It's okay, he's not very big

Genderqueer historian, formerly vulpine. If you think you know me from Real Life, no you don't! I have a full shuffled queue, so posting may not reflect real activity levels.

[saltedweather]

Hey Read This Book!

So there's a book that recently came out about the Pacific Northwest Indian Wars that I think everyone, but especially people interested in Pacific Northwest history, should read.

This is an interview with the author.

I have been studying Northwest history for over ten years, and this book reshapes the entire history of this region. I cannot understate how important it is.

It's called The War On Illahee and tbh, I also think it has pretty dramatic implications for the rest of U.S. history.

[victusinveritas]

In the summer of 1982, artist Agnes Denes planted and harvested 2 acres of wheat just two blocks from Wall Street, near the twin World Trade Center towers and facing the Statue of Liberty.

Growing wheat on land valued at $4.5 billion was a symbolic act. Her project, 'Wheatfield,' raised questions about food justice, commerce, world trade, economics, land misuse, colonization, food and energy waste, world hunger, and ecology.

[la-principessa-nuova]

some more photos from it, featuring Agnes Denes standing in the field, plus a wider shot of the statue of liberty in the background

a few more images including a bird’s eye view and a write up about it on her website

[eldengourd]

Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion.

[writeswrongs]

I was supposed to give a speech to over a thousand people today at a labor rally, but the rally was planned mostly around white union organizers who have not been to ICE recently or maybe ever. I say this because they planned this as follows: a Rally, with a march to ICE, followed by a second half of a Rally, the second half of which was to include my speech, which seemingly was the only speech to include a Salvadoran migrant speaker.

I was not originally invited to speak, but heard last minute that someone else had fallen ill and was giving up their slot, and begged white organizers through the grape vine to let me speak as a Salvadoran migrant and union steward who came to the US at age 7.

I have long been soured of going to so many rallies and felt alienated that they were allegedly for or about my people, but that no one had thought people /like/ me exist - we are still here! There are migrants in your work spaces and neighborhoods and organizations, we have stories and labor songs and speeches to share, we are marxists and labor organizers and have reasons to speak out too.

But seldom if ever do you hear our music or faces or voices near the banners. Instead of Tigres Del Norte we heard Bella Ciao, and none of the singers knew the Italian words or bothered to even translate them, so they sang nanananananana, instead of the powerful lyrics that maybe meant something once to someone somewhere. Instead of Somos Más Americanos we heard Don’t Worry, Be Happy.

Instead of a Salvadoran woman who wanted to speak to the American union workers about the Banana workers unions, we heard from a dozen white people about democracy, and justice, and the constitution, and no one was warned about what would happen if they marched down the street from the park to the ICE facility. They fully expected everyone to come back and complete the second half of the rally.

Instead, marchers with their dogs and children were tear-gassed to hell and back the second they dared get close to the facility, maybe at best 1/3rd of the marchers returned while the rest were bottlenecked towards ICE. There was little to no water to treat the untrained protestors. I returned to the rally quickly realizing I could not get caught up at ICE, knowing who I am and what awaits me.

When I got back a chorus of smiling white faces sang a silly song like a Christmas carol with their heads bobbling, reading the lyrics from some handed out papers. White people with upside down flags cheered. Then a black woman in overalls abruptly got on the mic and said “Well thank you everyone but we have to close the program early because people are getting tear-gassed, please get home to safety righty away,” - and I swore I couldn’t believe my ears.

They had brought us all here, marched all these people down to the ICE facility, and expected us all to march back without encountering teargas? And then when some people had made it back they had them sing a little jingle but turned the one migrant away? I begged them to let me speak for the three minutes I had allotted, noting that I had put myself in serious danger to come out here today. That I needed to be heard just this once, and that all the white people had their fair turn to say many unrelated things, and to sing many unrelated songs.

She said, “you don’t understand, there are children down here,” and I had to say “you don’t understand, there are children in the camps.”

And she tried again, “yes but the gas is spreading,” and I said “yes we have been down here being gassed for six months, don’t you understand?”

