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anarchopuppy · 4 years

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For two months in 1973, maximum-security prisoners in Massachusetts showed that supposed criminals may be less responsible for the violence in our society than their guards. After the prison massacre at Attica in 1971 focused national attention on the dramatic failure of the prison system to correct or rehabilitate people convicted of crimes, the governor of Massachusetts appointed a reformist commissioner to the Department of Corrections. Meanwhile, the inmates of Walpole state prison had formed a prisoners’ union. Their goals included protecting themselves from the guards, blocking the attempts of prison administrators to institute behavioral modification programs, and organizing prisoners’ programs for education, empowerment, and healing. They sought more visitation rights, work or volunteer assignments outside the prison, and the ability to earn money to send to their families. Ultimately, they hoped to end recidivism — ex-prisoners getting convicted again and returning to prison — and to abolish the prison system itself. Black prisoners had formed a Black Power education and cultural group to create unity and counter the racism of the white majority, and this proved instrumental in the formation of the union in the face of repression from guards. First of all, they had to end the race war between the prisoners, a war that was encouraged by the guards. Leaders from all groups of prisoners brokered a general truce which they guaranteed with the promise to kill any inmate who broke it. The prison union was supported by an outside group of media-savvy civil rights and religious activists, though communication between the two groups was sometimes hampered by the latter’s service-provider mentality and orthodox commitment to nonviolence. It helped that the Corrections commissioner supported the idea of a prisoners’ union, rather than opposing it outright as most prison administrators would have. Early on in the life of the Walpole prisoners’ union, the prison superintendent attempted to divide the prisoners by putting the prison under an arbitrary lockdown just as the black prisoners were preparing their Kwanzaa celebration. The white prisoners had already had their Christmas celebrations undisturbed, and the black prisoners had spent all day cooking, eagerly anticipating family visits. In an amazing display of solidarity, all the prisoners went on strike, refusing to work or leave their cells. For three months, they suffered beatings, solitary confinement, starvation, denial of medical care, addiction to tranquilizers handed out by the guards, and disgusting conditions as excrement and refuse piled up in and around their cells. But the prisoners refused to be broken or divided. Eventually the state had to negotiate; they were running out of the license plates Walpole prisoners normally produced and they were getting bad press over the crisis. The prisoners won their first demand: the prison superintendent was forced to resign. Quickly they won additional demands for expanded visiting rights, furlough, self-organized programs, review and release of those in segregation, and civilian observers inside the prison. In exchange, they cleaned up the prison, and brought what the guards never had: peace. In protest of their loss of control, the guards walked off the job. They thought this act would prove how necessary they were, but embarrassingly for them, it had the exact opposite effect. For two months, the prisoners ran the prison themselves. For much of that time, the guards were not present within the cell blocks, though state police controlled the prison perimeter to prevent escapes. Civilian observers were inside the prison twenty-four hours a day, but they were trained not to intervene; their role was to document the situation, talk with prisoners, and prevent violence from guards who sometimes entered the prison. One observer recounted: "The atmosphere was so relaxed — not at all what I expected. I find that my own thinking has been so conditioned by society and the media. These men are not animals, they are not dangerous maniacs. I found my own fears were really groundless." Another observer insisted “It is imperative that none of the personnel formerly in Block 9 [a segregation block] ever return. It’s worth paying them to retire. The guards are the security problem.” Walpole had been one of the most violent prisons in the country, but while the prisoners were in control, recidivism dropped dramatically and murders and rapes fell to zero. The prisoners had disproved two fundamental myths of the criminal justice system: that people who commit crimes should be isolated, and that they should be recipients of enforced rehabilitation rather than the ones who control their own healing. The guards were eager to end this embarrassing experiment in prison abolition. The guards’ union was powerful enough to provoke a political crisis, and the Corrections commissioner could not fire any of them, even those who engaged in torture or made racist statements to the press. To keep his job, the commissioner had to bring the guards back into the prison, and he eventually sold out the prisoners. Major elements of the power structure including the police, guards, prosecutors, politicians, and media opposed the prison reforms and made them impossible to achieve within democratic channels. The civilian observers unanimously agreed that the guards brought chaos and violence back to the prison, and that they intentionally disrupted the peaceful results of prisoner self-organization. In the end, to crush the prisoners’ union, the guards staged a riot and the state police were called in, shooting several prisoners and torturing key organizers. The most recognizable leader of the black prisoners only saved his life through armed self-defense. Many of the civilian observers and the Corrections commissioner, who was soon forced out of his job, ultimately came to favor prison abolition. The prisoners who took over Walpole continued to fight for their freedom and dignity, but the guards’ union ended up with greater power than before, the media ceased talking about prison reform, and as of this writing Walpole prison, now MCI Cedar Junction, still warehouses, tortures, and kills people who deserve to be in their communities, working towards a safer society.

Peter Gelderloos, Anarchy Works

#prison abolition #black lives matter #anarchism #freeblr #libertarian

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wackybuddiemewbs · 3 years

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Random Buddie Fic Snippets - Shadow

AKA, it's me, back on my regular bullshit. This is part of a fic that continues to ghost through my Word files, mocking me relentlessly. And now I pass the mocking on. Bon appétit. Basic idea is that Buck disappeared after the lawsuit without a trace. For mysterious reasons.

Eddie breaks into a run the moment he parks the car. He still can’t believe it that some asshole tried to blow himself up on a plaza in bright daylight, the same plaza Chris and his friend from school went to on exactly that day. His ears had been glued to the radio throughout the drive as he got announcement after announcement, one more horrifying than the other.

“The man has a bomb belt.”

“He has taken a hostage.”

“A young woman.”

“Special forces have been blocked due to traffic.”

“A man stepped in.”

“They struggle. There is a knife.”

“There is blood.”

“Both men are going down.”

Eddie shakes those thoughts off, pushes them as far back as he possibly can as he runs through the masses of people gathered around the plaza. Because apparently, even a guy with a bomb strapped to his chest will get peoples’ attention more than it will get their survival instincts to run the hell away from a bomb.

He runs into Deborah, the mom of Christopher’s friend, nearly misses her, then halts. His ears are whooshing, his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat. She keeps rambling on about stuff he doesn’t care about. And if he wasn’t a first responder who knows better, Eddie would want to shake her right now to just say it straight: Where is Christopher? Is he okay? Because that’s the info he needs to know how to get his feet to work again.

If this were Buck, I’d have all info in the first three seconds of…

Eddie stops himself. Buck is no longer with them. He left, which is why his son is at the plaza with Deborah and her two kids rambling on.

At last, at last, between the many sorrys, Deborah can finally bring herself to say that Christopher is fine, which makes even less sense to Eddie. Because if he was fine, then why wasn’t he with her? Isn’t she supposed to be watching him?

“He’s by the ambulances. He wouldn’t leave.”

Eddie isn’t sure he says something in reply to Deborah before he starts running again, though he reckons she won’t hold it against him. Even if she does, he doesn’t bother to care. Eddie needs to get to his son. Maybe Christopher was hoping to see some familiar faces. Maybe he’s waiting for his dad to jump out of one of the trucks.

Eddie can finally slip through the onlookers to the ambulances. Just as he takes off running again, he can hear Christopher shouting shrilly. While his son screaming is not exactly calming, it makes Eddie breathe a little easier. He is alive. He can hear him. Everything else, he can fix.

Eventually, Eddie finds his son sitting on top of a gurney halfway rolled into the back of one of the ambulance cars. Next to him stands a very frustrated paramedic, trying to reason with Christopher to climb off the gurney and let go of the someone actually lying on the gurney. Though Christopher holds on as if his life depended on it.

What is going on here?

“Christopher!” he shouts as he approaches.

The paramedic turns around as he sees him come near. “Hey, you are from the 118, right?”

“Yes, Eddie Diaz,” he confirms. “That’s my son. Is he okay?”

“He is fine, he just won’t let me load up the guy I’m supposed to take to the hospital,” the paramedic laments, pointing at his son holding on to the person’s lower leg like a little monkey to a tree branch.

