#Uruguay tied
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all the teams I was rooting for fucked up today 👍👍
#futebolposting#Uruguay tied#Brazil tied#Paraguay fucking lost#Peru lost to fucking CHILE#fuck football#rena ramblings
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QUE CALOR DEL ORTOOOOOO hace dos segundos salí a la calle y ya estoy chorreando LPMQLP odio este clima del ojete
#but Gabriel weren't you complaining abt how cold it was less than a week ago???#yes thats Uruguay pa ti
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Sitios de Targeted Individuals en todo el mundo.
#targeted individuals#armas psicotronicas#linkrecargado#uruguay#mkultra#gonzalo estevez#ti#5g#luis lacalle pou
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youtube
Song For You
Once again I came back
Old roads, old ways I used to be
Once again your silence takes me with you,
Song for you.
How distant is the world I once knew
How distant the path we have undone
Searching for life, song for you.
To come back through the years,
To live them again,
To feel the tenderness that is in you.
They turn to dawns for me, thinking of returning
Song for you
They turn into memories for me, of nights spent without a future.
How distant...
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also italy losing to argentina literally just proves that south america is the best continent. prove me wrong i dare you
#finalissima#argentina nt#italy nt#south america is literally the best dont @ me#like brazil uruguay and argentina have all won at least 2 wc#thats like 9wc together#also asia and africa are tied for second best
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𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐙚 ⌜ 𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐒: 3some, swann!namoradinho, enzo!fotógrafo, fetiche por foto como chama não sei, bebida alcoólica, cigarro (não fumem!), dirty talk (elogios, dumbification e degradação tudo junto) oral e masturbação fem, tapinhas, masturbação masc, sexo sem proteção (proibido entre as sócias desse blog). Termos em francês ou espanhol — petit poète (pequeno poeta), merci (obrigada), pour la muse (para a musa), Sé que más tarde suplicarás por mí, nena, tan lejos que tu gringo no oye (sei que vai implorar por mim mais tarde, nena, tão longe que o seu gringo não ouve), Eres una perra, lo sé (você é uma cadela, eu sei)⁞ ♡ ̆̈ ꒰ 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑨 ꒱ colidindo dois mundos diferentes das girls ─ Ꮺ !
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
⠀⠀
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ───── 𓍢ִ໋🀦
VOCÊ NUNCA DUVIDOU DO TALENTO DE ENZO nem por um segundo. Aqui, finalmente apreciando a exposição, seus olhos se enchem ao ver o resultado de tantas horas frente às lentes dele naquele estúdio. Se vê maravilhada com a perspectiva artística do uruguaio, na forma sensível com que te captou. Os seus pezinhos no chão de madeira do apartamento dele. Os seus joelhos manchados de tinta esgueirando por baixo da barra do vestido. O seu olhar perdido, sentada na otomana vintage ao piano, os fios de cabelo bagunçados, na sala da sua casa mesmo. É de uma satisfação enorme se enxergar pelos olhos dele quando a visão é fascinante o suficiente pra beijar o seu ego. É como ler poesia, e não ser o poeta enfim, mas o poema.
“Para o nosso petit poète!”, Swann saúda, servindo a taça do Vogrincic. Champanhe escorre pela garrafa de marca chique, recém-aberta. Já é a segunda rodada de espumante e comemorações, se contar o festejo de taças e elogios cordiais durante a exibição mais cedo. Agora, um pouco mais intimista, só vocês três no conforto da decoração boho maximalista da casa. Merci, Enzo arrisca na língua local, espalmando a mão no peito, por cima da camisa social, e com aquele olhar agradecido. “Pour la muse”, Swann te serve, com um sorriso, e você faz charme, balançando os ombros.
A garrafa retorna para o balde com gelo. O francês puxa do bolso do blazer o maço de cigarro e saca um, guardando o resto. Risca o isqueiro, acende. Depois do primeiro trago, prossegue, “Foi um sucesso. Definitivamente.”, embora o artista latino pareça mais humilde. “Amanhã você vai estar no Le Monde, no Le Parisien, todos os jornais… Todos aqueles críticos de nariz empinadinho pareciam maravilhados.”
Enzo faz que não, com certeza ainda incrédulo após um dia inteirinho nas nuvens. “Obrigada pela oportunidade, é a minha primeira exposição assim, numa galeria fora do Uruguai”, explica, “e mostrar o meu trabalho junto com artistas incríveis é… Uma honra. De verdade.”, os olhinhos castanhos brilham.
Swann não quer levar as flores sozinho, te oferece um olhar de canto de olho, “Tem é que agradecer a ela”, lembra, “está apaixonada pelas suas lentes.”
O uruguaio te mira com doçura, “claro”, diz. Pega na sua mão, trazendo à meia altura, “não poderia deixar de agradecer à minha musa”, e beija, “a maior arte dessa noite era você, nena.”
Você se exibe mais diante o elogio, pomposa. Já sente as bochechas queimando de tanto sorrisos fáceis, tanto regozijo, mas mantém a pose de diva, o que não falha em fazê-los rir. “Sempre quis ser musa”, conta, ajeitando os cabelos, de queixo erguido, “quando eu conheci o Swann, ele já estava trabalhando na galeria, não pintava mais”, os beicinhos crispam, numa adorável tristeza teatral, “ainda bem que a sua câmera me encontrou, Enzo.”
“Impossível não te encontrar quando se destaca tanto”, o tom dele se torna ainda mais terno, “não precisei de muito esforço, só tive olhos pra ti desde o começo”. Leva a taça à boca, prova um gole, “Acho que morreria de ciúmes se você fosse minha”, os dedos correm pelos lábios recolhendo a umidade, enquanto os olhos retornam para a figura grisalha no ambiente.
Não, ele não sente ciúmes, é você que rebate primeiro, com bom humor, ele é francês. Swann ri, sopra a fumaça na direção do quintal, a porta de vidro aberta. Descansa o braço nos seus ombros, “E não posso ser tão egoísta ao ponto de ficar com uma obra-prima dessa só pra mim, não é?”
Você toma nos dedos o cigarro da boca dele, oui, mon amour, e traga. Enzo te observa puxando a fumaça, o seu batom vermelho marcando o pito. Nota, também, a maneira com que o Arlaud te contempla — os olhos azuis banhados a afeto, cintilantes. Tão rendido, tão vassalo. Não o julga, entretanto. Enquanto te eternizava nas imagens, com certeza deve ter te mirado com a mesma significância.
“Não acha, Enzo?”, o eco da voz caramelada do outro homem desperta o fotógrafo, ao que murmura hm?, molhando a garganta mais uma vez para escutá-lo. “Quer dizer, olha só pra ela… me apaixonei na primeira vez em que a vi”, Swann confessa. Vai chegando com o rosto mais perto de ti, revelando, “...tão bonita, saindo do mar. Pele salgada. Parecia o nascimento de Vênus, ali na minha frente”, até recostar a ponta do nariz na sua bochecha, rindo quando você ri também, vaidosa. “Não dá vontade de beijá-la?”, a pergunta tem ouvinte certo. Os olhos claros voltando-se para os castanhos. “Eu sei que teve vontade de beijá-la em algum momento durante as sessões. Não precisa mentir.”
Em outro momento, talvez com pessoas diferentes, Enzo não se sentiria tão à vontade feito está agora. É que a energia entre vocês três é singular, entenda. Desde o primeiro momento que conheceu o uruguaio, a sua atração física e pelo cérebro de artista dele foi perceptível — além de mútua. E Swann, ele é francês, e são um casal que foge o tradicional, que experimentam. Não é uma ameaça pra ele saber que um homem te deseja. Na verdade, dá ainda mais tesão.
Enzo pega o cigarro dentre os seus dedos, leva à própria boca. Traga. A fumaça escapa, nubla a face de traços fortes de uma forma cativante, quase que sensual. “É”, admite em voz alta, “tive vontade de beijá-la… tocá-la… diversas vezes desde que a conheci”, está com o foco das íris castanhas nos seus lábios, “aliás, tô sentindo agora.”
O sorrisinho de satisfação estampado na sua cara é inevitável.
Swann recolhe o pito de volta para si, das mãos de um latino totalmente indiferente ao tabaco, preso à sua figura. Enquanto traga, a voz do francês soa como um demoniozinho nos ombros do outro homem, encorajando, então, beija, como se a solução fosse a mais simplória do mundo.
