windsor Castle that was, I believe, the first after its restoration. She looked out across the courtyard at my Morris Minor Traveller and said: 'Goodness, we haven't had one of those here for years.'

The dinner party was a kind of glamorous sleepover. My luggage was unpacked for me by a valet who was very unimpressed that I was going to wear the same white shirt to dinner as the one in which I had arrived. 'Economising on effort I see,' he said drily.

The dinner was on silver plates. I hope I have not made that up. I was sitting next to Prince Andrew to begin with and we chatted about golf. I liked him and had no reason not to.

I eavesdropped on the German Ambassador talking to Tony Blair and I was impressed. When the latter stood up to leave with the ladies, the laughing Queen ushered him back into the room with her hand in the middle of his back.

I was struck by how frugal her appetite was; she was no trencherwoman. In her position and with such good cooks, I would have been the most massively globular monarchical flumper that the world has ever known, considerably larger than Edward IV and Henry VIII and Edward VII combined.

I spent the next morning in her library. She had many genealogy books and I found one with an inscription by Winston Churchill, so flowery, elaborate and humble that I felt guilty and embarrassed about the cheery informality of my own exploits on the flyleaf.

There was another party at Windsor for people 'in the Arts'. The Irish poet Seamus Heaney was there, surrounded by admiring young poets. 'Your passport may be green,' I thought, 'but you're as much a sucker for all this as anyone else is, aren't you?' The last time I saw the Queen was when she invited me to lunch at the palace. I think she had had a notion to invite a few people from each county one after the other, so as to work her way around the entire country. One of the guests was a fireman.

On the way, the sole of my shoe came off and I had to buy a new pair from a shop in Oxford Street.

At the gathering beforehand I had a conversation with the Duke of Edinburgh, about death. He said that the older one got, the more one was forced to contemplate it.

I liked him. He was intelligent and humorous, a man who clearly saw the absurdity of pretty much everything. He once teased me about being a novelist and a poet, as if it were altogether unnecessarily too much to do two such fatuous things in the same lifetime.

The Queen had a system for making things happen, which was that she would make a sudden move. When I was talking to the Duke, he suddenly stiffened and looked up because the Queen had made her 'action stations' move, just as I was asking him if he spoke Greek. She said: 'Well, do you speak French?'

I found myself sitting at her right hand side and during my half of her attention (she would switch halfway through a meal) we talked, among other things, about speaking French. We talked about Norfolk and I entertained a brief fantasy of being invited to Sandringham.

I think I may have disgraced myself by taking two quail breasts from the dish. She had only taken one but they are terribly small.

Afterwards I was standing at the gate of the palace when she whizzed out on her next mission, without even the slightest break or smidgen of a snooze. I was standing next to an armed policeman in all the gear and he suddenly looked down at me and asked: 'Ere, do you live in Denton?' I said, 'Yes, how did you know?' He relied: 'I beat you in the Father's Race.' I said: 'It was my sandals. I'd have won if I hadn't tripped up on the finishing line.'

While the Queen was hurtling off to her next appointment, I fell asleep on a bench in Hyde Park to recover from lunch.

That was the last time I saw her, waving from her car.

Thereafter I sent her books via my friend the Master. Books from their authors are just about the only gifts the Royal Family are allowed to receive. We have a large room in my house that we call 'The Queen's Room' because I used to tell my children that that's where we'd put her if she came to stay.

One day my little daughter wrote her a letter inviting her to stay, telling her that we had a very glamorous bathroom, and received a reply about being too busy. I don't think Sophie ever forgave her, and might even still be a republican.

I don't think it is possible to make a friend of anyone in the Royal Family, or make any assumptions if they are kind to you or seem interested in you. All that can happen is the occasional flash of communication or warmth that gives you a glimpse of the person within.

Princess Anne is intelligent and direct, the Duke of Edinburgh had a philosophical turn. The question is, what do they get from us?

I think the Queen mostly enjoyed herself because her enjoyment coincided with her duty. There was an eagerness in her manner as she suddenly looked away and shot off to talk to somebody else.

It's her heirs and successors I worry about. We, their subjects, are just going to try to make them as miserable as we can, aren't we? We are too chippy to speak generously of them and we are piqued about not being royalty ourselves. I found that having encountered the Queen, I was unable to be impressed by anyone else. Madonna invited me to lunch once and I still don't know why. I said no because I had a commitment in Northern Ireland. Sting wanted me to fly to Milan to interview him and I don't know why I said no to that either.

I've met many of my heroes, I've shaken hands with Nicolas Cage and President Clinton and been kissed on the cheek by Penelope Cruz. Only being kissed on the cheek by Penelope comes anywhere close to meeting the Queen.

#brf #royal anecdote #this is absolutely beautiful #the epitome of queen #queen elizabeth ii #prince philip #duke of edinburgh

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gooseprotocol · 5 days

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Spice Girls interviewed by Kathy Acker in 1997 for the Guardian Weekend edition.

All Girls Together by Kathy Acker

The Spice Girls are the biggest, brashest girlie group ever to have hit the British mainstream. Kathy Acker is an avant-garde American writer and academic. They met up in New York to swap notes – on boys, girls, politics. And what they really, really want.

Fifty-second street. West Side, New York City. Hell’s Kitchen – one of those areas into which no one would once have walked unless loaded. Guns or drugs or both. But now it has been gentrified: the beautiful people have won. A man in middle-aged-rocker uniform, tight black jeans and nondescript T-shirt, lets Nigel, the photographer, and me through the studio doorway then a chipmunk-sort-of-guy in shorts, with a Buddha tattooed on one of his arms, greets us warmly. This is Muff, the band’s publicity officer. We’re about to meet the Girls … They are here to rehearse for an appearance on Saturday Night Live. Not only is this their first live TV performance, it’s also the first time they’ll be playing with what Mel C calls a “real band”. If the Girls are to have any longevity in the music industry, they will have to break into the American market and for this they will need the American media. Both the Girls and their record company believe that their appearance here tonight might do the trick.

There is a refusal among America’s music critics to take the Spice Girls seriously. The Rolling Stone review of Spice, their first album, refers to them as “attractive young things ... brought together by a manager with a marketing concept”. The main complaint, or explanation for disregard, is that they are a “manufactured band”. What can this mean in a society of McDonald’s, Coca-Cola and En Vogue? However, an email from a Spice fan mentions that, even though he loves the girls, he detects a “couple of stereotypes surrounding women in the band’s general image. The brunette is the woman every man wants to date. Perfect for an adventure on a midnight train, or to hire as your mistress-secretary. The blonde is the woman you take home to mother, whereas the redhead is the wild woman, the woman-with-lots-of-evil-powers.” So who are these Girls? And how political is their notorious “Girl Power”? Even though I have seen many of their videos and photos, as soon as I’m in front of these women, I am struck by how they look far more remarkable than I had expected, even though Mel C is trying not to look as lovely as she is. I had intended to say something else, but instead I find myself asking them: “If paradise existed, what would it look like?” Geri speaks first, and she is, I think, reprimanding me for being idealistic. “Money makes the world what it is today,” she says, almost before I have time to think about my sudden outburst, “a world infested with evil. All sorts of wars are going on at the moment. Everyone’s kind of bickering, wanting to better themselves because their next-door neighbour’s got a better lawn. That kind of thing.” “Greed,” Victoria adds. Mel C: “Instead of trying to be better than someone else, you have to try to better yourself.” In a few minutes, they are explaining to me that the Spice Girls is a type of paradise, Spice Girls is a lifestyle. “It’s community.” That’s Geri again. She and Mel B – one in a funky, antique Hawaiian shirt, the other in diaphanous yellow bell-bottoms and top – do most of the talking. Mel C, in her gym clothes, is the quietest. Geri: “We’re a community in which each one of us shines individually, without making any of the others feel insecure. We liberate each other. A community should be liberating. Nelson Mandela said that you know when someone is brilliant when having that person next to you makes you feel good.”