“Christopher! I”

“Dad!”

“I told you that you can’t be in the way of paramedics working! They got to help people who are hurt,” Eddie says. While he doesn’t want to upset his son, he knows that there is due order, and Christopher is disrupting it.

Eddie motions past the opened door of the ambulance car.

“I am not letting go of Buck!”

Buck?

Eddie blinks, tears his gaze up, forgets how to breathe all over again.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Buck.”

Buck is on the gurney, shirt cut open, his side bandaged, seeping some blood. The guy who went in after the bomber took the hostage – Evan Buckley. His former colleague, former best friend, the guy who’d told him instantly if Christopher was okay, who never would have left him out of sight – until he did. The man who disappeared after the lawsuit. The man he hasn’t seen in over a year.

He can tell that this is actually Buck. Just that it isn’t. He looks nothing like the always cheery, smiling guy who lit up any room he entered. Sure, the face is still the same, Eddie would know that birthmark anywhere. And yet… there is no spark to his blue eyes. His hair is cut as short as it will go. Eddie can tell that he has even more muscle to him than he used to, even before the firetruck exploded and he was in top shape. But what makes it so much worse is to see the distance, the way he can’t seem to hold on to Christopher but tries to gently keep him away. Because nothing in this world would prevent him from letting that kid close to him.

At least we all thought. But that man is full of surprises, we learned. Even more so now.

This is Even Buckley, but he looks like a strange version of himself dropped off in the wrong universe.

Like a ghost.

Like the ghost Chimney said he saw in that burning building the other day.

Could it be…?

“Could you please talk to your son?” the paramedic interjects, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts abruptly. “I get he’s scared for your friend, but we can finally get moving again after the traffic was re-navigated and he needs to go the hospital.”

“I already told you that the guy didn’t hit anything vital, Jack,” Buck scoffs. Normally, Eddie would say that this is Buck as he knows him, but there is that edge in his voice all of a sudden that puts him on that same edge. The words come out just the same way, the voice is the same, but they ring hollow, they never make it to his eyes.

“He knifed you, dude.”

“I used to like you until a hot second ago, man.”

“Buck?” Eddie asks simply. The younger man’s eyes instantly flicker back to him, and Eddie can see his sudden discomfort as he bows his head.

“For the love of God, either you take your son, or you take him inside so we can drive!” Jack shouts.

“We’re going with you, Buck!” Christopher screams, holding on even tighter.

Eddie decides right at that moment. Okay, he doesn’t really. His body does as he grabs Christopher and gets him off Buck’s leg under much protest. Jack loads Buck inside – and then Eddie climbs in with Christopher in his arms right after. He ignores the protests coming from buck all the same.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Jack groans, setting everything up.

“Language,” Buck scolds. “There’s a kid here. Also, you just turned out to be my least favorite paramedic, Jack. Just so that you know.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Jack says as he slams the door shut.

“With that attitude, you are sure as hell ain’t getting any,” Buck shouts after him.

“We are ready to roll!” Jack calls out, tapping his hand on the side of the car as he makes his way to the front.

“You know you’re just making a fool of yourself, dragging a guy to hospital, even though all you’d have to do is disinfect and stitch, yeah?” Buck tries to reason, but Jack isn’t having it, “Not taking any chances.”

“Coward.”

“Buck,” Eddie tries again. It seems to be a little magic trick, as Buck’s attention instantly return to him. Though it’s a piss-poor magic trick, really. Because Buck won’t even look at him. Can’t, for some reason. Instead, he keeps his head fixed on some of the equipment on the other side of the ambulance.

“Trust me, I didn’t plan on this,” he says feebly, some of the tough masquerade momentarily slipping.

“How are you in LA?” Eddie wants to know. He can see the shift in Buck instantly as he rounds his shoulders. “Plane.”

“Will you at least look at me?”

Buck turns his head. Eddie tries to read the emotions, but it’s like he gets the door shut in his face before he can take a look inside. And that even though they used to know each other so well.

How did we come to this?

“Buck, we haven’t see you or heard from you for over a year,” Eddie tries to reason. “Some more information than having come here by plane would be appreciated.”

“As I said, didn’t plan on this. Though of course I’m always happy to see Chris…,” Buck says, managing the smallest of smiles at Chris still snuck in his father’s arms. “Though I would have hoped for… different circumstances.”

“So you wanted to come see us?” Eddie asks.

Buck doesn’t answer, which is answer enough for Eddie.

“What were you thinking, going after that guy anyway?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

Buck shrugs at him. “Just had to. Will say though, that he brought a knife to a bomb fight came as a surprise. Thankfully, he was just as surprised to me bringing fists to a knife fight.”

“Why are you being that reckless, huh?” Eddie can’t help but scold. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“Yeah, or I could’ve watched as anything within a periphery of half a mile would’ve blown up,” Buck retorts. “Easy equation to my mind, really.”

It shouldn’t be that easy, though, Eddie thinks to himself bitterly, but he doesn’t say it. He has a million questions, but they won’t come. Because he knows Buck won’t give those answers. There is a wall between them that wasn’t there before, not even when Eddie was overcome with so much anger over Buck’s behavior about the lawsuit.

So he just sits back, makes sure that Christopher stays secure in his arms.

Once they arrive at the hospital, things set back into motion fast. Buck has a small moment of victory when he’s getting wheeled inside, arguing that Eddie won’t get the doctors to let him pester him like Jack did.

Joke’s on Buck in the end when Eddie talks to the receptionist because he forgot to update his emergency contact list, in which Eddie is very much included.

“See you in a bit, Buck!” is all he says as Buck is wheeled away.

And Buck shows him the finger as he is taken away, well aware that Christopher can’t see as he is resting against Eddie’s chest.

After that, Eddie makes himself not at all comfortable in the plastic chairs he loathes with a burning passion. He gets out his phone, hoping that he can get through to Maddie at least. Maybe she will have more luck trying to give Buck a piece of mind, but as he checks his phone, there is no signal. No calls, no internet. Looking around, he can see that the same issue applies to many people waiting – and the staff as well.

While Eddie still doesn’t believe in all-powerful universes, he will have to say: Well played, universe.

An hour later, Eddie is none the wiser and Christopher asleep next to him in the small room they were brought to, as this will be where Buck is supposed to come back to after his tests and examinations are finally over.

Christopher could provide at least some context to how they ended up like this. The kid is too smart for his own good at times, it turns out. He caught sight of Buck when he took on the bomber and saw that he got hurt. And since hurt people go to ambulances where people like his dad save them and make them better, this is to where he went. And he would threaten Deborah with his crutches, which Eddie will have to lecture about later. Once he found Buck, he just crawled up the gurney and didn’t take no for an answer.

Another fifteen minutes later, Buck is wheeled into the room, looking tired and pissed and just a bit more like the guy he remembers, the man who hates being in hospitals with every fiber of his being.

For a time, they just sit in silence. It is Buck who can’t take it anymore in the end, and snaps, “You can stop staring. I already have a puncture wound, don’t need to get stabbed by the evil eye now, too.”

Eddie shakes his head. “How are you still joking about this?”

“Because I still find myself utterly hilarious.”

“We didn’t know where you were for over a year. No message. No nothing,” Eddie accuses.

You disappeared. You left. You left the 118 behind. You left your family behind. Maddie. Christopher… me…

“And that you know I’m in LA right now was not part of the plan, I told you.”

“Why wasn’t it?” Eddie wants to know.

Buck shrugs, his voice non-committal. “I made the cut. I’m the bad guy. I know. Rules of the game.”

“I’m just trying to understand, Buck.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Buck argues. “I had no intention to run into you guys. I went away. I didn’t want to cause further upset by coming back. I didn’t choose to be here. It was because of the job.”

Speaking of…

“What job is that anyway?”

“Water slide tester,” Buck replies, his face perfectly blank.

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “Piss off.”

“I slide around the world.”