O Vogrincic assiste a sua mão espalmar no peito dele; os anéis dourados, as unhas num tom terroso. Você mergulha os dedos entre os botões defeitos da camisa social dele para capturar pingente da correntinha. O olha. Aquela carinha de quem tá querendo muito ser tomada nos braços, devorada. Uma ânsia à qual ele não te nega.
Pega na sua nuca, a palma quente conquistando espaço. Firme. Fica mais fácil te conduzir para mais perto, trazer o seu corpo pra colar no dele. Encaixar, invadir, sorver. Sente o gosto do espumante, o pontinho amargo do cigarro na sua língua. Um ósculo intenso, diferente do que está acostumada. É puramente carnal, desejoso. Parece que quer te engolir, verga a sua coluna um bocadinho, sobrepondo o próprio corpo por cima. Estalado, e profundo. Cheio de apetite. A taça por pouco não cai dos seus dedos.
Quando se aparta, é porque o peito queima de vontade de respirar. Ofegam, ambos. A visão dos lábios dele até inchadinhos, avermelhados pelo seu batom, é alucinante. O uruguaio nem se dá ao trabalho de limpar as manchinhas rubras, como quem sabe que a bagunça ainda vai ser maior.
Swann apanha a taça da sua mão para entornar um gole. Ri, soprado. Bom, não é? A pergunta faz o Vogrincic se perder, outra vez, no deslumbre da sua figura. Um olhar de fome, daqueles que precedem o próximo bote. Vê o francês estalar um beijo na sua bochecha, bem humorado, e depois ir descendo pelo seu pescoço. A forma com que segura na sua nuca, guia a sua boca até a dele. Faz o uruguaio sentir um tiquinho de ciúmes, sabe? Mesmo que tenha plena consciência de que não teria justificativas pra esse tipo de sentimento. Já era de se esperar um nível aflorado de intimidade entre você e o seu homem. O roçar da pontinha dos narizes, o mordiscar implicante que ele deixa nos seus lábios, rindo, feito um menino apaixonado, não deveria surpreender o fotógrafo. Mas surpreende. Instiga. Esquenta.
Enzo traga o pito pela última vez antes de se apressar pra apagá-lo no cinzeiro da mesinha de centro e soprar a fumaça no ar. Ávido, as mãos viajando em direção ao seu corpo — uma firme na sua cintura, e a outra ameaçando tomar o posto na nuca. Swann o interrompe, um toque contendo o ombro e a proximidade de um certo latino com muita sede ao pote. “Aprecia, mas não se acostuma”, avisa, com um sorriso, “tem que tratá-la muito bem pra fazê-la te querer de novo.”
Enzo te olha, analisa. Parece que as palavras estão paradinhas na ponta da língua, porém as engole, prefere te beijar novamente, te tocar novamente. Afinco. Te domina, mostra soberania com o corpo pesando sobre o teu. Você cambaleia, abalada por tamanha intensidade, as costas se apoiam no peito do Arlaud.
Os beijos escorregam pelo seu pescoço, desenham o decote da sua blusa, por cima do tecido, descendo até a barriga. É crível que vai se ajoelhar, porém acaba tomando outro rumo, retornando com o foco pro seu rosto. “Vou deixar o seu homem te chupar”, diz, com uma marra tão palpável que um sorriso não deixa aparecer nos seus lábios, “porque eu sempre morri de vontade de saber como era meter em ti”, e oferece um olhar ao francês, “deixa a sua mulher molhadinha pra mim?”
Tipo, a construção da frase, a entonação, os trejeitos do uruguaio; tudo faz soar como uma provocação. E, de fato, é. Um homem como Enzo não sabe amar mais de uma vez e muito menos partilhar esse amor. Mas Swann leva tudo com o bom humor de sempre. Faz um aceno com a cabeça, ajeitando-te para que possa encará-lo. Aquele sorrisinho de dentes pequeninos que você tanto acha um charme. O assiste retirar o blazer, fazendo um suspensezinho, além de dar a entender que vai literalmente ‘colocar a mão na massa’. É engraçado como o seu corpo não abandona o estado de calmaria. Poderia estar com o coração acelerado, o sangue correndo nas veias, por diversos motivos, porém tem tanta certeza de que vai sentir prazer ao máximo que não anseia por acelerar nada.
Swann te conhece muito bem. Cada detalhezinho na sua pele, cada região erógena, cada fio de cabelo que nasce por mais fininho e imperceptível. É um artista que aperfeiçoa a sua arte — dedica tempo, esforço, e não se importa com a bagunça molhada ou com a língua dormente. Antes de se ajoelhar, pede, com ternura, “um beijinho?”, para selar a boca na sua, rapidinho. E afrouxa as mangas da blusa, uma das suas mãos apoiando-se na mesa enquanto a outra mergulha os dedos entre os fios grisalhos à medida que a cabeça dele está na altura da sua virilha. Te liberta da saia longa, da peça íntima, apoia aqui, colocando a sua perna pra repousar sobre o ombro dele.
Corre as mãos pelo interior das suas coxas, sem pressa. A boca deixa um chupãozinho no seu joelho, mordisca. É louco como ele sabe até o quão forte tem que ser o tapa na sua buceta pra te fazer vibrar e quase perder o equilíbrio. Sorri, sacana, calminha, meu bem, e ainda tem a pachorra de murmurar, é só um tapinha.
Você até cerra os olhos, prende o lábio inferior entre os dentes praticamente sem notar. O seu corpo se contorce sob o toque, é natural. Swann percorre o dedo de cima a baixo, se mela todinho na umidade que ali já tem, e não vai desistir até que exista muito mais.
Contorna o seu pontinho doce, te arrancando um suspiro dengoso. Leva o olhar pra ti, “vai gemer manhosinha pra ele ouvir, vai?”, quer saber, “Tem que manter a pose, divina. Não pode mostrar que derrete todinha nas minhas mãos”. Você apenas escuta a conversa suja, já perdida demais no deleite do carinho que recebe, e pior, na visão de acompanhar Enzo se sentando no sofá, com os botões da camisa social desfeitos, e a mão dentro da calça. Aham, é tudo que murmura, alheia. A carícia concentra no clitóris, o dedo circulando mais rápido, mais forte, que a onda de prazer te faz arrepiar dos pés à cabeça. Boquiaberta, por pouco sem babar pelo canto. Swann, você chama, manhosa, me chupa. E ele sorri mais, a língua beira nos dentes de baixo, brincando com a sua sanidade quando só mostra o que tem pra oferecer e demora a te dar o que quer.
Mas quando te mama, de fato, porra… Chega a ver estrelas, os olhinhos revirando. Ainda bem que aperta os fios dos cabelos dele nas palmas, pois, aí, tem algo pra descontar o nó delicioso que sente no ventre. Quer fechar as pernas, involuntária, no entanto o homem te mantém, faminto, sugando a carne inchadinha. Passa os dentes pelo seu monte de vênus, dois dedos nadando por entre as dobrinhas quentes, ensaiando, parece, até afundar lá dentro e fundo, fundo. Você chia, preenchida na hora certa, na medida certa, pra se sentir conquistada, excitada. Encara Enzo, pornográfica com as expressões faciais, como se quisesse instigar uma prévia do que ele vai provar posteriormente.
Os lábios de Swann até estalam, tudo tão ensopadinho que escutar a umidade do ato contribui ainda mais pro seu regozijo. O francês bate a palma da mão na sua bucetinha, esquenta a região, antes de voltar a chupar o seu pontinho. A língua dança pra cá e pra lá, também, tão rapidinha, habilidosa. Ai, você chega a sentir uma inquietação, balança os ombros, se contrai, espreguiça. Mas ele quer estar olhando nos seus olhos quando te fizer gozar, porque deixa só os dedos lá e ergue o queixo pra encontrar os seus olhos. As íris azuis brilham, um marzinho cheio e cintilante no qual é fácil querer se afogar. Os cabelos grisalhos estão bagunçadinhos, os lábios finos reluzindo de babadinhos. “Goza pra mim, meu amor”, a voz ecoa numa doçura tamanha, caramelada e derretida feito o seu doce preferido, “quero te beber, você é tão gostosa. Quero chupar você até não sobrar uma gotinha, hm? Vem pra mim, vem. Ver esse seu rostinho de choro quando goza, bobinha, docinha… Daria um quadro e tanto essa sua carinha de puta. Hm?”, e fica difícil resistir. Quer dizer, se entrega sem nem mesmo tentar resistir. É possuída pela ondinha elétrica que percorre seu corpo todinho, eriça os pelinhos e te faz gemer igualzinho uma puta.