She blinked twice and told me they just had to break down. I watched from the sidelines as they continued to blare Caribbean Blue and smooth jazz while people filtered out, stood around talking, chatting - finally I said, “please let me speak, you still have speakers going, it’s been 20 minutes,” and the DJ, a white elderly man in a sweater vest who had a strict “only the classics” policy that seems to actually mean “no hip hop and no curse words,” - barked at me that he had to break down and to help him take down his canopy. I am no maid, so I did not listen. He then turned to my comrades and told them to take his canopy down, which they did not. Then turned to his two other labor organizers who were not paying attention, and they took a leg of the canopy and moved it somewhere without breaking it down.

And one looked at me and said quietly, “it’s okay, take that bullhorn no one will notice,” and we took it and ran.

And we ran to a firetruck which I climbed, and I gave the speech, which was in fact more than 3 minutes, sorry not sorry, to a crowd of workers who were slowly pouring out from the ice facility, some stopping, some going, some who heard me, some who didn’t. And I gave it there and it was the only speech most of these people will ever hear from a migrant in all of this, and I think that is tragic. But I firmly believe that had I not given it, had I not climbed the truck, had I not taken the mic, some people would have never heard this story at all. And I think very much you should hear it. And I hope you will share it, if you have the chance. And I hope I get to tell it again, someday, to people who actually listen, to the masses who came to actually support immigrants, and not just to the dredges after they’ve been gassed and are running for shelter while I’m coughing myself.

This is what I had to say.

[transcriptroopers]

Transcribed for accessibility + added links for context, but please still watch/listen to the speech if possible. A live speech really resonates. Begin transcription.

Olivia: I came to the United States when I was 7 years old. And I became a citizen when I was 20. But I am on this stage to ask: if you will give me 3 minutes of your time, *cough* I will give you 300 years of American History that has been taken from you.

There are five crops that changed the world as we know it. Bananas. Coffee. Tobacco. Sugar. And Cotton.

First grown by slaves in the New World, these crops all happened to also grow in a little bean-shaped country that my parents lived in near the Caribbean called Cuzcatlan, ‘The Land of Precious Things.’ It would be renamed El Salvador in the 1800’s. 

But the precious things remained after the name changed. And the people were captured, and they were forced to work for pennies on the dollar to dredge the precious things from the soil, and the sea, and the mountains, and the sand. Cuzcatlan was not precious just to us, you see. It was coveted by the Americans. And once they saw our jewels, they would never be satisfied again. 

The people suffered. And how we suffered! Dying in the fields, raped by their masters, buried in the shining black volcanic sands, their blood fertilizing the crops.

Of Bananas. Coffee. Sugar. Cotton. And Tobacco.

Until one day, the people of Cuzcatlan said, ‘We can bear it no more.’ And they broke their shovels in half, and they plunged the stems into their masters, and they rode through the streets on their masters’ Spanish horses, and they cried out that Cuzcatlan would no longer belong to the American companies that demanded their precious things without paying precious prices. Perhaps, soon, those business leaders would learn to negotiate for the labor and crops they so needed.

And the Americans? The Americans could not stand it! They would not abide such a story be told. And so you never heard it! The American companies, and all of their corporate masters came down on Cuzcatlan, with a fury seldom seen before. They killed everyone.

Instead, you heard a story about “Communists” and “Terrorists” in Central America, spreading a disease that would destroy your country and families. You heard a story that we have no good will towards you. That we wanted you to starve, that we were lazy, and formed gangs, and were lawless, and wore weapons to sell you drugs and fund terrorism. 

But you never heard the story of Cuzcatlan, because it was a sad story, and sad stories do not sell fruit, and coffee, and cigarettes!

No, they came to my country, and they wiped out entire villages. The Archbishop, Don Remar - er, Don Romero, himself, was shot by the military during his Sunday Mass, for having dared to wonder whether the workers deserved some mercy. Assassinated for having dared to wonder, and he was left bleeding on the pulpit, even as worshippers bowed their heads. 

EVERYBODY was KILLED. 