‘The Spicey life vibey thing’ ... The Spice Girls film the Euro 96 theme song video. Photograph: Dave Hogan/Getty Images

“Not envious,” adds her cohort, Mel B. These are the two baddest Girls. At least on the surface. I suspect otherwise. “It inspires you.” Geri again. “That is what life’s about. People should be inspiring.” I can’t keep up with these Girls. My generation, spoon-fed Marx and Hegel, thought we could change the world by altering what was out there – the political and economic configurations, all that seemed to make history. Emotions and personal – especially sexual – relationships were for girls, because girls were unimportant. Feminism changed this landscape in England, the advent of Margaret Thatcher, sad to say, changed it more. The individual self became more important than the world. To my generation, this signals the rise of selfishness for the generation of the Spice Girls, self-consideration and self-analysis are political. When the Spices say, “We’re five completely separate people,” they’re talking politically. “Like when you’re in a relationship,” Mel B takes over, “and you’re in love, you feel you’re only you when you’re with that person, so when you leave that person, you think ‘I’m not me’. That’s so wrong. It’s downhill from then on, in yourself spiritually and in your whole environment. In this band, it’s different. Each of us is just the way we are, and each of us respects that.”

“As Melanie says,” adds Geri, “each of us wants to be her own person and, without snatching anyone else’s energy, bring something creative and new and individual to the group. We’re proof this is happening. When the Spice Girls first started as a unit, we respected the qualities we found in each other that we didn’t have in ourselves. It was like, ‘Wow! That’s the Spicey life vibey thing, isn’t it?’”

Geri turns even more paradoxical: “Normally, when you get fans of groups, they want to act like you, they copy what you’re wearing, for instance. Whereas our fans, they might have pigtails and they might wear sweatclothes, but they are so individual, it’s unbelievable. When you speak to them, they’ve got so much balls! It’s like we’ve collected a whole group of our people together! It’s really, really mad. I can remember someone coming up to us and going, ‘Do you know what? I’ve just finished with my boyfriend! And you’ve given me the incentive to go ‘Fuck this!’” At this, the Spices cheer. Giving up any hope of narrative continuity, I ask the girls if they want boys. “Some of us are in relationships.” Mel B. “I live with my boyfriend. For three years now, yeah.” I tell them that I’ve never been good at balancing sexual love and work. “Of course you can. It doesn’t make me a lesser person to be in a relationship makes me a better person. Because I can still go out and . . . flirting is natural.” I’m listening to Mel B, but all I can think, at the moment, is how beautiful she is. “I can stay out all night and come in when I want. Your whole life doesn’t have to change just because you’re with somebody else.”

What man could handle all this? ... The Spice Girls at the 1997 Cannes film festival. Photograph: Bertrand Guay/AFP/Getty Images

“It depends on the individual,” says Geri. “I think whoever we would chose to be with should respect the way we are... and our job as well...” Mel B. “The way we are together. None of us would be interested in a man that wanted to dominate, wanted to pull you down, and wanted you to do what he wanted you to do.” I wonder what man could handle all this.

“If one of us was to go out with a dweeb of a man,” says Mel B, “he would probably feel threatened by the five of us. Because we do share things about our relationships, so it’s like a gang. Like a gang, but we’re not. We can have relationships, but they have to be on a completely different level.” Emma talks only about her mother, and Mel C is very quiet. What hides, I wonder, behind that face, which appears more delicate and intense than in her photos? Victoria, I learn later, is upset about an ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of her confidence – throughout our discussion she looks slightly upset. Several times she says that, above all, she wants privacy. Perhaps paradise is not as simple as it seems. I know that, to find out more about these Girls, I must change the subject, but instead, I just blurt out: “Let’s stop talking about boys!” “Yeah,” agree the Girls.

Do they think the Spice Girls will go on forever? And if not, what will they do after it ends? What do you really want to do? “We talked about that the other day, didn’t we?” Geri, sitting on the floor, turns around to the three girls sprawled on a black sofa. Emma, in a white from-the-Sixties dress, perches on a high chair. Their hair has been done, their faces powdered, and they’re ready for the photo.

Spice Girls: Say You’ll Be There - video

“I want to own restaurants,” Victoria takes the lead. She wears a skin-tight designer outfit, perfectly positioned Wonderbra and heels seemingly too high to walk on. Unlike the other girls, she never lets her mask break open.

“The entrepreneur,” remarks Mel B fondly. “Restaurants and art,” Victoria continues. “I’ve always liked art. Ever since I was...” She pauses. “And I’d like a nice big house, and to fill it with, you know...” “Sculptures!” Mel B. “Nude men.” That’s Mel C. All the girls are laughing. Victoria admits – and her emotions finally start to show – that’s she’s always fancied doing art. A few years ago, she and Geri were going to return to college, but they didn’t have the time. Now the others are teasing her about her shoes. I like these girls. I like being with them. “I don’t know what I want to do.” Mel C. The Spices who haven’t yet said anything are now talking. “At the moment I am completely into what I’m doing, and I find it hard to think, right now, what I want to do later on.” Mel B. “I want a big family, like the Waltons,” Emma admits. “I like taking care of people, I love kids.”

“You can look after mine.” Mel C.

Everyone’s saying something. Victoria wants to live with her sister, and maybe her brother Emma’s thinking of her mother. I’m beginning to realise how different from each other the Girls are. Mel C says she likes living alone, but wishes she were geographically closer to her family.

“Me and Geri,” pipes up Mel B, who’s rarely silent for more than a minute, “come from up north. It’s like living in a little community, isn’t it? And moving down into London, it’s like moving into the big wild world. I don’t even know my next-door neighbour, do you?”

“No,” answers Mel C. I like these girls. They’re home girls. “I’d be in a cult, or join a naturist camp or something, and just live there, like back in the Sixties in the hippy days,” Mel B is gesticulating, “where everything’s just One Love, everything’s free, and there are no set rules, where nobody judges you...” Geri tells me that she is a jack-of-all-trades. After speculating whether she might do her own TV show, or go into films, write a movie script, she announces that her model is Sylvester Stallone.

I think of Brigitte Nielsen. “I’ll tell you why.” He couldn’t get a part in Hollywood, she explains, so he wrote, directed and produced Rambo himself. “I just think that’s what it takes I always love it when the underdog comes through.”

The Girls have been in showbusiness for years. Emma started when she was three. All of the others were professional by the age of 17 or 18. I’m beginning to understand why these Girls have been picked, consciously or unconsciously, by their generation to represent that generation. Especially, but not only, the female sector. In a society still dominated by class and sexism, very few of those not born to rule, women especially, are able to make choices about their own work and lifestyle. Very few know freedom. None of the Spices, not even Victoria, was born privileged nor, as they themselves note, are they traditional beauties. Christine, a student of mine, watching them on Saturday Night Live, remarked to me: “They’re not even slick dancers or exceptional singers! They’re just the girl-next-door!”

And they are they’re just girls as more than one of them remarked to me, “We never really had a chance until this happened!” They’re the girls never heard from before this in England look, there are lots of them ones who’ve known Thatcherite, post-Thatcherite society and nothing else, and now, thanks to the glory and the strangeness of British rock-pop society, they’ve found a voice. Listen to the voices of those who didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge, or even to Sussex or to art school...

Geri: “I didn’t really know that much, you know, history, but I knew about the suffragettes. They fought. It wasn’t that long ago. They died to get a vote. The women’s vote. Bloody ass-fucking mad, do you know what I mean? You remember that and you think, fucking hell. But to get back to what Victoria was saying about us, that we never got anywhere, you know, the underdog thing. This is why I feel so passionate. We’ve been told, time and time again, you’re not pretty enough, you’re too fat, you’re too thin...” All the Spice Girls are now roaring. “...You’re not tall enough, you’re not white, you’re not black. What I passionately feel is that it is so wrong to have to fit into a role or a mould in order to succeed. What I think is fan-fucking-tastic about us now is that we are not perfect and we have made a big success of ourselves. I’m swelling with pride.” But you are babes. They all protest. “We were all individually beaten down... Collectively, we’ve got something going,” says Geri. “Individually, I don’t think we’d be that great.”

