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blind-rats · 3 years

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The Rise & Fall of Joss Whedon; the Myth of the Hollywood Feminist Hero

By Kelly Faircloth

“I hate ‘feminist.’ Is this a good time to bring that up?” Joss Whedon asked. He paused knowingly, waiting for the laughs he knew would come at the creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer making such a statement.

It was 2013, and Whedon was onstage at a fundraiser for Equality Now, a human rights organization dedicated to legal equality for women. Though Buffy had been off the air for more than a decade, its legacy still loomed large; Whedon was widely respected as a man with a predilection for making science fiction with strong women for protagonists. Whedon went on to outline why, precisely, he hated the term: “You can’t be born an ‘ist,’” he argued, therefore, “‘feminist’ includes the idea that believing men and women to be equal, believing all people to be people, is not a natural state, that we don’t emerge assuming that everybody in the human race is a human, that the idea of equality is just an idea that’s imposed on us.”

The speech was widely praised and helped cement his pop-cultural reputation as a feminist, in an era that was very keen on celebrity feminists. But it was also, in retrospect, perhaps the high water mark for Whedon’s ability to claim the title, and now, almost a decade later, that reputation is finally in tatters, prompting a reevaluation of not just Whedon’s work, but the narrative he sold about himself.

In July 2020, actor Ray Fisher accused Whedon of being “gross, abusive, unprofessional, and completely unacceptable” on the Justice League set when Whedon took over for Zach Synder as director to finish the project. Charisma Carpenter then described her own experiences with Whedon in a long post to Twitter, hashtagged #IStandWithRayFisher.

On Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, Carpenter played Cordelia, a popular character who morphed from snob to hero—one of those strong female characters that made Whedon’s feminist reputation—before being unceremoniously written off the show in a plot that saw her thrust into a coma after getting pregnant with a demon. For years, fans have suspected that her disappearance was related to her real-life pregnancy. In her statement, Carpenter appeared to confirm the rumors. “Joss Whedon abused his power on numerous occasions while working on the sets of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and ‘Angel,’” she wrote, describing Fisher’s firing as the last straw that inspired her to go public.

Buffy was a landmark of late 1990s popular culture, beloved by many a burgeoning feminist, grad student, gender studies professor, and television critic for the heroine at the heart of the show, the beautiful blonde girl who balanced monster-killing with high school homework alongside ancillary characters like the shy, geeky Willow. Buffy was very nearly one of a kind, an icon of her era who spawned a generation of leather-pants-wearing urban fantasy badasses and women action heroes.

Buffy was so beloved, in fact, that she earned Whedon a similarly privileged place in fans’ hearts and a broader reputation as a man who championed empowered women characters. In the desert of late ’90s and early 2000s popular culture, Whedon was heralded as that rarest of birds—the feminist Hollywood man. For many, he was an example of what more equitable storytelling might look like, a model for how to create compelling women protagonists who were also very, very fun to watch. But Carpenter’s accusations appear to have finally imploded that particular bit of branding, revealing a different reality behind the scenes and prompting a reevaluation of the entire arc of Whedon’s career: who he was and what he was selling all along.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer premiered March 1997, midseason, on The WB, a two-year-old network targeting teens with shows like 7th Heaven. Its beginnings were not necessarily auspicious; it was a reboot of a not-particularly-blockbuster 1992 movie written by third-generation screenwriter Joss Whedon. (His grandfather wrote for The Donna Reed Show; his father wrote for Golden Girls.) The show followed the trials of a stereotypical teenage California girl who moved to a new town and a new school after her parents’ divorce—only, in a deliberate inversion of horror tropes, the entire town sat on top of the entrance to Hell and hence was overrun with demons. Buffy was a slayer, a young woman with the power and immense responsibility to fight them. After the movie turned out very differently than Whedon had originally envisioned, the show was a chance for a do-over, more of a Valley girl comedy than serious horror.

It was layered, it was campy, it was ironic and self-aware. It looked like it belonged on the WB rather than one of the bigger broadcast networks, unlike the slickly produced prestige TV that would follow a few years later. Buffy didn’t fixate on the gory glory of killing vampires—really, the monsters were metaphors for the entire experience of adolescence, in all its complicated misery. Almost immediately, a broad cross-section of viewers responded enthusiastically. Critics loved it, and it would be hugely influential on Whedon’s colleagues in television; many argue that it broke ground in terms of what you could do with a television show in terms of serialized storytelling, setting the stage for the modern TV era. Academics took it up, with the show attracting a tremendous amount of attention and discussion.

In 2002, the New York Times covered the first academic conference dedicated to the show. The organizer called Buffy “a tremendously rich text,” hence the flood of papers with titles like “Pain as Bright as Steel: The Monomyth and Light in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’” which only gathered speed as the years passed. And while it was never the highest-rated show on television, it attracted an ardent core of fans.

But what stood out the most was the show’s protagonist: a young woman who stereotypically would have been a monster movie victim, with the script flipped: instead of screaming and swooning, she staked the vampires. This was deliberate, the core conceit of the concept, as Whedon said in many, many interviews. The helpless horror movie girl killed in the dark alley instead walks out victorious. He told Time in 1997 that the concept was born from the thought, “I would love to see a movie in which a blond wanders into a dark alley, takes care of herself and deploys her powers.” In Whedon’s framing, it was particularly important that it was a woman who walked out of that alley. He told another publication in 2002 that “the very first mission statement of the show” was “the joy of female power: having it, using it, sharing it.”

In 2021, when seemingly every new streaming property with a woman as its central character makes some half-baked claim to feminism, it’s easy to forget just how much Buffy stood out among its against its contemporaries. Action movies—with exceptions like Alien’s Ripley and Terminator 2's Sarah Conner—were ruled by hulking tough guys with macho swagger. When women appeared on screen opposite vampires, their primary job was to expose long, lovely, vulnerable necks. Stories and characters that bucked these larger currents inspired intense devotion, from Angela Chase of My So-Called Life to Dana Scully of The X-Files.

The broader landscape, too, was dismal. It was the conflicted era of girl power, a concept that sprang up in the wake of the successes of the second-wave feminist movement and the backlash that followed. Young women were constantly exposed to you-can-do-it messaging that juxtaposed uneasily with the reality of the world around them. This was the era of shitty, sexist jokes about every woman who came into Bill Clinton’s orbit and the leering response to the arrival of Britney Spears; Rush Limbaugh was a fairly mainstream figure.

At one point, Buffy competed against Ally McBeal, a show that dedicated an entire episode to a dancing computer-generated baby following around its lawyer main character, her biological clock made zanily literal. Consider this line from a New York Times review of the Buffy’s 1997 premiere: “Given to hot pants and boots that should guarantee the close attention of Humbert Humberts all over America, Buffy is just your average teen-ager, poutily obsessed with clothes and boys.”

Against that background, Buffy was a landmark. Besides the simple fact of its woman protagonist, there were unique plots, like the coming-out story for her friend Willow. An ambivalent 1999 piece in Bitch magazine, even as it explored the show’s tank-top heavy marketing, ultimately concluded, “In the end, it’s precisely this contextual conflict that sets Buffy apart from the rest and makes her an appealing icon. Frustrating as her contradictions may be, annoying as her babe quotient may be, Buffy still offers up a prime-time heroine like no other.”

A 2016 Atlantic piece, adapted from a book excerpt, makes the case that Buffy is perhaps best understood as an icon of third-wave feminism: “In its examination of individual and collective empowerment, its ambiguous politics of racial representation and its willing embrace of contradiction, Buffy is a quintessentially third-wave cultural production.” The show was vested with all the era’s longing for something better than what was available, something different, a champion for a conflicted “post-feminist” era—even if she was an imperfect or somewhat incongruous vessel. It wasn’t just Sunnydale that needed a chosen Slayer, it was an entire generation of women. That fact became intricately intertwined with Whedon himself.

Seemingly every interview involved a discussion of his fondness for stories about strong women. “I’ve always found strong women interesting, because they are not overly represented in the cinema,” he told New York for a 1997 piece that notes he studied both film and “gender and feminist issues” at Wesleyan; “I seem to be the guy for strong action women,’’ he told the New York Times in 1997 with an aw-shucks sort of shrug. ‘’A lot of writers are just terrible when it comes to writing female characters. They forget that they are people.’’ He often cited the influence of his strong, “hardcore feminist” mother, and even suggested that his protagonists served feminist ends in and of themselves: “If I can make teenage boys comfortable with a girl who takes charge of a situation without their knowing that’s what’s happening, it’s better than sitting down and selling them on feminism,” he told Time in 1997.

When he was honored by the organization Equality Now in 2006 for his “outstanding contribution to equality in film and television,” Whedon made his speech an extended riff on the fact that people just kept asking him about it, concluding with the ultimate answer: “Because you’re still asking me that question.” He presented strong women as a simple no-brainer, and he was seemingly always happy to say so, at a time when the entertainment business still seemed ruled by unapologetic misogynists. The internet of the mid-2010s only intensified Whedon’s anointment as a prototypical Hollywood ally, with reporters asking him things like how men could best support the feminist movement.

Whedon’s response: “A guy who goes around saying ‘I’m a feminist’ usually has an agenda that is not feminist. A guy who behaves like one, who actually becomes involved in the movement, generally speaking, you can trust that. And it doesn’t just apply to the action that is activist. It applies to the way they treat the women they work with and they live with and they see on the street.” This remark takes on a great deal of irony in light of Carpenter’s statement.

