People talk about politics as if it’s this isolated, abstract concept that only matters at election time. Somebody’s politics is their world view. It’s whether they think certain human beings deserve rights. It’s how they think the world should be. And if somebody thinks that the world should be colder, meaner, less accepting and downright hostile to people that are different to them, then sure as fuck is the friendship over.
It occurs to me that as much as “humans are the scary ones” fits sometimes, if you look at it another way, humans might seem like the absurdly friendly or curious ones.
I mean, who looked at an elephant, gigantic creature thoroughly capable of killing someone if it has to, and thought “I’m gonna ride on that thing!”?
And put a human near any canine predator and there’s a strong chance of said human yelling “PUPPY!” and initiating playful interaction with it.
And what about the people who look at whales, bigger than basically everything else, and decide “I’m gonna swim with our splashy danger friends!”
Heck, for all we know, humans might run into the scariest, toughest aliens out there and say “Heck with it. I’m gonna hug ‘em.”
“Why?!”
“I dunno. I gotta hug ‘em.”
And it’s like the first friendly interaction the species has had in forever so suddenly humanity has a bunch of big scary friends.
“Commander, we must update the code of conduct to include the humans.”
“Why? Are they more aggressive than we anticipated?”
“It seems to be the opposite Commander. Just this morning a crewman nearly lost their hand when attempting to stroke an unidentified feline on an unknown world. Their reaction to the attack was to call the creature a “mean kitty” and vow to win it over. Upon inquiry it seems they bond so readily with creatures outside their species that they have the capacity to feel sympathy for an alien creature they have never seen before simply because it appears distressed. I hate to say this commander but we must install a rule to prevent them from endangering their own lives when interacting with the galaxy’s fauna.”
“I see what you mean. So be it, from now on no crewman is allowed to touch unknown animals without permission from a superior officer. And send a message to supplies about acquiring one of these “puppies” so that their desire to touch furred predators can be safely sated.
Ehehehe I love this! Every time someone adds a short story to my post it gets like 90% cuter and more epic
Lets be honest, the humans would ignore the hell outta that rule whenever alone.
“So I hear that you’ve just recruited a human for your ship.”
“Yes, it’s the first time that I’ve worked with these species,
but they come highly recommended. Say, you’ve worked with a few, what tips can
you give me? I’d hate to have some kind of cultural misunderstanding if it’s
avoidable.”
“The
first rule of working with humans is never leave them unsupervised.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m serious. Don’t do it. Things. Happen.”
“But wait, I thought that I heard you highly recommended that
every crew should have at least one on board?”
“Absolutely, and I stand by that. Humans are excellent
innovators, and are psychologically very resilient. If you have a crisis, then
a human that has bonded wth your crew properly can be invaluable. Treat your
human well and you should get the best out of them as a crew member. Their
ability to get on with almost any species is legendary.”
“But Toks, didn’t you just say…”
“The
trouble is that they will potentially try to bond with anything. If you leave them
unsupervised, you have no idea what kind of trouble they can get themselves into. It was
sheer luck that the Fanzorians thought that it was funny that the human picked
up the Crown Prince to coo at him.”
“Crown Prince Horram, Scourge of Pixia?”
“The
very same. Surprisingly good sense of humour. But don’t even get me started on
that one time with the Dunlip. Al-Human wanted to know if they could keep it.
As a pet.”
“A Dunlip? You
mean the 3 metre tall apex predators from Jowun?”
“Yup. Don’t
leave your humans unsupervised.”
“I’ll uh, take that under advisement.”
“Seriously. Get a supply of safe animals for the humans to bond with or they will make their own. I mean, they will try to befriend anything they come across anyway, but without any permanent pets they can get… creative. Don’t even get me started on the time one of them taped a knife to one of our auto-cleaners and named it Stabby.
Three weeks in and when we finally caught the wretched thing, half the humans on crew tried to revolt about us “killing” Stabby by removing the knife.
“How… how did you resolve that sir?”
“Glaxcol made a toy knife out of insulation rubber and strapped that on instead. Quite a creative solution, I suppose.”
“And that sated the humans?
“Worse.”
“Worse?”
“They thought it was so funny they made a second one, strapped false eyes on springs to both and held mock battles. Then decided Stabby and Knifey were in love and now none of them will allow the others to stage fights between them any more.”
Stabby is an omniversal constant.