“There’s a chemistry that runs through us and gives us... where I’m bad at something, Melanie’s good, or Geri’s good at something at which the rest of us are bad,” says Victoria. Look, I say, I’m feeling stranger and stranger about these politics based on individualism. There are lots of girls who have the same backgrounds as they do, right? “Right.”

So what is holding those girls down? Keeping them from doing what they really want to do? They start to discuss this. I can hardly make out who’s saying what in the ensuing commotion. I hear “society and conditioning”; another one, Emma perhaps, is talking about being in showbiz, receiving job rejection after job rejection she’s saying how strong you have to be to keep bouncing back. Geri mentions Freud, then states that parents’ beliefs often hold back a child, parents and then the child’s reception in her school. “When you go and see a careers officer,” ponders Mel C, “and you sit down and say, ‘I want to be a spaceman’, instead of responding ‘Go study astrophysics’, they go, ‘Yeah, but what do you really want to do?’ That is so wrong. I think there should be a class in – what do you call it? – self-motivation. Self-motivation classes, self-esteem classes.”

I still feel that a bit of economic realism is missing here, but I can’t get a word in edgewise. Not in all the girl excitement. These females are angry.

“I think it all goes back to everyone wanting to feel that they’re part of an ongoing society,” Geri tries to analyse. “The humdrum nine-to-five, you know what it’s like... What do you do when you leave school? You go and get a job to have money to pay off the mortgage, you get a flat and have a nice boyfriend, pay off your bills, you go to work with your briefcase and your suit, and that’s it. That’s people’s normal, everyday thing, isn’t it? And if you branch out from that, it’s... well, ‘What does she think she’s doing?’ It’s going against the grain a bit – which not many people do. It’s not even going against the grain it’s just clinging on to the bit you want to do and thinking I’m going to do it, who cares?” The Girls, including Geri, tell me that they’ve got an American philosophy, an American dream. “But me,” says Mel B, “before I was in the band, I thought I’d like to be a preacher. I still do. Something like that. They’ve actually got this place in London which is called Speaker’s Corner. You get up on your stand there you can speak about anything. I’d like to speak about people, the emotional or mental blocks people have, especially regarding other people, things like that. That’s what the tattoo on my stomach means, ‘Spirit, Heart and Mind’, because that’s what fuels me – communication fuels me. You learn about yourself, about other people and life in general, through communication.” She says that’s she’s been writing since she was 11, writing everything down, “why the world is this shape, what would happen if everyone on earth died...”

“Stoned questions...” murmurs another Spice. “I’d love to go back to the Sixties,” Emma says in her clear voice. “I’d love that. I wouldn’t wear headbands though.” What about some of the politics of the Sixties, I ask. Malcolm X? The fight against racism? “The other day I watched The Killing Fields.” Now Geri’s doing the talking. “That was in the Sixties, Vietnam. I think it’s very healthy that there’s an element of that today. Through the media today we can see people demonstrating for human rights. In Cambodia, on the other side of the world. I think it’s brilliant when you see people standing up, when they have a voice, it kicks the system, a little bit, into touch.”

Spice Girls: Spice up Your Life - video

But what about in England today? I mention that in the US, racism is still a big issue.

Mel B and Geri start talking about racism. Geri tells me that she’s learned about racial prejudice from Mel B, who says, “The thing I find really bizarre about America and England ... You say that the racism thing is worse in America, yet if you look at television here [in NYC], they’re really scrupulous about making sure, for instance, that they have a black family in an advert. On the adverts in England, you wouldn’t find that.” Suddenly all the Spices are talking among themselves. I can’t understand anything. Then we’re on the subject of Madonna, of people who have inspired us, and Geri starts speaking about Margaret Thatcher. Why she admires her. “But we won’t go down there!” “Don’t go down there!” advise the Girls.

“We won’t go down there, but...” and Geri, who never seems to listen to reason, begins. She says that when politicians discuss the economy, they’re just talking about shifting money from one spot to another, and someone always suffers. This is the same distrust of government that so many Americans, both on the right and left – and especially among lower and working-class people – are feeling and articulating.

Mel C says softly, “We talked about suffragettes and getting the vote to women, and all that. But a lot of women don’t vote a lot of our generation doesn’t vote. I don’t. I don’t feel I should because I don’t know anything about politics ...”

“That was what I was going to say,” adds Emma. They blame the lack of political education in schools. Whether they like or dislike Margaret Thatcher or Tony Blair, they distrust both the political industry and the related media. “Intellectual people chatting in bathrooms,” comments Mel B. “We are society,” exclaims Geri, “so really ...”

“... We should be running it,” Mel B finishes the statement.

“I’d like to run it for a day,” says Victoria, looking directly at me.

“But Victoria, who’s going to let you do such a job?” Geri reminds her. “The only way to go is growth,” says Mel B. “I think everyone’s turned a bit to the spiritual life.”

“You know,” interjects Victoria, “if you believe in evolution, we only use 20% of our brain ... if that. So it’s natural that we can evolve to the next level. We’ve got to, really.”

“Nowadays, people do sit down and ask themselves ‘Why am I doing this?’” Mel B continues. “They question themselves and what they’ve got around them. I know I do it, and you find your own little mission. And you fucking go for it. A lot more people are like that now.” Do they all feel like that? There’s a general quiet, then a “Yeah” all around me. I ask the Spices to describe themselves. For a moment, they’re lost for words. Victoria: “I love what I’m doing. I’m with my five best friends, and I’ve seen some great countries. I’m happy, I’m very happy. I care a lot about my family. Regarding my personality, I’m private. There are things for me to know and no one else to find out.” She hesitates. “I just accept the way I am. You have to make the most of it, make the best of yourself. I’m a bit of a fretter. If I’m going to do something, I want to do it properly. I want to do the best I can. I’m a perfectionist.”

Emma: “Me, I’m definitely a bit of a brat. I worry about what other people are feeling, that sort of thing.”

Geri: “I have quite an active mind. Quite eccentric, really. A conversationalist. I believe in fate in a big way, a very big way.” Mel B: “I’m always asking inward questions about things. I live off the vibes, I do, that people give me. If I don’t like someone then I won’t speak to them, even though something might be coming out of their mouth that I should listen to. I like to think I’m a bit of a free spirit. I don’t run by any rule book. I live on the edge a little bit. I always think, well, at least I’ll die happy today rather than worrying about it tomorrow.”

Mel C: “I’m very regimented. I really enjoy my own company, although I love being with other people.”

I’m watching the Spice Girls perform Wannabe on Saturday Night Live, but not seeing them. In my mind, I’m seeing England. When I returned there in July last year, lad culture was in full swing. Loaded was running what had once been a relatively intellectual magazine culture. Feminism, especially female intellectuals, had become extinct. “Where have all the women gone to?” I asked. Then came a twist named the Spice Girls. The Spices, though they deny it, are babes – the blonde, the redhead, the dark sultry fashion model – and they’re more. They both are and represent a voice that has too long been repressed. The voices, not really the voice, of young women and, just as important, of women not from the educated classes. It isn’t only the lads sitting behind babe culture, bless them, who think that babes or beautiful lower and lower-middle class girls are dumb. It’s also educated women who look down on girls like the Spice Girls, who think that because, for instance, girls like the Spice Girls take their clothes off, there can’t be anything “up there”.

The Spice Girls are having their cake and eating it. They have the popularity and the popular ear that an intellectual, certainly a female intellectual, almost never has in this society, and, what’s more, they have found themselves, perhaps by fluke, in the position of social and political articulation. It little matters now how the Spice Girls started – if they were a “manufactured band”.

