He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
To teach him that the system is unfair.
He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.
What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
We still do it.
I inherited my communist manifesto,
It has no cover—
Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
Looking for subversive propaganda.
She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
They never found it.
So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
Don’t talk to me about revolution.
I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
The price of uprise is paid in blood,
And not Harvard blood.
The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.
It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.
It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
When it is not yours to give.
Catalina Ferro, “Manifesto” (via dialecticsof)
I feel like people do need to remember that there is a very real, very painful, very human element to the word “revolution”.
This is amazing.
3 maps that show school segregation in the US
“In nearly all states, white students go to school with other white students, and black students go to school with black students. You can see that segregation in these maps from the Urban Institute.
The vast majority of white students, for example, attend majority white schools:”
See them all at Vox
his life was totally in danger.
True story; this officer (John Pike) got a settlement of $38,000 because he said he got depressed after pepper spraying these kids. Oh, the depression wasn’t for feeling remorseful for pepper spraying a bunch of college kids peacefully protesting. He got depressed because he said since the media kept playing the video of him pepper spraying peaceful kids without cause, he got threats and didn’t feel safe. He didn’t feel safe. I’m not making that up. This motherfucker collected nearly 40 grand on worker’s comp after assaulting a bunch of college kids.ACAB
If he couldn’t handle the “trauma” of being held responsible for assaulting people, he could have just not assaulted people.
He is the poster child for #notallmen
THIS MAN LOCKED ME INSIDE HIS CAB.
Fuck this man. Fuck him so hard in the fucking face that his brain dies.
A long day of work and play and it was time to go home, so I was treating myself to a cab. One of the new Nissan Future Taxis picked me up. These things are spacious, but also have a very high separation wall, so you really don’t get a good view of the driver. I told the cab driver to take me to Queens via the Midtown tunnel. We arrived at my destination, which is always across the street from my apartment building. I have never felt comfortable letting a cab driver know where I live. I paid the fair with a credit card. The driver told me I still owed him for the toll. I told him I have never paid separately for a toll before. He told me to wait a minute, but I did not see him doing anything, the separation wall is high. I told him he should have added it in, I already paid the fare. He told me to wait a minute. I was feeling very uncomfortable and his behavior was feeling shady. I went to open the door and it was locked. I told him to unlock the door. He told me to wait a minute. I got LOUD and told him to unlock the door. He told me to wait a minute. I threatened to call the cops twice or more before he finally unlocked the door. I got out and walked the opposite direction. The Cab Driver got out, I turned around and he was pulling his unzipped pants up as he came around to the back of the cab. I yelled some things at him about jerking off that I can’t quite remember. They were not witty or clever, they were freaked out and coming from a place of shock. He told me he was having me banished or some shit and was pointing to the sky. I stepped into the street to take a photo of the license and he blocked the license plate. My body started shaking realizing what was happening. Something I can’t prove. But I will say it. This pile of garbage was keeping me locked inside his cab so he could jerk off with me in there. God knows if he had any other plans. I started officially walking away and called my husband and could barely get the words out. I started shaking and had to think really hard to get my body to move towards my building. Thankfully there is a median on the street I live on, so the Cab Driver could not make a U-turn and follow me. I made it to my buildings driveway and froze, a few minutes later, from a safe distance. I saw the cab driver pass. My husband found me shivering and crying, frozen in place.
I have no proof is limp dick was in his hands while I was in the cab.
I can’t prove the door was locked and he refused to let me out.
I can and did dispute the charges on my credit card.
I can and did file a complaint with T & L commission.
If I ever take a cab again, I guess my first move is to always take a photo of their license and request the doors remain wide open while I am driven home.
FUCK THIS CAB DRIVER.
FUCK HIM IN THE FACE UNTIL HIS BRAIN DIES.