Oh my gods, we’re the Steve Irwins of the universe.
this is my fave thing.
it can’t even be safe to assume humans would only attach themselves to only fuzzy, furry things. reptilian and even insectoid creatures are just as likely to be randomly selected as “this is a thing i love” by a human.
“Excuse me, captain? Human-Rob requests that we … bring aboard … a Kilarn.”
“A Kilarn? The giant poisonous and highly aggressive insectoid predator? Am I hearing you correctly?”
“…. Yes ser.”
“For the love of- WHY?”
“I asked the same thing, to which they replied “he’s trying his best” in a distressed tone of voice.“
I got pregnant three years ago. I was 22, it was a brand-new relationship, but I was adamant that I was having a baby. I’ve always taken motherhood very seriously. I was abused — the product of people who shouldn’t have had kids — then adopted. I felt so strongly that this was the most important job of my life.
I wasn’t at risk of genetic defects, so during the anatomy scan it didn’t even occur to me that they were looking for abnormalities. Me, my boyfriend, and my parents all went to the appointment, and when they said I was having a girl, my mom jumped up and down hollering as if she were at a football game. My boyfriend cried.
I was home alone when I got a call from the genetic specialist who told me that the tests were positive for trisomy 13. I thought that was Down syndrome and thought, Okay, I can do that. But then she started apologizing: “I’m so sorry, these babies usually miscarry. It’s a miracle she’s made it this far.” I said I didn’t understand, and she explained that my baby could pass any day, be still-born, or die soon after. I Googled “trisomy 13” and saw horrific pictures of babies without noses or mouths. I sat there and sobbed while I held my belly apologizing to her over and over and over again. I called my mom and said, “My baby’s going to die. My baby’s going to die.”
The doctor cleared her schedule and saw me later that day. She said: “You need to make a decision. You’re already 23 weeks and the state of Ohio has restrictions that impact your options.” She explained I could terminate or carry the pregnancy to its extent. At the time, 24 weeks was the cutoff for abortion in Ohio or else you had to travel to another state. [In December 2016, Republican governor John Kasich signed a law that reduced this cutoff to 20 weeks.] We only had days to decide, and even then there were waiting lists and the expense was horrendous. I had never felt so alone.
The counselor said my baby wasn’t in pain and there was no risk to either of our lives if we continued the pregnancy. I thought, Let’s try to make some memories while we can. I really enjoyed being pregnant. I loved having this purpose, and I thought as long as she’s not suffering, I think that her being here with us right now is the best we can do. And so … we tried.
At 29 weeks, my ankles and legs got extremely swollen. I was disassociating and became lightheaded, so I left work. I started cramping and ended up in the hospital. There were so many tests, which ultimately concluded that this was an emergency situation. [Jessica was at risk of having a seizure, and potentially dying, if labor wasn’t induced.] I wasn’t thinking, I’m terminating this pregnancy in order to save my life, but that’s what my paperwork said.
The doctor was very clear. He said, “You need to decide whether you want to induce now or come back in a week and get your blood pressure checked again — and I will induce you then.” I lived 45 minutes away from any hospital, on a farm without neighbors. It was a bitterly cold January. He was afraid I’d have a seizure and not get to them in time. That worried me, too.
But I knew that if I was induced, there was no chance my daughter would survive. Even if I carried her to term, her survival rate was very low, less than 5 percent. Another decision I had to make was telling the doctors that I did not want them to resuscitate the baby.
I was in labor for 32 hours.
I declined to have her monitored during labor because I didn’t want to sit there listening to her pass away. So they’d periodically come in and quietly listen for a heartbeat. The last time, at 1 a.m., they couldn’t hear it. I made them bring my family back into the room, and about a half an hour later it was time. She was born after three pushes, and at just two and a half pounds. Her heart was still beating, but she didn’t cry or breathe or make any sort of sound. There was mention of oxygen, but I said, “Please, just let her go.” They put her on my chest, and my boyfriend came and cut the cord.
She stayed alive for two and a half hours. They called it when her heart stopped.
When I made the decision to “voluntarily” induce, I felt like I was picking myself over my child. I wouldn’t wish that on the most evil person on Earth. A funeral director arrived with a huge white cloth. He said, “I have to cover her face so people don’t know when I’m walking down the hall [with such a small body].” I handed her over, and that was the last time that I saw her. I didn’t want a casket on display at the funeral; that tiny box would have been way too much. I collected her ashes a week later.