EVERYBODY! The women, with their children still in their arms. Anyone looking for cover; people who found cover, people who didn’t. People who worked, and people who had no jobs. Communists. Catholics. Those who didn’t know how to read, those who didn’t know what labor rights were. Simple folks. Smart folks. 

And they didn’t stop there. They went through the countryside, and they killed everyone they thought was hiding labor organizers or communists sympathizers. Banana union men and women, who they labeled terrorists. And in one village, we still only speak about in whispers, called “El Mozote.” The Americans tied women and children to trees, and they threw their babies in the air, and they shot them. Everyone was killed, to send one message, and that is: “A union is a threat to the American Empire. Not one union man or woman will hide in your village, or any other. And if you hid one here, now or ever, you will never breathe to hide one again."

And I tell you this because I am you from the future. You and I, all of you, are very much alike. You worked very hard to buy the precious things you have from the ground, the sky, the water, and the aether. You all wrote stories, you filed insurance policies, you taught children, you rung people up, you made sure whatever sorry system they had worked, not because you believed in it, not because you wanted it, but because it was all you could do. 

And in exchange, they offered you cheap bananas. Coffee. Sugar. Tobacco. Bananas.

But I will tell you a secret. They were never cheap. They were precious. And so are you. 

And they stole you, and they stole us, and they stole it all, and they told you: if you look the other way, you get to be satisfied and at least well-fed. But who can afford the luxuries of cigarettes or vapes or groceries anymore? Even that is being taken from you. And even if you have them, your food or your small pleasures won’t satisfy you. Not more than knowing the truth about Cuzcatlan, not more than knowing the truth about El Salvador. Today, where our precious land once stood, they built a concentration camp called CECOT. And not just for our precious things, our people, but yours. Your citizens, your dissenters, your unwanted disappeared into the hole that America built. 

And what will we do when they start building incinerators at the camps? What will you do when they open up mass graves? 

For our people, the most precious gift of all: do not take my warning lightly. The story of Cuzcatlan is not just from the past. It is from the future. The workers face the same enemy, and the enemy never had your interest in mind. From the moment they had you, the plan was to have a worker. From the moment you existed, it was to create another soldier against the people of Cuzcatlan and the rest of the world. You were a commodity to them. 

But we have written you a new future. One in which we no longer point guns at each other. One in which our billionaires fear the land of precious people from learning they are no longer precious things. 

Turn to me now! And tell me you will not forget the last three minutes. You will never again be ignorant of this story. And you will not let it happen here. You will close the camps. You will destroy ICE.

Spectator: Yeah! Olivia: You would rather have seasonal bananas or never see one again than have it covered in blood. 

Spectators: That’s right! Yeah! 

Olivia: You would rather trade fairly with other union workers than kill your fellow man, wouldn’t you? 

Spectators: Yes! Olivia: Tell me you love me, and that our fates are tied! Tell me you’ll stop them from dragging me down from this place, and I’ll never let them do to you what they did to us. I promise. El pueblo unido…

Spectator: JAMÀS SERÀ VENCIDO!

Olivia: Nunca será vencido. Amen.

End Transcription.

[writeswrongs]

It means a lot to me, that someone wrote down this speech for me, that I in the middle of the night wrote for as a love letter to the American labor movement.

I know I stuttered a bit, as I had just been gassed, as it took place not but 400 feet maybe from the Portland ICE facility.

One correction among many tiny ones:

“You worked very hard to /ply/ the precious things you have from the ground, the sky, the water, and the aether.” - And that work, it is very precious.

May the message make it to you all regardless.

[lastoneout]

I do actually wonder if part of the reason people start believing ancient aliens type conspiracy bullshit is because they're so divorced from labor they don't understand that a bunch of guys could absolutely quarry a large rock, move it somewhere, and build something with it because that's not actually all that hard or complicated. I've seen people use a simple chisel and hammer to crack boulders the size of houses clean in half, this stuff is a skill that needs to be learned ofc, but the idea that it was impossible for humans to build large, complex, sturdy structures with relatively "primative" tools is so silly I struggle to understand how someone could believe that unless they legit have no idea how labor works.

