cartoonpolitics:

 “Student loans are destroying the imagination of youth. If there’s a way of a society committing mass suicide, what better way than to take all the youngest, most energetic, creative, joyous people in your society and saddle them with, like $50,000 of debt so they have to be slaves? There goes your music. There goes your culture. There goes everything new that would pop out. And in a way, this is what’s happened to our society. We’re a society that has lost any ability to incorporate the interesting, creative and eccentric people.” ~David Graeber

Take back the Night

So I’m here without anyone, and it’s before the programming. Sitting out in the courtyard of the venue, I’m struck by the kids playing in the grass. There’s a group on three boy and a group of three girls. Already in these youngest who couldn’t be older than 10, there’s evidence of gendered socialization in the way they play.

The girls were running and chasing in circles when I arrived, and only the youngest (perhaps 3) doing any sort of direct physical play with futile (only because she’s 3) swings of hands and feet, while her elders are preferring herding, and social status play (something involving sprinkled something-or-other).

The boys, by contrast, were involved in a direct conflict play-fighting, involving punches, kicks, posturing, and defenses.

Isn’t it interesting that there seems to be a transition the girls went through after 3, where they veered from the way the boys were playing? Why are we doing this? Where are we either are succeeding in moving girls out of physical play, or we are failing to move boys into social play? Can we, as parents, isolate the answer within ourselves? Can we stop treating the boys as if they’re wild animals and encourage growth in social play?

Maybe these aren’t the exact right questions, but it’s obvious to me that glorifying physical dominance when they are young leads the boys to continue to structure their play around physical activity almost exclusively. Start early.

knightsister:

afirethatwillneverburn:

cognitivedissonance:

natalie-ann:

asmilinggoddess:

thefuuuucomics:

cognitivedissonance:

darthmobius:

cognitivedissonance:

I have bronchitis. Thanks to the ACA, I was able to get medicine for $0. #ThanksObama

LIES.

that came from taxes I paid.

Well, let my know how much I owe you and I’ll drop a few pennies in the mail. War comes from taxes you paid, and I personally dislike the amount I pay going for that… Maybe we should check “yes” or “no” on our 1040 forms this year for allocation of tax dollars.

I’m sorry you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I qualified for the Medicaid expansion under the ACA, which is partially funded through taxpayer revenue. I don’t think the IRS mailed you a letter saying, “Nah nah nah nah naaaaaaah! This year’s tax dollars went to pay for medicine for poor people mwahahaha!” Who knows? Maybe YOUR portion of tax dollars went to a Hellfire missile that took out a village in Afghanistan. Ooh, how exciting for you!

Comfort yourself with that thought as I use my inhaler, which I would not have been able to afford without the ACA.

what the fuck is wrong with Americans who aren’t on board with free healthcare. I’m Canadian and I don’t care that I pay extra taxes so a little boy in Alberta can have open heart surgery, or an elderly man in Nova Scotia can get the heart medication he desperately needs. It’s called taking care of your people. I’m glad I pay so that people can have a good quality of life. It’s called being a decent fucking human being.

This ↑

I pay taxes too and I’m glad to have helped fund your meds.

Good. I have care through the state for me and my daughter so yeah. Thank you.

The ACA did a lot to help the state of Health care in the USA, but honestly, It’s still not going to stop it from being viewed as the most regressive health care system in the developed world. While the ACA goes a long way to fix atrocious things the insurers did, there are still for-profit insurers and hospitals running the system, just with more constraints.

Sorry to say, but it’s still a long way from being a system that Switzerland and Canada would consider a competing model of how to take care of its citizens.

When using open source makes you an enemy of the state

rollership:

The US copyright lobby has long argued against open source software - now Indonesia’s in the firing line for encouraging the idea in government departments.

[…]

As if all that wasn’t enough, here’s another brick to add to the teetering tower of news, courtesy of Andres Guadamuz, a lecturer in law at the University of Edinburgh.

Guadamuz has done some digging and discovered that an influential lobby group is asking the US government to basically consider open source as the equivalent of piracy - or even worse.

What?

It turns out that the International Intellectual Property Alliance, an umbrella group for organisations including the MPAA and RIAA, has requested with the US Trade Representative to consider countries like Indonesia, Brazil and India for its “Special 301 watchlist” because they use open source software.

What’s Special 301? It’s a report that examines the “adequacy and effectiveness of intellectual property rights” around the planet - effectively the list of countries that the US government considers enemies of capitalism. It often gets wheeled out as a form of trading pressure - often around pharmaceuticals and counterfeited goods - to try and force governments to change their behaviours…

Psh, add yourselves for taking advantage of services  based on Open Source, such as those served up by over 2/3 of servers around the world.

Hypocrates.