In recent years, Whedon’s reputation as an ally began to wane. Partly, it was because of the work itself, which revealed more and more cracks as Buffy receded in the rearview mirror. Maybe it all started to sour with Dollhouse, a TV show that imagined Eliza Dushku as a young woman rented out to the rich and powerful, her mind wiped after every assignment, a concept that sat poorly with fans. (Though Whedon, while he was publicly unhappy with how the show had turned out after much push-and-pull with the corporate bosses at Fox, still argued the conceit was “the most pure feminist and empowering statement I’d ever made—somebody building themselves from nothing,” in a 2012 interview with Wired.)

After years of loud disappointment with the TV bosses at Fox on Firefly and Dollhouse, Whedon moved into big-budget Hollywood blockbusters. He helped birth the Marvel-dominated era of movies with his work as director of The Avengers. But his second Avengers movie, Age of Ultron, was heavily criticized for a moment in which Black Widow laid out her personal reproductive history for the Hulk, suggesting her sterilization somehow made her a “monster.” In June 2017, his un-filmed script for a Wonder Woman adaptation leaked, to widespread mockery. The script’s introduction of Diana was almost leering: “To say she is beautiful is almost to miss the point. She is elemental, as natural and wild as the luminous flora surrounding. Her dark hair waterfalls to her shoulders in soft arcs and curls. Her body is curvaceous, but taut as a drawn bow.”

But Whedon’s real fall from grace began in 2017, right before MeToo spurred a cultural reckoning. His ex-wife, Kai Cole, published a piece in The Wrap accusing him of cheating off and on throughout their relationship and calling him a hypocrite:

“Despite understanding, on some level, that what he was doing was wrong, he never conceded the hypocrisy of being out in the world preaching feminist ideals, while at the same time, taking away my right to make choices for my life and my body based on the truth. He deceived me for 15 years, so he could have everything he wanted. I believed, everyone believed, that he was one of the good guys, committed to fighting for women’s rights, committed to our marriage, and to the women he worked with. But I now see how he used his relationship with me as a shield, both during and after our marriage, so no one would question his relationships with other women or scrutinize his writing as anything other than feminist.”

But his reputation was just too strong; the accusation that he didn’t practice what he preached didn’t quite stick. A spokesperson for Whedon told the Wrap: “While this account includes inaccuracies and misrepresentations which can be harmful to their family, Joss is not commenting, out of concern for his children and out of respect for his ex-wife. Many minimized the essay on the basis that adultery doesn’t necessarily make you a bad feminist or erase a legacy. Whedon similarly seemed to shrug off Ray Fisher’s accusations of creating a toxic workplace; instead, Warner Media fired Fisher.

But Carpenter’s statement—which struck right at the heart of his Buffy-based legacy for progressivism—may finally change things. Even at the time, the plotline in which Charisma Carpenter was written off Angel—carrying a demon child that turned her into “Evil Cordelia,” ending the season in a coma, and quite simply never reappearing—was unpopular. Asked about what had happened in a 2009 panel at DragonCon, she said that “my relationship with Joss became strained,” continuing: “We all go through our stuff in general [behind the scenes], and I was going through my stuff, and then I became pregnant. And I guess in his mind, he had a different way of seeing the season go… in the fourth season.”

“I think Joss was, honestly, mad. I think he was mad at me and I say that in a loving way, which is—it’s a very complicated dynamic working for somebody for so many years, and expectations, and also being on a show for eight years, you gotta live your life. And sometimes living your life gets in the way of maybe the creator’s vision for the future. And that becomes conflict, and that was my experience.”

In her statement on Twitter, Carpenter alleged that after Whedon was informed of her pregnancy, he called her into a closed-door meeting and “asked me if I was ‘going to keep it,’ and manipulatively weaponized my womanhood and faith against me.” She added that “he proceeded to attack my character, mock my religious beliefs, accuse me of sabotaging the show, and then unceremoniously fired me following the season once I gave birth.” Carpenter said that he called her fat while she was four months pregnant and scheduled her to work at 1 a.m. while six months pregnant after her doctor had recommended shortening her hours, a move she describes as retaliatory. What Carpenter describes, in other words, is an absolutely textbook case of pregnancy discrimination in the workplace, the type of bullshit the feminist movement exists to fight—at the hands of the man who was for years lauded as a Hollywood feminist for his work on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.

Many of Carpenter’s colleagues from Buffy and Angel spoke out in support, including Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar. “While I am proud to have my name associated with Buffy Summers, I don’t want to be forever associated with the name Joss Whedon,” she said in a statement. Just shy of a decade after that 2013 speech, many of the cast members on the show that put him on that stage are cutting ties.

Whedon garnered a reputation as pop culture’s ultimate feminist man because Buffy did stand out so much, an oasis in a wasteland. But in 2021, the idea of a lone man being responsible for creating women’s stories—one who told the New York Times, “I seem to be the guy for strong action women”—seems like a relic. It’s depressing to consider how many years Hollywood’s first instinct for “strong action women” wasn’t a woman, and to think about what other people could have done with those resources. When Wonder Woman finally reached the screen, to great acclaim, it was with a woman as director.

Besides, Whedon didn’t make Buffy all by himself—many, many women contributed, from the actresses to the writers to the stunt workers, and his reputation grew so large it eclipsed their part in the show’s creation. Even as he preached feminism, Whedon benefitted from one of the oldest, most sexist stereotypes: the man who’s a benevolent, creative genius. And Buffy, too, overshadowed all the other contributors who redefined who could be a hero on television and in speculative fiction, from individual actors like Gillian Anderson to the determined, creative women who wrote science fiction and fantasy over the last several decades to—perhaps most of all—the fans who craved different, better stories. Buffy helped change what you could put on TV, but it didn’t create the desire to see a character like her. It was that desire, as much as Whedon himself, that gave Buffy the Vampire Slayer her power.

#Joss Whedon #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #Ray Fisher #Charisma Carpenter #Feminist

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

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JaliceWeek2020 Bonus Day

JaliceWeek2020 Bonus Day: Quarantine

Also Untitled We’ll Worry About That Later

Notes: Under 3k, woohoo! This barely fits the prompt, but I’ve decided to go rogue. The real question now is... can I get another one posted today?

The phone rings at 11:27 p.m. on a Tuesday night.

It’s not Carlisle’s night on call, but everyone is being a bit more flexible at the moment. He expects a summons, that the hospital is short-handed again. It’s to be expected once Forks got its own outbreak - of the fifteen people hospitalised, eight of them were doctors or nurses.

Edward hits a sour note as he overhears the the phone call, trying to temper his reaction so not to signal that anything is wrong.

Carlisle is utterly professional during the call, but when he hangs up, he is left with the hideous duty of walking upstairs and telling his youngest - and oldest - son that one Mary-Alice Brandon has just been placed on a respirator.

—

They’ve put the infected in the old wing of Forks Hospital, where they can be properly quarantined. There’s no blood in the wing yet, and so Carlisle sees no risk allowing Jasper in to see Alice through the window; it’s the closest anyone can get to these patients.

And Jasper was not doing well. Telling him had been so much worse than Carlisle had ever envisaged. Esme was still repairing the damage to his study, and Jasper had gotten himself worked up, his terror at a point where he was infecting the rest of the family - Edward was almost permanently camped out at Bella’s, unable to tolerate another second of that bone-deep fear that Jasper pushing out.

But the second they arrive, and Jasper gets to see her, Carlisle fears that he just made things much, much worse.

Alice is tiny in the hospital bed, pale as the sheets tucked around her. The respirator is strapped to her face, obscuring most of her features. Tubes and wires run out of both her arms, the machines surrounding her beeping routinely. She’s completely unconscious, the dark circles under her eyes the only spot of colour on her entire face.

The whole scene is devastating, and Carlisle is quite sure that he’s watching his son’s heart break into a million pieces as he stares at his human mate, slowly dying alone, not a single person allowed to hold her hand.

Carlisle is not cruel, and hasn’t told Jasper the full details of Alice’s prognosis, but Jasper is no fool. Alice was already so fragile, with existing health issues, and she’s just so very, very sick.

“Jasper…” Carlisle begins in a low voice, reaching out to put his hand on his shoulder, but Jasper jerks away, storming out of the hospital in such a rage that Carlisle’s just relieved the door stays on its hinges as his son disappears into the night.

—

He is furious. He is rage. He has never, ever been so angry in his entire life. He wants to destroy, to fucking decimate something because it never, ever should have been her.

He thinks of going to the Brandon house, and crushing her selfish father into pulp. To bestow upon Alice’s father, who could not resist his trips to his mistress in Seattle, the slow, lingering death he passed on to his eldest daughter.

But he doesn’t. The man is sick - the whole family is sick, though not nearly bad enough to require hospitalisation, that particular honour had been given solely to Alice - but he tries to comfort himself with the fact that the man is at least suffering.

He steals into Alice’s bedroom, how many times had he climbed into this room and found Alice sitting crosslegged on her bed with her laptop or with her sketchbook, her face lighting up at his appearance. How the fairy lights strung around her bed would be lit, as well as the lamp shaped like a rabbit, and half a dozen novelty lights scattered around the room. It made the room look like magic, like home.

But now, it is cold and still. The bed is unmade, her quilt crumpled on the floor. The lights are off, the hamper is full, and he wants to destroy it all.

He lets himself have one moment, one little weakness, as he picks up the sweater tossed over the back of her desk chair and buries his face in it. It still smells like her, before she got sick - like raspberries and rainwater, her floral shampoo and rose perfume, of a million different little things that made up her human life. It is a comfort, yes, but it is also hurts in a sharp, new way that makes him want to weep. She’s not here, she’s not coming back, not going to walk in and tease him for being ‘weird’, as she wraps her arms around his waist and presses against him.

And he puts the sweater back, swallowing hard against the rising grief. He’s here for a reason. And so he goes hunting.

For her sketchbooks, and her diary, and her little worn out plush rabbit that always sat on her pillow. Her Polaroid camera, her very favourite purple top, and the ‘Alice’ necklace she wore every day, and the little photo-book that she kept by her bed.