It's the same beef I have with Fallout. I know they excuse humans being so slow to redevelop society with all "knowledge being lost in the war" but that's just...not how things work. Humans figured out construction and farming very early. There's no way for humans to truly forget how to do this stuff, especially since people survived and could preserve and share what they know. But I just cannot fathom how in 300 years no one's figured out construction or fiber arts or soap making or anything humans have historically figured out super early in the process of being human.

And the only way I can see someone write a world like that is if they either didn't care (fine, it's not real and I get digging the apocalypse vibe) or were so divorced from the process of labor and creation that they actually think those things are way too hard for someone to figure out on their own.

If you think humans couldn't do these things without being taught or helped you have a very warped idea of technological progress and human ingenuity. No one taught humans how to build and create, we figured it out on our own, and it was not just smacking rocks together until something clicked either, ancient humans were just as intelligent as modern ones, they could use logic and reasoning to figure out how to do something new based on what they already know.

Idk it's a theory anyway, but I really do think it's interesting how as a kid I def could believe doing these things is impossible for ancient humans to being an adult who knows things and literally cannot even comprehend believing any of the incredible things ancient humans can do were "impossible" in any way. It wasn't. Humans are incredible, stop underestimating us. And crack open some wiki pages or even youtube tutorials so you get a grasp of how the world works, it's good for you.

[sometiktoksarevalid]

[bethanyactually]

the audio is music only, a delightful choice: These Boots Are Made for Walkin’

[polyglotplatypus]

le mythe, la légende, j’ai nommé: pusheen, dictateur russe (fameux). 

[majesticicecream]

Someone please translate this

[foiazoli]

Cordelia's Honor by Lois McMaster Bujold - 9/10

I think the thing I like most about Bujold's writing is how she absolutely refuses to make any character flatly good or flatly evil. Every single one of them is multi-facted, and has moments where you watch them do something and understand why a person in their position would do that, even if it's selfish or counterproductive or prejudiced etc.

Like, Sergeant Bothari is a character most authors would self-censor themselves out of putting on page before waiting for an editor to tell them to cut it out. He's a good guy—saves the day a few times, is loyal to Cordelia, competent, efficient, a duriful single father, everything he needs to be—and also a rapist and murderer. Even as he undergoes a "redemption arc" (more of a "being tamed like a wild animal" type deal tbh) the plot highlights how a man like him was led to make the bad choices he did in the first place. Cordelia doesn't magically become a rapist by associating with him, but as he makes her his moral center and she directs him as she needs as her weapon, you get this really interesting debate over the responsibility a person holds when following orders from a military superior. Who is ultimately responsible for the blood shed? Who decides what cause is just? If the intentions are selfish but the result is generous, which matters more? What does becoming a murderer do to a person, and how does it change what they're willing to do in the future? If he acts as a monster on her orders, who is the monster?

I also really enjoyed how much of a theme disability is in Bujold's works. This one, Falling Free, and I already forget which other Vorkosigan Saga books I've already read all take such deliberate care to center disabled people and their worth in societies not built for and actively hostile to them. It's so refreshing to see characters with physical and/or mental impairments use their mobility aides or receive assistance consistently throughout the entire book without the climax including the disability-porn "wheelchair bound person discovers how to walk with magic" type shit we see so frequently.

[deadali]

[maccaulfield]

[rasputinaillyanna]

[lilcowzia]

why is it that ppl hear "fetish" and immediately think "devoid of morals" like ur genuinely not making sense. ppl dont actually become inhuman and beast-like when theyre turned on, thats something we are told bc it aligns with christian patriarcal values, u know that right? desire isnt actually bad. it doesnt make you evil, or incapable of having/respecting boundaries

[lilcowzia]

i got a response to this abt how men get horny and "lose their minds" and "causes" them to behave vile. i rlly rlly neeeeed ppl to understand that men behaving inappropriately when turned on is something they are *choosing* to do, and when you equate that to human nature you are enabling them and diminishing the seriousness of that choice

[lone-pylon]

Ahh what the hell, gimme another unnamed layer! I ain't driving!