Tremendo, frágil. Quanto mais a boca suga a buceta dolorida, mais você se contorce, mais choraminga. Os olhinhos até marejam, o peito queima, ofegante.
Quando satisfeito, o homem se põe de pé. Nem se dá ao trabalho pra limpar o rosto melado, sorrindo largo, mas sem mostrar os dentes. Você envolve o braço ao redor do pescoço dele, só pra se escorar enquanto recupera-se, os olhos ardendo sobre a figura do latino masturbando-se no sofá. “Vai lá nele”, Swann encoraja, tocando o canto do seu rosto. Beija a sua bochecha, ganha os seus lábios assim que você mesma vira a face pra alcançá-lo. A saliva misturando com o seu melzinho, um gostinho obsceno. A língua dele empurrando a sua, ao passo que o maldito sorriso canalha não abandona o rosto estrangeiro.
Ao caminhar sobre os próprios pés, dona de si outra vez, Enzo está com a mão erguida na sua direção. Os dedinhos inquietos até que possam apertar a sua coxa. Vou montar você, é o que diz, num fiozinho de voz, se acomodando sentadinha no colo do fotógrafo. Sustenta-se nos ombros masculinos, alinha-se pra engolir tudo — está babadinha o suficiente pra ser um deslize só.
O uruguaio suspira, completamente no seu interior, até o talo. Embaladinho lá, no calor divino, delirante. As mãos cravam nas suas nádegas, está pulsando dentro de ti, domado. “Acabou de tirar a buceta da boca dele pra vir sentar no meu pau…”, observa o seu rebolar lento, a maneira jeitosa com que se equilibra bem, não perde nem por um centímetro que seja, “jamais deixaria a minha garota sentar em outro pau senão o meu.”
Então, ainda bem que eu não sou sua, é o que você sussurra. Chega com o rosto perto do dele, a pontinha do nariz resvalando no nariz grande. Enzo aperta o olhar, mascara um sorrisinho. Você sente as unhas dele machucando nas suas nádegas, ele te encara com uma vontade louca de rancar pedaço. Daí, começa a quicar no colo dele, jogando a bunda pra cima no compasso ritmado. Pega nos cabelos negros que se somam, espessos, na nuca alheia, vai me avisar quando for gozar, ordena. É fria com as palavras, mas tentadora, carrega no tom um certo nível de erotismo, que parece deixar Swann orgulhoso, recostado na mesa. Não vou guardar a sua porra porque você não tá merecendo. E o Vogrincic ri na cara do perigo, cheio de si. Abusa da língua materna pra murmurar, “Sé que más tarde suplicarás por mí, nena, tan lejos que tu gringo no oye.”, porque sabe que o francês não vai nem sacar uma palavra que seja, mas você sim, “Não me engana. Eres una perra, lo sé.”
Você maltrata os fios dele entre a mão, como um sinal para que ele pare de falar em espanhol, soltando essas frases riscosas, sujas. Mas Enzo não te compra, não engole essa marra toda. “Faz o que quiser, musa”, fala só por falar, pois o outro escuta, quando quer dizer exatamente o contrário. A rebeldia te excita, faz acelerar os movimentos, torturá-lo com mais intensidade. Lê no jeitinho que ele retesa os músculos da coxa, no ar se prendendo nos pulmões que está logo na beirada, próximo de jorrar. Não o perdoa, não permite que o desejo mais lascivo dele se torne realidade hoje. Finaliza o homem nas palmas das suas mãos, ordenhando o pau duro, meladinho, até que a porra morna atinja as suas coxas, respingue na sua blusa.
Enzo respira com dificuldade, pela boca. Cerra os olhos com força, parece irritadinho, indignado — uma reação que te deixa com água na boca. Se inclina pra pertinho do ouvido dele, adocica a voz, perigosa, se quer brincar, tem que aprender a respeitar as regras do jogo, okay, bonitinho?
#imninahchan#enzo vogrincic#enzo vogrincic fanfic#enzo vogrincic x reader#enzo vogrincic smut#swann arlaud#swann arlaud smut#la sociedad de la nieve#the society of the snow#anatomia de uma queda#anatomie d'une chute#anatomy of a fall#a sociedade da neve#lsdln cast#lsdln
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While it's funny to make fun of this very specific US-type of ignorance towards other countries and it's important to discuss how it's tied to cultural hegemony, I don't like the implication that sometimes comes up in these types of posts that people from other countries are never ignorant about the world (this is especially but not exclusively grinding my gears when it comes from other western europeans).
My classmates in Spain once asked me if we had internet in Germany. A friend of mine got asked by someone (can't remember which nationality) if Hitler was still our president. I have another friend from Uruguay who went to school in many different countries around the world who often got asked why she didn't look African if she was born in an African country (Uruguay). One time I was playing a game with some German friends where you have to list as many things in a category as you can think of and one of my friends couldn't think of a single country in Africa except "Malaysia...maybe?". We tried to help her out by saying "Isn't there a country in the SOUTH of AFRICA that you know?" but that didn't work and afterwards she told us that "South Africa sounds like a made up country". We were all in our mid-twenties at this point. She already had a bachelor's degree.
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sou completamente apaixonada com eles e br e faculdade core, então se me permite irei hablar um pouco sobre os dois que para mim são canon
fernando pra mim seria estudante de med federal (seu one shot perfeito me impede de pensar em qualquer outra possibilidade).
kuku estudante de ti ou alguma engenharia (aqui quem fala é a anon que mandou ele amigo do irmão e estudante de ti, infelizmente tenho tesao em nerd então por aqui esse pensamento causa piripaques fortíssimos)
penso também que o enzo talvez faria ou história ou cinema, e se fosse história seria FASCINADO na história do brasil. o homem é um poço de cultura
infelizmente de resto não consigo pensar e acho que a minha do enzo possa ser inaccurate, então por favor hable sobre diva 🎤🎤
divaaaa!!! hablei um tico sobre isso aqui, ó ☝🏻
eu AMO kuku nerdola estudante de ti amo de paixão!!!!!!!!!!!!! adoro o conceito da carinha de lesado dele ser exatamente perfeita pra esse tipo de cenário, ai me derreto de vdd
e o enzo apaixonado pela história do brasil 💭💭💭💭💭💭 ABSOLUTE CINEMA!!!!! imagino que, num cenário que ele cursa história, gosto de pensar que ele faz o curso lá no uruguai mas que acaba vindo fazer pós, mestrado, doutorado ou alguma pesquisa aqui no br e é aqui que ele se apaixona por uma rainha brasileira e fica por cá pra sempre
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Mi Primer Día Sin Ti | Enzo Vogrincic
Estás borracha por las calles de Madrid y no puedes dejar de pensar en Enzo.
Este es mi primer día sin verte. Camino por las calles de Madrid, borracha, son las 21:00 de la noche. Desde Malasaña hasta Niño Jesús, mis pies ya no pueden más. Lo único en lo que puedo pensar es en caminar contigo, tú sosteniéndome del brazo y guiándome. Pero estás de viaje. "¡Pff... te odio!" Te fuiste, dejándome atrás, y ahora estás en Uruguay o tal vez en Los Ángeles. Ni siquiera sé dónde estás exactamente. Sin embargo, aquí estoy yo, caminando sola, bajo estas luces amarillentas de Madrid, esperándote descaradamente. ¿Y tú? Tú estás en Júpiter. Me dejaste, o tal vez fui yo quien te dejó. ¡Ay, Enzo! Cómo te echo de menos. Mis pies duelen mientras paso por el Retiro. ¿Recuerdas al gatito negro? Está por aquí. Acabo de ver su cola cerca de la verja del Retiro.
El gato se ha ido, al igual que tú. Exactamente igual. Aquí estoy, borracha, tratando de descubrir dónde se ha escondido. Tanto el gato como tú.
Ahora estoy frente a la barra donde solíamos pasar tiempo juntos. Recuerdo lo mucho que te gustaba ese vino puro de Italia; no puedo recordar el nombre específico, pero era tu favorito. Estoy tan borracha que apenas puedo recordar algo.
Decido ponerme mis audífonos y escuchar nuestra banda favorita... ¿cuál era? Ah, sí, Radiohead, ¿verdad? O ¿tal vez era alguna banda revolucionaria de Uruguay? No puedo recordar. Optaré por un poco de Charly García, ese álbum "Bancate Ese Defecto", ese mismo.