Many people don’t understand why this experience reinforced my pro-choice beliefs. Now more than ever, I firmly believe: No conditions. No restrictions. I can’t imagine being in that situation and being denied the dignity of making a choice. That little bit of control was so empowering. Nobody just wakes up after being pregnant for over 20 weeks and says, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
When Trump said those things about late-term abortion during the debate, I was so angry. What must the rest of the world think of us? I have friends in the U.K. and Canada saying, “What the hell? You can have 30 guns but you can’t have a dignified, comfortable abortion?”
And while we’re getting abortions and making painful decisions about our bodies, Trump is fucking tweeting.
When you struggle with your mental health on a daily basis, it can be hard to take action on the things that matter most to you. The mental barriers anxiety creates often appear insurmountable. But sometimes, when you really need to, you can break those barriers down. This week, with encouragement from some great people on the internet, I pushed against my anxiety and made some calls to members of our government. Here’s a comic about how you can do that, too. (Resources and transcript below.)
Motivational resources: There are a lot! Here are a few I really like:
Sharon Wong posted a great series of tweets that helped me manage my phone anxiety and make some calls.
Kelsey is tweeting pretty much daily with advice and reminders about calling representatives. I found this tweet an especially great reminder that calls aren’t nearly as big a deal as anxiety makes them out to be.
Informational resources: There are a lot of these, as well! These three are good places to start:
my knowledge of authoritarian regimes and state oppressive tactics tells me that this new administration is trying to suppress resistance and cause fear through issuing a surge of oppressive policies and other actions in its first week. attempting to overwhelm us. to fatigue us, to make us lose hope in the possibility of resisting. his friendship with putin is one of many things that makes this make sense 4 me - these are the kinds of overt oppressive tactics the russian state uses on its citizens. remember resistance is always possible, and the use of methods to suppress resistance always indicates fear of resistance.
This is the advice of every expert on nations that gave way to the rise of authoritarian regimes. They all say the same thing. RESIST. The citizens must resist, and continue to resist. It is possible and it is the only way.
the use of methods to suppress resistance always indicates fear of resistance.
“If you have a problem with punching Nazis, I’m here to collect your copies of Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Hamilton, X-Men, and Firefly. Someone else will be by later for Star Wars, LOTR, Captain America/Marvel, etc. I don’t make the rules; you’re the one who thinks it’s wrong to resist oppression by violent means.”—Amanda Michelle (via currentuser)
7: I do not believe in love at first sight. But god damn. (Look at you.)
Two things. First,
it’s a very dangerous thing to say ‘whoever I want,’ because I go straight for
the niche fandoms that I love the most.
Thus: Animorphs. Second! It has come to my attention that I
accidentally swapped two prompts—this line is actually prompt 17, and prompt 7
got used for the Sith!Padme AU. Because
I’m a fucking disaster area and my brain likes to pull switches like that on
me. (Math classes suck for this exact
reason.) But like the Sith!Padme AU is
done? And I was halfway through this by the time I realized, so I am VERY sorry but I’m doing this.
Tobias could give you the exact moment he
fell in love with Rachel, as a bruised thirteen-year-old kid in a body he
barely remembered. Love at first sight
was a fairy tale, but he could give every detail of the moment—it was like
light being struck from a match, casting everything in a fresh glow.
Admittedly, he remembered everything about
that night in the construction site, about Elfangor’s serious eyes and Visser
Three’s terrible morph and the desperate giddy feeling in his chest of yes, yes, I knew it, there’s more to this
world. Which made a lot more sense,
in retrospect, but of course at the time he just knew that something had
clicked into place. While everyone else
was standing around being awestruck and wondering, Tobias had been too busy
feeling a wash of relief that, oh God, he wasn’t crazy, there really was something else and it was exactly as
spectacular as he had always believed it would be.
But even in that chaos, Rachel had been like
a beacon.
He’d had a crush on her from the moment he
arrived in town, of course, but then he could guarantee that about every boy at
their school agreed with him, save the ones who were related to her. He could list five girls off the top of his
head who were probably head over heels for Rachel, having a crush on her wasn’t
anything special. She was clever and
funny and fierce, her beautiful face was almost an afterthought.
And Tobias had needed something bright and
strong to hold onto, and just being around Rachel, in the line of her sharp
eyes, was a good start.