What does this have to do with feminism? When I lived in England in the Eighties, a multitude of women, diverse and all intellectual, were continually heard from – people such as Michele Roberts, Jeanette Winterson, Sara Maitland, Jacqueline Rose, Melissa Benn. Is it also possible that the English feminism of the Eighties might have shared certain problems with the American feminism of the Seventies? English feminism, as I remember it back then, was anti-sex. And like their American counterparts, the English feminists were intellectuals, from the educated classes. There lurked the problem of elitism, and thus class.

I am speculating, but, perhaps due to Margaret Thatcher – though it is hard to attribute anything decent to her – a populist change has taken place in England. The Spice Girls, and girls like them, and the girls who like them, resemble their American counterparts in two ways: they are sexually curious, certainly pro-sex, and they do not feel that they are stupid or that they should not be heard because they did not attend the right universities. If any of this speculation is valid, then it is up to feminism to grow, to take on what the Spice Girls, and women like them, are saying, and to do what feminism has always done in England, to keep on transforming society as society is best transformed, with lightness and in joy.

#spice girls #kathy acker #spice up your life

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sweetestofchaos · 10 months

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TOTW CH 10 | BTS

𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗈𝗍𝟩 𝗑 𝗈𝖼!𝗁𝗒𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖳𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾/𝖺𝗎: 𝖥𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖠𝖴, 𝖧𝗒𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽 𝖠𝖴, 𝖭𝗈𝗇-𝖨𝖽𝗈𝗅 𝖠𝖴 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝖨𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖱𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝖢𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖢𝗋𝖺𝗓𝗒 𝖧𝖺𝗂𝗋!𝖸𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂 (𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍), 𝖳𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖤𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖠𝗅𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖺!𝖲𝖾𝗈𝗄𝗃𝗂𝗇, 𝖯𝗂𝖾𝖽-𝖡𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖲𝗁𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝖳𝖺𝗂𝗅 𝖲𝗇𝖺𝗄𝖾!𝖸𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂, 𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇!𝖭𝖺𝗆𝗃𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇!𝖧𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗄, 𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇!𝖩𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗇, 𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇!𝖳𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗀, 𝖪𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗈!𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄, 𝖰𝗎𝗈𝗅𝗅!𝖮𝖢 𝗐𝖼: 3.5k

“There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children.” – Nelson Mandela

A/N: hello all! thank you so much for waiting and i apologize for the short length of this update. this chapter has not been looked at by a beta, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know. also, i did my best and researching the correct titles for family members in Korean, if they are incorrect, please let me know. **the text in bold is English being spoken by bts members**

taglist: @vvh0adie @quirkybtsarmy @itwillbealways-d (taglist is open)

series masterlist 🌻character profiles

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Sitting in Taehyung's arms, Imani looks around at the bright lights around her. She understands that everyone is out to eat but she has no idea where they are. There are a lot of different scents in the air, mostly food which makes Imani's stomach rumble and roll in anticipation. She is very hungry. Everyone stands around Taehyung in a tight circle, while Namjoon and Yoongi speak to the large bear hybrid at the host stand. Imani spots a table close by that has a family of dog hybrids all eating together. They look happy and are laughing at something, it makes Imani smile.

"We eat here?" Imani questions, her voice soft as she speaks close to Taehyung's ear.

Taehyung nods his head in a silent answer as he smooths a hand down the length of Imani's back. "They have really yummy Minari jeon and pork belly."

Hoseok looks up from the phone in his hand and holds it out to Imani and Taehyung to look at the screen. "Their hotpot is one of the best…at least that's what the reviews say. I want to try the kimchi jjigae."

"What do you want to eat, my heart?" Taehyung muses and Imani's nose wrinkles at the screen as she swipes through the photos.

"Dumplings!" Imani shoves the phone into Taehyung's face, showing him the picture of large soup dumplings. Taehyung chuckles and nods his head while Hoseok takes his phone back, making sure to wipe the screen on his pant leg to wipe off the oils from Taehyung's nose and mouth.

"Come on, Yoongi is waving us over," Seokjin speaks up and easily brings up the rear, making sure that everyone follows behind Yoongi. Namjoon waits at the host stand and walks beside Seokjin, easily placing his hand on the elder's lower back as they walk farther into the restaurant.

Namjoon picked an older restaurant to eat at, a place that he holds very dear to his heart. Blue & Grey, is both open to humans and hybrids alike. The owners are an interspecies couple who welcomed the Min pack with open arms when they first started courting each other. Now with Imani finishing their pack, Namjoon thought it only right to introduce her and the others to the very people who showed him and Yoongi that it was okay to be different.

Around the table everyone sits and Namjoon takes his place across from Yoongi at the other side of the table. In between them, Seokjin and Hoseok sit together with Imani settled between them, and on the other side, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook sit.

"Is Ajumma in the back?" Jungkook wonders as he looks around trying to spot the owner over the sea of heads.

"The young lady up front said the whole family is in tonight," Namjoon explains and everyone stares at him confused. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, "This place holds a lot of meaning for Yoongi and I.” Namjoon taps his fingers against his thigh as he speaks, looking around at his pack members. “This place is run by a couple that stood by our sides when the world was against us -” Namjoon smiles at the memory and licks his lips, “I thought we could introduce everyone to them…"

Seokjin slaps Namjoon's thigh and shakes his head with a deep sigh, "Ah, Joon-ah! You should have asked first!"

"What's wrong?" Jimin pouts. "We're all dressed up, so there shouldn't be an issue."

"I don't see anything wrong with it," Yoongi glances at Imani who is playing with the bracelet on her wrist. "Ajumma deserves to know that our pack, our family, is complete."

“Wait…” Taehyung looks over at Jungkook and narrows his eyes. “How do you know about this place?”

Jungkook grins, looking very much like a cat that got the cream. He giggles and leans back, holding himself up with his arms.

“I saw Yoongi in here one day and dropped in on him.”

Food comes out, again and again as the Min pack eats and laughs. Yoongi decides to limit everyone to only one alcoholic drink while he and Hoseok drink water as the designated drivers for the night. Imani giggles and bounces in her seat as Seokjin cuts a few pieces of beef up for her. He sets them on her plate with peppers, mushrooms, and rice while Hoseok sneaks a few pieces of pork belly onto her plate.

Imani watches with shining eyes as Hoseok picks up a piece of pork belly and layers it between a pepper with kimchi. Imani and Hoseok's mouths open at the same time and Jimin snorts, nearly choking on his food when he sees Hoseok look down at Imani with wide eyes. The two of them stare at the food in Hoseok's hand and Yoongi snickers behind his hand as Seokjin quickly makes up a smaller-sized bite for Imani.

"Here, baby," Seokjin offers his chopsticks to Imani and her attention turns away from Hoseok's food, making everyone laugh. Imani's cheeks bulge as she chews quickly, looking very much like a chipmunk.

A loud gasp catches everyone's attention and Taehyung grins shyly seeing who he assumes are the owners of the restaurant coming to their table with wide eyes and mouths dropped. The woman is a beautiful older calico cat hybrid and her husband is human.

"Aigoo! What is this?"

"Who is this cutie?!"

Namjoon clears his throat and glances at Yoongi who nods his head. Imani crawls into Seokjin's lap to hide away while her tail wraps around his wrist. Yoongi licks his lips, feeling his face heat up under the questioning eyes of the older couple.

"Sorry for not coming around often," Yoongi bows deeply and scratches at his neck before he straightens up. "This is Kim Imani…our daughter."

"Your daughter?" The ajumma repeats, her voice thick with disbelief.

"Ahhhh, she's a beautiful one." The ajeossi squats down close to Seokjin and digs in his apron. "Hello, little one. Would you like a piece of candy?"

"You'll spoil her dinner!"