[whatkindofnameisella]

ursula k le guin affirmations for your day:

it is our differences which make us dearer to one another

it is never too late to start loving

the enemy is not the foreigner, but the ones who tell you to hate the foreigner

everyone should have food, shelter, and work

everything is a yin and yang metaphor if you try hard enough

sci-fi is important

[userfish]

this pride month we’re all going to be radically pro transgender. or else.

[userfish]

hey so this means radically pro ALL transgender. don’t put limitations on this. all trans people are radically accepted here.

[pyxehastoomanyinterests]

Coronabeth vs. The World’s Most Clueless Dyke

[vividciggy]

I love when people draw harrow like this

[saltedweather]

i've just been rereading Falling Free by Lois McMaster Bujold this weekend. and was struck this time through by the contrast between the main female character's existing sexual relationships at the start of the novella.

Spoilers follow, fwiw.

Silver has two regular sexual partners, and one is deliberately, definitionally casual and transactional. They have sex, he brings her media that she otherwise wouldn't be able to acquire, and... her consent IS both freely given and mostly informed (she's been deliberately deceived by her other sexual partner, a manipulative asshole with enormous power over her, which muddies the waters). At a later point in the book, both of them are genuinely taken aback at another character's assumption that they're in love. He seems briefly a little guilty at the idea that she might have assumed he was in love, or that there was any romantic commitment.

This is juxtaposed against the other relationship, which is with an executive in the company that technically owns her and the rest of her entire community - the executive in charge of the project that comprises their housing, feeding, training, reproduction, deployment... etc. He's an egotistical, selfish, abusive, misogynistic prick with such little empathy that part of the protagonists' plots rely on him being incapable of considering that someone would act not in their own best interest at the cost of others' lives.

It is, I think deliberately (in classic Bujold fashion) unclear to what extent you can consider Silver's relationship with Bruce Van Atta to be consensual. She certainly seems to have given consent. If asked if he had forced her, she'd almost certainly say no. But she was raised in a society that emphasizes both social cooperation, and obedience to the company over all, such that saying "no" to him would probably never even have occurred to him as an option when he first propositioned her. Her consent is also technically informed - she's perfectly aware of sexual reproduction, but Van Atta tells her that it's a physiological need for "downsider" men (i.e., humans whose genes haven't been altered the way her community has).

Iunno. It makes her relationship with Ty seem a lot more sweet and wholesome than it would in other lights, but then you think - but even if it isn't a sweet romance, it's... nice? The situation is fucked up, but he's not lying to her, he's not really aware of her situation - he just wants to make her happy and have a little fun. From his perspective, a cute girl on a station he regularly docks at wants to have sex, and what she wants from him is not emotional commitment, but books and movies, which he knows aren't usually allowed on the station. He's not exploiting her, even if it is transactional. He has more power than her, but not much (his situation is also, demonstrably, quite tenuous) and he's... actually not really aware of how little power she has.

But the skin-crawling way Van Atta, when you think about it, must have approached Silver? The way he wouldn't ever call it rape, but would absolutely have punished her (and the rest of the quaddies) if she'd ever turned him down? Maybe worse, the way the psychologist "suspected" that he was exploiting her for sex, but her primary concern is the way it might make the quaddies' behavior harder to control because of social tensions-- that the issue of consent isn't even relevant for her! And that's in no small part, you realize quickly, because if she let herself think about consent, she'd have to ask whether it's okay to dictate to the quaddies who their allowed sexual partners are for the purposes of reproduction. And there's a very obvious answer to that.

I just really appreciate that Bujold is always asking questions like "if someone realizes that the one thing that isn't under someone else's control can be a form of labor for the individual instead of the corporation that owns them, is that actually a way they are wronged, or is it a weapon of the weak that it would be wrong to take?" (that's not the only or maybe even the main question, but it does stick.)

also literally always and forever a thousand cheers for "the female protagonist who gets a romantic arc isn't a virgin, because that's not relevant to her desirability at all" as a plot point.