Here is an antique flag celebrating British hypocrisy.
Sevastopol and Inkerman...
Bottom center: The Balkans War ended with Ukraine being granted independence but controlled by Britain and France after the Crimean War, which was fought to prevent Russian economic access to Europe and the Middle East, and to defend Nathan Rothschild’s banking and political interests.
The USA was given power over companies and infrastructure as an incentive to protect the UK’s control of Ukraine from Russia and to prevent Russian influence.
The hypocrisy of it all – here is 100% proof of how England took Ukraine more than 100 years ago as part of their empire.
Today, they wage war against Russia, which has a sovereign right over Ukraine...
At first, it seemed like the authorities were willing to cooperate with the prisoners. But then, police opened fire.
click the header to see the entire photoset, which explains what happened on which days and why.
One of the many guards beaten by inmates on the first day of the riots is loaded into an ambulance by New York State Police troopers and local police.This is a part of americas bloody history that they want to quietly disappear.
AMERICA YOU DID THIS..
Inmates raise their fists in solidarity while one of their leaders speaks with Commissioner of Corrections Russell Oswald on September 10, 1971.
A debris-riddled corridor in one of the four Attica cell blocks is littered with shattered glass and broken equipment on the second day of the riot.
Black Panther Party co-founder Bobby Seale (second from left) arriving at the Greater Buffalo International Airport on September 11, 1971.
After meeting with Attica inmates, he proposed accepting the deal put forth by the Commissioner of Corrections — which would have granted the prisoners 28 of their 33 demands.
Heavily armed authorities position themselves on a platform overlooking Attica's D Yard — which had become the main stronghold of the 1,281 rioting inmates.
Inmates had drawn up a manifesto listing 33 demands, from better living conditions to amnesty for the uprising.
They elected five prisoners to serve as leaders with negotiating powers, while many others were instructed to work as security or medics. Here, they express solidarity during the negotiation process.
This makeshift hospital station was one of the internal services that prisoners set up during the riot. These services would be widely documented by journalists who were invited into the prison to oversee the uprising.
Inmates barricading themselves in one of the corridors leading to cell block D on September 10, 1971. They had just finished discussions with correctional officers regarding the terms of their impending negotiations.
The figure in black standing in the center was one of the television cameramen that inmates allowed into the prison to document events.
National Guardsmen donning gas masks as they prepare to storm the facility on September 13, 1971.
Protected from the tear gas that had been delivered via helicopter, they would brazenly open fire on both inmates and hostages in the yard.
One of the military helicopters flying over the prison's D Yard to deploy tear gas. Moments later, hundreds of troops, officers, and guards would storm the prison, firing off rounds with abandon — and killing 10 of their own men in the process.
The immediate aftermath of the riots saw inmates stripped of their clothes and forced to stand with their hands above their heads. A week after the riot had ended, inmates were allegedly beaten by the guards.
The McKay Commission used this image during their four-day hearings on the fiasco
The charred hat of an Attica prison guard — and a bullet hole in the railing enclosing the D Yard.
Another exert from my 'When the Times Change' novel.
It's in the same chapter as the last one, really just a few paragraphs from it. Hope you like, and again this is a post apocalypse story, so if you don't think that's for you, don't read it. Hope you all like it!
“Why should I listen to you, you’re accomplices to it!” Her face a deep crimson in fury. Bullet looked slightly wounded by her comment but quickly wiped it off his face, keeping mostly to anger and worry.
“No, we aren’t, all we do is let it go by and mind our own people.” His voice firm as he spoke.
Again Lil’ flared up, yelling In a booming voice that echoed in the street and caught the attention of the thinning crowds in the street and a few idle eyes from house windows or porches; “It’s slavery! How in the hell can you just, ‘let it go by’?!” Her rant let me know what was going on. Namely Lil’ was throwing one of her little hissy fits at the realities of the world and her little noble speeches. Bullet himself looked at her hard from under his hat, keeping himself tall, his shoulders straight.
“We can because there is no way we can stop it. They have more men, guns, and pure and simple cash than us. There is no point in risking the lives of my people just for the sake of a bunch of strangers. Who, in our position, would at best ignore us and at worst buy us for themselves. I have a duty to this town and its people as it’s leader.” Pausing as he spoke, stepping close, a more sorrowful look on his face for some reason. “And I can’t compromise that for the sake of saving some unknown strangers.” He finished jabbing his finger onto her chest, agitation having bled back onto his face, growling out with his sentence.
Lil’ made a slight growl in response, and batted his hand away, both mirroring each others expression their agitation placed plainly on their faces. “Well, I’m helping them, regardless of what you think, and you yellow fucks better not interfere.” She replied, turning her back to them and shoving me ahead of her, almost daring me to join Bullet and Max’s protests. So that she could just off me right now, a manic look deep down in her eyes, that I doubted even she was aware of, glinting within them like a kukri blade.