"Oh, nonsense! You'll eat it later, right?" The ajeossi sends Imani a playful wink as she peeks over at him.

Seokjin chuckles as he rubs Imani's back and kisses the top of her head. "You can have it if you would like. Ajeossi is a nice man." Seokjin whispers and Imani lifts her head from Seokjin's neck.

She stares at the candy in the man's hand and he smiles wide, "Oh!" He suddenly jumps to his feet and rushes back towards the kitchen. Imani pouts at losing the candy and the ajumma smiles reaching into her apron to pull out a piece of candy.

"Here you go, dear."

"Tank you!" Imani chirps as she takes the candy and everyone melts as she tucks the candy into the tiny purse on her hip.

"Aigoo! She's gonna break hearts when she's older," The Ajumma teases, and the guys all frown, not wanting to think about the future so soon. Patting Jimin's shoulder with a good-natured laugh, the ajumma smiles at the pack fondly. "Enjoy tonight and welcome to the family everyone!"

"Here!" The ajeossi appears from the back with a big bowl of strawberry bingsu in his hands followed by six smaller children between the ages of five and seven; some human and others hybrid. Imani's eyes light up at the sight of the strawberries and she purrs deep in her chest.

"Good thing she ate a good amount of dinner," Hoseok jokes as the ajeossi places the bowl on the table next to the Min pack.

All the children gather around the bowl with spoons in their hands and Imani's ears flatten against her head.

"You can eat with them," Seokjin smiles, petting Imani's head softly. Imani's ears flicker and she chirps happily as the ajeossi waves a spoon out for her to take. Imani scrambles off of Seokjin's lap and hurries over to the table, sitting next to a calico cat hybrid.

"Thank you both," Namjoon bows his head and the others all follow suit making the owners wave them off bashfully.

"Your family is our family. What kind of jobumo would we be if we didn't spoil the baby?"

Smoked lavender tickles Yoongi's nose and his heart beats happily in his chest while Seokjin beams, his tiny cotton tail quivering at the base of his spine while Jungkook's tail sways heavily. Imani giggles along with the other kids, sharing the sweet treat. Her sunflower scent is fresh and alive as one of the kids touches her ears while another shows off his tail. Yoongi catches Namjoon's eyes and they both smile. So, this is how life is going to be, huh? How sweet it is.

Staring down at the six white envelopes, Jimin chews on his bottom lip. The adoption announcements are finished. They are ready to be sent out to the Min packs’ families but the six envelopes sitting on the counter make Jimin’s stomach twist into a tight knot. Everyone agreed that the last six should be hand delivered. Namjoon wanted to just go to each parent’s house and slip them in the mailbox, but Jungkook pointed out that there was a chance someone wouldn’t be home or would check the mail too early.

So, after a little thought and planning into the night, it has been decided that Jimin and Taehyung will deliver the announcements in the dead of night. To make sure that all the grandparents open the letters at the sametime, each member of the Min pack will call their parents at the sametime and inform them that there is a piece of mail waiting in their mailbox. Taehyung skips down the steps from the fourth floor, whistling an unknown tune to himself. He spots Jimin sitting on the couch and smiles.

“All set, my love?”

Jimin looks over his shoulder at Taehyung’s voice and nods his head. Taehyung frowns and walks over to Jimin; knowing eyes searching timid ones. Placing a hand on the top of Jimin’s head and stroking his hair a few times, Taehyung trails his hand to rest on the back of Jimin’s neck.

“It’s going to be okay. No one will be upset.”

Jimin’s shoulders slump as Taehyung’s fingers dig into the meat of his neck lightly. “I-I know that. I know that with my whole heart but-”

“Hey!” Taehyung steps around the couch and squats down in front of Jimin, engulfing both of Jimin’s hands with one of his. As he stares up into Jimin’s face, Taehyung smiles softly, pressing a kiss to Jimin’s fingers. “We found the missing piece of our pack. Imani is all the warmth of our deepest wishes. Our parents will love her, okay? She’s perfect and she’s ours.”

Jimin nods his head, his bottom lip caught in between his teeth as tears burn at the corner of his eyes. His chin wobbles and he quickly looks to the ceiling to try and fight back his tears. Taehyung chuckles and trails the hand on the back of Jimin’s neck to his cheek.

“Such a soft heart, my love. The perfect momma for our baby.”

Jimin’s laugh is watery as he looks down at Taehyung and nuzzles into the palm of his hand, “Momma?” Jimin whispers the title and smiles to himself.

Seeing the pleased look on his lover’s face, Taehyung grins. “Has a nice ring to it, yeah?”

Jimin hums in agreement and squeezes Taehyung’s hand, “Let’s get going.”

Imani’s nose itches. The seven scents in the house are thick in the air, even with the air purifiers running on high. Sitting on the edge of the nest, Imani wiggles her nose as she runs a brush through Yoongi’s hair. The snake hybrid woke up with a mean case of bedhead and Imani giggled before she took it upon herself to brush his hair. If Hoseok supplies a container of bows and barrettes, well that’s between Hoseok and Yoongi to discuss at a later time. For now, Yoongi sits in the nest, giving soft grunts of approval and encouragement as Imani smacks him in the forehead with the brush or nearly takes off his eyebrow.

Namjoon is recording the whole thing while Seokjin and Jungkook prepare breakfast. Taehyung and Jimin are snoozing in the nest, tired from their night out and Hoseok drapes a large blanket over the two of them. Sitting beside Namjoon, Hoseok wiggles his feet into Namjoon’s lap and scoots closer. His knees are bent, making the underside of his butt press against the side of Namjoon’s thigh while he leans back on his arms.

Hoseok watches with that beautiful heart shaped smile on his lips as Imani starts to part Yoongi’s hair into different sections. Carefully, Imani slips the colorful ribbon bows into Yoongi’s hair, the small ponytails sticking out at odd angles all over.

“All done!” Imani proudly announces as warm sunflowers settle into the hearts of Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin.

Namjoon keeps his phone recording as Yoongi pulls his phone from his pocket to see the finished look. A large gummy smile breaks out onto Yoongi’s face, his eyes bending into crescent moons as he giggles with glee.

“I love it, pup.” Yoongi pulls Imani into his arms and kisses her cheek. “Can I take a picture with my stylist?”

Imani’s eyes widen in excitement and she quickly nods her head, her own bedhead hidden beneath her silk bonnet. Wrapping her little arms around Yoongi’s neck, Imani’s cheek smashes against Yoongi’s and they both smile wide. Yoongi takes the photo along with Hoseok who cannot stop cooing at how cute the two look together. Pulling her face away, Imani presses her lips to Yoongi’s cheek and Namjoon thinks his heart is melting. Yoongi’s smile grows impossibly larger and he takes the photo.

An alarm sounds from Taehyung’s phone and Imani’s nose once again starts to itch as the scents in the room spike. Burying her nose into Yoongi’s neck, Imani sniffs a few times before she lets out a small whine of distress. She doesn’t like what Yoongi smells like…she isn’t sure what he smells like. But it isn’t good. His fresh and clean scent is muted, washed out by the mildew of laundry left out in a storm for too long. Yoongi hisses lowly in his chest, the sound is soft and harmless; an imitation of a purr that easily settles Imani’s scent that is starting to decay.

“It’s okay.” Yoongi kisses Imani’s temple a few times before he wraps his arms around her and hugs her tight. “We’re okay.”

“Smell bad,” Imani whispers and Yoongi licks his lips as he nods in agreement.

“I promise we are okay. J-Just a little…on edge.”

“On edge?” Imani repeats and Yoongi again nods his head.

He hums to himself as he tries to think of the best way to explain his feelings to Imani without confusing her.

“All of us are excited to make a phone call but nervous...a little scared. It’s a really, really important phone call.”