So it never did shock him, that he was in
love with her.
It wasn’t her grip on his hand as they
watched Elfangor die, although he was sure everyone would be shocked to hear
it. That was just…Rachel, scared half to
death and still with strength and ferocity to spare. She clutched his hand because it made her
feel better, to steady someone else, and God Tobias had needed it. He’d almost bolted right then, run back to
the Andalite’s side, because he barely had a life to live anyway and he’d felt
something from Elfangor’s thoughts he’d never felt before. Some messy tangle of regret and pride and
grief, all centered around a bright hard thing that made affection look like small fry.
The loss of it hurt like broken glass in Tobias’ throat, sharp and
bloody. And it was Rachel’s grip on his
hand as he cried that kept Tobias hidden behind the wreckage, kept him sane
enough to live through the night.
But it was later, that it really hit him.
They were running and, at the time, Tobias
had desperately wished for wings. It was
almost funny, now, but probably only to him—he’d never told the others how
often he wished he could fly away, before he got a new appreciation for the
dangers of wishes.
Here was something else the others never
knew: he had three cracked ribs that night.
There was no way, even with adrenaline pumping ice through his blood,
that he would be able to outrun the Hork-Bajir on their tail. Tobias’ forgotten human body was tall, but
skinny and out of shape, not strong like Cassie or fast like Jake, he was slow
and hurt and shocky. And he had a moment
of strange clarity, as if he could see the future as clearly as the Ellimist
ever showed it to them. He would die,
and it would be awful, but the others would live and that would be…good. They had people who would miss them, and he
didn’t. They would live to fight the
Andalite’s war, maybe save the world, and Tobias would get to rest.
And then Rachel, tall, athletic Rachel who
could probably have outpaced every last one of them, even Jake, slowed, and
dropped back. She was shouting, arms
outstretched with a wild, ecstatic look of challenge on her face. Tobias could only catch about one word in
three, but they were…vivid.
That was the moment. Tobias, tearing across the rough ground of
the construction site with impossibility on his heels. Rachel, screaming curses in death’s face in
order to protect the people she cared about.
It was more like being struck by lightning than anything so polite as falling
in love, but.
I haven’t quite thought this out enough to have my thoughts totally clear, but I usually clarify my thoughts by writing them down, so I’m gonna try it anyway. For context I am writing as an ethnically Jewish white person.
I have seen some Discourse where person A says something like “We can’t dehumanize the people we’re fighting,” and then Person B goes “Yeah, this was why we shouldn’t have punched that Nazi!” and then Person C goes “Uh, we have to punch Nazis,” and then Person D says “Nazis aren’t people!” and then the whole Discourse Cycle starts up again.
The problem, I think, is that we are taking “don’t dehumanize” as code for “be nice to?” And that’s not what it is. “Don’t dehumanize” means understanding there is not a profound difference between yourself and a person who believes something repugnant. Otherwise, it becomes too tempting to think that a repugnant belief is some kind of monstrous mental defect that we get to just magically Not Have, because we – after all – are people, and Nazis are Not People.
If we believe that we are immune to repugnant beliefs, we become incredibly vulnerable to them. Sorry if I’m being redundant here, but I really want to spell this out: If we think that Nazis aren’t people, we open a door that is going to kill our ability to be useful, effective, intersectional activists. We will absolutely become complacent. Beliefs will creep up slowly in our brains, because that’s what brains do, they gather information and make just whatever crap soup out of it, and we – if we sense the development of these ideas at all – will go “Well, this must NOT be a repugnant belief, because only Not-People have repugnant beliefs, and I am a Person!”
And again, that’s not synonymous with saying that “If you want to punch Nazis in the face YOU’RE JUST AS BAD AS THEM!!!!” That’s crazy and garbage. It’s also not synonymous with “We have to tolerate Nazi beliefs!” I am trying to make a pretty straightforward statement that Nazis are people. They are people, and we have to look that fact dead on, and then we have to punch those people in the face, hard and often.