“Would you take this seriously for one second?” Eddie demands. He can’t believe this guy sometimes, many times. Can’t he see the damage done? Can’t he see how out of line it is to joke about it?

“I think I’ll pass,” is all Buck delivers. And it pisses Eddie off to no end.

“So that’s all I get? After all that’s been?”

Buck licks his lips, folds his arms over his chest, winces at the strain against his aching stomach. “Yup.”

Eddie can’t even say he is angry. Okay, he is angry, but one good look at Buck’s face and he can see how the mask is slipping. He sees pain there, thinly veiled by his quipping. He notices the longing in Buck’s eyes whenever he allows himself to look at Christopher dozing peacefully, only to pull away as though he got electrocuted for letting that emotion happen.

Just what is it with the man he used to know so well? How could they become strangers in the course of a year?

Eddie doesn't get to finish the thought as a doctor motions inside. Buck’s attention instantly bounces over to the dark-haired man.

“Hello Mr. Buckley.”

“What’s the news, Doc?” he asks.

“Good news for you, actually,” the doctor says. “You are free to go.”

Eddie shakes his head, as though he was trying to get water out of his ears. “Wait, what? What of the test results? Is there tissue damage? Is it ruled out that there is no internal bleeding? Won’t you keep him overnight? Did you even look at his medical history? He’s on blood thinners…”

“Haven’t been for almost half a year,” Buck argues.

Eddie blinks at him. “What?”

“… Surprise?” Buck holds up his hands, pulling a face.

“Still!” Eddie shouts, turning back to the man in scrubs.

“It’s really more of a nick,” the doctor tries to assure him.

Eddie has seen the bloody bandages. He knows that this is bullshit. Just what is this doctor doing?

“Told you. AndJack,” Buck chimes. “Joke’s on both of you.”

“He got stabbed. With a knife,” Eddie argues, still not quite believing it that he has to point that out to a medical professional.

“I saw. And we treated it. Just needed stitches and a shit ton of antibiotics.” He hands Buck a clipboard to sign some things.

“A shit ton. Could you be any more precise?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Chill. Doc will know what he’s doing,” Buck argues, though Eddie pays him no mind. His eyes are now set on that pathetic excuse of a medical professional and Eddie is ready to throw a fit, if he has to.

“We need to keep the beds clear for emergencies,” the doctor adds, as though that was in any shape or form reason to release a man who just got stabbed. With a knife. After he was on blood-thinners – apparently – half a year ago.

“It’s workday, I know you aren’t…,” Eddie tries, but Buck interjects, “Doctor’s orders. Gotta listen to the experts, c’mon.”

He looks back at the doctor standing beside the bed, handing the clipboard back. “Okay, all signed. Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor studies it for a long moment, then nods his head.

“You are seriously just going to go?” Eddie asks, not quite believing what’s happening.

“The doctor said I could.”

“Look, if it puts you at ease, I will get my colleague in here to speak to you to get a second opinion while I take Mr. Buckley here to get his medication. Then you can rest assured that all is as it should be,” the doctor tries, his tone now mild.

Nothing is as it should be. Absolutely nothing.

This whole situation is abnormal. Buck shouldn’t be in hospital. He shouldn’t act like this. He should be spooning Christopher on the bed, cuddle him and kiss his head. He should have asked for Maddie by now. The 118 should be on the way here. Buck should still be working with them, with him. They should have movie nights on Fridays and Buck should babysit Christopher at least once a week. They should watch games together and doze off on the couch. Buck should ask for juice and burritos. Eddie should be making arrangements so that Buck can spend the night over at their place, so that he isn’t alone after such an event. There should be a spark in Buck’s eyes. He shouldn’t feel like a ghost. None of this should be. And yet, it is.

“Show the way, Doc,” Buck says, cutting through the silence. Eddie looks up.

“I’ll just get you a wheelchair, hold on.”

Buck sits up. Eddie doesn’t miss how the air leaves him for a moment, but he still pushes on. Eddie rounds the bed, extending his arms to steady Buck, but the younger man just holds up his hands, gritting his teeth.

“Don’t.”

It’s no demand. It’s not aggressive. It’s a plea. And a desperate one.

Eddie holds up his hands to give Buck space as he folds his legs out of bed, ignoring every instinct inside himself to hold on anyway, if only to calm the tremor in Buck’s body the way he used to do it when he saw him this upset.

“I’m sorry for all this,” Buck mutters, not looking at him. “I’m glad Christopher is safe.”

“You know, just because you didn’t plan on seeing us, you still can.”

“No, I really can’t. Thanks, though.”

“Ah, you’re already up, Mr. Buckley. See? He’s doing great. Will be as good as new in a matter of days,” the doctor chimes as he comes back inside with the wheelchair. He helps Buck settle in, though Buck is basically doing it entirely on his own.

“We’ll be right back.”

Eddie watches as the doctor wheels Buck out of the room, out into the busy hallway. He tries his phone again, still no luck. Though he could really use some support here. Because none of it makes sense to Eddie anymore.

------------------------

“Coast’s clear,” Neil says, peering around the corner.

Buck hits the other man in the arm, hard.

“Hey! What’s that for?” the other man whines, pulling back into the storage room he maneuvered him into at Buck’s behest written on the clipboard.

“You didn’t have to put on an act as a doctor, you jackass,” Buck grumbles as he pulls the hoodie over his head, ignoring the pain flaring up in his side.

Just a nick my ass.

“I watched enough Grey’s Anatomy to know my way around,” Neil snorts. “I totally pass as a McSexy.”

“He’s an ex-Army medic and first responder, dude,” Buck argues. “Also, you are not McSexy, you’re McSaggy.”

“Ah, so it’s the ex-ex!”

Buck hits him again.

“You slut!” Neil laughs. “I guessed you had a thing for Latinas.”

Buck hits him again for emphasis, though he knows it’s all lost on a guy like Neil. He also knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the guy anymore. But the moment he rolled in with the white coat and the toothpaste smile, Buck will have to admit he was shocked. Though that was basically his modus operandi throughout the day. First the bomber, then Christopher, God, Christopher, and then Eddie.

“Okay. I checked, you can use the stairway…,” Neil tries to say, but Buck cuts him off. He’s tired and not up for faux tactic talk. “Dude, I know that hospital better than I’d like to. Just tell me where to in the parking lot.”

“Towards the back. Black sedan.” He tosses him the keys. “And you won’t be driving.”

Buck rolls his eyes as he stuffs the keys into the pocket of the hoodie. “No shit.”

“Wanna bid adieu to lover boy?” Neil asks, though not really.

Neil always says one thing, means the other, then says what he means, then he doesn’t. On most days, Buck enjoys Neil’s company. He’s at least fun to talk to, when he isn’t being a little bitch about it. The guy keeps a calm head in any situation without a stick up his ass. But right now, everything in Buck hates him. Though even that, Buck knows, is just projection.

It’s myself I hate.

“I did over a year ago,” Buck answers, whether to assure Neil or to remind himself, he isn’t quite sure. “Let’s just get moving.”

“Hoo-yah.”

Buck looks back out the hallway to see Eddie still standing in the doorway, fuming. He hates to see him like this, to leave him like this, but it’s just another thing to add, in the end. To all the hatred Eddie and the others are entitled to feel. Because yes, Buck is the bad guy in this. He knows it’s true.

It’s what he left behind, 413 days ago.

It’s what he won’t ever go back to, no matter the amount of days passed.

“Coast still clear?” Buck asks.

Neil checks, nods. Buck takes his cue and ducks out of the storage room, swiftly making his way to the staircase.

He leaves the comforting thought behind that maybe, someday, Eddie will forgive him this, all of this, and remember only the times Buck wasn’t there to wreak havoc in his life.

Buck finds the car with ease and he climbs in with not as much ease. Because his side is burning and he needs to sleep. He rather sleeps through nightmares than live through them.

Neil emerges a few minutes later, laughing to himself as he gets into the driver’s seat.

“Nice of you to make me call him a taxi,” Neil points out. “The lines are still dead, as could be expected, but I could get through with the super fancy, not at all fancy-looking phone we got.”