Seokjin easily turns the heat on the stovetop down to a lower temperature as he pulls his phone from his pocket. Jungkook follows his lead while Hoseok and Namjoon wake the two sleeping beauties up. Taehyung groans as the alarm continues to play and he turns it off with a yawn. Jimin wipes at his eyes and licks at the corner of his mouth, feeling the stiffness of dried drool.

Seokjin steps away from the kitchenette with Jungkook beside him. He falls into a fit of giggles at the sight of Yoongi’s hair and it’s the perfect sound to break the tension. Everyone laughs, unable to stop themselves to which Imani just giggles along. She loves the sound of their laughter.

Namjoon sighs and pulls his phone from his pocket, watching as Taehyung and Jimin follow suit. Everyone settles into the nest and Imani crawls into Hoseok’s lap. Her tail wraps around his wrist and she cuddles into his chest. Hoseok kisses the top of her head and hugs her tightly as everyone calls their mother’s except Namjoon, who calls his father.

Hoseok rocks from side to side with Imani in his lap as he hums softly to distract himself from everyone greeting their parents with smiles on their faces. All at once, six phones are on speaker and Hoseok licks his lips.

“Eomeonim. Abeonim.” Hoseok looks around at his lovers and they all give him encouraging smiles. “It’s Hoseokie…are you all doing okay?”

All the mothers coo at Hoseok in greeting and Namjoon’s father greets him warmly. Hoseok nods his head at their greetings and tightens his hold on Imani.

“Sorry for calling you so early but we have some news that we wanted to share with you all.”

“Are you okay, Seokie?” Eunmi, Jungkook’s mother asks and the others all voice their concern.

“I’m okay, Eomeoni. Um, actually, we are all doing okay…great!” Hoseok bites his lip and rests his chin on top of Imani’s head. Her breath is warm as it seeps through the fabric of his t-shirt. “We know that none of us are getting younger. We’re getting older and things in our lives are going wonderful. For the first time in a while it feels like-” Hoseok’s voice catches in his throat as his eyes start to burn and he clears his throat a few times.

“Sorry, it��s uh…ever since my parents disowned me, you all have been by my side and treated me like your own son. You have been supportive of our decisions to court each other and become a pack. You were there for all of us when we were at the bottom and you continue to be there for us whenever we need you.”

“Hoseok, what are you trying to say son?” Jihu, Namjoon’s father probes.

“Right, um…yeah. What I’m trying to say is…can you please open the envelopes now?”

There is a moment of silence before the sound of paper ripping and rumbling fills the speakers. There is a shared gasp and sharp inhales of air before sobbing, shouts of joy and laughter floods the speakers and pours into the air.

“We’re jobumonim!” The parents all shout over each other and Imani’s body relaxes into a soft noodle as the scents around her blossom and bloom into a sweet garden retreat.

“Jobumonim?” Imani repeats the words and the hybrid parents all stop breathing.

“W-Was that her? Is that our sonnyeo?” Yebin, Yoongi’s mother whispers, her words hissed softly as tears fall from her eyes.

“Say hello to your grandparents, Imani.” Namjoon offers a dimpled smile and Hoseok carefully shifts Imani in his arms so that she is facing the middle of the nest where all the phones are sitting.

Imani looks at the phones and stares at Namjoon. Grandparents? Is that what jobumonim means? Imani chirps and bows her head like she has seen the pack do.

“H-Hellwo!” Imani mumbles and then she remembers what she hears Namjoon and Yoongi say on the phone a lot. She isn’t sure if she can say it currently, but she wants to try. “A-Annyeong hasimnikka!”

The parents all coo at Imani’s tiny voice and the Min pack feel their hearts swell with pride as their eyes widen in surprise. It’s the first time that they have heard Imani speak Korean. Hoseok hugs Imani a little tighter and she squeaks from the sudden squeeze.

“Oh! Sorry, baby.” Hoseok loosens his hold and Jungkook pulls Imani into his lap with a playful glare sent in Hoseok direction.

“Stop trying to squeeze her to death!” Jungkook scolds and the parents on the phone scold Hoseok as well which makes everyone laugh.

“When can we meet our granddaughter?”

“Should we meet all at once or space it out?”

“You can come to us or us to you."

Yoongi takes over the conversation before any more of the parents can talk over each other. “I think it would be best for Imani, if we schedule a time for everyone to come over in small groups. I don’t want her to be overwhelmed.” Yoongi explains and the grandparents all agree.

“I will reach out to everyone and figure out what times work best,” Seokjin offers, knowing that he would like to give Imani as much time as she will need to get used to being part of their large family. Seokjin knows that the moment their parents meet his sweet little girl, they will want to spoil her rotten and steal her away.

“When will everyone else know about the adoption?”

“We sent announcements in the mail yesterday, so they will reach people throughout the week.” Seokjin answers. “We’re going to post the official announcement on our Instagrams next Monday.”

The parents start to talk over each other and each member of the Min pack grab their own phone, taking it off speaker. Hoseok looks at Imani who is playing with the pendent on Jungkook’s necklace and he smiles.

“Come on pup. Let’s get something to drink.” Hoseok stands from the nest and offers his hand to the tiny girl in Jungkook’s lap. “I think we have some strawberry kiwi juice.”

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#poly!bts #bts hybrid fic #bts fanfic #bts hybrid au #bts parent au #bts x oc #seokjin fic #yoongi fic #namjoon fic #hoseok fic #jimin fic #taehyung fic #jungkook fic #soc bts #totw ch 10 #divider by saradika

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the-orange-solace · 3 months

Text

Sharing some portions of the Disability Visability book by Alice Wong we believe many other Plural individuals, and just anyone in general, may need to hear for themselves:

[IMAGE ID: The first image showcases a photo taken of a written portion of a book stating a quote. The text reads: "Storytelling itself is an activity, not an object. Stories are the closest we can come to a shared experience...Like all stories, they are most fundamentally a chance to ride around inside another head and be reminded that being who we are and where we are, and doing what we're doing, is not the only possibility." The quote is written by Harriet McBryde Johnson from Too Late to Die Young; Nearly True Tales from a Life (2006).

The second image shows another highlighted section that reads: "Disabled people have always existed, whether the world disability is used or not. To me, disability is not a monolith, nor is it a clear-cut binary of disabled and non-disabled. Disability is mutable and ever-evolving. Disability is both apparent and non-apparent. Disability is pain, struggle, brilliance, abundance, and joy. Disability is sociopolitical, cultural, and biological. Being visible and claiming a disabled identity brings risks as much as it brings pride." /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: The third image of the partially highlighted text reads: "We come together today, not only to celebrate the life and legacy of a beautiful human being who embodied everything that active love is, but to also learn about those who may come from different communities and yet be just as human as you—to learn how to affirm, love, and fight with and for them. In doing so, we will love ourselves more deeply and move the world faster toward collective justice and liberation..."

The fourth partially highlighted text reads: "I challenge the extent to which we place the responsibility for advocacy on those designated as leaders or "champions." Advocacy is not just a task for charismatic individuals or high-profile community organizers. Advocacy is for all of us; advocacy is a way of life. It is a natural response to the injustices and inequality in the world. While you and I may not have sole responsibility for those inequalities, that does not alter its reality." /END ID}

[IMAGE ID: The fifth fully highlighted image text reads: "However, it was Ki'tay's ability to sit with and actively love oppressors and those who were violent toward him and marginalized communities—most often solely because they do not adhere to that which has been deemed "normal"—that truly set him apart. He could breathe life and love into even those people within mere moments of making their acquaintance. This is what makes him special—reminiscent of what some here may call a prophet; others, a wise man; others still, a slight or sage. He was grounded in love. Always. Ki'tay did not feign to know all of the answers to the problems of the world, but he prided himself on always learning and evolving to address injustices."

The sixth semi-highlighted text reads: "He was frequently caught quoting the famed Assata Shakur: "It is out day to fight. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and protect each other. We have nothing to lose but out chains." /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: The seventh image reads: "...when we use our freedom to advance the rights of all members of our community; or as Nelson Mandela put it, "to be free is not casting off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."