“They are people, and we have to look that fact dead on, and then we have to punch those people in the face, hard and often.”
just in case anyone was thinking about bombing trump tower or lighting it on fire or something, how about instead you throw paint balloons at the ground floor windows every day
just every single day forever
because cleaning off the paint then becomes a 24/7 job that is super obvious to everyone in the vicinity
and the trumples will freak the fuck out and act like it’s the same as bombing the fucking thing, which is hilarious and embarrassing for everyone else
it will be demanded that the police make it staaaaaaaahp like it’s this huge goddamn deal and the police will be like oh my god stop wasting my time this is excruciating
plus it’s really easy to just have different people do it at different times of day and if you do get caught oh well it’s a misdemeanor vandalism charge, pay a fine and go home
tell me you can’t find 365 people who would cop to a vandalism fine for the privilege of driving merkin von bankrupt absolutely batshit with impotent fury
just an idea
…this is really good, dude. i LIKE it.
“Don’t think of it as criminal, think of it as putting the window washer’s kids through college.”
additional suggestion: the paint should be pink, and glittery. nothing horrifies bigoted men more than their macho status objects being CONTAMINATED by NASTY AWFUL NO GOOD SCARY GROSS FEMME COOTIES. taking danglord turnip’s big metal monument and smearing the girliest possible paintjob across its bottom would be particularly distressing to the guys we wanna distress, while not at all bothering anyone else.
Im just. imagining. As the weeks go on and theres more demand to catch the vandals, stakeouts are happening and the pressure is on. Cop McGee is sitting in the car watching the building with a cold cup of coffee and a warbling radio filled with a WHOLE lot of interesting feedback- car chases they’d rather be doing. The clock is ticking, the vandals haven’t hit yet. Were they going to miss a day? Just the luck of Cop McGee.
Then it happens. A loud splat. There it is… a pink splotch. But smaller than normal, and nobody was running. IN fact there wasn’t anyone near the building just at that moment…. what?
SPLAT SPLAT
Then it begins raining. Paint balls- but from where. Cop McGee whirls around in their seat looking for a perp. Nothing. SPLAT SPLAT. Where is it coming from? what’s happening??
Paint Ball Snipers. It’s Paint Ball Snipers.
Next day someone comes in with a drone hooked up to about eight cans of spray paint rigged to open fire once in range. It’s a swirling, flying disk of feminine justice.
Then there’s the donation of Stuart Semple’s Pinkest Pink pigment that’s released in clouds all over the block on a day fresh after the rain when the walls are all still wet.
Honestly? We should all start saying "hey don't tell anyone the person who punched Rick Spencer was me, alright? y'all some good people" because every single person claiming they were is going to be funny
I like it. has a very “I am Spartacus” feel to it.
One of my friends asked me the other day if I would suck one thousand dicks for a billion dollars, and I love questions like that because not only are they so demonstrative of the no-homo society we live in, but they also show a fundamental lack of understanding that some people have for the value of money. Like, do you realize just how much money one billion dollars is? Do you realize I could live my life in the lap of luxury buying literally everything I could ever want and still have a fortune to leave to my children?? For sucking some dicks?? We are talking 1 million dollars per dick sucked!! That’s just economical like come on man.
1 billion dollars and all you’d have to do is suck a dick every day for the next 2.7 years. That’s it. Plenty of people already do that. You could quit your job and literally suck dick for a living. You could suck two dicks a day and only have to suck dick for 1.4 years. You could suck 5 dicks a day for about 6 months. 5 DICKS A DAY FOR 6 MONTHS FOR A BILLION DOLLARS, OF COURSE I’LL FUCKIN DO THAT. THAT’S THE DREAM, THAT’S FUCKIN HEAVEN.
and here i was thinking about sucking dick for free
I haven’t seen this on my dash in a while and I think now is as good a time as any to tell you guys that this post got big enough to get to facebook, where it was seen by my cousin, who brought it up at a family event which ended in me defending sucking 1000 dicks to my very religious family
All the links from the White House website are gone, but the Affordable Care Act is still in effect, and you can sign up for health insurance until January 31.
Trump and his cronies may want to kill it, but that takes time (especially now that key players are waffling and the insurance industry have noticed that it will rain chaos down upon them). So sign yourself up. Get in a free checkup, a round of antibiotics, a birth control implant, while you have the chance.
If anyone needs help applying, ping me.
Todavía puede inscribirle en Obamacare. Si necesita auyuda, pídame.
Would you all mind boosting this? I don’t usually ask, but Obamacare is a big deal for me. I haven’t had to dose anyone with veterinary antibiotics in years, and I really want to keep it that way.