It has to be things that won’t be missed, will be easily overlooked, but things that are precious to her, and thus precious to him.

Whatever happens next, he needs to keep them safe for her. Let her know that the things she treasured above everything else won’t end up at a garage sale or a thrift shop, won’t be boxed up and forgotten, won’t be thrown away. No, they’ll either find their way back to her hands, or they’ll be his shrine, his holy objects, for the rest of this cursed existence.

He goes back for the sweater.

—

Her heart stops twice. The first time, Carlisle hears about it second-hand and by the time he gets to her, she’s back.

The second time, people talk. That Dr Cullen was like a monster, forcing that girl back to life without compromise. That he short of reached into her chest and squeezed life back into her heart by hand.

It’s not going to help, the staff whisper. The Brandon girl is going to die, the youngest fatality in the state so far, before she even graduates high school. It would take some kind of miracle for her to come back from this, no matter how long Dr Cullen insists on delaying ‘time of death’.

—

The question needs to be asked, but he can’t form the words because it changes everything. It’s turning reality upside down and inside out. He’s never been good with change, and he was happy like this, for the first time in a long time.

Asking the question admits that he failed her.

He wishes he’d asked her before now, but it was one of those things they never talked about. And not in a tense, unspoken way. He can’t think of any moments with her that weren’t comfortable; love and affection and appreciation dipping and swirling between them.

They were going to be together forever, they both knew that. They were going to go to college and go travelling and get married. But neither of them ever specified if her eyes would be green or if they would be gold, and now he can’t ask her and he doesn’t know what would be worse - letting her go, or having her hate him for it, for the rest of their lives.

Why hadn’t he asked her?

—

Carlisle takes Edward to the hospital, to see if he can get a read on Alice’s thoughts; Edward looks grim and shakes his head minutely - whatever physical state she’s in, her thoughts are nothing decipherable now. There is no awareness of anything around her, and if her organs weren’t slowly failing, maybe they could wait.

They sit in Carlisle’s study, Edward feeling every year of his life, as they discuss Alice.

“Is it wrong that every single day, I’m grateful that it’s not Bella?” Edward says finally. “That the dice was rolled it was Alice, not Bella?”

Carlisle is quick to reassure Edward that anyone would feel the same, and he shouldn’t feel guilty. Except, Jasper overhears that statement and smashes the piano into kindling.

Bella was healthy. Bella probably wouldn’t have needed a hospital, let alone wasted away with broken ribs, and a machine breathing for her.

—

In the end, he doesn’t have to ask.

Carlisle offers.

He accepts and hates himself for it.

—

Mary-Alice Brandon dies at 1:57 a.m. on Saturday morning. Dr Cullen is more restrained this time, following procedure precisely before he calls it.

Alice’s family are still quarantined at home, and Mrs Brandon’s voice is quiet and shaky when Carlisle calls to give her the news. She doesn’t ask any questions, just thanks him and hangs up.

Her daughter died alone, with only a doctor, an intern, and two nurses clad in PPE with her. That’s what Mrs Brandon has to live with.

Carlisle comforts himself that he was with Alice when she died. That he already loves her like a father, and he watched over her as he prepared her for what came next. She wasn’t alone, and she was loved. That she would have felt no pain, no fear.

If this doesn’t work, he hopes that that offers Jasper some kind of peace.

—

The Brandons have Mary-Alice cremated, and interned at the local church as soon as they are allowed out of a quarantine. They have the funeral over the little hole in the ground where they will place the box of ashes; just the Brandons, all pale and solemn, Minister Weber, Angela Weber, Bella and Charlie Swan, and the Cullens.

It’s very short, with Minister Weber praying over the box, and then the box is placed into the hole, a tile with her name and the dates is settled into the dirt, and it’s over. Seventeen years of life, and that’s the final page in the book. There’s no reception, not during the current crisis, with the Brandons still so tired and weak. Cynthia puts a small wreath of daisies over the plaque, and Mr Brandon scowls when the bouquet of pink and yellow roses that Esme bestows upon the grave, from her own garden, is so much finer.

No one lingers in the rain, and Cynthia is quick to comment on how distant and cold Jasper Hale was, that he didn’t put any flowers on her grave, even though he claimed to love her.

“Teenage boys, Cece,” Mrs Brandon sighs, as they get in the car. “He’s probably already gotten over her. It was nice of him to come today, with his whole family.”

And then they drive away.

—

The basement of the Cullen house isn’t exactly the ideal place to undergo the transformation, but it is utterly sound proof, and they’ve made it as comfortable as they can. The plan is that, as soon as Alice awakens, Jasper will take her to Alaska for her newborn year - there’s too much risk, staying close to Forks.

Assuming she doesn’t pull him to pieces for changing her in the first place. It was supposed to be Carlisle who changed her, but in the moment, he’d just done it. It seemed like the natural response to seeing his mate in such a state, to lean into her throat and sink his teeth and venom into her whilst the others were fussing around, preparing for something so simple.

Everyone had been shocked he had the control, the self-restraint, to do such a thing but he didn’t bother to explain. He had done what needed to be done, and her wrath would be his to bear alone.

The sickness left her wasted and weak, and it is the quietest, stillest transformation he has ever been witness to. He sits with her, holding her hand like he wasn’t able to do in the hospital, watching as her body is healed from illness, from pain, from every little imperfection. She’s going to be lovely, of course, but in truth she’s no more or less beautiful to him after the venom than she was before.

She whimpers and cries and moves around a little, but mostly she is still.

Carlisle checks on him regularly, assuring him that she’s doing fine. Esme checks on him, and reassures him he made the right choice. Rosalie checks on him and tells him she’ll totally support Alice if she decides to dismember him for the next decade. Emmett checks on him and promises that he’ll keep Alice under control for the next year if Rosalie’s prediction is true.

Edward does not check on him, and instead plays his new piano loudly, still the indignant victim of the original’s destruction, agitated that this sudden change of plans has inconvenienced his own plans with Bella.

One day.

Two days.

She doesn’t wake up on the third day, and whilst he starts pacing, Carlisle tries to be reassuring. A longer transformation means nothing, not when her body was so completely damaged from illness. It’s going to be fine.

It’s the middle of the fourth day when her heart is racing, and there’s nothing left for the venom to do; Esme and Rose have washed and dressed her in a clean dress, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and now it’s just waiting.

Waiting for that moment when her heart

just

stops.

And she opens her eyes.

—

The first thing Alice is aware of is love. Adoration. It’s wrapped around her, warm and sweet, and so when she opens her eyes, she is already smiling. No one could do anything less, not when they are so certain of their worth.

Everything is quite strange, sharp, and clear, like a veil has been lifted over her eyes. She can’t quite remember what came before this little bed, this room, - was she sick? - but it doesn’t really seem that important. She’s looking around for something… no, someone.

He’s crouched about four feet away, golden eyes fixed on her with a look of clear desperation. He looks like he’s holding his breath, like he’s waiting for something.

Jasper. Her Jasper. A million little thoughts, memories, erupt in her mind - laughter, stolen kisses, plans and hopes and dreams, and that feeling of perfect love that she’s still wrapped up in, only she’s not sure if that’s her love for him or his love for her. She decides that it doesn’t matter.

“Jasper?” her voice sounds a little different to her own ears. She thinks about getting up, and suddenly she is standing, only a foot away from him.

“Alice,” his voice practically caresses her name, and he straightens up, towering over her (still?). “How are you feeling? Do you remember what hap-”

Before he can finish his sentence, her arms are around him, and she’s clinging to him like she’ll never let go.

“You did it, you did it. I was so, so worried you’d change your mind or be chivalrous or something ridiculous,” she babbles into his shirt, and he gently pulls back to look at her eyes (perfectly red, framed in black eyelashes, and oh, he’s falling in love all over again).

“I never asked you if you wanted this,” he says hoarsely, smoothing her hair from her face.

Her laugh is like … delight, the bubbles in champagne, perfect happiness.

“Oh, Jas,” she smiles at him. “There was never any question to ask.”

(He kisses her then, not like high school sweethearts; he kisses her like she’s his beautiful, perfect, newborn mate and he’s not even a little bit sure how she’s managing to tolerate the burn her throat and the thirst this long because the only reason they don’t put her little cot to another use is because Carlisle comes down to check on them, his relief like a cool spring breeze when he sees the smile on Alice’s face and the matching one on Jasper’s.)

—

They leave Forks two weeks after she dies and rises again, with a smile on her face. They leave hand-in-hand, vanishing into the forest towards Alaska. A year there, and then as much time as she needs to maintain control around humans.

And then… they have so many plans. She wants to go to college, study fashion or maybe painting or maybe photography… and they want to go travelling, to all those places on the list in her diary. She wants to help Esme restore a house, and have Rosalie teach her to drive. She wants to meet every single one of their friends, and he can’t wait to introduce her to Peter and Charlotte.

And he wants to marry her, in a white dress, with a preacher. He wants to watch her marvel at the Northern Lights, and create havoc at Milan Fashion Week, and dance with her to the old records in his study. He wants to make sure that there is never a single moment, a single thought, where she ever regrets what she lost. Anything she wants, he’ll bring it to her.

She looks up him, sensing his worry, and lifts his hand to her lips.

“It’s okay, Jas. It’s all going to be amazing,” she murmurs to him, leaning against him as they walk. “You don’t have to worry - we’ve got all the time in the world.”

They leave Forks at 11:28 p.m on a Tuesday, hand-in-hand, and neither of them looks back.