Buck noted that down on the clipboard as well, of course. It’s the damn well least.

“He left his car at the plaza,” Buck almost whispers.

Neil starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, eyes fixed on the road. “You okay?”

“I was stabbed, so I’m bloody terrific.”

“Good, then you’ll be delighted that we’ll be staying a while longer,” Neil informs him.

Buck leans his head back. “You’re fucking me, right?”

They had a plan. Just two weeks. Just this case. They had the network down. They should have been done with this guy thanks to whom he took a knife to the stomach today. That should have been it. He should have a flight booked out of here, away from the eyes haunting him in his dreams, the questions that burned on Eddie’s lips, though he wouldn’t say them. Because he never does.

“For as long as you don’t turn out to be a hot redhead with no appendages between the legs, no, I’m not fucking you.”

“How long?” Buck sighs. It’s not like he has any illusions about it: He will have to tay for as long as it’s demanded of him.

Rules of the game.

“At least another two weeks,” Neil lets him know. “The big boss man agreed with your assessment about how the network operates. And apparently, there’s been additional intel that just came our way. Get this: The pack leader is supposedly in town right now.”

“Fuck,” Buck curses. He hoped that that person’s appearance would be as far away from L.A. as is humanly possible. His prediction was that with the evidence gathered here, they could narrow down the pack leader and then move before the network spread any further. But the pack leader is here for a show, and it will blow.

“Big boss man also said you get the rest of the week off to heal up, coz you actually belonged in hospital”

“No shit,” Buck snorts, trying to find a comfortable position he knows he isn’t going to get.

“But so long you take it easy, you should be fine.”

“I appreciate the care,” Buck snorts.

“Oh please, I don’t care a rat’s ass about you. You’re just damn good at the job, is all…,” Neil says jovially, but then adds in a smaller voice, “Couldn’t help but notice, though.”

“Notice what?”

“You didn’t kill the guy.”

“Damn, you’re observant,” Buck scoffs.

“We are trained to shoot first, ask questions later.”

“I thought I could talk him out of it. And I did, after he stabbed me, fine. But no one turned to human confetti.”

“Precisely. You had a gun on you, of course you did,” Neil argues. “You could’ve just taken the shot.”

“Risk would’ve been higher for him to release the trigger, had I taken the shot. I had to get close anyway. Like that, I had a chance to wrestle the switch from him,” Buck replies. “Also, that means we have two witnesses now we can squeeze out for information regarding the pack leader. Normally, we only get to pick up their pieces.”

Neil shrugs. “Just saying, don’t slip into old habits. You’re no longer a firefighter. You see a bad guy? You kill a bad guy.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t hear you,” Neil huffs.

“Don’t be a bitch and drive, damn it.”

“I mean it, Buckley,” Neil adds, grinding his teeth. “I have no intention to get dragged into your problems. You can’t turn the switch? You gotta go.”

Oh, and how much Buck would love to. But even if Neil may hate his guts, Buck is where he belongs, where he belonged long before he could fool himself into believing that his place was in a firehouse with red furniture and a house wherein the most adorable kid lives and plays video games.

Even if I wanted to, if you wanted me to, there’s someone who wants me to say. And he calls the shots. Rules of the game.

“I made a call based on the evidence and my experience,” Buck reasons, because it’s still true. He took a risk based on what he knows himself capable of.

“Good, just checking.”

“There’s no need.”

“There better not be. We have a mission to fulfill.”

“Hoo-yah.”

#buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #evan buckley x eddie diaz #eddie diaz x evan buckley #fanfic #ficlet #in smol #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

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I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 16 - In Which Charles Vane Destabilizes the London Real Estate Market and Takes a Bath

Also known as the chapter I finally write the Charles Vane bath bomb scene that is the entire reason I began writing this fic. It still turned out more weird and angsty than I wanted it to. But here we are.

Charles has been acting a bit strange lately. Strange in a way that doesn't match his usual strangeness. In fact, one might say that this new strangeness is completely antithetical to his normal sort of hyper-aggressive, hyper-masculine nonsense.

That's not to say Charles has gone soft. He's still going to the underground bare knuckle boxing ring at least two days a week to bash other toughs' heads in, returning home in the early hours of the morning, bloody and bruised and grinning that feral sort of grin that makes Jack's guts writhe with a combination of desire and fear.

Because Charles Vane is a predator. Leonine in build and appearance, but more than that, he's a hunter. And most people on the other end of that look perish by his blade.

The ones that don't tend to become intimately familiar with an entirely different sort of blade – Eleanor Guthrie being a prime example.

And as much as Jack might enjoy that type of, heh, swordplay, he knows that it's a terrible idea. Particularly now, when the team is so cohesive. Charles and Mary have formed an unexpected but heartening accord with each other and with Max. Jack's own relationship with Max remains cordially businesslike, but that suits them both perfectly fine. And Jack has absolutely no desire to pry into Max and Anne's relationship.

Perhaps the largest surprise is that Charles has not once tried to challenge Jack's leadership, despite Jack having taken his crew and his command and his whole world. But Charles hasn't even really threatened him since that night in the hotel when Jack had first suggested they all settle down. And Jack is grateful. And he is more than disciplined enough to keep it in his pants to prevent ruining the accord they've all reached. More than able to put the con first and everything else second.

So Jack doesn't let the desire show. Keeps to the flippant and easily brushed off type of dialogue he and Charles have always shared. Non-flirtatious by its very flirtatious nature.

And Jack refuses to let the fear show either.

Because Jack has been on the receiving end of that look several times now, and he's still alive and kicking. And, as previously stated, Charles hasn't ever challenged Jack's leadership. And he's too Charles to ever play the sort of long con to disrupt him from behind the scenes that Jack himself prefers to employ. That Jack has employed against him – and isn't that just a tiny jolt of guilt right in the heart?

Completely unrelated to all of that, Jack has started keeping watch out the front window the mornings after Charles goes out. And when Charles comes up the street, stumbling and grinning and flying higher than the pipe ever got him, Jack is there to put a narrow shoulder under his thick arm. There to help him limp through the front door and into the front hall bathroom to collapse on the closed lid of the toilet seat and grin that terrible, frightening, arousing, alive grin up at Jack. Who just dabs at his cuts with the ruined, bloodstained towel he's started keeping in that bathroom solely for that purpose.

And Charles holds still through all of Jack's patching him up and getting him an ice pack for the bruises blooming on his ribs and admonishing him for getting into that state in the first place. And Charles lets Jack lead him up to bed and sit with him for a bit as he falls asleep, Jack brushing his long hair off his forehead so the blood and the sweat doesn't glue it to his skin as he sleeps.

Charles looks so peaceful like this, all tucked into clean sheets, with Jack's hand running gently through his tangled hair. Peaceful in a way he never looked with a needle in his arm. And Jack's honored to get to see him like this. With his guard down. Vulnerable.

Vulnerable is not the word one would have ever used to describe the Charles Vane from the streets. But this Charles Vane, the one who moved into a real house, if under protest. This Charles Vane seems more than content to let Jack and Anne and Mary see a side of him he's never shown before. And Jack keeps that trust close to his heart like a treasure.

But he's always been a greedy sonofabitch, reaching beyond his station, beyond the cards life dealt him by virtue of his birth. And Jack wants more.

Jack has kept patching Charles up after he gets back from the fighting ring he joined as a way to keep the pounding of the blood in his veins, the drive to fight and fight and fight until there's nothing in his head and his heart and his arms except the singing of his blood and the cooling tackiness of the blood he spilled. A way of feeling alive. A way of keeping sane that doesn't ruin all their carefully laid plans, all their carefully constructed facades.

It has also conveniently doubled as a way for Charles to keep his ear to the pulse of the street. A way to keep tabs on their former colleagues and competitors. And some outright enemies.

They move in different enough circles, Charles doubts they'll ever end up fighting for turf. But sometimes you need dumb muscle to knock over a mark, drive them further into your arms. Help them understand that they're in danger, but you can help them. You can keep them safe, if only they just trust you.