The eighth image reads: "See, many of you here are familiar with parables and stories of grace and justice that you studied and learned from holy books. I, however, was fortunate to witness parables and actions of grace and justice because Ki'tay lived them. Solidarity for Ki'tay means active resistance to the status quo—letting all people know that they are respected, cherished, valued, and loved. Solidarity also means letting them know that despite our failures, we are committed to their cause because it is inextricably linked to each of our individual and collective causes." /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: The last partially highlighted image reads as follows: "I used to find the existence of algebraic and geometric formulas that explained beauty oddly comforting, because then at least there was an ideal—something to work toward. But art isn't necessarily about beauty. Art is supposed to make you feel something, and I began to realize my appearance was my art. My body, my face, my scars told a story—my story. But I guess that's how life works sometimes—noticing beauty only in retrospect and poetry, in silence. Sometimes I catch my reflection in the mirror and I remember the words of my teacher, beauty is subjective, and suddenly the reflection I see doesn't feel like such a stranger." /END ID]

#🪶: atreus #📗: midoriya #disability pride month #disability #plurality #plural system #actually plural #plural community #pluralgang #syscourse #sysconversation #sysblr #Disability Visibility by Alice Wong #image ids

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 months

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It feels like I switched to a parallel universe at some point. I was born a few weeks after the Berlin wall was brought down. I was a baby when the USSR was dissolved. I grew up in a world that, at least on the surface, said "the 1990s was a century of atrocities and we don't want those anymore". I was very young when the situation in Ireland stabilized. When the situation in the Basque country stabilized. The accords of Camp David that seemed to stabilize the situation in Palestine. Russia was no longer a foe. Cuba was, like, there, and the US were no longer obsessed with it. China minded their own business. Nelson Mandela had succeeded. More countries in the European Union. Talks of countries like Turkey eventually in the European Union. Heck, there was a brief window there were talks to let Russia enter NATO at a certain point.

The world was still filled with horrible stuff but the idea (let me be clear: the idea, not the reality, but ideology shapes the world) was "the bad stuff is bad. The world is not perfect but it would be nice to make it better, solve international issues without wars, prevent genocides going forward". The bad things were seen as aberrations, something that belonged to a past and had no place in the future everyone wanted. The (racist, yep) idea was that places like certain areas of Africa (see Rwanda, Darfur...) were still "behind" but the world was heading to a future where those atrocities would be a thing of the past because the idea was that wars and genocides were a thing of the past. Because we didn't want them anymore, right? We had gone through the 1900s, the century of the horrors, and learnt from those horrors.

Heck, even the period of the war of terror seemed to cling to this delusion after all. Those are the bad guys, we're the good guys, we're going to beat the bad guys and things will be better! Or so the propaganda said. (I cannot stress enough how damaging the 2000s were for our civilization.)

But at some point something... broke? The illusion broke? We are hearing things that would not seem out of place in the mouths of European elites before World War 1. The big war is inevitable and coming soon, so we need to arm ourselves and be ready. The most horrific self-fulfilling prophecy in history.

We are hearing threats of nuclear war - the very thing the post-cold war, post-bipolarism, post-USSR world I grew up in was confident that would never happen because the world had grown wiser than that.

We were told our countries had learnt from the horrors!! We were told the horrors wouldn't happen again!! We were told our countries did not want the horrors to happen again.

Gen Z might feel hopeless because of climate change and all the atrocities. But personally? As a millennial, I feel a very specific sense of dread. That the world I grew up in was a lie. It's not that the 1900s was the century of the horrors. This century is also a century of the horrors. The horrors don't stop.

#marghe versus the universe #(my tag for rants about the state of the world)

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sunbookie · 2 years

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Saartjie (Sara) Baartman was one of the first black women known to be subjugated to human sexual trafficking. She was derisively named the “Hottentot Venus” by Europeans as her body would be publicly examined and exposed inhumanly throughout the duration of her young life. Moreover. her experience reinforced the already existing and extremely negative sexual fascination with African women bodies by the people of Europe.

Sara Baartman was born in 1789 at the Gamtoos River, now known as the Eastern Cape in South Africa. Baartman and her family were members of the Gonaquasub group of the Khoikhoi. Baartman grew up on a colonial farm where she and her family most likely worked as servants. Her mother died when she was aged two and her father, who was a cattle driver, died when she was still a young girl.

By her teenage years Baartman married a Khoikhoi man who was a drummer. They had a child together who died shortly after birth. When Baartman was sixteen, her husband was murdered by Dutch colonists. Soon after, she was sold into slavery to a trader named Pieter Willem Cezar, who took her to Cape Town where she became a domestic slave to his brother, Hendrik. On October 29, 1810, although she could not read, 21-year-old Baartman supposedly signed a contract with William Dunlop, a physician, who was a friend of the Cezar brothers.

This contract required her to travel with the Cezar brothers and Dunlop to England and Ireland where she would work as a domestic servant since technically slavery had been abolished in Great Britain. Additionally, she would be exhibited for entertainment purposes. Baartman would receive a portion of earnings from her exhibitions and would be allowed to return to South Africa after five years. However, the contract was false on all details and her enslavement continued for the remainder of her life.

Baartman was first exhibited in London in the Egyptian Hall at Piccadilly Circus on November 24, 1810. Her public treatment, however, quickly drew the attention of British abolitionists who charged Dunlop and the Cezars with holding Baartman against her will. The court ruled against Baartman after Pieter Cezar produced the contract that had been signed by Baartman. Baartman also testified that she was not being mistreated.

The publicity generated by the court trial increased Baartman’s popularity as an exhibit. She was taken on tours throughout England and by 1812 as far away as Limerick, Ireland.

In September 1814, after staying four years in Great Britain, Baartman was taken to France and sold to S. Reaux, an exhibitor who showcased animals. He put Baartman on public display in and around Paris, often at the Palais Royal. He also allowed her to be sexually abused by patrons willing to pay for her defilement. Reaux garnered considerable profit due to the public’s fascination with Baartman’s body.

Sara Saartjie Baartman died in Paris on December 29, 1815 at the age of 26 for unknown reasons. Even after her death, many of her body parts would go on display at the Musée de l’Homme (Museum of Man), in Paris to support racist theories about people of African ancestry. Some of the body parts remained on display until 1974.

In 1994 South African President Nelson Mandela formally requested that Baartman’s remains be returned to South Africa. On March 6, 2002, her remains were returned and buried at Hankey in the Eastern Cape Province.

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saintmeghanmarkle · 5 months

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THE FUTURE OF THE MARKLES - HOW THE DEMISE WILL BEGIN! by u/media_lush