#jaliceweek20 #alice cullen #jasper hale #Alice/Jasper #jalice #guess which twit posted this to the wrong blog #my fic: untitled quarantine

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waynedunlaptheorgandonor · 5 years

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on carol/caryl and why i trust angela kang

first and foremost, i think it should be noted that gimple handed over a complete clusterfuck to kang, and instead of following his shitstorm of a vision, she completely revamped and revived an almost dead show (lol walking dead, zombies, resurrection, #nice), so that alone should show that she’s up to snuff in terms of talent, but lemme tell you my feelings in regards to my girl, carol.

like most carylers, i was like, “ew, no, stop,” when it came to the carzekiel news, and was feeling really downtrodden about it, that is until the whole season came out, and i was able to look back and see how clear it was, from the very beginning, that the relationship was never supposed to be a real relationship.

let’s pick it apart, shall we?

the first thing that comes to mind is the fact that carol never once tells zeke she loves him, and tbh, barely shows more affection to him than she did to tobin, to whom she all but said, “yeah, no, the stuff between us was hella fake,” so that alone is enough for me to go -thinking emoji-.

but wait! there’s more! it is a theme throughout the whole season that carol 1. adamantly rejects the title of queen, and 2. hides aspects of her real self from zeke. she is always visibly annoyed whenever someone calls her queen, only saying it once to placate zeke after he had a no good, horrible, terrible, very bad day. (because she’s not a monster--she does care about zeke. she just doesn’t love him romantically)

my favorite part is #2, where kang sets the precedent real fast in the time skip that murder!carol is alive and well, when she straight up burns a bunch of saviors alive. also, the line, “the ring i could have gone without,” or whatever it was, could have easily been a throwaway line, except i’ve come to realize that kang doesn’t do throwaway lines. that was definitely on purpose.

massive lol, btw, at how everyone kept being like, “oh no, there might still be saviors out there! we gotta be careful!” and carol was just:

next, carol’s appearance! remember the uproar about her hair and how fucking atrocious it was? deliberate af. with how hard makeup and design went in on s9, there’s no way they would have fucked carol up that badly. and we /know/ they know how to make her look stunning and badass at the same time, bc look:

(i stole your gif @mywalkingdeadsideblog, forgive me plz)

carol’s whole look up until henry dies made me go, “why does she look like some fairy tale queen who does nothing but sit in a castle all day?” and then i was like, “oh. duh.” because /that was the point/. she wasn’t supposed to look like herself, because she wasn’t living like herself, because she was living this escapist, fairy tale adventure. look at her in the “the storm”. waaaaay different look, because she’s finally herself again.

then, there’s just the straight up admission from carol that the whole thing wasn’t real. she literally says, “i’ll never regret the fairy tale.” it was never anything more than that. she had her kingdom, her king, and their son, and then she lost henry, and was forced to remember that, oh shit, running from my problems /never actually does shit/. and she promptly ends it, and goes back to daryl.

so yes, now relating it back to daryl. daryl is the only person alive on the planet who truly knows who carol is. she’s who she literally sneaks out of the house to go visit in the woods, just to be herself again for a while. he gets why she’s doing it, it’s why he never objected to her getting married in the first place. (even tho his face when she tells him zeke proposed was so laughably, “what? ew.”)

carol doesn’t show zeke her scars. he knows about the abuse, but he doesn’t /know/ about it. he doesn’t know that she lights people on fire in her downtime. he doesn’t know how far gone she really got. when she was losing her mind in her creepy little solitude house, smoking herself to death and making tally marks of how many people she’s murdered, zeke responded by giving her fruit. he doesn’t understand, and to that end, he doesn’t know she doesn’t believe in the fairy tale the way he does. he thinks it’s life, and she thinks it’s a place to hide. she tells daryl that zeke is an idealist. she doesn’t think he’s grounded in reality at all, but that’s why she sticks around, because reality fucking sucks, and plus she has a kid to take care of, but i think there is a marked difference in how carol acts around daryl vs. zeke. she looks so much more relaxed and open, and talks more flippantly and earnestly.

there is no one but daryl left that knows her. michonne is the second closest, and even she never spent all that much time with her. i think the only other person besides daryl that really gets how truly terrifying carol is would be rick, and even then, he’s kind of just afraid of her lmao.

so taking that and moving it into s10, i think what we’re getting set up for is carol finally (finally!) having to face her demons, and she is gonna be Mad Bonkers over it, and daryl, being the only one who understands, is gonna be the one who has to help her through that.

think about the s9 opening credits. i’ve said this before, but having melissa mcbride’s name over the crossbow, pike, and cherokee roses was hella foreshadowing to the fact that her fantasy was gonna break, and daryl was gonna be the one to pick her up, not zeke.

so we got carol going on a ptsd revenge rampage of insanity, and poor daryl is over here reeling from the fact that he suddenly has a daughter on top of the fact that his girl is finally single but is crazy crackers and trying to get herself killed, so of course he’s gonna be like, “you’re my best friend and definitely not the love of my life, haha, are you still hallucinating your dead children?” because they’re not at that point yet.

kang says they’re going to address daryl’s lack of love life. none of the cast members have said anything that negates the possibility of caryl (i would argue the contrary, tbh), and the trailer shows that the two of them are finally in this together again.

looking back at s9, every drop of carol’s story was symbolic and deliberate, and that makes me believe that we finally have a showrunner who knows how to tell a story, and knows how to read characters, and, most importantly, understands not only carol, but how she and daryl are intertwined and desperately important to one another.

i trust her. i have hope that, whether we get the naked pretzel by the end of the season or not, kang is not going to do our babies dirty like gimple did. she gets it.

we’ve been burned, but caryl is no longer in the hands of the person who burned us. i think that means that for once it’s not too out there to have a little hope.

thanks for coming to my TedTalk,

-diz

#i have a lot of feelings about carol's character development #and daryl's #but carol's especially #also don't come into my house with any d*nnie bs #i literally never saw that as shippy until y'all started freaking out #let the boy have friends #anyway #carol peletier #caryl #caryl positivity #twd season 10 spoilers #twd #dunlap tp

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/we-ascend-through-unconditional-love/

We Ascend Through Unconditional Love

By A Gift From Gaia

Hello angels, well its fair to say this energy moving through is super transformative once you remember how to surrender, move into acceptance and realise the attachments and release as we go. A super wave is now underway, a wave we as energetic navigators have been talking about for a long time and it is now, the keys we have shared, the practices we have introduced are now showing the alignment through the fields as we move through the transitions, our physical realities are reshaping with ease even though the collective reality appears to be fragile.

Here at A Gift from Gaia I am sure you are aware things have been changing and we are now ever closer to landing in the web, the internet with a website being created to suit many octaves, The Alignment Program is being birthed, there will be access to the SOUL-AR Alignment Program and there will be access to daily energy reports and light gems galore, a three tier membership, a gift to our souls as it will enable people to receive light and come away from social media, which is required regularly when we go through the awakening and ascension octaves. It means the keys and gems I share will be set, in a space to forever be found rather than sinking into the abyss of the Facebook page wall, like a living breathing ongoing book of light for those who resonate with the light I anchor and share.

But of course there is more, because A Gift from Gaia is a state of BEing and there are more of us, Charleen of course will be found at the website with her lotions and potions and musical magic, then we have Jack who is busy creating magical merchandise, he has a super surprise he is working on currently to share with you all, and all will be revealed! You will be introduced to Angela who can assist those who feel disconnected from their emotions and self, and not forgetting Dan from Nomadic Jurassic, his music is simply Divine and as A Gift from Gaia breathes through the light of unity consciousness the site will forever be a place where we will continue to grow and unite with those who’s hearts are wide open to share with you all and create a WHOLEsome experience for you. We have aligned, unified, and we experience the magic this brings to our field so of course we want to share with you all and continue to expand into MORE…..because, there is, always, MORE.

This wave we are surfing has the purpose of bringing in the most exquisite frequencies that hold a baseline completely stable in the tranquil tones of peace, it requires full dedication, to make self the priority over everything and One, whilst still staying fully connected to the fact that by doing so we are more connected than ever, detaching from the attachments whilst re-learning the attachments have been the reflection of self-abandonment, lack and over supporting, and we are seeing this surface now in some root programming with those ready to move from the mind into the heart space or we are observing some of the most subtle ways, we learned to choose conscious and now we realise there is more conscious to choose from, things appear, the body speaks in different ways, requesting feeds, mentally, physically and energetically however is required and things show up, suggestions are heard that catch our attention and before we know it we are purifying the fields within all the more. Who would have thought I would be drinking yarrow tea but apparently my physical says its required.

We ascend through unconditional love, which has been the experience and will continue to be the experience, what changes is the ability to receive unconditional love which is like a blinding light at first, it shines out the pain, it holds accountability which is the awakening process, opening and expanding, sorting and shifting, and for the mind awakened stage constant headbanging as we looped and looped and looped some more until we began questioning, observing and then realising the programming stored within, it was only ever a choice but to realise the choice we must learn how it works and the words go within repeats and repeats until finally the reality spins so hard there is no choice but to go within, the path, the pattern is the same, and whilst many shout there are many paths to enlightenment the truth is there is just one, there is one behaviour of light therefore there is one way of the light, those playing on the path of manyness realise the defence to One is simply a reflection of the separation and attachment to beliefs being held.

We are anchoring unity consciousness this means we hold the pattern of light, the same pattern/behaviour and whilst we experience the manifestations and the physical details differently the pattern is always the same and this is how and why we merge and begin creating super abundant realities and hold conscious relationships that are stable and ever growing, because the baseline frequency of peace has been stabilised within, the subconscious drivers are aligned which creates an incredibly harmonic Sacred Field for us to create within and share. But whilst this expansion is happening, through the physical eyes we see those not choosing, or rather choosing to stay asleep, choosing to play in the programs and beliefs of limits and lack, we see those stating, declaring love and yet its so obviously conditional as there is no availability for renewal, light unites and its open, soft and flowing, it allows all to come and go freely whilst holding the purest frequencies of respect and responsibility.