If only they sign over their soul.

And, and, it's helpful to know what the word on the street is about the rich fuckheads they're trying to con. Cuz sometimes the street knows things about them they don't even know about themselves. Things ratted out and weaseled out and just plain observed by the unfortunates forced to wash their dishes, or clean their houses, or drive their cars, or any number of menial, forgettable tasks that allow the person performing them unfettered access to their vulnerable underbelly that not even eel-slippery Jack or silent watchful Anne or flirtatious Charles have been able to gain access to.

Like, for instance, the fact that the Hennessy family is not nearly so well off as they like to pretend in front of guests. Sure, to the world it's all champagne and caviar and Mediterranean cruises. But Charles is have-a-drink-together-down-the-pub close with a fellow boxer whose wife's cousin's sister is a housekeeper for their big London house. And she knows there ain't hardly money to turn the heat on in winter. Goes to work in three layers and mittens to vacuum the priceless antique rugs and dust the slowly dwindling collection of priceless family heirlooms in the china cabinet and on the cold hearths' mantles.

Which is a good indication that just a little push, just a little pressure to their already cracking facade, and the property could be bought for a song. If only the facade can be maintained. If only there was someone to spin it so they don't lose their place in society. So they don't have to give up the game of pretend they're playing.

So they can pretend they're just going off to live in the relatively inexpensive Maldives because they're sick of English winters and not because the crumbling remnants of British imperial estates can be bought for a comparative pittance. Plus, everyone speaks English so it's properly civilized. Their British friends can be invited for reciprocated holidays without fear of losing face.

That's how Mr. Scott presents it, anyway. With no mention of fact that the islands are being slowly subsumed by the ocean. Not when that's why the deal appears so strongly in the Hennessy's favor. Cuz after all, you get what you pay for.

Charles allowed himself to smirk from the corner as he listens to the sales pitch, having been brought along since he is “friends” with Hennessy's wife, and a gentle hand on her arm, a quiet word about how much he would enjoy visiting their estate in the Maldives - his voice and touch and everything calculated to conjure images of him nude on the beach of said estate, just as Max coached him before the meeting - might do something to sway the conversation. Everyone knows Mrs. Hennessy's got her husband by the balls in a way Anne's admitted to admiring.

But someone like Mr. Scott is more than capable of sealing that particular deal all on his own. Gentle and bland and unassuming Mr. Scott. With skin dark enough and accent pronounced enough the Hennessy's can feel condescending even as Mr. Scott bleeds them dry. But his words are deferential, honeyed, and the facade is maintained. Everyone gets what they want.

So Max is pretty happy with the whole arrangement – with Charles keeping tabs on the London underworld, even if it results in a few scrapes and bruises. Happy with it continuing if he keeps getting results like this. So he'll keep doing it, even if Charles knows Jack isn't as happy.

But Jack's a worrier by nature. The kind of man to think and think and overthink, until he's thought himself into a right tizzy over all the hypotheticals and what ifs and Charles just doesn't understand, cuz he's never been like that. Never borrowed trouble when he's got enough right in front of him.

So Jack worries – mostly about Charles staying safe, he's pretty sure. About him coming home from the fights with cuts and bruises. And not about him blowing the con or anything. Which is kind of nice, really. Charles doesn't think he's ever had somebody worry about him for reasons other than a job. For reasons other than him being strong enough to do the job they need doing.

So Charles lets Jack take care of him, safe in knowing Jack ain't doing it to use against him. And it's nice - especially the getting to drift off to sleep with Jack petting at his hair.

Charles imagines it's like how a mother's supposed to sooth her child to sleep. All tucked into bed in pajamas, with a bedtime story. With the mother staying until he falls asleep, there to keep the monsters in the closet and under the bed away. There to sooth and to love and to care.

Charles never had a mother. Never had anyone to hold him like this, even. To care for him like this.

All his lays, all his fuck buddies – even Eleanor, the closest thing he ever had to a stable relationship – they'd all expected to fuck off as soon as the fucking was over. Or expected him to fuck off as soon as he got his rocks off. There was no lingering, no sentimentality.

And if they ever spent the night, his lovers – Eleanor, mostly – they expected him to be the one to hold them. And he'd expected it of himself, too. He's big and strong and tough. Protective. That's about as soft and sentimental as he'd ever let himself get.

So it's nice to be able to let himself be taken care of by people he knows won't use his vulnerability against him. And that's probably why he lets Jack talk him into taking a fucking bubble bath of all fucking things.

Jack has always been the type of person to push his luck. The kind of person who can never leave well enough alone. The kind of person who refuses to be content with what he has, always striving for bigger, for better, for more.

So that's probably why he thought it was a good idea to convince Charles into taking a bath with him one morning.

He's less beat up than usual. No bleeding, minimal bruises. Just that look in his eye that promises... Jack doesn't even want to start thinking about what it might promise.

Yes, absolutely no problem with getting naked together with a man looking like that.

Jack may, in fact, be very, very stupid. But Charles had agreed to the bath, swayed by Jack's argument that it would be relaxing, presumably. That it would help the lingering chill left from the dank parking garage Charles had spent the night in and from the walk home in the early hours of the morning.

And, in true Charles fashion, because that man knows absolutely no shame - and certainly not for anything so mundane as nudity - he'd simply nodded at Jack, proceeded up the stairs and into Jack's en-suite bathroom, and started stripping.

Jack turns away and busies himself with filling the frankly ostentatiously large tub. His doubts are beginning to have doubts about the soundness of this plan. But it's too late. Charles is already climbing into the bath. And the sigh of relaxation he makes as he sinks into the water makes any discomfort Jack feels more than worth it.

Jack's thrown something into the bath that bubbles and fizzes and smells sweetly of lemon and darkly of something spiced that makes Charles a lot more happy about this whole bubble bath idea. He'd been a bit worried he was going to walk out of this thing smelling like an entire fucking rose garden. But it seems like he'll be at most smell like he's taken a walk through a citrus grove, which is bearable. At least until he realizes that not only is the soap turning the water different colors, but there's a shiny slick of gold glitter riding along the top of the water.

Glitter he's sure he's going be washing out of his asscrack in the shower later.

And it seems pretty stupid to him to take a bath where you have to take a shower after. And he bitches to Jack about it. But then Jack's stripping down and getting into the tub, water up to his chin, and the smug look he's giving Charles – the look that says he knows that Charles is enjoying this, even if he won't admit it – that look makes Charles have to splash him with the foaming, sparkling water. There's no other choice really.

And then Jack splashes him back. And Charles just has to put him in a headlock – one tight enough he can't get out of it easily, the slippery bastard. And they're slopping water all over the bathroom floor, but it'll clean up easily enough. It's not like they don't have an overabundance of decadently soft towels in the fucking ridiculous built in linen cupboard.

So they wrestle playfully for a bit, Jack giving nearly as good as he gets despite being smaller. But he's never been afraid of playing dirty – something Charles has always admired – and the roughhousing ends with Jack's arm around Charles's throat. Well, really it ends when Charles sits on him, the only move available that wouldn't actually hurt Jack.

And Jack's arm moves from pressing gently, carefully, against Charles's windpipe down his chest until it's wrapped around his stomach, holding him closer.

Charles slumps down into the water. Leans back against Jack's skinny chest.

And then Jack starts scrubbing through Charles's hair, fingers massaging against his scalp. And that feels. Nice.

Nice enough that when Jack directs Charles to dunk his head underwater, enough to completely wet his hair, enough that Jack could hold him under until his thrashing limbs stopped twitching and he stopped breathing, Charles does it.

Jack guides Charles up out of the water. Guides him to lean back against him. Starts massaging at his scalp again, combing his fingers through Charles's wet hair, working out the strands until they're floating loose around his head like a halo.

They stay like that until the water cools.

Charles gets up and hoses all the fucking glitter off – berating an unrepentant Jack the entire time. But at least he does promise to use bath bombs that don't have glitter in the future. So there's that.

