shark vs the universe
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DEAR READER
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
@theartofmadeline
Misplaced Lens Cap
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@everythingunderthebigbluemoon
why do people say “don’t be a pussy” when talking about weakness more like “don’t be a man’s ego” because you know there isn’t nothing more fragile than that
uh
because “pussy” is the shortened form of the word “pusillanimous”, which means “timid, cowardly”
and not the slang word for the female genital region?
literally no one else knows this. nobody.
WHAT
Sensational.
Remarkable.
it’s a real word
you: pussy
me, an intellectual: pusillanimous
HARRIET TUBMAN ESCAPED FROM SLAVERY AND THEN WENT BACK TO GET OTHERS. LIKE, I KNOW YOU KNOW WHO HARRIET TUBMAN IS AND THAT SHE DID THAT, BUT I JUST WANT YOU TO TAKE THAT IN FOR A SECOND.
HARRIET TUBMAN WAS HELD CAPTIVE AND BOUND TO UNPAID, BACK-BREAKING LABOR SINCE BIRTH UNDER PENALTY OF TORTURE OR DEATH. SHE MANAGED TO ESCAPE THAT LIFE, AND SHE TURNED THE FUCK AROUND AND WENT THE FUCK BACK TO GET EVERYONE ELSE WHO WAS STILL TRAPPED IN IT. AND THEN SHE DID IT AGAIN EIGHTEEN MORE TIMES.
WHEN ABRAHAM LINCOLN WAS UNSURE WHETHER OR NOT HE WAS PREPARED TO MAKE A STAND AGAINST SLAVERY, HARRIET TUBMAN BASICALLY SAID HE SHOULD STOP BEING SUCH A DIAPER BABY AND THAT GUYS WHO ARE TOO SCARED TO END SLAVERY DON’T DESERVE TO WIN WARS.
NOT ONLY DID SHE SECRET OVER 300 SLAVES TO FREEDOM ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD, BUT SHE ACTED AS A SPY FOR THE UNION ARMY DURING THE CIVIL WAR, AND BECAME THE FIRST WOMAN TO LEAD AN ARMED ASSAULT IN THE CIVIL WAR. THAT RAID BROUGHT FREEDOM TO OVER 700 SLAVES IN ONE GO.
SO I JUST WANT YOU TO STEW ON THAT FOR LIKE A MINUTE. ACTING IN THE SHADOWS, SHE WALKED INTO HELL ON EARTH 19 TIMES TO SAVE HER FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS FROM THE TORMENT SHE ENDURED, AND THE SECOND SHE WAS GIVEN EVEN A MODICUM OF POWER, SHE MANAGED TO FREE SEVEN HUNDRED SLAVES IN ONE DAY.
I GUARANTEE, HOWEVER IMPRESSED YOU ALREADY ARE WITH HARRIET TUBMAN, YOU ARE FALLING LIKE AT LEAST 40% SHORT OF HOW IMPRESSED YOU SHOULD BE WITH HARRIET TUBMAN. SHE IS ONE OF THE BEST EXAMPLES OF BADASSERY IN THE ENTIRETY OF AMERICAN HISTORY.
I just feel like it should be noted that she navigated her way across the Underground Railroad (through thicket and swamp and forest and every risk of wildlife you could imagine) with her own knowledge of the natural world. Some call her “the first Eco-womanist” because it was that understanding of the plant and animal life around her as well as knowledge of the stars that allowed her to bring people with her. Her prowess for dealing with immense problems and obstacles on the spot was nothing short of genius.
She didn’t stop there, either. Harriet Tubman also worked with the Union army during the Civil War as a cook, nurse, scout, and spy. She organized black men in the area as scouts, and often led missions herself with the task of gathering information and to persuade slaves to leave; most of whom joined the regiments of black soldiers for the Union.
She also got ripped off by the government, who wasn’t paying her what she deserved (and wouldn’t even give her her pension after the war for her service- but instead eventually granted her pension as the widow of a veteran), so she supported herself by making and selling root beer.
She used her earnings to support free black women, she worked to support two schools for freed men in the south, she provided food and care to the black people that came to her home, and she fought for women’s suffrage. When she died, she was buried with military honors.
Oh, and when she had brain surgery, she denied anesthesia and instead bit down on a bullet.
x / x / x / x / x
THESE ARE EVEN MORE AWESOME THINGS ABOUT HARRIET TUBMAN, GOOD ADDITIONS, YOU GUYS!!