Honestly more people should start saying "hey don't tell anyone the person who punched Rick Spencer was me, alright? y'all some good people" to confuse nazis who are hunting for the guy, really cliche "I'm the guy who punched the nazi" stuff but hey its funny
I will point out though that you are not a bad anti-nazi if you’re not able to physically punch nazis. That carries a ton of risks, not only physical but legal/financial, and is best left to, uh, trained experts. You’ll find your own way to bash the fash, and comrade Jeb! will be proud of you the whole way
Document and then destroy their posters, stickers, and graffiti.
Educate yourself about the nature and tactics of fascism. Learn to identify them and when you find one, tell everyone what you see.
Learn from and listen to the communities they target.
We should react to and freeze out nazis in the way we did TERFs.
posts by known neo-nazis should be ignored or deleted. Nazis should be blocked. Put in the comments of any such post you see “the OP is a Nazi”.
IDENTIFY & SANCTION NO SPACE FOR NAZISM
There are people reblogging this saying “Shouldn’t we open lines of communication? Isn’t shutting out opposing viewpoints what’s led to the political divide in our country?”
No. You don’t talk with Nazis, because they want me (and maybe you) dead.
You can (and should) talk with conservatives, trying to bridge that divide by them getting to see what the world looks like to you and you getting to see what they are worried about. But you don’t do that with people who have decided you shouldn’t be allowed to live.
You shut them down. You make it clear that this is not a forum for their bullshit.
a junior who was taking the psat today ditched the idea of pulling the fire alrm to get out of testing and instead hacked into the school’s alarm system to set it off exactly when the English section was scheduled to start
THIS KID WAS SLICK ENOUGH TO HACK INTO AN ALARM SYSTEM BECAUSE HE WASN’T PREPARED FOR THE PSAT
and there you have it
that’s the summary of the American education system
Okay, this is a good question, I’m going to try to be clear.
So, gaslighting is fundamentally a method of psychological abuse intended to make the victim question their own sanity. The word’s been in use for about a century, common since about the 60′s, originating with a 1938 stage play called Gas Light featuring a woman whose husband would manipulate small parts of their environment (notably the gas lights in their house) and then insist to her and to everyone else that she was remembering incorrectly, mistaken, or outright delusional. Gaslighting basically means telling someone with absolute confidence that you’re right and their memory is flawed, and you’d be surprised how damaging it can be to a person. It’s a terrifying experience, to believe you can’t trust your own mind, and it makes an abuse victim a much easier target. It’s considered something of a hallmark of psychological abuse–so much so that it’s used in brainwashing techniques.
For example:
Sue* invites Jane over to her house for a playdate. Let’s assume they’re ten or so–old enough to ‘know better.’ Jane brings a doll, and Sue likes the doll very much. At the end of the playdate, Jane goes to pick up her doll and take it home, and Sue starts crying and won’t let go of Jane’s doll.
“This is my doll, I want it back,” says Jane.
“This is MY doll and you’re lying!” Sue shouts. “You’re trying to steal it from me!”
“No, I’m not,” Jane says, “I brought this doll here in the first place.” She’s confused, because she knows the doll is hers, but Sue is her friend and, normally, Jane would trust her word.
Sue insists that the doll is hers, and starts screaming for her mother. Sue’s mother shows up and wants to know what’s wrong.
“Jane’s trying to steal my doll!” Sue cries.
Sue’s mother looks at the doll and knows that Sue doesn’t own it, she remembers seeing Jane bring the doll over, but she says, “Jane, give Sue her doll back and stop lying.”
“I’m not lying!” Jane says, starting to cry. She remembers bringing the doll over, she remembers getting it for Christmas, she remembers all this, but…Sue and Sue’s mother seem awfully sure. And Sue’s mother is a grown-up. “It’s my doll!”
Sue’s mother reaches down and picks up the doll and looks at it. “I remember buying this for Sue,” the mother says, looking disappointed down at Jane. “I can’t believe you would lie about something like this.”
“I’m not lying,” Jane insists, crying harder.
“Then you’re imagining it,” Sue’s mother says, handing the doll back to Sue. “Don’t be such a baby, stop crying. And get your imagination under control.”
Sue, doll in hand, immediately stops crying. She smiles at Jane, and says, “Or maybe you’re just crazy.”
Names/toy in question have been changed
Or, alternatively:
Yam-In-Chief: My inauguration was yuuuge, biggest inauguration in history.
Media: Um? No? No it wasn’t?