Charles pretends he isn't happy that there will be other times when they get to do this.

And Charles cleans up the disaster of spilled water around the tub while Jack showers. And Jack leads Charles from the bathroom into his bedroom. Lets Charles curl up in his bed.

And despite his halfhearted protests to the contrary, Charles is pretty fucking happy to drift off to sleep to the gentle tug and pull of Jack combing through his damp hair where it spreads across Jack's pillows.

#black sails #charles vane/jack rackham #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 16

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Tuesday, November 3, 2020

The ISS hits 20 years (AP) Today the International Space Station hit 20 years of continual service, having hosted 241 visitors from 19 countries over two decades. It’s also expanded significantly, growing from a cramped and humid three room space station to a cramped and humid 12-room, six-sleeping compartment, three-toilet station. The first crew took off from Kazakhstan on October 31, 2000 and moved into the new digs two days later, doing tasks that sound suspiciously like what anyone does when they move into a new apartment in, like, Queens: trying to get all the stuff to work, messing with the heating system which is sweltering for no reason, fixing things the landlord—who constantly alternates between Russian, English, and what sounds vaguely European but you can’t really place it—forgot to mention were busted.

Stuck Seafarers (BBC) A survey of 926 seafarers by the International Transport Worker’s Federation finds that conditions for the workers in the shipping industry have grown incredibly dire, with 59 percent of respondents saying they had to extend their contracts with their current ships because they were unable to manage a crew change at the appointed time. In general, workers sign contracts to work on a ship for a certain period of time and then at the end of their contract they disembark and are sent home. The pandemic has gummed up those works, with large ports forbidding workers from entering their nations because they seek to contain the spread. This has meant disgraceful working conditions in an industry that already has a reputation for being rough on workers, as 26 percent of respondents have been on board longer than the 11-month legal maximum, with some stuck on a ship for 18 months.

As Election Day approaches, many Americans abroad are grateful for the distance (Washington Post) The past four years have not always been an easy time to be an American overseas, and the run up to the 2020 presidential election is no exception. International approval of the United States, according to a Pew survey of 13 countries, has spiraled to the lowest levels since the organization began tracking it. The trend has been exacerbated by the coronavirus pandemic, the U.S. response to which has alarmed experts around the world and ground much international travel to a standstill, disrupting the lives of those split between countries. The chaotic election season has stoked perceptions of decline. A half-dozen Americans based outside the United States told The Washington Post that a defining aspect of life abroad in recent times has been watching attitudes toward America shift. Yet they expressed a degree of happiness to be overseas for the election, watching from afar as fraught politics destroy friendships and strain families. Emily Newberg, 32, is disturbed by what she sees back home, watching from her house in Popayán, Colombia. When Trump won in 2016, she was volunteering for earthquake relief efforts in Ecuador and has remained in Latin America ever since. “Every day, every week, every month, every time you look at the news, there’s some new scandal, some new frustrating thing,” which makes the United States “more embarrassing,” she said. She said she was baffled by the number of Colombians who still want to immigrate to the United States. “It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be,” she said she tells them. Even from thousands of miles away, even across an ocean, it can be hard to disconnect from the U.S. news cycle—even if you’re not American. “It’s weird that I’m all the way over here and I’m still like freaked out,” said Sharen Lena Treutel, 59, who lives on the Greek island of Santorini. “The level of respect has really gone down,” she said.

Families, day cares feel strain of new COVID-19 health rules (AP) Joelle Wheatley hit her pandemic-parenting rock bottom after her son was sent home from day care for a second time, with the sniffles, due to stricter health guidelines in a symptom-sensitive COVID-19 world. It was supposed to be Jacob’s first day back after a stressful 10-day home quarantine for another mild symptom that turned out to be harmless. Frustrated, desperate—there were no other care options, and she needed to focus on work—and certain that the 2-year-old’s runny nose and cough were also benign, the Seattle mom defied the day care’s orders and brought him back the next day anyway. As more families make the jump back to group day care this fall in an attempt to restart lives and careers, many parents, pediatricians and care operators are finding that new, pandemic-driven rules offer a much-needed layer of safety but also seem incompatible with the germy reality of childhood. They stem largely from coronavirus guidelines issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention lowering the fever threshold, disqualifying even a single bout of diarrhea or vomiting and making sniffles suspect in group settings. But the guidelines don’t take into account that young children are prone to catching the common viral infections that help build up their immune systems, or that seasonal allergies, crying, even teething and normal playground exertion can prompt a COVID-19-like symptom. And the price parents and kids pay for such symptoms—which could easily signal either a happy, healthy toddler, or a lurking case of the disease that has now killed more than 230,000 people in the U.S.—is now a dayslong disruption. That’s a reality Wheatley knows all too well: Jacob was turned away again on Day 2 and she then had to scramble to get him a coronavirus test and an appointment with a doctor who wrote a note confirming the boy was virus-free. It took two days to get Jacob back to preschool.

Major Hurricane Eta to make ‘catastrophic’ strike in Nicaragua (Washington Post) Hurricane Eta rapidly intensified Sunday night and Monday morning, becoming a major hurricane Monday afternoon as it continues to churn toward Nicaragua. Meteorologists at the National Hurricane Center in Miami forecast Eta to continue intensifying until it makes landfall in Nicaragua on Tuesday morning, potentially as a Category 4 monster. The Hurricane Center is warning of the threat of “catastrophic wind damage” near where the center crosses over the coast, along with a “potentially catastrophic and life-threatening storm surge” as high as 12 to 18 feet above normal tide levels. The forecast landfall location is near Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, with the worst storm surge flooding taking place to the north of the center. As the storm moves inland over high terrain, it is expected to produce a deluge, with rainfall totals of up to 35 inches and locally higher amounts. Flash and river flooding along with landslides are expected in portions of Central America, particularly in Nicaragua and Honduras as well as Guatemala and Belize. In addition, there is a threat of heavy rainfall extending into Jamaica, southeastern Mexico, El Salvador, southern Haiti and the Cayman Islands.

Britain edges closer to a cashless society (Daily Telegraph) The chief executive of the UK’s largest cash machine network has warned that the organization could be gone in as little as two years as Britain edges closer to a cashless society. The coronavirus crisis has accelerated the shift away from coins and notes, leading to growing concerns that the £5 billion industry behind cash is under threat. Despite efforts to quell fears that the virus can be spread through physical currency, usage has continued to plummet. John Howells, who runs the UK’s cash machine network Link, warned that without action there is now a risk to the “entire cash infrastructure, including the existence of Link. It could unfold in two to three years time.”

Germany starts ‘wave-breaker’ shutdown as Europe locks down (AP) Several European countries are tightening restrictions this week, starting with a partial shutdown Monday in Germany, as authorities across the continent scramble to slow a rapid rise in coronavirus infections that threatens to overwhelm their health care systems. Britain and Austria will follow suit later in the week, closing restaurants, bars and nonessential shops. Italy, Greece and Kosovo also announced new measures. In some places, the new rules—which vary in strictness—are prompting violent protests by people frustrated at once again having to forgo freedoms. Restrictions have been slowly ramping up for weeks in many European countries, but virus cases have continued to rise. There was a sign of hope from hard-hit Belgium, however, where a leading virologist said that “the high-speed train is somewhat easing up.” Overall, Europe has seen more than 270,000 confirmed virus-related deaths, according to a tally by Johns Hopkins University. In Germany, restaurants, bars, theaters, cinemas, gyms and other leisure facilities closed in a four-week “wave-breaker” shutdown that seeks to force daily new infections back down to manageable levels. Germans have been asked not to travel, and hotels are barred from accommodating tourists.

Slovakia tests millions (Foreign Policy) Roughly half of Slovakia’s population of 5.5 million underwent COVID-19 tests over the weekend, as part of a government drive to test all residents over the age of 10 within two weeks. Similar mass-testing drives took place in the Chinese city of Wuhan in May, but Saturday’s tests mark the first time such a strategy has been employed in Europe. Of those tested in Slovakia, roughly 1 percent, or 25,850 people, tested positive for the coronavirus. Slovakia was an early success story in managing the coronavirus outbreak—thanks to public trust and media messaging—and is seeking to maintain its reputation for sound management of the pandemic as it faces a surge in infections.