Enzo, ¿estás enamorado? ¿De alguien más, supongo? Porque te fuiste sin decir adiós. Solo dijiste: "No puedo seguir contigo". Y así, puff, te fuiste, como aquel gato negro.
Ya casi llego a mi departamento. ¡Ay, Enzo! ¡Cómo te extraño! Estoy un poco loca, o mejor dicho, borracha. Ya estoy ansiosa por llegar a casa, servirme una copa de vino blanco y escuchar alguna canción extraña de Uruguay o algo que me haga llorar, como alguna de Silvio Rodríguez. Ojalá.
Recuerdo cuando nos emborrachábamos de vino y poníamos "Cementerio Club" de Pescado Rabioso. Tú fingías odiarlo, pero sabía que en el fondo amabas mi alma rockera. Ay, esos fueron tiempos maravillosos. Antes de que fueras famoso... Pero debo decirte que estoy muy orgullosa de ti. Has logrado ser quien siempre quisiste ser: un actor estrella, reconocido por Hollywood. De verdad, estoy feliz por ti y te admiro mucho por eso.
Estoy ansiosa por llegar a casa, mis pies ya no pueden más. Ay, ya veo la farola cerca de casa, esa luz amarillenta me hace desear ir a buscarte y besarte, pero sé que no estás aquí.
Enzo, veo una sombra bajo la farola cuando me acerco a casa, pero tengo que entrar. El portero está dormido. No sé qué hacer. Decido pasar de largo e ignorar al tipo que está fumando cerca. Sin embargo, no puedo evitar notar ciertos rasgos familiares en él. La forma en que sostiene el cigarrillo... Ay, es igual a ti. Y su altura, sus jeans doblados al final... todo me recuerda a ti.
Ignoro al tipo y saco mi llave, pero al intentar abrir la puerta, ¡se atasca! ¡Ay! No sé qué hacer. El portero debe de estar en el séptimo cielo, no me atrevo a tocar el intercomunicador. Enzo, ese tipo me está mirando. ¡Ay, no! Se está acercando. ¡Voy a gritar!
“Dejáme, yo te ayudo", dice. Ay, Enzo, tiene la misma voz que tú. Parece ser uruguayo. Pero no puedo verlo claramente. Todo está borroso, estoy borracha.
Finalmente, cuando el desconocido se acerca para ayudarme, reconozco su voz. Es Enzo. Mis lágrimas comienzan a fluir mientras lo miro con incredulidad. "Pensé que eras Enzo", murmuro entre sollozos, "lo siento tanto".
Enzo me mira con ternura y me asegura: "Soy realmente yo". Me acompaña hasta la puerta, y cuando finalmente lo veo claramente, la realidad golpea con fuerza. Es él, mi Enzo. No puedo contener las lágrimas mientras le explico lo mucho que lo extrañé, lo confundida que estaba y lo siento por haberlo malinterpretado.
Él me abraza con fuerza y me susurra palabras de consuelo. "Estoy aquí, cariño. Todo está bien", me dice mientras me acaricia el cabello. En ese momento, sé que todo estará bien.
#enzo vogrincic#society of the snow#la sociedad de la nieve#uruguay#my writing#fanfic#latina#spanish#argentina#enzo vogrincic x reader#necesito que enzo actúe en más pelis#enzo vogrincic x you#enzo vogrincic smut#enzo vogrincic fic#Spotify
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On this day, 28 June 1976, Elena Quinteros, Uruguayan teacher, anarchist and opponent of the military dictatorship was kidnapped from the grounds of the Venezuelan Embassy, having escaped military custody. A member of the Federación Anarquista Uruguaya (FAU), Quinteros had been arrested for days prior and violently tortured. She eventually told her captors she would lead them to fellow union members and activists. The house she led them to was next door to the Venezuelan embassy. She persuaded her escort of secret policemen to remain in their car while she endtered the house to set up a meeting, which authorities could then raid. Quinteros then ran upstairs and jumped from a second story window to the embassy, where she claimed asylum. However, the Uruguayan officers then broke international law by raiding the embassy, beating embassy staff who tried to assist Quinteros, grabbing Quinteros and essentially engaging in a tug-of-war with embassy workers. In the melee, Quinteros was beaten and her leg was broken. Finally the Uruguayan officers managed to drag her off into their car and drive off. One embassy official, Francisco Bocerra, lept onto the moving vehicle to try to save Quinteros, but eventually he was thrown from the car, which then took her to a military torture centre. The Venezuelan ambassador demanded her return but it was refused, leading to a major diplomatic incident and resulting in Venezuela cutting off diplomatic ties with Uruguay. For years Quinteros' mother fought to get her daughter back, travelling around the world fighting for justice. As late as 1979, the Uruguayan government was claiming that Quinteros was still alive, and could be released or deported. But she was never seen again. Sources, information and map: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/10030/elena-quinteros-kidnapped-by-uruguayan-military https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=652294596943759&set=a.602588028581083&type=3
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Two years of touring, about to be four years of afhf, two studio albums, a live album, even breaking his arm twice???? And it’s crickets. But the second his ex’s book is released Liam’s flying to Uruguay of all fucking places to “support” Louis and 1D fans are eating it up, burying anything to do with Maya with Lilo/1D tweets and barking at anybody who calls Liam a loser. And yes, Louis is a grown man who doesn’t need anybody to protect him, but it makes me mad that he’s being used like that. He’s literally the only person who can mildly stand Liam and pities him enough to still be nice to him and Liam knows that and is using it to his advantage. And it just pisses me off that the one time any of his “friends” bother to show up to one of his shows it’s to cover their own ass after years of ignoring him. I know he’ll never fully cut ties, none of them will ever actually be able to no matter how hard they try, they’ll all always be tied together, but I need him to take off the pity glasses and realize it’s time to distance himself
Louis just realize at some point that the fanbase needs to know where he stands on fake friends and people who treat women badly, right?
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In February of last year, Donggang Jinhui Foodstuff, a seafood-processing company in Dandong, China, threw a party. It had been a successful year: a new plant had opened, and the company had doubled the amount of squid that it exported to the United States. The party, according to videos posted on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, featured singers, instrumentalists, dancers, fireworks, and strobe lights. One aspect of the company’s success seems to have been its use of North Korean workers, who are sent by their government to work in Chinese factories, in conditions of captivity, to earn money for the state. A seafood trader who does business with Jinhui recently estimated that it employed between fifty and seventy North Koreans. Videos posted by a company representative show machines labelled in Korean, and workers with North Korean accents explaining how to clean squid. At the party, the company played songs that are popular in Pyongyang, including “People Bring Glory to Our Party” (written by North Korea’s 1989 poet laureate) and “We Will Go to Mt. Paektu” (a reference to the widely mythologized birthplace of Kim Jong Il). Performers wore North Korean colors, and the country’s flag billowed behind them; in the audience, dozens of workers held miniature flags.
Drone footage played at the event showed off Jinhui’s twenty-one-acre, fenced-in compound, which has processing and cold-storage facilities and what appears to be a seven-floor dormitory for workers. The company touted a wide array of Western certifications from organizations that claim to check workplaces for labor violations, including the use of North Korean workers. When videos of the party were posted online, a commenter—presumably befuddled, because using these workers violates U.N. sanctions—asked, “Aren’t you prohibited from filming this?”
Like Jinhui, many companies in China rely on a vast program of forced labor from North Korea. (Jinhui did not respond to requests for comment.) The program is run by various entities in the North Korean government, including a secretive agency called Room 39, which oversees activities such as money laundering and cyberattacks, and which funds the country’s nuclear- and ballistic-missile programs. (The agency is so named, according to some defectors, because it is based in the ninth room on the third floor of the Korean Workers’ Party headquarters.) Such labor transfers are not new. In 2012, North Korea sent some forty thousand workers to China. A portion of their salaries was taken by the state, providing a vital source of foreign currency for Party officials: at the time, a Seoul-based think tank estimated that the country made as much as $2.3 billion a year through the program. Since then, North Koreans have been sent to Russia, Poland, Qatar, Uruguay, and Mali.
In 2017, after North Korea tested a series of nuclear and ballistic weapons, the United Nations imposed sanctions that prohibit foreign companies from using North Korean workers. The U.S. passed a law that established a “rebuttable presumption” categorizing work by North Koreans as forced labor unless proven otherwise, and levying fines on companies that import goods tied to these workers. China is supposed to enforce the sanctions in a similar manner. Nevertheless, according to State Department estimates, there are currently as many as a hundred thousand North Koreans working in the country. Many work at construction companies, textile factories, and software firms. Some also process seafood. In 2022, according to Chinese officials running pandemic quarantines, there were some eighty thousand North Koreans just in Dandong, a hub of the seafood industry.