As we awaken further collectively we begin now to see how firm these human loyalties, relationships and so on have been nothing more than a crutch or an attachment and whatever the octave you surf will always be on a continuous path of purification, those surfing the spectrums of awakening move into the harmonic frequencies of rejuvenation and those refusing to choose self become a part of the presentation we see that gives us the “evidence” required in the beginning to start believing that there is something much greater happening. Of course the evidence is required at first, it is a mirror of many things, duality, attachment, separation, a whole number of pathways requiring clearing start to emerge.

As we progress through to this week’s Full Moon in Aries we are fully aware deep within of the transition or the transformation that is upon us, whilst many are in the thick of emotions there are equally many focused on the temple and what is within, completing the maintenance to hold strong in the incoming waves and therefore strengthening the grids that we hold, maintain and anchor. What makes this such a beautiful learning curve for many who choose to move consciously, and for those who take that first leap of faith there is the ability to receive the higher octave outcomes, instant manifestations, as whilst the full moon has aspects to the streams of change that Pluto shows us, the moon is now on one of its final transits to Jupiter in Sagittarius of this year, Jupiter, the whole way through has been showing us what we can do, what we can attract, what we can expand upon if we simply follow the lead, if we take the signposted road, and if we didn’t, then Jupiter kindly pointed out the massive bump on the head from headbutting the wall over and over and over again.

The moon is in opposition to Juno today which starts to show the split within, where those out there feeds are no longer providing what is required, and in the lowest of octaves we could see infidelities and folk jumping ship and those choosing to see will realise the separation and begin to feed into self all that it requires from within, you see the entire attachment program can only be fully dissolved by realising everything out there is only ever a reflection of you and the attachments you are seeking out there are simply aspects of you attempting to dissolve the separation and again this patterning is now moving through the collective and our physical world is now reflecting this back to us all, we can see the cracks getting wider, we can see the establishments shake and the house of cards is forming into a completely new design, we are anchoring and building our new world by anchoring and building within us.

Have the most magical surf angels

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afrikan-mapambano · 5 years

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George Jackson: Black Revolutionary

By Walter Rodney, November 1971 :

"To most readers in this continent, starved of authentic information by the imperialist news agencies, the name of George Jackson is either unfamiliar or just a name. The powers that be in the United States put forward the official version that George Jackson was a dangerous criminal kept in maximum security in Americas toughest jails and still capable of killing a guard at Soledad Prison. They say that he himself was killed attempting escape this year in August. Official versions given by the United States of everything from the Bay of Pigs in Cuba to the Bay of Tonkin in Vietnam have the common characteristic of standing truth on its head. George Jackson was jailed ostensibly for stealing 70 dollars. He was given a sentence of one year to life because he was black, and he was kept incarcerated for years under the most dehumanizing conditions because he discovered that blackness need not be a badge of servility but rather could be a banner for uncompromising revolutionary struggle. He was murdered because he was doing too much to pass this attitude on to fellow prisoners. George Jackson was political prisoner and a black freedom fighter. He died at the hands of the enemy.

Once it is made known that George Jackson was a black revolutionary in the white mans jails, at least one point is established, since we are familiar with the fact that a significant proportion of African nationalist leaders graduated from colonialist prisons, and right now the jails of South Africa hold captive some of the best of our brothers in that part of the continent. Furthermore, there is some considerable awareness that ever since the days of slavery the U.S.A. is nothing but a vast prison as far as African descendants are concerned. Within this prison, black life is cheap, so it should be no surprise that George Jackson was murdered by the San Quentin prison authorities who are responsible to Americas chief prison warder, Richard Nixon. What remains is to go beyond the generalities and to understand the most significant elements attaching to George Jacksons life and death.

When he was killed in August this year, George Jackson was twenty nine years of age and had spent the last fifteen [correction: 11 years] behind bars—seven of these in special isolation. As he himself put it, he was from the lumpen. He was not part of the regular producer force of workers and peasants. Being cut off from the system of production, lumpen elements in the past rarely understood the society which victimized them and were not to be counted upon to take organized revolutionary steps within capitalist society. Indeed, the very term lumpen proletariat was originally intended to convey the inferiority of this sector as compared with the authentic working class.

Yet George Jackson, like Malcolm X before him, educated himself painfully behind prison bars to the point where his clear vision of historical and contemporary reality and his ability to communicate his perspective frightened the U.S. power structure into physically liquidating him. Jacksons survival for so many years in vicious jails, his self-education, and his publication of Soledad Brother were tremendous personal achievements, and in addition they offer on interesting insight into the revolutionary potential of the black mass in the U.S.A., so many of whom have been reduced to the status of lumpen.

Under capitalism, the worker is exploited through the alienation of part of the product of his labour. For the African peasant, the exploitation is effected through manipulation of the price of the crops which he laboured to produce. Yet, work has always been rated higher than unemployment, for the obvious reason that survival depends upon the ability to obtain work. Thus, early in the history of industrialization, workers coined the slogan the right to work. Masses of black people in the U.S.A. are deprived of this basic right. At best they live in a limbo of uncertainty as casual workers, last to be hired and first to be fired. The line between the unemployed or criminals cannot be dismissed as white lumpen in capitalist Europe were usually dismissed.

The latter were considered as misfits and regular toilers served as the vanguard. The thirty-odd million black people in the U.S.A. are not misfits. They are the most oppressed and the most threatened as far as survival is concerned. The greatness of George Jackson is that he served as a dynamic spokesman for the most wretched among the oppressed, and he was in the vanguard of the most dangerous front of struggle.

Jail is hardly an arena in which one would imagine that guerrilla warfare would take place. Yet, it is on this most disadvantaged of terrains that blacks have displayed the guts to wage a war for dignity and freedom. In Soledad Brother, George Jackson movingly reveals the nature of this struggle as it has evolved over the last few years. Some of the more recent episodes in the struggle at San Quentin prison are worth recording. On February 27th this year, black and brown (Mexican) prisoners announced the formation of a Third World Coalition. This came in the wake of such organizations as a Black Panther Branch at San Quentin and the establishment of SATE (Self-Advancement Through Education). This level of mobilisation of the nonwhite prisoners was resented and feared by white guards and some racist white prisoners. The latter formed themselves into a self-declared Nazi group, and months of violent incidents followed. Needless to say, with white authority on the side of the Nazis, Afro and Mexican brothers had a very hard time. George Jackson is not the only casualty on the side of the blacks. But their unity was maintained, and a majority of white prisoners either refused to support the Nazis or denounced them. So, even within prison walls the first principle to be observed was unity in struggle. Once the most oppressed had taken the initiative, then they could win allies.

The struggle within the jails is having wider and wider repercussions every day.

Firstly, it is creating true revolutionary cadres out of more and more lumpen. This is particularly true in the jails of California, but the movement is making its impact felt everywhere from Baltimore to Texas. Brothers inside are writing poetry, essays and letters which strip white capitalist America naked. Like the Soledad Brothers, they have come to learn that sociology books call us antisocial and brand us criminals, when actually the criminals are in the social register. The names of those who rule America are all in the social register.

Secondly, it is solidifying the black community in a remarkable way. Petty bourgeois blacks also feel threatened by the manic police, judges and prison officers. Black intellectuals who used to be completely alienated from any form of struggle except their personal hustle now recognize the need to ally with and take their bearings from the street forces of the black unemployed, ghetto dwellers and prison inmates.

Thirdly, the courage of black prisoners has elicited a response from white America. The small band of white revolutionaries has taken a positive stand. The Weathermen decried Jacksons murder by placing a few bombs in given places and the Communist Party supported the demand by the black prisoners and the Black Panther Party that the murder was to be investigated. On a more general note, white liberal America has been disturbed. The white liberals never like to be told that white capitalist society is too rotten to be reformed. Even the established capitalist press has come out with esposes of prison conditions, and the fascist massacres of black prisoners at Attica prison recently brought Senator Muskie out with a cry of enough.

Fourthly (and for our purposes most significantly) the efforts of black prisoners and blacks in America as a whole have had international repercussions. The framed charges brought against Black Panther leaders and against Angela Davis have been denounced in many parts of the world. Committees of defense and solidarity have been formed in places as far as Havana and Leipzig. OPAAL declared August 18th as the day of international solidarity with Afro-Americans; and significantly most of their propaganda for this purpose ended with a call to Free All Political Prisoners.

For more than a decade now, peoples liberation movements in Vietnam, Cuba, Southern Africa, etc., have held conversations with militants and progressives in the U.S.A. pointing to the duality and respective responsibilities of struggle within the imperialist camp. The revolution in the exploited colonies and neo-colonies has as its objective the expulsion of the imperialists: the revolution in the metropolis is to transform the capitalist relations of production in the countries of their origin. Since the U.S.A. is the overlord of world imperialism, it has been common to portray any progressive movement there as operating within the belly of the beast. Inside an isolation block in Soledad or San Quentin prisons, this was not merely a figurative expression. George Jackson knew well what it meant to seek for heightened socialist and humanist consciousness inside the belly of the white imperialist beast.

International solidarity grows out of struggle in different localities.This is the truth so profoundly and simply expressed by Che Guevara when he called for the creation of one, two, three - many Vietnams. It has long been recognized that the white working class in the U.S.A is historically incapable of participating (as a class) in anti-imperialist struggle. White racism and Americas leading role in world imperialism transformed organized labour in the U.S. into a reactionary force. Conversely, the black struggle is internationally significant because it unmasks the barbarous social relations of capitalism and places the enemy on the defensive on his own home ground. This is amply illustrated in the political process which involved the three Soledad Brothers—George Jackson, Fleeta Drumgo and John Clutchette—as well as Angela Davis and a host of other blacks now behind prison bars in the U.S.A."