Attack on Afghan university leaves 19 dead, 22 wounded (AP) Gunmen stormed Kabul University on Monday as it hosted a book fair attended by the Iranian ambassador to Afghanistan, sparking an hours-long gun battle and leaving at least 19 dead and 22 wounded at the war-torn country’s largest school. The ministry’s spokesman, Tariq Arian, also said there were three attackers involved in the assault, all of whom were killed in the ensuing firefight. As the sun slowly set over the Afghan capital, there were few other details though the Taliban issued a statement denying they took part in the assault.

Rescuers weep with joy as Turkey pulls 2 girls from rubble (AP) In scenes that captured Turkey’s emotional roller-coaster after a deadly earthquake, rescue workers dug two girls out alive Monday from the rubble of collapsed apartment buildings three days after the region was jolted by quake that killed scores of people. Onlookers applauded in joy and wept with relief as ambulances carrying the girls rushed to the hospital immediately after their rescues in the hard-hit city of Izmir. The overall death toll in Friday’s quake reached 87 on Monday after teams found more bodies amid toppled buildings in Izmir, Turkey’s third-largest city. Rescue workers clapped in unison Monday as 14-year-old Idil Sirin was removed from the rubble, after being trapped for 58 hours. Seven hours later, rescuers working on another toppled building extricated 3-year-old Elif Perincek, whose mother and two sisters had been rescued two days earlier. The child spent 65 hours in the wreckage of her apartment. Muammer Celik of the Istanbul fire department’s search-and-rescue team told NTV television that he thought Elif was dead when he reached her inside the wreckage. “There was dust on her face, her face was white,” he said. “When I cleaned the dust from her face, she opened her eyes. I was astonished.” Celik said: “it was a miracle, it was a true miracle.” The girl would not let go of his hand throughout the rescue operation, Celik said, adding: “I am now her big brother.”

A Typhoon Spared the Philippine Capital. Will Manila Be So Lucky Next Time? (NYT) The Philippines was braced for the worst. When Typhoon Goni made landfall in the disaster-plagued nation on Sunday morning, with sustained winds of 135 miles per hour, it ranked as the most powerful storm to hit the Southeast Asian nation in years. Manila, the low-lying, crowded capital, looked to be squarely in the typhoon’s path. Roughly 1.5 million families in the city live near railroad tracks, garbage dumps and fetid waterways, their flimsy shacks and shantytowns defenseless against every wind gust and storm surge. But by day’s end, Goni, known locally as Rolly, appeared to have largely bypassed the capital, with no fatalities reported there. At least 16 people were confirmed to have died from the typhoon in the Bicol region southeast of the capital. “Thanks be to God we were largely spared,” said Francisco Domagoso, Manila’s mayor. “But we are one with the people of the Bicol region, who bore the brunt of the storm.” The Philippines may have been lucky with Goni, the 18th typhoon to strike the country this year. But it remains starkly exposed to a multitude of natural disasters. The country is situated on the so-called Ring of Fire, a seismically active swath encircling the Pacific Ocean that is roiled by earthquakes and volcanoes. Typhoons regularly batter the Philippine archipelago, packed with more than 100 million people. Deadly floods and landslides are common. The Asian Development Bank says that more than 23,000 people in the Philippines died from natural hazards from 1997 to 2016 as the warming planet brought more powerful storms.

Journalist Robert Fisk dies at 74 (The Independent) Robert Fisk, a veteran Middle East correspondent for The Independent and the most celebrated journalist of his era, has died after an illness. He was 74. Fisk was renowned for his courage in questioning official narratives from governments and publishing what he uncovered in frequently brilliant prose. He joined The Independent in 1989 from The Times and rapidly became its most recognisable writer and searched-for byline. He continued to write for The Independent until his death in Dublin. For decades he was based in the Lebanese city of Beirut, and occupied an apartment located on its famed corniche. He lived and worked there as the nation was torn apart in a civil war, and a number of journalists fell victim to kidnappers. Fisk, who was the recipient of numerous awards, including from Amnesty International and the British Press Awards, wrote several books, most notably Pity the Nation: Lebanon at War and The Great War for Civilisation: The Conquest of the Middle East. He interviewed Osama bin Laden three times.

Saudi crown prince girds for legal battle in a changing Washington over human rights allegations (Washington Post) Attorneys defending Saudi Arabia from lawsuits by 9/11 families will represent Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman against allegations in Washington that he targeted a former top Saudi intelligence official for assassination to prevent the spilling of secrets about his climb to power. The separate cases accuse bin Salman of ordering the death and dismemberment of dissident journalist Jamal Khashoggi in October 2018 and of plotting to order a similar assassination of a former official and U.S. intelligence ally, Saad Aljabri. The cases allege flagrant human rights violations, torture and murder by America’s oldest ally in the Middle East, and were brought by David Pressman for Aljabri and by Keith M. Harper for Khashoggi’s fiancee, Hatice Cengiz, and a human rights group he founded. Both attorneys are former Obama administration ambassadors to the United Nations. Analysts say the cases come at a sensitive time for U.S.-Saudi relations, threatening ongoing scrutiny of bin Salman’s authoritarian rule as many Democrats and some Republican lawmakers have condemned the humanitarian catastrophe created by a Saudi-backed civil war in Yemen. With the possibility that President Trump may not win reelection, the Saudis are belatedly realizing, “they’re going to be facing a much more hostile Washington than has been the case for the last four years, and maybe a more hostile Washington than they’ve ever faced before,” said Bruce Riedel, a former CIA official now at the Brookings Institution.

Malnutrition spikes in Yemen (Foreign Policy) Severe child malnutrition has reached record levels in parts of southern Yemen, and 100,000 children are at risk of dying, according to recent analysis by U.N. agencies. After two years of progress in fighting the worst famine in a generation, acute malnutrition among children has risen by 10 percent in the country’s south since January. “If the war doesn’t end now, we are nearing an irreversible situation and risk losing an entire generation of Yemen’s young children,” said Lisa Grande, the U.N. humanitarian coordinator for Yemen.

Attacks in Congo (Foreign Policy) More than 20 people were killed in an attack on a church in the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s restive North Kivu province last Wednesday. Authorities believe Islamist militants from the Allied Democratic Forces (ADF), an armed group operating in the region since the late 1990s, were responsible for the attack. Two days later, 17 people were killed in a raid on a village in the Buliki area of the province, which local officials attributed to the ADF. Attacks by the ADF have surged over the past year in response to a Congolese military operation that has driven the group out of bases near Congo’s border with Uganda. Militants have splintered into smaller mobile groups that have retaliated with indiscriminate attacks against civilians. The United Nations estimates that 1,000 people have been killed by the group since the start of 2019. Last month, the group allegedly carried out an assault on a prison in the city of Beni, freeing 1,300 prisoners including militant fighters.

Uganda’s Museveni warns off disruptors as he starts bid for another term (Reuters) Uganda’s veteran president Yoweri Museveni warned that anyone breaking the peace would regret their actions as he formally started his bid for another term in office on Monday. The 76-year-old, who is Africa’s third-longest ruling head of state, is due to face Bobi Wine, a pop star turned opposition politician, in a February vote. Supporters have praised Museveni for bringing in investment and bolstering the economy while opponents have accused him of crushing dissent and presiding over widespread graft—charges that he has repeatedly dismissed. Officially he will be running for his fifth term in office—though he ruled for nine years without facing a vote after coming to power in 1986 following a guerrilla war.