Last year, I set out with a team of researchers to document this phenomenon. We reviewed leaked government documents, promotional materials, satellite imagery, online forums, and local news reports. We watched hundreds of cell-phone videos published on social-media sites. In some, the presence of North Koreans was explicit. Others were examined by experts to detect North Korean accents, language usage, and other cultural markers. Reporting in China is tightly restricted for Western reporters. But we hired Chinese investigators to visit factories and record footage of production lines. I also secretly sent interview questions, through another group of investigators and their contacts, to two dozen North Koreans—twenty workers and four managers—who had recently spent time in Chinese factories. Their anonymous responses were transcribed and sent back to me.
The workers, all of whom are women, described conditions of confinement and violence at the plants. Workers are held in compounds, sometimes behind barbed wire, under the watch of security agents. Many work gruelling shifts and get at most one day off a month. Several described being beaten by the managers sent by North Korea to watch them. “It was like prison for me,” one woman said. “At first, I almost vomited at how bad it was, and, just when I got used to it, the supervisors would tell us to shut up, and curse if we talked.” Many described enduring sexual assault at the hands of their managers. “They would say I’m fuckable and then suddenly grab my body and grope my breasts and put their dirty mouth on mine and be disgusting,” a woman who did product transport at a plant in the city of Dalian said. Another, who worked at Jinhui, said, “The worst and saddest moment was when I was forced to have sexual relations when we were brought to a party with alcohol.” The workers described being kept at the factories against their will, and being threatened with severe punishment if they tried to escape. A woman who was at a factory called Dalian Haiqing Food for more than four years said, “It’s often emphasized that, if you are caught running away, you will be killed without a trace.”
In all, I identified fifteen seafood-processing plants that together seem to have used more than a thousand North Korean workers since 2017. China officially denies that North Korean laborers are in the country. But their presence is an open secret. “They are easy to distinguish,” a Dandong native wrote in a comment on Bilibili, a video-sharing site. “They all wear uniform clothes, have a leader, and follow orders.” Often, footage of the workers ends up online. In a video from a plant called Dandong Yuanyi Refined Seafoods, a dozen women perform a synchronized dance in front of a mural commemorating Youth Day, a North Korean holiday. The video features a North Korean flag emoji and the caption “Beautiful little women from North Korea in Donggang’s cold-storage facility.” (The company did not respond to requests for comment.) Remco Breuker, a North Korea specialist at Leiden University, in the Netherlands, told me, “Hundreds of thousands of North Korean workers have for decades slaved away in China and elsewhere, enriching their leader and his party while facing unconscionable abuse.”
In late 2023, an investigator hired by my team visited a Chinese plant called Donggang Xinxin Foodstuff. He found hundreds of North Korean women working under a red banner that read, in Korean, “Let’s carry out the resolution of the 8th Congress of the Workers’ Party.” (The company did not respond to requests for comment.) Soon afterward, the investigator visited a nearby plant called Donggang Haimeng Foodstuff, and found a North Korean manager sitting at a wooden desk with two miniature flags, one Chinese and one North Korean. The walls around the desk were mostly bare except for two portraits of the past North Korean leaders Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il. The manager took our investigator to the workers’ cafeteria to eat a North Korean cold-noodle dish called naengmyeon, and then gave him a tour of the processing floor. Several hundred North Korean women dressed in red uniforms, plastic aprons, and white rubber boots stood shoulder to shoulder at long metal tables under harsh lights, hunched over plastic baskets of seafood, slicing and sorting products by hand. “They work hard,” the manager said. The factory has exported thousands of tons of fish to companies that supply major U.S. retailers, including Walmart and ShopRite. (A spokesperson for Donggang Haimeng said that it does not hire North Korean workers.)
At times, China aggressively conceals the existence of the program. Alexander Dukalskis, a political-science professor at University College Dublin, said that workers have a hard time making their conditions known. “They’re in a country where they may not speak the language, are under surveillance, usually living collectively, and have no experience in contacting journalists,” he said. In late November, after my team’s investigators visited several plants, authorities distributed pamphlets on the country’s anti-espionage laws. Local officials announced that people who try “to contact North Korean workers, or to approach the workplaces of North Korean workers, will be treated as engaging in espionage activities that endanger national security, and will be punished severely.” They also warned that people who were found to be working in connection with foreign media outlets would face consequences under the Anti-Espionage Act.
Dandong, a city of more than two million people, sits on the Yalu River, just over the border from North Korea. The Sino-Korean Friendship Bridge links Dandong to the North Korean city of Sinuiju. A second bridge, bombed during the Korean War, still extends partway across the river, and serves as a platform from which Chinese residents can view the North Koreans living six hundred yards away. The Friendship Bridge is one of the Hermit Kingdom’s few gateways to the world. Some trade with North Korea is allowed under U.N. sanctions, and nearly seventy per cent of the goods exchanged between that country and China travel across this bridge. At least one department store in Dandong keeps a list of products preferred by North Korean customers. Shops sell North Korean ginseng, beer, and “7.27” cigarettes, named for the date on which the armistice ending the Korean War was signed. The city is home to a museum about the conflict, officially called the Memorial Hall of the War to Resist U.S. Aggression and Aid Korea. On boat tours, Chinese tourists purchase bags of biscuits to toss to children on the North Korean side of the river.
Government officials carefully select workers to send to China, screening them for their political loyalties to reduce the risk of defections. To qualify, a person must generally have a job at a North Korean company and a positive evaluation from a local Party official. “These checks start at the neighborhood,” Breuker said. Candidates who have family in China, or a relative who has already defected, can be disqualified. For some positions, applicants under twenty-seven years of age who are unmarried must have living parents, who can be punished if they try to defect, according to a report from the South Korean government; applicants over twenty-seven must be married. North Korean authorities even select for height: the country’s population is chronically malnourished, and the state prefers candidates who are taller than five feet one, to avoid the official embarrassment of being represented abroad by short people. Once selected, applicants go through pre-departure training, which can last a year and often includes government-run classes covering everything from Chinese customs and etiquette to “enemy operations” and the activities of other countries’ intelligence agencies. (The North Korean government did not respond to requests for comment.)
The governments of both countries coördinate to place workers, most of whom are women, with seafood companies. The logistics are often handled by local Chinese recruitment agencies, and advertisements can be found online. A video posted on Douyin this past September announced the availability of twenty-five hundred North Koreans, and a commenter asked if they could be sent to seafood factories. A post on a forum advertised five thousand workers; a commenter asked if any spoke Mandarin, and the poster replied, “There is a team leader, management, and an interpreter.” A company called Jinuo Human Resources posted, “I am a human-resources company coöperating with the embassy, and currently have a large number of regular North Korean workers.” Several people expressed interest. (The company did not respond to requests for comment.)
Jobs in China are coveted in North Korea, because they often come with contracts promising salaries of around two hundred and seventy dollars a month. (Similar work in North Korea pays just three dollars a month.) But the jobs come with hidden costs. Workers usually sign two- or three-year contracts. When they arrive in China, managers confiscate their passports. Inside the factories, North Korean workers wear different uniforms than Chinese workers. “Without this, we couldn’t tell if one disappeared,” a manager said. Shifts run as long as sixteen hours. If workers attempt to escape, or complain to people outside the plants, their families at home can face reprisals. One seafood worker described how managers cursed at her and flicked cigarette butts. “I felt bad, and I wanted to fight them, but I had to endure,” she said. “That was when I was sad.”
Workers get few, if any, holidays or sick days. At seafood plants, the women sleep in bunk beds in locked dormitories, sometimes thirty to a room. One worker, who spent four years processing clams in Dandong, estimated that more than sixty per cent of her co-workers suffered from depression. “We regretted coming to China but couldn’t go back empty-handed,” she said. Workers are forbidden to tune in to local TV or radio. They are sometimes allowed to leave factory grounds—say, to go shopping—but generally in groups of no more than three, and accompanied by a minder. Mail is scrutinized by North Korean security agents who also “surveil the daily life and report back with official reports,” one manager said. Sometimes the women are allowed to socialize. In a video titled “North Korean beauties working in China play volleyball,” posted in 2022, women in blue-and-white uniforms exercise on the grounds of the Dandong Omeca Food seafood plant. (The company that owns the plant did not respond to requests for comment.) A commenter wrote, “The joy of poverty. That’s just how it is.”