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vladimir-nabokov-official · 6 years

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I’m forty-two now; therefore I was a young woman during the 1960s. There is a tendency to underplay, even to completely devalue, the experience of the 1960s, especially for women, but towards the end of that decade there was a brief period of public philosophical awareness that occurs only very occasionally in human history; when, truly, it felt like Year One, that all that was holy was in the process of being profaned and we were attempting to grapple with the real relations between human beings. So writers like Marcuse and Adorno were as much part of my personal process of maturing into feminism as experiments with my sexual, and emotional life and with various intellectual adventures in anarcho-surrealism. Furthermore, at a very unpretentious level, we were truly asking ourselves questions about the nature of reality. Most of us may not have come up with very startling answers and some of us scared ourselves good and proper and retreated into culs-de-sac of infantile mysticism; false prophets, loonies and charlatans freely roamed the streets. But even so, I can date to that time and to some of those debates and to that sense of heightened awareness of the society around me in the summer of 1968, my own questioning of the nature of my reality as a woman. How that social fiction of my ‘femininity’ was created, by means outside my control, and palmed off on me as the real thing.This investigation of the social fictions that regulate our lives – what Blake called the “mind forg’d manacles” – is what I’ve concerned myself with consciously since that time. (I realise, now, I must always have sensed that something was badly wrong with the versions of reality I was offered that took certain aspects of my being as a woman for granted. I smelled the rat in D. H. Lawrence pretty damn quick.) This is also the product of an absolute and committed materialism – i.e., that this world is all that there is, and in order to question the nature of reality one must move from a strongly grounded base in what constitutes material reality. Therefore I become mildly irritated (I'm sorry!) when people, as they sometimes do, ask me about the ‘mythic quality’ of work I’ve written lately. Because I believe that all myths are products of the human mind and reflect only aspects of material human practice. I’m in the demythologising business.I’m interested in myths – though I’m much more interested in folklore – just because they are extraordinary lies designed to make people unfree. (Whereas, in fact, folklore is a much more straightforward set of devices for making real life more exciting and is much easier to infiltrate with different kinds of consciousness.) I wrote one anti-mythic novel in 1977, The Passion of New Eve – I conceived it as a feminist tract about the social creation of femininity, amongst other things – and relaxed into folklore with a book of stories about fairy stories, The Bloody Chamber, in 1979. It turned out to be easier to deal with the shifting structures of reality and sexuality by using sets of shifting structures derived from orally transmitted traditional tales. Before that, I used bits and pieces from various mythologies quite casually, because they were to hand.

Angela Carter, ‘Notes from the Frontline’ from Shaking a Leg: Collected Journalism and Writings (p. 46-7)

#she's the best #angela Carter #shaking a leg

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element-effect-blog · 5 years

Text

Burnout: Why Overlooking it Was an Error & What I Did (Too Late) [MarketHer Ep. 58]

Burnout: a state of psychological, physical, and psychological fatigue triggered by excessive and prolonged stress. It occurs when you feel overloaded, emotionally drained pipes, and unable to fulfill consistent needs.

And after a little research, I discovered that while this term was actually created by American psychologist Herbert Freudenberger in 1974, only just recently has it has really been acknowledged as a medical syndrome.The surge of details and articles about burnout have been taking off across numerous industries and all over the digital space. A quick Google Search programs how

many results outcomes up and how frequently often publications are talking about this: Burnout is something that I was feeling, and feeling

hard, these past couple of weeks. As a perfectionist, I understood burnout was affecting me however I kept trying to press the feelings and the symptoms away. I kept believing and/or saying,"I can take on that task "and "Naturally, I'll go to that meeting. Toss time on my calendar" and "If I just push a little harder after hours, I'll be in a much better area to manage unexpected fires next week. "I overlooked the nagging pit in my stomach, the fake weight that I literally felt on my shoulders, and the fact that I was losing sleep at night by thinking,"What did I forget to do today?"I acknowledged it, thought I could beat it, and I kept pressing through to the point where it was impacting every waking minute and after that even a few of my asleep minutes as work would slip into my dreams. Much behind I must've, I understood I needed to do something about it. I talked with my manager about needing some time off and not only did he motivate me to take a vacation and book a trip somewhere however also to totally disconnect from work. I debated for a while on whether I need to (that pesky perfectionist state of mind sneaking in)however he was right, I needed to take time away from my computer . Then I scheduled a vacation in Las Vegas and chose that I would totally and totally shut down from work, something I have actually never ever done prior to. Heck, when I was in Turkey last year, I went back to my hotel room, hopped on Zoom, and helped launch a client site. Not this time. While it was somewhat uncomfortable to do so, I shut off all notices for Gmail( individual and work), Basecamp, and Slack and went off

the grid.

How did I know I was past this burnout breaking point? I took a while prior to my recent Las Vegas trip to make a note of how I was feeling, in the minute

, for this post and after that, today, I developed a video to show how I'm feeling now after I took unplugged time away. Pre-Vegas Journey: I'll be sincere, it is difficult for me to be ... well, truthful, however, MarketHers, I informed myself that when I became co-host of this video

podcast, I 'd never ever be phony with you out of fear, so here we go.I have actually constantly put a lot of pressure on myself to be ideal and to never screw up but despite the fact that I have actually recognized that, I've never ever experienced what I'm experiencing now. It's odd to describe however I truly, genuinely feel as though I have actually had a relentless stomach pains and I have actually been bring a heavy weight on my shoulders. I'm not exactly sure if this sensation of being weighed down is what's occurring because that's the location of my body where I bring tension however I feel as though

I have actually been run through the wringer. Not only am I experiencing the physical but I have actually discovered that I'm likewise on-edge and acting out in ways that differ from my normal self. I don't have a ton of persistence with anyone , I've snapped at (and after that needed to say sorry )to co-workers when I feel as though my Slack messages didn't come out rather right, and I've laid in bed

, awake for hours feeling distressed about what the next day would bring. Normally, I wouldn't shy away from challenges or the unidentified the next day would bring but I saw that I wasn't striking the ground running-- I was taking a rear seat in meetings and in my tasks. I think I feel that method since I understand that when I'm this on-edge, little things seem like HUGE things so I didn't wish to risk prominent tasks since I understood that if something failed, it would affect me more than usual. I tried to safeguard my peace of mind and my mental state rather than being the leader I am. And work wasn't the only place where burnout is getting the very best of me. I'm taking it house with me ... After I closed my laptop for the night, I 'd drag myself to the sofa instead of taking on cleansing or doing laundry. I'm drained pipes, exhausted, and down on myself much more than I feel as though burnout is triggering me to not

be as sharp at work. UGH. Post-Trip: Tips to Avoid Burnout Before it Gets Too Bad: Turn off when you need to switch off. That might imply closing down at 5pm every night for a week. It might indicate switching off your Slack, Basecamp, and/or Mail notices every weekend or it could suggest simply taking an afternoon

off if you require it.

By listening to your body and your head, you can ideally

acknowledge when it's time to step away and after that do it. Simply switch off. Seriously. Lean on your team to chip in and assist out if you do require a long time away. This can be as basic as establishing 5-10 minutes with a few relied on associates and asking to respond or jump in if a client has an immediate problem or, if a job definitely needs to get completed while you're out, ask if they can help cover it

and after that interact, on that call, to determine how you can repay the favor. THIS IS HUGE: Taking some time for yourself and far from my 9-5 does not mean that you can't handle your task. It implies that you've been managing it for too long without taking time on your own to recharge and regroup. Everyone needs time on their own and for their sanity that doesn't include the day to day tension of customers, or method, or anything else the

business world can throw at them. At the end of the day, I realized that the burnout I was sensation was induced by myself. It wasn't that I worked too difficult due to the fact that of EFFECT, however it remains in fact, my own drive that pressed me to the brink of burnout, and it's my duty to recognize when I need to decrease. I make certain the majority of us can agree we do this to ourselves because we do not find ways to manage our own time, or we say yes too lots of times, or we are overthinking everything.To me

, it comes back to the reality that we need to return in-touch with ourselves, our bodies, and how

we're feeling and then trust in that. Put in the time and step away before burnout gets the very best of you. We hope you discovered this post as insightful as we did and if you have feedback or comments, please follow us on social and share! Again, if you have a passion for this topic, please total this kind for the chance to be a part of this season and our show! Join us in our Facebook MarketHer Group to continue discussing opportunity! As constantly, if you have some tips, email us [email protected]!.?.!. We will share it on our Facebook page!.?

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Listen to the Episode on iTunes Stay Connected, Get Engaged! Subscribe to MarketHer on iTunes. Second, have a question or a concept for a future episode of the podcast? Let us know by commenting below, register for our playlist on YouTube, connect with us directly on our channels below, or send us an e-mail. Angela: LinkedIn, Twitter, Instagram Kate: LinkedIn, Twitter

, Instagram [NEW] MarketHer Authorities: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter(also Snapchat IMPACTMarketHer)Or, you can leave

us a comment below!Until next week ... We Listened, You Heard, Now, Go MarketHER!

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Skill Share Pre-Reading: Why Misogynists Make Great Informants: How Gender Violence on the Left Enables State Violence in Radical Movements

(PDF version) misogynist informants

Why Misogynists Make Great Informants: How Gender Violence on the Left Enables State Violence in Radical Movements

Some people may have seen this article already, which has been making its rounds on Facebook and the blogosphere, but INCITE! blog editors loved it so much that we wanted to share it here. The piece was originally published in make/shift magazine’s Spring/Summer 2010 issue and written by Courtney Desiree Morris.