THE FUTURE OF THE MARKLES - HOW THE DEMISE WILL BEGIN! https://ift.tt/s3po5qC story:Naomi Campbell's high-profile Fashion For Relief charity has been shut down amid the charity watchdog's probe into claims of financial mismanagement, The Mail on Sunday can reveal.The Charity Commission last night confirmed that it had removed the supermodel's charity from the UK charity register while it continued its investigation into allegations of misconduct.It follows revelations by this newspaper that official accounts showed that during a 15-month period it spent more than £1.6 million on a glittering gala in Cannes, but gave just £5,000 to good causes.The watchdog said it was still conducting an inquiry into Fashion For Relief, which Ms Campbell founded in 2005, saying she had been inspired by her friend Nelson Mandela telling her to 'use [her] voice' for good.The charity claimed to have raised more than £11 million, mostly through glitzy fundraising events held all over the world, including in New York, Mumbai and Moscow.Ms Campbell, 53, would take centre stage at the galas, appearing in showstopping designer gowns, and was honoured by the British Fashion Council for her philanthropic work in 2019.But concerns were raised in 2021 about how much money was being passed on to people in need after the Mayor's Fund for London lodged an official complaint, saying that it was owed £50,000 by the charity.The Mayor's Fund, which helps young Londoners from low-income backgrounds, filed a 'serious incident' report with the Charity Commission, which announced a statutory inquiry in November that year.Last night, a Charity Commission spokesman told this newspaper that the charity had been removed from the charity register last month. It came after the watchdog appointed two managers to take over Fashion For Relief, which had consistently filed its accounts late.A friend of Ms Campbell last night said that Fashion For Relief was set up to raise 'awareness' and not just money. They insisted that the supermodel, worth a reported £63 million, had decided to call time on Fashion For Relief before the watchdog inquiry was launched.A Charity Commission spokesman said: 'We can confirm that the Commission-appointed interim managers of Fashion For Relief applied for its removal from the register of charities on the basis that it no longer operates.'The removal process is now complete and reflected on the public register. Our statutory inquiry into the charity is ongoing.'As part of the investigation, Fashion For Relief trustees were restricted from making certain financial transactions in order to 'protect the charity's property'.The trustees were Ms Campbell; her key aide, Veronica Chou, who is the heiress to a £2 billion textile fortune; and socialite and lawyer Bianka Hellmich. Ms Chou quit the charity days after the Commission launched its probe in 2021.A spokesman for the charity said: 'The winding up of Fashion For Relief was a decision made by the trustees three years ago. It was not forcibly closed.'Fashion For Relief operates in America and will continue to do fundraising initiatives worldwide.' post link: https://ift.tt/YgbR03r author: media_lush submitted: April 28, 2024 at 03:26AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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world-cinema-research · 4 months

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Week 9 - Forrest Gump and Inception Two-Film Comparison Essay

Carly Leavitt-Hullana

The two movies I chose to watch for weeks eight and nine were Forrest Gump directed by Robert Zemeckis and Inception directed by Christopher Nolan. Both of which have many similarities and differences within their critical acclimation and conventional/unconventional attributes, which are separately discussed below along with a major historical event that occurred during the year in which each film was released.

Starting with Forrest Gump, a popular fan favorite, the film follows the lucky but tough life of Forrest Gump (Tom Hanks), who grew up in a boarding house with his single mother, as his father had left them when he was very young. As many may already know, Forrest was diagnosed with scoliosis which affected his ability to walk as well as was mentally challenged which affected his life greatly in many ways that we experience throughout the film. However, throughout his event-filled life he always kept in mind what his mother had instilled into him, that “stupid is as stupid does,” and that Forrest is just as normal as any other person. He also had the support of his lifelong best friend and wife, Jenny, with whom he lost touch and rekindled his relationship with multiple times throughout the span of their lives.

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This scene shows how much Jenny cared about Forrest from the time he started school to the time they got into high school.

Although I cannot speak for the global audience, I know that Forrest Gump is a fan and family favorite among America in today’s society as well as when it came out in 1994. This film is notoriously known for many quotable lines as well as Tom Hanks' exceptional and award winning, (for both Hanks himself and the film) performance. I, as well as many other acclaimed film critics, consider Forrest Gump an American classic as many have seen and greatly loved this movie. Those in the audience were inspired by Forrest Gump's life story and his ability to get up and keep going despite all of his hardships that he had encountered throughout his life.

However, a more indepth look into Forrest Gump reveals more complexity of the film and the director's message. Critically acclaimed film critic Roger Ebert skims the surface when he says, “And yet this is not a heartwarming story about a mentally challenged man. That cubbyhole is much too small and limiting for Forrest Gump. The movie is more of a meditation on our times, as seen through the eyes of a man who lacks cynicism and takes things for exactly what they are” (Forrest Gump via Roger Ebert). An academic article, written by Yunling Zhang, takes it a step further when he states, “It analyzes the plots related to social, political and cultural context and discusses main themes reflected in the work, namely anti-war ideas, anti-racism and the realization American dream” (A New Historicist Interpretation of Forrest Gump via Universe Scientific Publishing).

Taking Forrest Gump’s political and social commentary into consideration around the time of its release in 1994, we see similar events that relate to the film’s emphasis of a changing society with Nelson Mandela’s inauguration. An article describes this major event in South African history, “On 10 May 1994, Nelson Mandela, at the age of 77, was inaugurated as South Africa’s first black president and F W de Klerk became Mandela’s first deputy. Although the ANC gained a majority vote, they formed the Government of National Unity (GNU), headed by Mandela” (Nelson Mandela is inaugurated as South Africa’s first black president via South African History Online).

Despite these three main historic events being a large part of American history, they were highly controversial which leads to the conventionalism of Forrest Gump. I argue that it is both conventional and unconventional, as it has many conventional aspects such as: starring already famous, big name actor Tom Hanks; it quickly became a fan favorite for a large population; and it regards many, high critical acclimations for the American comedy-drama. On the other hand, it also contains multiple unconventional aspects of: showcasing the perspective of a mentally challenged man; adding many controversial and/or devastating moments in politics and society; inadvertently displaying the majority feelings of society during those times; ‘promoting’ bullying; and ‘advertising’ a relationship between Jenny and Forrest that greatly goes against societal norms.

Moving into Inception, this film takes you through the impossible job of mind inception, hence the title of the film, which is the act of planting the seed of an idea into someone's mind to allow it to grow until it is all they can think about. Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio), a thief with the ability to enter people’s dreams, leads this assignment as they work with their employer to get the company’s rival to dismantle their business. As they scheme up a plan and finally begin, Cobb fails to mention his own compromises he may expose to the mission and how dangerous it is. As well as how easily it can go south as they are working under a sedative to go into a dream, within a dream, within a dream.

I greatly enjoyed watching Inception as it is a great action-packed, suspenseful film that truly does keep you on the edge-of your seat guessing. However, it is not the best film I have seen and can agree with film critic Peter Bradshaw when he says, “Well, Inception is still very impressive; looking back, I see that I found its tech and technique dazzling, but the narrative inert. Yet maybe that was not doing justice to how staggering its fantasy set pieces were” (Inception review – the virtual reinvention of virtual reality via The Guardian). Even so, further in his article he applauds Nolan on the uniqueness of this film as well as the brilliant creation of the dream scenes throughout the film, where I also argue Nolan’s focus of the film was prioritized.

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This scene shows off some of the great visuals and tech that the movie has, especially during the dream scenes.

With that being said, I claim that Inception is unconventional despite having a few conventional aspects. The few main conventional aspects are the use of multiple big name actors such as Leonardo Dicaprio, Cillian Murphy, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Tom Hardy, and Elliot Page (formerly Ellen Page); the film’s distribution by Warner Bros; and the plot following a normal action film. Regardless, this film is unconventional as it poses a unique and confusing idea of building, entering, and controlling a or another's dream, has a very subjective and perplexing ending and plot overall, and adds commentary to the corruption of business politics commonly heard about big name corporations.

With Inception’s release in July of 2010, it adds commentary to the state of not only America’s government and social corruption, but of those issues shared globally as well. We see an example of the effects of a corrupted society and government with the 2010 Haiti earthquake of a magnitude of 7.0, that greatly devastated the country and world’s population. An article comments, “Haiti's capital city, Port-au-Prince, was almost completely flattened in the space of 35 seconds. The loss of government buildings and staff in the quake meant the country's ability to manage the response was severely weakened. Even today, issues such as lack of infrastructure, limited access to basic resources and weak political governance still plague the country” (Britannica & Sky News on 2010 Haiti Earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0).

In conclusion, Forrest Gump and Inception are similar in ways that they both regard high critical receptions, both add to the commentary of societal and governmental views/issues during certain timelines, they both share aspects of being both conventional and unconventional films, and they share connections with historic events that occurred during the years that both films were released. On the other hand, these films are different as they came out in different eras, showcase different aspects of societal views during those times, and are completely different genres and concepts.

#Youtube

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