Also worth noting that she did all this while living with the results of a traumatic head injury sustained in her childhood, which included pain, bouts of dizziness, and episodes of hypersomnia (sudden passing out) she was not just a badass, she was a disabled badass
That head injury was from when she was trying to save someone else, too. A boy was in trouble with their slave master and the master threw a weight at him, but she jumped in front of him and took the blow. She then suffered from narcolepsy the rest of her life. Also, a cool story about her: One time she was riding on a train, lightly disguised so as to hopefully not be recognized, and there was a ‘WANTED’ poster of her on the train wall. Some guys were looking at it and she overheard them saying they thought she looked like the woman on the poster. Because the poster described that she was illiterate, she grabbed a book and pretended to read it. The men then said it couldn’t be her, and she got off the train safely. She was literally such a smart, quick thinker. I can’t wait to have her on American money!
from this thread, the majority of the threaded comments were dumb sex jokes in response to op’s answers but i felt this was worth preserving
I’m just super fucking bitter that once the flint water crisis got it’s 15 minutes of fame people stopped giving a shit. The water is still poisoned, people! Donations have plummeted and people have been forced back into drinking and bathing with the water! The medical effects of this are astounding, cases of legionnaires disease have skyrocketed, people are having seizures, people are having weird rashes break out over their body, people (including me!) are having their blood poisoned, and it’s not just lead! it’s coliform bacteria! it’s THMs! it’s all in the water and it gets into the bloodstream and breaks down blood vessels, causing bruising and petechiae and internal bleeding and no one gives a shit anymore and it’s only gotten worse like how many people are going to have to die until people realize this is still a problem
I would like to add that the people of Flint cannot sell their houses, because selling a house with leaded water is illegal. Additionally, households with children can’t stop paying for the water because living in a house without running water is cause for CPS to take their kids. Flint has been living this way for over two years.
The people of Flint are trapped by the legal system. And it is only the most high profile case out many cities with a similar problem.
Because the government has abandoned them, they are dependant on help from the outside. Donate here
If u can’t donate, reblog so someone else can!!!
These Florida kids are not fucking around.
The kids’ response to the shooting has been something truly incredible.
Normally, it’s always been very young children and it’s only their parents that can speak about it. The narrative gets controlled, the conspiracy theorists talk about how it’s all an act, so much bullshit.
But these are kids who are active on social media, incredibly close to voting age, and they’re demanding their voices are heard. Every single thing that downplays, dismisses or conspiracies the shooting has been subverted by their efforts, and they’re not letting adults who’ve never lived what they lived through control the narrative.
“It was a conspiracy!” “No, we have video evidence of it happening.” “Shouldn’t you be calling 911 instead of making videos?” “We called 911 so many times they told us to stop.” “But he was a troubled child!” “We were ALL troubled, that’s no excuse.” And it just goes on like this.
Honestly, I’m so proud of my fellow Floridians.
I said to my husband the other day that “This one feels different”, referring to this precisely.
The whole energy around it feels different. These kids are not having this bullshit, and while they should not have to stand their ground and fight this battle, goddamn it they are going to. If the adults won’t, then goddamn it these kids will draw a fucking line and say ‘no, no more, this is bullshit’.
I don’t know what it means, or how it will play out long term. But there’s a sense around this whole tragedy that this one is different, and I hope, maybe, that means some actual change will come.
People compare this to Sandy Hook and talk about how different the reactions have been because they’re teenagers and not six and seven year olds. And I think it’s easy for people to miss that these teenagers, they’re peers of the children killed in Sandy Hook. They’re the same age (give or take a year or so) as the children who survived Sandy Hook.
They watched that tragedy as children of the same age. And then watched as absolutely nothing changed. This has happened over and over and now it’s happened to them. And they are rightfully angry, except unlike their peers at Sandy Hook, they are old enough now to have the words and the knowledge and the means to speak out. And they’re not just speaking out, they’re screaming so they aren’t overheard.
This is what happens when a generation is brought up watching tragedy after tragedy, and have known since they were six, seven, eight years old that their lives are worthless to politicians. They aren’t going to sit back and let this be forgotten.
Royal Jordanian Airlines’ compelling ad shows what it’s like to be Arab on an airplane
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An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils. Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch. Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather. Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here. Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗
that addition is a+ :)
THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS
Every time this post shows up on my dash, it gets better (and more heart wrenching. Y’all! Stop cutting the onions okay?!).
If ever don’t reblogging this, I’m either dead, dying, or buried under cat.
All Starbucks in America will be closed May 29th for racial biases training
Wow this is true
https://www.marketwatch.com/story/starbucks-stores-nationwide-will-be-closed-the-afternoon-of-may-29-for-racial-bias-training-2018-04-17?link=MW_latest_news
Well damn
Well Damn... Starbucks CEO out here keeping his word and shit
American Shorthair Knight
Abyssinian Bard
Norwegian Forest Cat Shaman
Persian Scholar
Bombay Assassin
Sphynx Fighter
Scottish Fold Warrior
Bengal Archer
Turkish Angora Healer
Maine Coon Berserker
Siamese Magician
Russian Blue Thief
Kyoung Hwan Kim - Army of Wool
more by Kyoung Hwan Kim
Literally the greatest post ever.
Excuse me, why the fuck isn’t this an MMORPG I’d play the shit outta this.
It’s ironic.