In January 2009, activists in Austin, Texas, learned that one of their own, a white activist named Brandon Darby, had infiltrated groups protesting the Republican National Convention (RNC) as an FBI informant. Darby later admitted to wearing recording devices at planning meetings and during the convention. He testified on behalf of the government in the February 2009 trial of two Texas activists who were arrested at the RNC on charges of making and possessing Molotov cocktails, after Darby encouraged them to do so. The two young men, David McKay and Bradley Crowder, each faced up to fifteen years in prison. Crowder accepted a plea bargain to serve three years in a federal prison; under pressure from federal prosecutors, McKay also pled guilty to being in possession of “unregistered Molotov cocktails” and was sentenced to four years in prison. Information gathered by Darby may also have contributed to the case against the RNC 8, activists from around the country charged with “conspiracy to riot and conspiracy to damage property in the furtherance of terrorism.” Austin activists were particularly stunned by the revelation that Darby had served as an informant because he had been a part of various leftist projects and was a leader at Common Ground Relief, a New Orleans–based organization committed to meeting the short-term needs of community members displaced by natural disasters in the Gulf Coast region and dedicated to rebuilding the region and ensuring Katrina evacuees’ right to return.

I was surprised but not shocked by this news. I had learned as an undergrad at the University of Texas that the campus police department routinely placed plainclothes police officers in the meetings of radical student groups—you know, just to keep an eye on them. That was in fall 2001. We saw the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, watched a cowboy president wage war on terror, and, in the middle of it all, tried to figure out what we could do to challenge the fascist state transformations taking place before our eyes. At the time, however, it seemed silly that there were cops in our meetings—we weren’t the Panthers or the Brown Berets or even some of the rowdier direct-action anti-globalization activists on campus (although we admired them all); we were just young people who didn’t believe war was the best response to the 9/11 attacks. But it wasn’t silly; the FBI does not dismiss political work. Any organization, be it large or small, can provoke the scrutiny of the state. Perhaps your organization poses a large threat, or maybe you’re small now but one day you’ll grow up and be too big to rein in. The state usually opts to kill the movement before it grows.

And informants and provocateurs are the state’s hired gunmen. Government agencies pick people that no one will notice. Often it’s impossible to prove that they’re informants because they appear to be completely dedicated to social justice. They establish intimate relationships with activists, becoming friends and lovers, often serving in leadership roles in organizations. A cursory reading of the literature on social movements and organizations in the 1960s and 1970s reveals this fact. The leadership of the American Indian Movement was rife with informants; it is suspected that informants were also largely responsible for the downfall of the Black Panther Party, and the same can be surmised about the antiwar movement of the 1960s and 1970s. Not surprisingly, these movements that were toppled by informants and provocateurs were also sites where women and queer activists often experienced intense gender violence, as the autobiographies of activists such as Assata Shakur, Elaine Brown, and Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz demonstrate.

Maybe it isn’t that informants are difficult to spot but rather that we have collectively ignored the signs that give them away. To save our movements, we need to come to terms with the connections between gender violence, male privilege, and the strategies that informants (and people who just act like them) use to destabilize radical movements. Time and again heterosexual men in radical movements have been allowed to assert their privilege and subordinate others. Despite all that we say to the contrary, the fact is that radical social movements and organizations in the United States have refused to seriously address gender violence [1] as a threat to the survival of our struggles. We’ve treated misogyny, homophobia, and heterosexism as lesser evils—secondary issues—that will eventually take care of themselves or fade into the background once the “real” issues—racism, the police, class inequality, U.S. wars of aggression—are resolved. There are serious consequences for choosing ignorance. Misogyny and homophobia are central to the reproduction of violence in radical activist communities. Scratch a misogynist and you’ll find a homophobe. Scratch a little deeper and you might find the makings of a future informant (or someone who just destabilizes movements like informants do).

The Makings of an Informant: Brandon Darby and Common Ground

On Democracy Now! Malik Rahim, former Black Panther and cofounder of Common Ground in New Orleans, spoke about how devastated he was by Darby’s revelation that he was an FBI informant. Several times he stated that his heart had been broken. He especially lamented all of the “young ladies” who left Common Ground as a result of Darby’s domineering, aggressive style of organizing. And when those “young ladies” complained? Well, their concerns likely fell on sympathetic but ultimately unresponsive ears—everything may have been true, and after the fact everyone admits how disruptive Darby was, quick to suggest violent, ill-conceived direct-action schemes that endangered everyone he worked with. There were even claims of Darby sexually assaulting female organizers at Common Ground and in general being dismissive of women working in the organization. [2] Darby created conflict in all of the organizations he worked with, yet people were hesitant to hold him accountable because of his history and reputation as an organizer and his “dedication” to “the work.” People continued to defend him until he outed himself as an FBI informant. Even Rahim, for all of his guilt and angst, chose to leave Darby in charge of Common Ground although every time there was conflict in the organization it seemed to involve Darby.

Maybe if organizers made collective accountability around gender violence a central part of our practices we could neutralize people who are working on behalf of the state to undermine our struggles. I’m not talking about witch hunts; I’m talking about organizing in such a way that we nip a potential Brandon Darby in the bud before he can hurt more people. Informants are hard to spot, but my guess is that where there is smoke there is fire, and someone who creates chaos wherever he goes is either an informant or an irresponsible, unaccountable time bomb who can be unintentionally as effective at undermining social-justice organizing as an informant. Ultimately they both do the work of the state and need to be held accountable. A Brief Historical Reflection on Gender Violence in Radical Movements

Reflecting on the radical organizations and social movements of the 1960s and 1970s provides an important historical context for this discussion. Memoirs by women who were actively involved in these struggles reveal the pervasiveness of tolerance (and in some cases advocacy) of gender violence. Angela Davis, Assata Shakur, and Elaine Brown, each at different points in their experiences organizing with the Black Panther Party (BPP), cited sexism and the exploitation of women (and their organizing labor) in the BPP as one of their primary reasons for either leaving the group (in the cases of Brown and Shakur) or refusing to ever formally join (in Davis’s case). Although women were often expected to make significant personal sacrifices to support the movement, when women found themselves victimized by male comrades there was no support for them or channels to seek redress. Whether it was BPP organizers ignoring the fact that Eldridge Cleaver beat his wife, noted activist Kathleen Cleaver, men coercing women into sex, or just men treating women organizers as subordinated sexual playthings, the BPP and similar organizations tended not to take seriously the corrosive effects of gender violence on liberation struggle. In many ways, Elaine Brown’s autobiography, A Taste of Power: A Black Woman’s Story, has gone the furthest in laying bare the ugly realities of misogyny in the movement and the various ways in which both men and women reproduced and reinforced male privilege and gender violence in these organizations. Her experience as the only woman to ever lead the BPP did not exempt her from the brutal misogyny of the organization. She recounts being assaulted by various male comrades (including Huey Newton) as well as being beaten and terrorized by Eldridge Cleaver, who threatened to “bury her in Algeria” during a delegation to China. Her biography demonstrates more explicitly than either Davis’s or Shakur’s how the masculinist posturing of the BPP (and by extension many radical organizations at the time) created a culture of violence and misogyny that ultimately proved to be the organization’s undoing.

These narratives demystify the legacy of gender violence of the very organizations that many of us look up to. They demonstrate how misogyny was normalized in these spaces, dismissed as “personal” or not as important as the more serious struggles against racism or class inequality. Gender violence has historically been deeply entrenched in the political practices of the Left and constituted one of the greatest (if largely unacknowledged) threats to the survival of these organizations. However, if we pay attention to the work of Davis, Shakur, Brown, and others, we can avoid the mistakes of the past and create different kinds of political community. The Racial Politics of Gender Violence

Race further complicates the ways in which gender violence unfolds in our communities. In “Looking for Common Ground: Relief Work in Post-Katrina New Orleans as an American Parable of Race and Gender Violence,” Rachel Luft explores the disturbing pattern of sexual assault against white female volunteers by white male volunteers doing rebuilding work in the Upper Ninth Ward in 2006. She points out how Common Ground failed to address white men’s assaults on their co-organizers and instead shifted the blame to the surrounding Black community, warning white women activists that they needed to be careful because New Orleans was a dangerous place. Ultimately it proved easier to criminalize Black men from the neighborhood than to acknowledge that white women and transgender organizers were most likely to be assaulted by white men they worked with. In one case, a white male volunteer was turned over to the police only after he sexually assaulted at least three women in one week. The privilege that white men enjoyed in Common Ground, an organization ostensibly committed to racial justice, meant that they could be violent toward women and queer activists, enact destructive behaviors that undermined the organization’s work, and know that the movement would not hold them accountable in the same way that it did Black men in the community where they worked.

Of course, male privilege is not uniform—white men and men of color are unequal participants in and beneficiaries of patriarchy although they both can and do reproduce gender violence. This disparity in the distribution of patriarchy’s benefits is not lost on women and queer organizers when we attempt to confront men of color who enact gender violence in our communities. We often worry about reproducing particular kinds of racist violence that disproportionately target men of color. We are understandably loath to call the police, involve the state in any way, or place men of color at the mercy of a historically racist criminal (in)justice system; yet our communities (political and otherwise) often do not step up to demand justice on our behalf. We don’t feel comfortable talking to therapists who just reaffirm stereotypes about how fucked-up and exceptionally violent our home communities are. The Left often offers even less support. Our victimization is unfortunate, problematic, but ultimately less important to “the work” than the men of all races who reproduce gender violence in our communities.