“Wait!” Max suddenly called out to us, or more specifically, them. Lil’ cocked her head back, agitatedly, turning her side to them, a snarl on her mouth. Expecting to be stopped by force. “If you’re going to do this, you’ll need some help.” Max finished, Lil’ looking caught off guard for a moment, the same being said for Bullet, who gave Max an odd glance, but the latter put up a hand as he was asking him to trust him, and Bullet rolled his eyes slightly and walked up with him. “We can’t help you, and most of the people of this town have got too much on their plates already.” Lil’ managing a neutral expression as she listened Rock doing the same at her side, but an edge of disapproval still carving its way out of Lil’s gaze. “But there is someone mad, and capable enough to help you. An old marksman who lives in town, Mr G. Morgan. He keeps, or kept trying to get us to go after the slavers too. To ‘take up arms against oppressors’. But no one goes with him anymore. Used to, but, It was usually just him who came back.” Looking dead in Lil’s eyes as he spoke, hoping to drive home the fatality, and pointlessness of fighting, trying to use reason. As usual, she didn’t care for reason.
He sighed slightly and continued. “He lives in a house down the main road, stays on watch signing old songs to himself. Tall man with short grey hair, dressed in flannel and tan coloured trousers. Can’t miss him.” Gesturing down the road to the house where I had seen the man with the revolver. Lil’ inspected the two for another moment, her face flickering between begrudging gratitude and disgust, but she eventually stilled her expression and nodded to the pair, managing a smile, and walked down the road, Rock following on silently after, weaving themselves through the now near empty street to the house.
The man was still sat on his porch, appearing to stare wildly off into a distance that wasn’t there, spinning a large spent brass case about in his fingers absent-mindedly, not taking note of it himself. He was a reasonably tall man, not as tall as Bullet or Lil’ but would tower over most people. His skin was tanned and creased like old leather, marked by scars and pockmarks. He was dressed in a faded red flannel shirt, over which he wore a thin tan jacket that just covered past his shoulder, leaving his thick arms exposed. Cuts laced across his forearms, hidden slightly by old muscle. A similar tan coloured pair of trousers with a spiral of thread going up the legs and rugged leather belt round his waist, a holster holding a gigantic revolver hanging off it, any finish once on it gone, but not bearing a single vestige of ill use.
He turned his head to us quickly and looked deeply at us with a pair of beetle black eyes, irises like pin pricks. His face was hard and thick, an untended moustache wriggling like a massive white insect on his lip, an old scar splitting upwards through it, cutting it in two. His marbled grey hair poked out slightly onto his brow from under a faded rifleman’s cap, old curtains tacked on it’s back to cover his neck and ears. “Mr Morgan?” Lil’ began her voice firm and unwavering as she posed her question.
“What do you want?” He replied brusquely, speaking in a sort of country voice, his tone sharp.
“We heard that you would help us fight the slavers.” Lil’ replied, her voice clear as she continued on with her nonsense. At this he seemed to jostle slightly in his seat.
“You’re fighting them?” A curious excitement in his voice along with a note of disbelief, a small smile tugging at his left lip.
“Yes since no one else seems to be doing it. “A loathing sourness deep in her voice as she spoke, a sneer pulling itself to attention on her lips. His smile broke wide on his face, pulling up the other side, and he jumped out of his chair, his boots clomping loudly on the wooden decking.
“Then let us go.” Reaching into his house and deftly pulling a rucksack from behind the wall, as well as some steel plate which he tied to his limbs as he walked, a gravely laugh howling into the midday sky, like a mad dog’s bark. Great. Another lunatic moralist. Both Lil’ and Rock followed after him, looking pleased, dragging me with them. He took them down the road to the town hall where both Bullet and Max stood laden with weapons. I hoped they were here to finally stop them, realising their error, to force them to concede and move one, ending this idiotic charade of a crusade. Or at the very least shoot them so I could finally get on and do as I please.
Lil’ looked ready to fight, if need be, but Bullet just raised his hand to stop her. He wasn’t hiding the irritation on his face, yet he look oddly accepting, “we aren’t here to stop you,” dammit, “we came here to accompany you to the ridge.” Getting confused looks from the pair in response, Morgan nodding genially. “I am the mayor of this town, and it is my job to protect its people. Morgan is one of its people, so we’ll come to make sure he’s safe.” Lil’ looked like she was about to say something, likely on the lines of how Bullet finally saw the ‘error of his ways’ or some other stupid shit. But Bullet cut her off again. “But we’re only guiding you to the ridge, no further.” His face stiff as he finished, clearly unsettled in his decision. Honestly, it would be far easier for the town just to shoot the pair and be done with it.
Lil’ looked hard at him and Max for a second, making her displeasure with them clear on her face, but then nodded and motioned for Morgan to lead on. As they moved on, I opened my mouth to protest and try and be left behind, but Rock whirled around at me with a wild gaze, baring his teeth.
I shut up, none of the three strangers noticing that little exchange. I’m surrounded by idiots.