Factories typically give the women’s money to their managers, who take cuts for themselves and the government, and hold on to the rest until the workers’ terms in China end. Kim Jieun, a North Korean defector who now works for Radio Free Asia, said that companies tell workers their money is safer this way, because it could be stolen in the dormitories. But, in the end, workers often see less than ten per cent of their promised salary. One contract that I reviewed stipulated that around forty dollars would be deducted each month by the state to pay for food. More is sometimes deducted for electricity, housing, heat, water, insurance, and “loyalty” payments to the state. Managers also hold on to wages to discourage defections. The women have been warned, Kim added, that if they try to defect “they will be immediately caught by Chinese CCTV cameras installed everywhere.” This past October, Chinese authorities repatriated around six hundred North Korean defectors. “China does not recognize North Korean defectors as refugees,” Edward Howell, who teaches politics at Oxford University, told me. “If they are caught by Chinese authorities, they will be forcibly returned to the D.P.R.K., where they face harsh punishment in labor camps.”
Chinese companies have significant incentives to use North Korean workers. They’re typically paid only a quarter of what local employees earn. And they are generally excluded from mandatory social-welfare programs (regarding retirement, medical treatment, work-related injury, and maternity), which further reduces costs. In 2017, Dandong’s Commerce Bureau announced a plan to create a cluster of garment factories that would use North Korean labor. The bureau’s Web site noted that all such workers undergo political screenings to make sure they are “rooted, red, and upright.” “The discipline among the workers is extremely strong,” it added. “There are no instances of absenteeism or insubordination toward leadership, and there are no occurrences of feigning illness or delaying work.” China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs did not respond to questions for this piece, but last year the Chinese Ambassador to the U.N. wrote that China has abided by sanctions even though it has sustained “great losses” as a result. A spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs recently said that China and North Korea have “enjoyed long-standing friendly ties,” adding, “The United States needs to draw lessons, correct course, step up to its responsibility, stop heightening the pressure and sanctions, stop military deterrence, and take effective steps to resume meaningful dialogue.”
North Koreans face difficult circumstances across industries. In January of this year, more than two thousand workers rioted in Jilin Province, breaking sewing machines and kitchen utensils, when they learned that their wages would be withheld. Many North Koreans—perhaps thousands—work in Russian logging, in brutal winter weather without proper clothing. Hundreds have been found working in the Russian construction industry; some lived in shipping containers or in the basements of buildings under construction, because better accommodations were not provided. One recounted working shifts that lasted from 7:30 A.M. to 3 A.M. In preparation for the 2018 and 2022 World Cups, held in Russia and Qatar, thousands of North Koreans were sent to build stadiums and luxury apartments. A subcontractor who worked alongside the North Koreans in Russia told the Guardian that they lived in cramped spaces, with as many as eight people packed into a trailer, in an atmosphere of fear and abuse like “prisoners of war.”
Although it’s illegal in the U.S. to import goods made with North Korean labor, the law can be difficult to enforce. Some eighty per cent of seafood consumed in America, for example, is imported, and much of it comes from China through opaque supply chains. To trace the importation of seafood from factories that appear to be using North Korean labor, my team reviewed trade data, shipping contracts, and the codes that are stamped on seafood packages to monitor food safety. We found that, since 2017, ten of these plants have together shipped more than a hundred and twenty thousand tons of seafood to more than seventy American importers, which supplied grocery stores including Walmart, Giant, ShopRite, and the online grocer Weee! The seafood from these importers also ended up at major restaurant chains, like McDonald’s, and with Sysco, the largest food distributor in the world, which supplies almost half a million restaurants, as well as the cafeterias on American military bases, in public schools, and for the U.S. Congress. (Walmart, Weee!, and McDonald’s did not respond to requests for comment. Giant’s parent company, Ahold Delhaize, and ShopRite’s parent company, Wakefern, said their suppliers claimed that they currently do not source from the Chinese plant in question, and added that audit reports showed no evidence of forced labor.)
Two of the plants that investigators from my team visited—Dandong Galicia Seafood and Dalian Haiqing Food—had an estimated fifty to seventy North Korean workers apiece. One worker who has been employed at Galicia said that the managers are “so stingy with money that they don’t allow us to get proper medical treatment even when we are sick.” Galicia and Haiqing have shipped roughly a hundred thousand tons of seafood to American importers since 2017, and Haiqing also shipped to an importer that supplies the cafeterias of the European Parliament. (Dalian Haiqing Food said that it “does not employ overseas North Korean workers.” Dandong Galicia Seafood did not respond to requests for comment. One of the U.S. importers tied to Haiqing, Trident Seafoods, said that audits “found no evidence or even suspicion” of North Korean labor at the plant. Several companies, including Trident, High Liner, and Sysco, said that they would sever ties with the plant while they conducted their own investigations. A spokesperson for the European Parliament said that its food contractor did not supply seafood from the plant.) Breuker, from Leiden University, told me that American customers quietly benefit from this arrangement. “This labor-transfer system is for North Korea and China as economically successful as it is morally reprehensible,” he said. “It’s also a boon for the West because of the cheap goods we get as a result.”
North Korea doesn’t just export seafood workers; it also exports fish—another means by which the government secures foreign currency. Importing North Korean seafood is forbidden by U.N. sanctions, but it also tends to be inexpensive, which encourages companies to skirt the rules. Sometimes Chinese fishing companies pay the North Korean government for illegal licenses to fish in North Korea’s waters. Sometimes they buy fish from other boats at sea: a letter from a North Korean, leaked in 2022, proposed selling ten thousand tons of squid to a Chinese company in return for more than eighteen million dollars and five hundred tons of diesel fuel. Sometimes the seafood is trucked over the border. This trade is poorly hidden. In October, a Chinese man who said his last name was Cui posted a video on Douyin advertising crabs from North Korea. When someone commented, “The goods can’t be shipped,” Cui responded with laughing emojis. In other videos, he explained that he operated a processing plant in North Korea, and gave information on the timing of shipments that he planned to send across the border. When I contacted Cui, he said that he had stopped importing North Korean seafood in 2016 (though the videos were actually from last year), and added, “It’s none of your business, and I don’t care who you are.” My team found that seafood from North Korea was imported by several American distributors, including HF Foods, which supplies more than fifteen thousand Asian restaurants in the U.S. (HF Foods did not respond to requests for comment.)
Chinese companies often claim that they are in compliance with labor laws because they have passed “social audits,” which are conducted by firms that inspect worksites for abuses. But half the Chinese plants that we found using North Korean workers have certifications from the Marine Stewardship Council, which is based in the U.K. and sets standards for granting sustainability certifications, but only to companies that have also passed social audits or other labor assessments. (Jackie Marks, an M.S.C. spokesperson, told me that these social audits are conducted by a third party, and that “We make no claims about setting standards on labor.”) Last year, one of my team’s investigators visited a seafood-processing plant in northeastern China called Dandong Taifeng Foodstuff. The company has been designated a “national brand,” a status reserved for the country’s most successful companies, and supplies thousands of tons of seafood to grocery stores in the U.S. and elsewhere. At the plant, our investigator was given a tour by a North Korean manager. On the factory floor, which was lit by bright fluorescent bulbs, more than a hundred and fifty North Korean women, most of them under thirty-five years old, wore head-to-toe white protective clothing, plastic aprons, white rubber boots, and red gloves that went up to their elbows. They stood with their heads down, moving red, yellow, and blue plastic bins of seafood. Water puddled at their feet. “Quick, quick,” one woman said to the other members of her small group. (Taifeng did not respond to requests for comment.) Just weeks after that visit, the plant was recertified by the Marine Stewardship Council.
Marcus Noland, who works at the Peterson Institute for International Economics, said, of social audits within the seafood industry, “The basic stance appears to be ‘See no evil.’ ” Skepticism of such audits is growing. In 2021, the U.S. State Department said that social audits in China are generally inadequate for identifying forced labor, in part because auditors rely on government translators and rarely speak directly to workers. Auditors can be reluctant to anger the companies that have hired them, and workers face reprisals for reporting abuses. This past November, U.S. Customs and Border Protection advised American companies that a credible assessment would require an “unannounced independent, third-party audit” and “interviews completed in native language.” Liana Foxvog, who works at a nonprofit called the Worker Rights Consortium, argues that assessments should involve other checks too, including off-site worker interviews. But she noted that most audits in China fall short even of C.B.P.’s standards.