Encountering Misogyny on the Left: A Personal Reflection

In the first community group I was actively involved in, I encountered a level of misogyny that I would never have imagined existed in what was supposed to be a radical-people-of-color organization. I was sexually/romantically involved with an older Chicano activist in the group. I was nineteen, an inexperienced young Black activist; he was thirty. He asked me to keep our relationship a secret, and I reluctantly agreed. Later, after he ended the relationship and I was reeling from depression, I discovered that he had been sleeping with at least two other women while we were together. One of them was a friend of mine, another young woman we organized with. Unaware of the nature of our relationship, which he had failed to disclose to her, she slept with him until he disappeared, refusing to answer her calls or explain the abrupt end of their relationship. She and I, after sharing our experiences, began to trade stories with other women who knew and had organized with this man.

We heard of the women who had left a Chicana/o student group and never came back after his lies and secrets blew up while the group was participating in a Zapatista action in Mexico City. The queer, radical, white organizer who left Austin to get away from his abuse. Another white woman, a social worker who thought they might get married only to come to his apartment one evening and find me there. And then there were the ones that came after me. I always wondered if they knew who he really was. The women he dated were amazing, beautiful, kick-ass, radical women that he used as shields to get himself into places he knew would never be open to such a misogynist. I mean, if that cool woman who worked in Chiapas, spoke Spanish, and worked with undocumented immigrants was dating him, he must be down, right? Wrong.

But his misogyny didn’t end there; it was also reflected in his style of organizing. In meetings he always spoke the loudest and longest, using academic jargon that made any discussion excruciatingly more complex than necessary. The academic-speak intimidated people less educated than him because he seemed to know more about radical politics than anyone else. He would talk down to other men in the group, especially those he perceived to be less intelligent than him, which was basically everybody. Then he’d switch gears, apologize for dominating the space, and acknowledge his need to check his male privilege. Ironically, when people did attempt to call him out on his shit, he would feign ignorance—what could they mean, saying that his behavior was masculinist and sexist? He’d complain of being infantilized, refusing to see how he infantilized people all the time. The fact that he was a man of color who could talk a good game about racism and racial-justice struggles masked his abusive behaviors in both radical organizations and his personal relationships. As one of his former partners shared with me, “His radical race analysis allowed people (mostly men but occasionally women as well) to forgive him for being dominating and abusive in his relationships. Womyn had to check their critique of his behavior at the door, lest we lose a man of color in the movement.” One of the reasons it is so difficult to hold men of color accountable for reproducing gender violence is that women of color and white activists continue to be invested in the idea that men of color have it harder than anyone else. How do you hold someone accountable when you believe he is target number one for the state?

Unfortunately he wasn’t the only man like this I encountered in radical spaces—just one of the smarter ones. Reviewing old e-mails, I am shocked at the number of e-mails from men I organized with that were abusive in tone and content, how easily they would talk down to others for minor mistakes. I am more surprised at my meek, diplomatic responses—like an abuse survivor—as I attempted to placate compañeros who saw nothing wrong with yelling at their partners, friends, and other organizers. There were men like this in various organizations I worked with. The one who called his girlfriend a bitch in front of a group of youth of color during a summer encuentro we were hosting. The one who sexually harassed a queer Chicana couple during a trip to México, trying to pressure them into a threesome. The guys who said they would complete a task, didn’t do it, brushed off their compañeras’ demands for accountability, let those women take over the task, and when it was finished took all the credit for someone else’s hard work. The graduate student who hit his partner—and everyone knew he’d done it, but whenever anyone asked, people would just look ashamed and embarrassed and mumble, “It’s complicated.” The ones who constantly demeaned queer folks, even people they organized with. Especially the one who thought it would be a revolutionary act to “kill all these faggots, these niggas on the down low, who are fucking up our children, fucking up our homes, fucking up our world, and fucking up our lives!” The one who would shout you down in a meeting or tell you that you couldn’t be a feminist because you were too pretty. Or the one who thought homosexuality was a disease from Europe.

Yeah, that guy.

Most of those guys probably weren’t informants. Which is a pity because it means they are not getting paid a dime for all the destructive work they do. We might think of these misogynists as inadvertent agents of the state. Regardless of whether they are actually informants or not, the work that they do supports the state’s ongoing campaign of terror against social movements and the people who create them. When queer organizers are humiliated and their political struggles sidelined, that is part of an ongoing state project of violence against radicals. When women are knowingly given STIs, physically abused, dismissed in meetings, pushed aside, and forced out of radical organizing spaces while our allies defend known misogynists, organizers collude in the state’s efforts to destroy us.

The state has already understood a fact that the Left has struggled to accept: misogynists make great informants. Before or regardless of whether they are ever recruited by the state to disrupt a movement or destabilize an organization, they’ve likely become well versed in practices of disruptive behavior. They require almost no training and can start the work immediately. What’s more paralyzing to our work than when women and/or queer folks leave our movements because they have been repeatedly lied to, humiliated, physically/verbally/emotionally/sexually abused? Or when you have to postpone conversations about the work so that you can devote group meetings to addressing an individual member’s most recent offense? Or when that person spreads misinformation, creating confusion and friction among radical groups? Nothing slows down movement building like a misogynist.

What the FBI gets is that when there are people in activist spaces who are committed to taking power and who understand power as domination, our movements will never realize their potential to remake this world. If our energies are absorbed recuperating from the messes that informants (and people who just act like them) create, we will never be able to focus on the real work of getting free and building the kinds of life-affirming, people-centered communities that we want to live in. To paraphrase bell hooks, where there is a will to dominate there can be no justice, because we will inevitably continue reproducing the same kinds of injustice we claim to be struggling against. It is time for our movements to undergo a radical change from the inside out. Looking Forward: Creating Gender Justice in our Movements

Radical movements cannot afford the destruction that gender violence creates. If we underestimate the political implications of patriarchal behaviors in our communities, the work will not survive.

Lately I’ve been turning to the work of queers/feminists of color to think through how to challenge these behaviors in our movements. I’ve been reading the autobiographies of women who lived through the chaos of social movements debilitated by machismo. I’m revisiting the work of bell hooks, Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, Toni Cade Bambara, Alice Walker, Audre Lorde, Gioconda Belli, Margaret Randall, Elaine Brown, Pearl Cleage, Ntozake Shange, and Gloria Anzaldúa to see how other women negotiated gender violence in these spaces and to problematize neat or easy answers about how violence is reproduced in our communities. Newer work by radical feminists of color has also been incredibly helpful, especially the zine Revolution Starts at Home: Confronting Partner Abuse in Activist Communities, edited by Ching-In Chen, Dulani, and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha.

But there are many resources for confronting this dilemma beyond books. The simple act of speaking and sharing our truths is one of the most powerful tools we have. I’ve been speaking to my elders, older women of color in struggle who have experienced the things I’m struggling against, and swapping survival stories with other women. In summer 2008 I began doing workshops on ending misogyny and building collective forms of accountability with Cristina Tzintzún, an Austin-based labor organizer and author of the essay “Killing Misogyny: A Personal Story of Love, Violence, and Strategies for Survival.” We have also begun the even more liberating practice of naming our experiences publicly and calling on our communities to address what we and so many others have experienced.

Dismantling misogyny cannot be work that only women do. We all must do the work because the survival of our movements depends on it. Until we make radical feminist and queer political ethics that directly challenge heteropatriarchal forms of organizing central to our political practice, radical movements will continue to be devastated by the antics of Brandon Darbys (and folks who aren’t informants but just act like them). A queer, radical, feminist ethic of accountability would challenge us to recognize how gender violence is reproduced in our communities, relationships, and organizing practices. Although there are many ways to do this, I want to suggest that there are three key steps that we can take to begin. First, we must support women and queer people in our movements who have experienced interpersonal violence and engage in a collective process of healing. Second, we must initiate a collective dialogue about how we want our communities to look and how to make them safe for everyone. Third, we must develop a model for collective accountability that truly treats the personal as political and helps us to begin practicing justice in our communities. When we allow women/queer organizers to leave activist spaces and protect people whose violence provoked their departure, we are saying we value these de facto state agents who disrupt the work more than we value people whose labor builds and sustains movements.

As angry as gender violence on the Left makes me, I am hopeful. I believe we have the capacity to change and create more justice in our movements. We don’t have to start witch hunts to reveal misogynists and informants. They out themselves every time they refuse to apologize, take ownership of their actions, start conflicts and refuse to work them out through consensus, mistreat their compañer@s. We don’t have to look for them, but when we are presented with their destructive behaviors we have to hold them accountable. Our strategies don’t have to be punitive; people are entitled to their mistakes. But we should expect that people will own those actions and not allow them to become a pattern.

We have a right to be angry when the communities we build that are supposed to be the model for a better, more just world harbor the same kinds of antiqueer, antiwoman, racist violence that pervades society. As radical organizers we must hold each other accountable and not enable misogynists to assert so much power in these spaces. Not allow them to be the faces, voices, and leaders of these movements. Not allow them to rape a compañera and then be on the fucking five o’ clock news. In Brandon Darby’s case, even if no one suspected he was an informant, his domineering and macho behavior should have been all that was needed to call his leadership into question. By not allowing misogyny to take root in our communities and movements, we not only protect ourselves from the efforts of the state to destroy our work but also create stronger movements that cannot be destroyed from within.

[1] I use the term gender violence to refer to the ways in which homophobia and misogyny are rooted in heteronormative understandings of gender identity and gender roles. Heterosexism not only polices non-normative sexualities but also reproduces normative gender roles and identities that reinforce the logic of patriarchy and male privilege.

[2] I learned this from informal conversations with women who had organized with Darby in Austin and New Orleans while participating in the Austin Informants Working Group, which was formed by people who had worked with Darby and were stunned by his revelation that he was an FBI informant.

Article published courtesy of make/shift magazine and Courtney Desiree Morris. For more of the author’s work visit: http://creolemaroon.blogspot.com/.

Skill Share Pre-Reading: Why Misogynists Make Great Informants: How Gender Violence on the Left Enables State Violence in Radical Movements was originally published on Greater Kansas City IWW

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