Yam-In-Chief: Yes it was!
Media: It literally wasn’t, we can prove it, look, we have photographic evidence and statistics.
Yam-In-Chief: You’re fake news! You’re lying to the American public!
Media: ??????????
So, on the subject of resisting gaslighting: trust yourself. If you believe you can’t, if for example you suffer hallucinatory experiences that make you uncertain, find someone whose report of the past you do trust. Or, barring that, write it down somewhere you can keep safe and look at it if you feel like you’re being lied to.
I am marching in Atlanta today! Stay safe and fuck shit up!!!
Sorry for the delay, but I hope the Atlanta march went well! The DC march was…wow, something else, I can tell you that much. It was incredible to see so many people turn out for something they believe in. I feel a little better about the whole situation after watching us flood the National Mall.
My grandfather was a generally peaceful man. He was a gardener, an EMT, a town selectman, and an all around fantastic person. He would give a friend - or a stranger - the shirt off his back if someone needed it. He also taught me some of the most important lessons I ever learned about violence, and why it needs to exist.
When I was five, my grandfather and grandmother discovered that my rear end and lower back were covered in purple striped bruises and wheals. They asked me why, and I told them that Tom, who was at that time my stepfather, had punished me. I don’t remember what he was punishing me for, but I remember the looks on their faces.
When my mother and stepfather arrived, my grandmother took my mother into the other room. Then my grandfather took my stepfather into the hallway. He was out of my eye line, but I saw through the crack in the door on the hinge side. He slammed my stepfather against the wall so hard that the sheet rock buckled, and told him in low terms that if he ever touched me again they would never find his body.
I absolutely believed that he would kill my stepfather, and I also believed that someone in the world thought my safety was worth killing for.
In the next few years, he gave me a few important tips and pointers for dealing with abusers and bullies. He taught me that if someone is bringing violence to you, give it back to them as harshly as you can so they know that the only response they get is pain. He taught me that guns are used as scare tactics, and if you aren’t willing to accept responsibility for mortally wounding someone, you should never own one. He told me that if I ever had a gun aimed at me, I should accept the possibility of being shot and rush the person, or run away in a zig-zag so they couldn’t pick me off. He taught me how to break someone’s knee, how to hold a knife, and how to tell if someone is holding a gun with intent to kill. He was absolutely right, and he was one of the most peaceful people I’ve ever met. He was never, to my knowledge, violent with anyone who didn’t threaten him or his family. Even those who had, he gave chances to, like my first stepfather.
When I was fourteen, a friend of mine was stalked by a mutual acquaintance. I was by far younger than anyone else in the social crowd; he was in his mid twenties, and the object of his “affection” was as well. Years before we had a term for “Nice Guy” bullshit, he did it all. He showed up at her house, he noted her comings and goings, he observed who she spent time with, and claimed that her niceness toward him was a sign that they were actually in a relationship.
This came to a head at a LARP event at the old NERO Ware site. He had been following her around, and felt that I was responsible for increased pressure from our mutual friends to leave her alone. He confronted me, her, and a handful of other friends in a private room and demanded that we stop saying nasty things about him. Two of our mutual friends countered and demanded that he leave the woman he was stalking alone.
Stalker-man threw a punch. Now, he said in the aftermath that he was aiming for the man who had confronted him, but he was looking at me when he did it. He had identified me as the agent of his problems and the person who had “turned everyone against him.” His eyes were on mine when the punch landed. He hit me hard enough to knock me clean off my feet and I slammed my head into a steel bedpost on the way down.
When I shook off the stunned confusion, I saw that two of our friends had tackled him. I learned that one had immediately grabbed him, and the other had rabbit-punched him in the face. I had a black eye around one eyebrow and inner socket, and he was bleeding from his lip.
At that time in my life, unbeknownst to anyone in the room, I was struggling with the fact that I had been molested repeatedly by someone who my mother had recently broken up with. He was gone, but I felt conflicted and worthless and in pain. I was still struggling, but I knew in that moment that I had a friend in the world who rabbit-punched a man for hitting me, and I felt a little more whole.
Later that year, I was bullied by a girl in my school. She took special joy in tormenting me during class, in attacking me in the hallways, in spreading lies and asserting things about me that were made up. She began following me to my locker, and while I watched the clock tick down, she would wait for me to open it and try to slam my hand in it. She succeeded a few times. I attempted to talk to counselors and teachers. No one did anything. Talking to them made it worse, since they turned and talked to her and she called me a “tattle” for doing it. I followed the system, and it didn’t work.