Joshua Stanton, an attorney based in Washington, D.C., who helped draft the American law that banned goods produced with North Korean labor, argues that the government is not doing enough to enforce it. “The U.S. government will need to put more pressure on American companies, and those companies need to be more diligent about their suppliers and their supply chains, or face stricter sanctions,” he said. Chris Smith, a Republican congressman from New Jersey and a specialist on China, noted that social audits “create a Potemkin village.” He added, “The consequence is that millions of dollars, even federal dollars, are going to Chinese plants using North Korean workers, and that money then goes right into the hands of Kim Jong Un’s regime, which uses the money to arm our adversaries and repress its own people.”
Late last year, when I set out to contact North Koreans who had been sent to China, I ran into significant obstacles. Western journalists are barred from entering North Korea, and citizens of the country are strictly prohibited from talking freely to reporters. I hired a team of investigators in South Korea who employ contacts in North Korea to get information out of the country for local and Western news outlets—for example, about food shortages, power outages, or the rise of anti-government graffiti. The investigators compiled a list of two dozen North Koreans who had been dispatched to a half-dozen different Chinese factories, most of whom had since returned home. The investigators’ contacts then met with these workers in secret, one-on-one, so that the workers wouldn’t know one another’s identity. The meetings usually occurred in open fields, or on the street, where it’s harder for security agents to conduct surveillance.
The workers were told that their responses would be shared publicly by an American journalism outlet. They faced considerable risk speaking out; experts told me that, if they were caught, they could be executed, and their families put in prison camps. But they agreed to talk because they believe that it is important for the rest of the world to know what happens to workers who are sent to China. The North Korean contacts transcribed their answers by hand, and then took photos of the completed questionnaires and sent them, using encrypted phones, to the investigators, who sent them to me. North Koreans who are still in China were interviewed in a similar fashion. Because of these layers of protection, it is, of course, impossible to fully verify the content of the interviews. But the responses were reviewed by experts to make sure that they are consistent with what is broadly known about the work-transfer program, and in line with interviews given by North Korean defectors. (Recently, the investigators checked in on the interviewers and interviewees, and everyone was safe.)
In their answers, the workers described crushing loneliness. The work was arduous, the factories smelled, and violence was common. “They kicked us and treated us as subhuman,” the worker who processed clams in Dandong said. Asked if they could recount any happy moments, most said that there had been none. A few said that they felt relieved when they returned home and got some of their pay. “I was happy when the money wasn’t all taken out,” the woman who did product transport in Dalian said. One woman said that her experience at a Chinese plant made her feel like she “wanted to die.” Another said that she often felt tired and upset while she was working, but kept those thoughts to herself to avoid reprisals. “It was lonely,” she said. “I hated the military-like communal life.”
The most striking pattern was the women’s description of sexual abuse. Of twenty workers, seventeen said that they had been sexually assaulted by their North Korean managers. They described a range of tactics used to coerce them into having sex. Some managers pretended to wipe something from their uniforms, only to grope them. Some called them into their offices as if there were an emergency, then demanded sex. Others asked them to serve alcohol at a weekend party, then assaulted them there. “When they drank, they touched my body everywhere like playing with toys,” a woman said. The woman who did product transport in Dalian said, “When they suddenly put their mouths to mine, I wanted to throw up.” If the women didn’t comply, the managers could become violent. The worker who was at Haiqing for more than four years said, of her manager, “When he doesn’t get his way sexually, he gets angry and kicks me. . . . He calls me a ‘fucking bitch.’ ” Three of the women said that their managers had forced workers into prostitution. “Whenever they can, they flirt with us to the point of nausea and force us to have sex for money, and it’s even worse if you’re pretty,” another worker at Haiqing said. The worker from Jinhui noted, “Even when there was no work during the pandemic, the state demanded foreign-currency funds out of loyalty, so managers forced workers to sell their bodies.” The worker who spent more than four years at Haiqing said, of the managers, “They forced virgin workers into prostitution, claiming that they had to meet state-set quotas.”
The pandemic made life more difficult for many of the women. When China closed its borders, some found themselves trapped far from home. Often, their workplaces shut down, and they lost their incomes. North Korean workers sometimes pay bribes to government officials to secure posts in China, and, during the pandemic, many borrowed these funds from loan sharks. The loans, typically between two and three thousand dollars, came with high interest rates. Because of work stoppages in China, North Korean workers were unable to pay back their loans, and loan sharks sent thugs to their relatives’ homes to intimidate them. Some of their families had to sell their houses to settle the debts. In 2023, according to Radio Free Asia, two North Korean women at textile plants killed themselves. The worker who told me that she wanted to die said that such deaths are often kept hidden. “If someone dies from suicide, then the manager is responsible, so they keep it under wraps to keep it from being leaked to other workers or Chinese people,” she said.
This past year, pandemic restrictions were lifted, and the border between China and North Korea reopened. In August, some three hundred North Korean workers boarded ten buses in Dandong to go back home. Police officers lined up around the buses to prevent defections. In photos and a video of the event, some of the women can be seen hurriedly preparing to load large suitcases onto a neon-green bus, then riding away across the Friendship Bridge. In September, another three hundred boarded a passenger train to Sinuiju, and two hundred were repatriated by plane. Workers who return face intense questioning by officials. “They asked about every single thing that happened every day from morning to evening in China, about other workers, supervisors, and agents,” the worker who processed clams in Dandong explained. As 2023 ended, the North Korean government began planning to dispatch its next wave of workers. In the past couple of years, according to reporting by Hyemin Son, a North Korean defector who works for Radio Free Asia, labor brokers have requested that Chinese companies pay a large advance; they were being asked to pay ahead of time, one broker told her, because “Chinese companies cannot operate without North Korean manpower.”
Some North Korean workers have yet to go home. One woman said that she has spent the past several years gutting fish at a processing plant in Dalian. She described working late into the night and getting sores in her mouth from stress and exhaustion. In the questionnaire, I had asked about the worst part of her job, and she said, “When I am forced to have sex.” She also described a sense of imprisonment that felt suffocating. “If you show even the slightest attitude, they will treat you like an insect,” she said. “Living a life where we can’t see the outside world as we please is so difficult that it’s killing us.” ♦
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Rio Grande do Sul History (Day 1)
Boleadeiras
PT: Boleadeiras /End PT
ID: Close up photo of a saddle on a brown horse, with a boleadeira strapped on the side. The boleadeira consists of two balls with metal plates on the ends attatched to a thick rope. /End ID
Disclaimers: Abya Yala is the name for the land known as "America" in the kuna language, adopted by other indigenous groups. Pindorama is the name of the coast of the land known as "Brazil" given by the tupi-guarani people, but also used to talk about the entirety of the modern country. I'll be using these terms throughout the posts.
The boleadeira is a type of weapon used in the south Abya Yala for centuries, first used by the indigenous people of the land (Charrua, Minuano, Guarani, etc) for hunting and in battle as well. This first version of the boleadeira is somewhat different to the modern one.
ID: Two photos of different pre-colonial boleadeiras made out of rock, on a white background. The first is oval and has a hole on the top and a large sort of slit in the middle. The second is circular with a small and a large point, a number painted in white on it. It also has the same sort of slit. /End ID
Pre-colonial boleadeiras were made out of rock and usually circular or oval, the slit in the middle occurring due to the rope that was tied around them (as is speculated by archaeologists) causing a sort of friction. Some boleadeiras had points, the ones with several points being called boleadeiras mamilares.
ID: Two photos of boleadeiras mamilares made out of rock, against a white background. They have several points, similar to a star. /End ID
It's believed the oval and circular ones were used for hunting; similar to its modern use, the hunter would raise the boleadeira, spin it, then throw it towards the legs of the animal. The animal would then fall, being completely immobilised. This was used mostly with large animals such as emus.
The ones with points, however, are believed to have been used in battle, in a much similar way, but thrown in a way to hit the other person instead of immobilise them, as the points could cause great harm.
ID: Photo of a circular rock boleadeira with a slit in the center and numbers in black painted on it. A ruler below it shows it's about 5 centimetres in size. Background is blue-ish. /End ID
Another example of a pre-colonial boleadeira, this time a properly circular one. All of these were, as far as I can tell, found in Pindorama, in the land known as 'Rio Grande do Sul' nowadays, but as mentioned, other territories of Abya Yala had boleadeiras, such as, but not limited to, Argentina and Uruguay.