When I worked in fast food for minimum wage, they would yell at us and lecture us about “stealing” fries and burgers (while we had to throw out TONS of food every day) as though the giant billion-dollar corporations of McDonald’s and Sonic couldn’t afford to give their employees something to eat (while not even paying us a living wage).
Now I work at an upscale restaurant (it’s fancy, like celebrities eat there fairly often) and not only do I make WAY better money but they give us 2 free meals a day (eaten on the clock) and they’re GOOD. Today I got baked cod, spring rolls, rice pilaf, stir fry, and mashed potatoes and eggplant. Oh, and free espresso and juice. From this restaurant owned by a local man who is in no way a billionaire.
Obviously money is not the issue, valuing your employees as people is.
This needs all of the reblogs. All of them.
I’m with this movement!
Salute to this movement
This is so important!
Everybody needs to value eachother!!! Yes!!!! I love this!!!!
Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been coerced into sex because some girl decided that she wanted it, and when I say no she turns it into some kind of criticism of her. Or I’m cheating. Or I’m actually gay. Or she starts groping me and playing with me trying to “get me in the mood”. Or she just won’t take no for an answer. After many years of this you know what I’m left with? Low self esteem, constant bad sex, depression, having all sex now feel like a chore, being terrified that if I have sex with someone I actually *like* then it won’t work out, and the feeling like I CAN’T say NO.
Ladies, “No means No” isn’t just for guys. Some of us have grasped the concept. Time for you to do so as well.
I support this movement 100%
I’m here for this I’m tired of these double standards
The move
🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽
Mannnnn I had this conversation with this girl like the other week
I’m here for this!!! AND STOP CALLING MEN GAY OR “SUSPECT” BECAUSE THEY AREN’T SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO YOU OR THEY AREN’T IN THE MOOD TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU‼️
^^^^
I agree!!! I personally knew a girl in high school like this!
Agreed. Consent is for everyone.
Love it!!
Did you know I can paint
All. Of. This.
Also! One more time for the people in the back:
“Consent is for everyone.”
CONSENT IS FOR EVERYONE.
JACOBIN MAGAZINE
I’ve been amazed — in a good way — at how positive is the media coverage of all these teacher wildcat strikes and actions in West Virginia, Kentucky, Oklahoma, and Arizona. Particularly from liberal media outlets.
I say this because it was just six years ago that the teachers in Chicago struck. Even though their cause was just as righteous as that of the teachers in these southern states, featuring many of the same grievances you see in the current moment — the Chicago teachers’ final contract included a guarantee of textbooks for all students on the first day of class; a doubling of funds for class supplies; $1.5 million for new special education teachers; and so on — the hostility from media outlets, including liberal media outlets, was palpable.
Time’s education columnist had this to say about the Chicago teachers — many of whom were women of color, in a union led by a woman of color — on the Diane Rehm Show:
Part of this strike, it’s pretty clear, is that the union needed to have some theater for its members, let them blow off some steam, and that’s increasingly obvious.
I got into a Twitter spat with ABC News’s Terry Moran, who tweeted, “I wonder if the Chicago teachers realize how much damage they are doing to their profession — and to so many children and their families.” Moran, who makes $25k to $30k for each talk he gives (at least back in 2012), even had the gall to suggest that the teachers shouldn’t be complaining about their paltry raises.
If you were online during that strike and supported the teachers, you were part of a fairly small crew of folks like Kenzo Shibata, Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor, Megan Erickson, Doug Henwood, and myself, arguing with the likes of Dylan Matthews (then at the Washington Post), Matt Yglesias (then at Slate), and others of that ilk. Almost no one with a national platform, save Diane Ravitch, supported the strikers.
Given the way the discussion of race, gender, and identity politics has gone the past few years, you would have thought that the Chicago teachers would have been a natural cause célèbre for liberal commentators. Their spokesperson was Karen Lewis, a black woman (also Jewish!). Many of the strikers were women of color. They were working in a multiracial city, dealing with all the sorts of challenges liberals claim to care about. Yet so many of the liberal outlets and voices who have made race and gender politics a concern in recent years were either silent or critical of the teachers. (Women of color: cool; women of color in unions: not so cool. That’s how we get to preserve the fiction that when we speak of the working class or union members, we’re only talking about white men.)
There are a lot of reasons for the change in tone and coverage today: Bernie Sanders has helped change the conversation among liberals and in the Democratic Party. Trump and the Republicans have dramatized the cost of policies the nation has been pursuing for some time: less focus on funding, more focus on testing and charter schools.
But one of the big changes is that six years ago, the face of the opposition to the Chicago teachers was Mayor Rahm Emanuel — the Svengali of both the Clinton and Obama White Houses — and, behind Emanuel, the Democratic Party. People have probably already forgotten this, but in the last decade or so, the Democrats — and liberals like Jonathan Chait — have gotten really bad on education, teachers’ unions, and public schools.
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This is so pure ❤️
ITS ALMOST AUGUST ITS TIME TO GET READY FOR HALLOWEEN!!!!!!