I remembered my friend socking someone in the face when he hit me. I recalled what my grandfather had taught me, and decided that the next time she tried, I would make sure it was the last. I slammed the door into her face, then shut her head in the base of my locker, warping the aluminum so badly that my locker no longer worked. She never bothered me again.
Violence is always a potential answer to a problem. I believe it should be a last answer - everything my grandfather taught me before his death last year had focused on that. He hadn’t built a bully or taught me to seek out violence; he taught me how to respond to it.
I’ve heard a lot of people talk recently about how, after the recent Nazi-punching incident, we are in more danger because they will escalate. That we will now see more violence and be under more threat because of it. I reject that. We are already under threat. We are already being attacked. We are being stripped of our rights, we are seeing our loved ones and our family reduced to “barely human” or equated with monsters because they are different.
To say that we are at more risk now than we were before a Nazi got punched in the face is to claim that abusers only hurt you if you fight back. Nazis didn’t need a reason to want to hurt people whom they have already called inhuman, base, monsters, thugs, retards, worthless, damaging to the gene pool, and worthy only of being removed from the world. They were already on board. The only difference that comes from fighting back is the intimate knowledge that we will not put up with their shit.
In light of the great Nazi punching meme going around right now, I want to remind everyone that the people who were filmed socking Richard Spencer were members of AntiFa or another organization aligned with AntiFa. They were dressed the way they were to obscure their identity and were trained, prepared, etc. to risk and face arrest, pepper spray, violent police force etc. They weren’t just any random person.
We all should want to rearrange a Nazi face but please remember that AntiFa resistance is trained to take these actions while protecting themselves and others from law enforcement. The best thing many of us can do is to support and assist these people: by not identifying them, by not implicating them, by covering their movements and not putting ourselves or others at-risk while they are working.
Punch a Nazi today, but recognize that AntiFa and aligned organizations might fight for everybody but they don’t go into these situations as everypeople. A clear understanding of their actions, goals, and the risks of their work is paramount to their safety and success.
-random applause that eventually encompasses the entire cafeteria -skipping classes to go to your friend’s lunch periods -”come with me i dont wanna go alone” -not knowing who you’re singing happy birthday for -“hey if i pay you will you go through the line and get me something” -knowing your id number so you can actually eat -only wearing your id during lunch period -that ONE security guard -”what’s even for lunch today” -HOLY FUCK IT’S CHICKEN NUGGET DAY -those girls who chill in the bathroom doing their makeup -fights = dinner AND a show -”hey what lunch do you have this year” “b” “damn i’m in c”
What the fuck does any of this mean why is there a security guard in your school what
America, you ok?
No, we’re not okay. What do you mean you don’t have security guards in your schools other countries? We don’t even just have security guards, sometimes we have actual fucking police officers.
U gotta go through a metal detector to enter the building in a lot of public schools
And yet many kids carry weapons in their pockets or purses to keep safe.
In my hs a girl brought in a can of pepper spray in her panties behind a belt cause she had been threatened to be attacked (i know cause she was attacked and sprayed the whole dam hallway, during lunch actually). Also culinary kids were allowed knives in their bags.
“I understand there’s been some confusion online as to whether it’s ever right to punch a Nazi in the face. There is a compelling argument that all speech is equal and we should trust to the discourse to reveal these ideas for what they are and confidently expect them to be denounced and crushed out by the mechanisms of democracy and freedom.
All I can tell you is, from my perspective as an old English socialist and cultural liberal who is probably way to the woolly left from most of you and actually has a medal for services to free speech – yes, it is always correct to punch Nazis. They lost the right to not be punched in the face when they started spouting genocidal ideologies that in living memory killed millions upon millions of people. And anyone who stands up and respectfully applauds their perfect right to say these things should probably also be punched, because they are clearly surplus to human requirements. Nazis do not need a hug. Nazis do not need to be indulged. Their world doesn’t get better until you’ve been removed from it. Your false equivalences mean nothing. Their agenda is always, always, extermination. Nazis need a punch in the face.
(And the argument that such assaults allow Nazis to get more attention doesn’t work so well when they were already going live on a national television network, because this is where we are now. This is how normalised their presence in our culture is.)