Modern day boleadeiras look differently and serve a different function as well. They were used on horses and cattle to immobilise them, however, not for hunting, but for capture and sometimes for sport in rodeos or dances. They are made of leather, metal or rock and tied to ropes of equal length. This rope is either tied around the balls or around some sort of ring that is attatched to them. Usually there are two or three balls in a boleadeira.
Rio Grande do Sul flood funds:
Paybox/doare (Humanitarian help) . Apoia-se (Food) . Pix (RS Archives)
Image sources:
Figure 1: https://www.flickr.com/photos/bombeador/2691536389/
Figures 2-5: Julio de Castilhos Museum Archive. https://acervos.museujulio.rs.gov.br/colecao-etnologica/boleadeira-de-ponta/
Figure 6: https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Figura-55-Boleadeira-com-desgaste-na-marcacao-Sitio-Pedra-Grande-Sao-Pedro-do-SulRS_fig33_319882044
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Entrevista Victima de Targeted Individuals
youtube
#targeted individuals#uruguay#armas psicotronicas#linkrecargado#mkultra#gonzalo estevez#ti#5g#luis lacalle pou#Youtube
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argentina
Here is my story of Argentina. My credentials are that I have I spent the first three hours of my flight to Argentina reading its Wikipedia page plus followup google search results.
Argentina was rich. Then it became poor for no clear reason. It could become very rich again.
Let’s start with the last one.
Argentina is a major agricultural exporter that’s not even tapping its full biocapacity. Without making any prescriptive statements about whether they should, it’s descriptively true that they could be leaning on their natural resources much harder than they currently are.
The wind potential of the Patagonia region (southern third of Argentina) could in theory provide enough electricity to sustain a country five times more populous. But the infrastructure isn’t there to pipe it where it needs to go. Argentina is very urbanized, with 92% of its population in cities. (This is actually weird – if you look at countries ordered by urbanization, you get a bunch of tiny or fake countries like Bermuda or Macau, and then central category member countries like Uruguay, Israel, Argentina, and Japan.)
Argentina had a pretty good nuclear program. Decent record as a locus of scientific progress despite all the political problems and crumbling infrastructure. It’s got a high literacy rate.
It kind of reminds me of... (person who's only been to 7 cities voice) Berkeley?
Okay. Now let’s skip back to 1861. Argentina has won independence from the Spanish Empire. It’s about to get very Italian in here.
At time of independence, Argentina had the familiar-looking South American mix of white+native+black. But soon after independence the state started (0) genociding/expanding into the south (1) enacting liberal economic policies, and (2) encouraging European immigration. Italians liked this idea for some reason, so today, 60% of Argentinians are full or part Italian.
This wave of immigration changed Argentinian society enormously. In this period, Argentina became very wealthy and productive. In 1910 it was the seventh richest country in the world.
Twenty years later, dissatisfaction over the Great Depression fueled a coup and kicked off 50-70 years of political instability.
I like this graph. Look at the Y axis values – this is a log graph.
I have no clean explanation for what happened, but I can at least describe what happened after 1930.
In between coups, Argentina stays neutral in both world wars up until the US pressured it into declaring war on the Axis Powers in 1945. But then the Europe part of WWII ended a month later, so they probably didn't have to do too much. In 1946, Peron takes power.
(Sidenote: why did so many Nazis famously flee to Argentina? Argentina had lots of German immigrants & close ties to Germany. Peron, who'd found Hitler's ideology appealing since he was a military attaché in Italy during WWII, straight out ordered diplomats and intelligence officers to establish escape routes for Nazis, especially those with military/technical expertise.)
I still don’t know much about Peron. There's the socialist stuff: nationalized a lot of industries and improved working conditions. There's the dictator stuff: beating up and firing people to bring them into line, including university teachers (of course) and union leaders that Peron didn't like. He was really liked for a while, and then very disliked, and got exiled to Spain after a decade of rule.
Then there's a phase where no one manages to rule successfully, in part because getting approved by both Peronists and anti-Peronists is hard. This 1955-2003 phase reminds me a lot of Korean history around the same time – lots of military coups and assassinations and journalists getting tortured. Whenever I hit this phase in a country's Wikipedia page it just reads like TV static, interchangeable variable names swinging in and out of scope... even though there's got to be more than that.
When I first started reading about US Republicans and Democrats I got really confused because either they had 0 major differences or 70. Now that I've been in the States for a decade I have a sense for what major visions and underlying values differences they have, but it'd be hard to explain succinctly or in a way that other people will agree with. So something like that has to have been going on with various flavors of anti, sub, and classic Peronism that’s inscrutable to an outsider who’s spending 3 hours on learning about this.
At some point, comically, Peron comes back, wins an election with his wife as vie president, and dies of a heart attack. His wife takes power and does things like empowering the secret police to destroy her enemies, but girlbosses too close to the sun and is ousted after a year.
All this turmoil flattens out somewhat in 2003. I have no idea what went right. They tried Peronism! They tried anti-Peronism! They tried leftist terrorism and rightist terrorism! They tried OG Peron again! They tried Peron's third wife! They tried nationalization and privatization! They tried protectionism and not-protectionism!
Nestor Kirchner, whose rule coincided with the improvement, had "neo-Keynesian" policies, but who knows if that was it. He didn't run for reelection but said "try my wife, she'll do fine", and so she won the next cycle. Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner did well enough that she was reelected. People didn’t like her successor and brought her back as a vice president, but there were what sound like normal-for-South-America levels of corruption scandals during much of her time in office, and last month she was sentenced to six years in prison and a lifetime ban from holding public office.
I have a number of hypotheses as to why Argentina crashed so hard when it had and has so many prerequisites for success, and they all sound stupid when I write them out, so I won’t. But I will gesture at my confusion and amazement.
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https://open.spotify.com/track/3WSOUb3U7tqURbBSgZTrZX?si=9-QAq6X-Rqic7vEl-_DbVg
imagino o Enzo sendo esse tipo de cara que te leva até ora conhecer a mãe dele, mas no final ele fala que é só casual 😭😭😭 por favor desenvolve pra nós com um final fofinho
de volta na fic do enzo amante intenso... quando ele se apaixona por ti, é como se não existisse mais nada, sabe? Dorme e acorda pensando no seu nome, no seu corpo, na sua mente que o instiga tanto. Quer estar contigo o tempo todo, inventa desculpa e desdobra assuntos que já deveriam ter morrido só pra continuar ouvindo a sua voz. Pode até não ter soltado um eu te amo, mas o brilho no olhar dele, te encando, enquanto tá indo tão fundo dentro de ti, já diz essas três palavrinhas sozinho.
Você acha que vai ser um amor pra vida toda, que ele é sua alma gêmea, porque ele se comporta como uma. Te diz o que você gosta de ouvir, te toca como você gosta de ser tocada. Te convida pra viajar pelo Uruguai com ele, sem muitos detalhes, só o desejo de viajarem juntos e uma câmera fotográfica. Quando você vê, fazem uma parada na casa doa pais dele. Está sentada na mesa da cozinha, tomando café com a mãe dele e conversando sobre o futuro. Na sua cabeça, ele vai te pedir em casamento, ou vai tornar o que vocês têm (o que nem sabem ao certo o que é) em algo mais sério. Mas ele não faz.
O pedido não vem. Uma conversa não vem. Honestamente, enzo age como se nada tivesse acontecido, como se você nem tivesse contado pra família dele que tem vontade se ter a sua própria quando encontrar um cara bacana. Aí, surgem as dúvidas. Ele tá brincando contigo? Ele tá com medo? Se teme tanto, por que faz o que faz? Por que age como se fosse o homem mais importante na sua vida quando se recusa a ser? Daí, você acaba se afastando. Não insiste, não quer se humilhar pelo mínimo de satisfação. Enzo nota, claro. Para alguém que faz a vida dele girar em torno de ti o tempo todo, fica difícil não notar quando o centro desaparece.
Te extraño, nena, não fica linge de mim, é o que ele diz, murmurado, numa ligação na qual fez questão pra ouvir a sua voz de novo. A questão é que, por sentir muito, por amar demais, ele já acreditava que era o suficiente. Poxa, quando foi que deixou dúvidas que sentia, de fato, alfo por ti? Faltou diálogo, um tipo de intimidade que vocês chegam a conclusão que não pode faltar. Não existe outra mulher que eu queira mais na minha vida do que você, ele garante, se em algum momento eu te fiz duvidar disso, nunca vou me perdoar por falhar tanto. Eu te amo.
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