(Source: beemill)

Rape culture is when I was six, and
my brother punched my two front teeth out.
Instead of reprimanding him, my mother
said “Stefanie, what did you do to provoke him?”
When my only defense was my
mother whispering in my ear, “Honey, ignore him.
Don’t rile him up. He just wants a reaction.”
As if it was my sole purpose, the reason
six-year-old me existed,
was to not rile up my brother.
It’s starts when we’re six, and ends
when we grow up assuming the natural state of a man
is a predator, and I must walk on eggshells, as to
not “rile him up.” Right, mom?

Rape culture is when through casual dinner conversation,
my father says that women who get raped are asking for it.
He says, “I see them on the streets of New York City,
with their short skirts and heavy makeup. Asking for it.”
When I used to be my father’s hero but
will he think I was asking for it? (will he think)
Will he think I deserved it?
Will he hold me accountable or will he hold me,
even though the touch of a man - especially my father’s -
burns as if I were holding the sun in the palm of my hand.

Rape culture is you were so ashamed, you thought it would
be easier for your parents to find you dead,
than to say, “Hey mom and dad,”
It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for it.
I never asked for this attention, I never asked
to be a target, to be weak because I was born with
two X chromosomes, to walk in fear, to always look behind me,
in front of me, next to me, I never asked to be the prey.
I never wanted to spend my life being something
someone feasts upon, a meal for the eternally starved.
I do not want to hear about the way I taste anymore.
I will not let you eat me alive.

Rape culture is I shouldn’t defend my friend when
an overaggressive frat boy has his hand on her ass,
because standing up for her body “makes me a target.”
Women are afraid to speak up, because
they fear their own lives - but I’d rather take the hit
than live in a culture of silence.
I am told that I will always be the victim, pre-determined
by the DNA in my weaker, softer body.
I have birthing hips, not a fighter’s stance.
I am genetically pre-dispositioned to lose every time.

Rape culture is he was probably abused as a child.
When he even has some form of a justification
and all I have are the things that provoked him,
and the scars from his touch are woven of the darkest
and toughest strings, underneath the layer of my skin.
Rape culture leaves me finding pieces of him left inside of me.
A bone of his elbow. The cap of his knee.
There is something so daunting in the way that I know it will take
me years to methodically extract him from my body.
And that twinge I will get sometimes in my arm fifteen years later?
Proof of the past.
Like a tattoo I didn’t ask for.
Somehow I am permanently inked.

Rape culture is you can’t wear that outfit anymore
without feeling dirty, without feeling like
you somehow earned it.
You will feel like you are walking on knives,
every time you wear the shoes
you smashed his nose in with.
Imaginary blood on the bottom of your heels,
thinking, maybe this will heal me.
Those shoes are your freedom,
But the remains of a life long fight.
You will always carry your heart,
your passion, your absolute will to live,
but also the shame and the guilt and the pain.
I saved myself but I still feel like I’m walking on knives.

Rape culture is “Stefanie, you weren’t really raped, you were
one of the lucky ones.”
Because my body wasn’t penetrated by a penis,
but fingers instead, that I should feel lucky.
I should get on my hands and knees and say, thank you.
Thank you for being so kind.
Rape culture is “things could have been worse.”
“It’s been a month, Stefanie. Get out of bed.”
“You’ll have to get over this eventually.”
“Don’t let it ruin your life.”
Rape culture is he told you that after he touched you,
no one would ever want you again.
And you believed him.

Rape culture is telling your daughters not to get raped,
instead of teaching your sons how to treat all women.
That sex is not a right. You are not entitled to this.
The worst possible thing you can call a woman is a
slut, a whore, a bitch.
The worst possible thing you can call a man is a
bitch, a pussy, a girl.
The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl.
The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl.
Being a woman is the ultimate rejection,
the ultimate dismissal of strength and power, the
absolute insult.
When I have a daughter,
I will tell her that she is not
an insult.

When I have a daughter, she will know how to fight.
I will look at her like the sun when she comes home
with anger in her fists.
Because we are human beings and we do not
always have to take what we are given.
They all tell her not to fight fire with fire,
but that is only because they are afraid of her flames.
I will teach her the value of the word “no” so that
when she hears it, she will not question it.
My daughter,
Don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love
you have for yourself
and the lengths you go to preserve it.

My daughter,
I am alive because of the fierce love I have
for myself, and because my father taught me
to protect that.
He taught me that sometimes, I have to do
my own bit of saving, pick myself off the
ground and wipe the dirt off my face,
because at the end of the day,
there is only me.
I am alive because my mother taught me
to love myself.
She taught me that I am an enigma - a
mystery, a paradox, an unfinished masterpiece and
I must love myself enough to see how I turn out.
I am alive because even beaten, voiceless, and back
against the wall, I knew there was an ounce of me
worth fighting for.
And for that, I thank my parents.

Instead of teaching my daughter to cover herself up,
I will show her how to be exposed.
Because no is not “convince me”.
No is not “I want it”.
You call me,
“Little lady, pretty girl, beautiful woman.”
But I am not any of these things for you.
I am exploding light,
my daughter will be exploding light,
and you,
better cover your eyes.

slk

Rape Culture (Cover Your Eyes)

(Source: aseriesofnouns)

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