#headlines #news

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jessicachortkoff · 7 years

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1984 in 2017: In the spring of 2014, when Los Angeles City College performed a play of George Orwell’s “1984,“ I captured the following stills and wrote the two articles below. LACC also had several notable people come to our school to discuss drone surveillance, and the book club had special events too. I am publishing this now because it seems to apply even more today than it did a few short years ago. -Jessica Chortkoff : Heeding Orwell’s Warning Before it is Too Late Technology, privacy, torture, war, psychological manipulation, and control of history and information, were talking points at the Book Program’s series of discussions on George Orwell’s 1984, on April 22, 23, and 24. The discussions explored 1984’s protagonist, Winston Smith; his experiences, his family, and his motivations. Ignorance is Strength “You become so detached you don’t know the history anymore,” said Student Service Assistant Bessie Love, who led the Wednesday discussion with Evaluator Glenda Foster. Love read aloud Orwell’s 1944 letter to his contemporary, Noel Willmett. The letter predates the novel by several years. “Already history has in a sense ceased to exist, ie. there is no such thing as a history of our own times which could be universally accepted, and the exact sciences are endangered as soon as military necessity ceases to keep people up to mark,” Orwell wrote in the letter. In Orwell’s novel the protagonist, Winston Smith, works at the Ministry of Truth, falsifying documents and rewriting history on a continuous basis. As the book says, “whoever controls the past controls the future.” “History is very important because it is a tool to teach us what happened in the past so it’s not repeated in the future,” said Eric Sherman, a student and theater major, who has spent three years portraying Martin Luther King Jr. in a one man show designed to bring the teachings of important historic figures to elementary school students. Sherman was surprised at how little the children knew about King’s life, and even how much he learned himself just preparing for the role. “When you revamp or you destroy that which has already been formally done, what happens is it brings people into a state of mind of ignorance, and once ignorance sets in you are 90% if not 100% of the time going to repeat something devastating, or a catastrophe from the past,” Sherman said. Freedom is Slavery The recent weakening of the Voting Rights Act reminded some of the participants of the novel as well, since this served to weaken the rights that the 14th Amendment of the US Constitution promises. Foster remembers accompanying her mother to the poles as a child and the problems she faced before the laws were put in place. “When voting rights started she got stopped at the poles, ‘oh, your grandfather didn’t vote’,” Foster said of those times. Foster went on to explain that in many small towns some people may have never possessed a voter ID. In the past their voice would have been heard, but now that has been complicated for them. “It just amazed me that this is an Amendment in the Bill of Rights and they are trying to take that away, just like in the novel,” said Sherman. Sherman feels this kind of tampering with rights puts the 13th Amendment in jeopardy as well. “Just like in the novel when they were slowly but surely taking things away, to put people in bondage, and into slavery, so they cannot think anymore, to not have a mind anymore, to [not] be able to function,” Sherman said. “If you don’t know your rights, if you don’t know what belongs to you, it’s easy for someone to come along and tell you oh, well this is not the way it’s supposed to be, it’s supposed to be like this…” Sherman said. Sherman is also very concerned about the breakdown of intimacy perpetuated by the use of devices such as cell phones and computers. “Big Brother was working to destroy intimacy in relationships, he didn’t want people to love anyone else but Big Brother, or to really have any sort of emotional connection to them,” Sherman said. “Really our society is being formulated that way because of technology, and we don’t really have that intimacy with each other anymore. Just by having normal conversation, or going to each other’s house and sit down and talk to each other. We don’t have conversations anymore.” He believes it takes communication to think outside the box, and to collaborate with fellow artists. Other topics included the news, which has seen an influx of celebrity gossip and a frightening lack of real reporting about issues of great importance around the world in recent years. Tuesday, May 6, and Wednesday, May 7, the Book Program ended its tribute to 1984 with “The Drone Age.” Pepperdine Law Professor Gregory McNeal spoke May 6 at 12:30 p.m. Guest Speaker Heidi Boghosian, Executive Director of the National Lawyers Guild, spoke on Wednesday, May 7, at 12:30 p.m., about drones and the importance of privacy. Drones Big Brother may not be watching you, but Uncle Sam is. The Los Angeles City College Book Program, as part of its ongoing series of events dedicated to George Orwell’s classic novel, 1984, presented two guest speakers to discuss the political, legal and ethical implications of government surveillance in “The Drone Age.” Gregory S. McNeal, Pepperdine University Law professor, counter-intelligence writer, commentator, and consultant, spoke to an audience of mostly students at the Faculty/Staff Center Tuesday May 6, and Heidi Boghosian, Executive Director of the National Lawyers Guild, First Amendment writer, and radio host, spoke Wednesday May 7, at the 3rd floor multipurpose room of the Student Union Building. There was an excellent turnout for both, as both rooms were filled to capacity. The speakers were chosen to express opposing viewpoints. McNeal believes “Federal Legislation of privacy is a horrible idea.” Boghosian says that “On a typical day your image is caught on surveillance cameras at least 200 times.” McNeal spent the majority of his speech expounding on the logistics of the Fourth Amendment of the US Constitution. According to McNeal, America’s political climate is a far cry from Orwell’s imagined future. “To put a telescreen in your home would be illegal,” McNeal said. “It would not happen.” But according to McNeal, even if such a thing were to occur, the evidence it recorded would never stand up in court. “Even if you killed people, your children, that evidence would not be able to be used,” McNeal said. However, he also pointed out that there is not reasonable expectation of privacy behind a fence of any height, in one’s own back yard. If it can be viewed from the air over head, it is subject to surveillance. And although it is illegal for the police to use technology to see through walls, if the blinds are open that is a different story. McNeal’s point in the many instances he discussed it that what the average person think’s is a reasonable expectation of privacy does not always match up to what the court thinks is a reasonable expectation of privacy. For instance, there is no legitimate expectation of privacy for records turned over to the police by a third party, rather it be your cellphone provider, internet provider, a gas station camera, ect. Anyone can take this information, and it is not possible to use the internet or a cell phone without involving such a party. “It’s like being in your home and opening up your blinds,” McNeal said. What McNeal is more concerned with is the banning of cameras and drones in public parks. He told the story of a young boy using a drone to create an aerial map of a park, who according to McNeal, was threatened by the park with six months in prison. “To me that is actually the Big Brother I’m scared of,” said McNeal, “one that prevents drones.” Boghosian has what she calls a “very special job.” Part of her job involved going to protests and monitoring police treatment of activists. She brought up the events of the 2000 Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles. A spokesperson for the American Civil Liberties Union, had described the event as “nothing less than an orchestrated police riot.” That riot included the firing of rubber bullets into the crowd and beating people with batons. The National Lawyers Guild was able to file law suits and effectively change police policy. Boghosian’s book “Spying on Democracy: Government Surveillance, Corporate Power, and Public Resistance” was written with the treatment of protestors in mind. Boghosian sees a distinct relationship between the First Amendment and the Fourth Amendment of the US Constitution, since she has seen many cases where FBI agents infiltrated certain groups, especially animal rights and environmental groups. “I have seen first-hand, a lot of stories of infiltration agents provocateur, going into grassroots organizations and really trying to disrupt the work of activists, especially those involved in animal rights and environmental causes,” Boghosian said. “Those two activists have been labeled the top terrorist threat in this country by the FBI, they are specially prone to infiltration.” She then told a story about how her organization, The National Lawyers Guild, was infiltrated. Agents went through their garbage, an agent posed as a staff member in their Washington DC office, their phones were tapped, their mail read, and an attempt was made to label them a subversive organization. The FBI did not succeed, however, because the NLG, after being monitored for 30 years, sued them and won. She feared for journalists in particular, though. “That has a chilling effect on free speech. When you know that you being watched closely, it necessarily impacts how you act with others.” Boghosian said. She made it clear that she was afraid of a country where a reporter could be arrested and trialed for espionage. This brought to mind Edward Snowdon. I think he’s a hero,” said Boghosian, “he should be allowed back. I think he’s a hero.” Boghosian explained to the audience that many laws are hundreds of years old, and that “if you become unpopular, probably everyone in this room could be brought up on a charge.”

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khalilhumam · 4 years

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Diaries from the Frontlines: COVID-19 and Education Inequality: Who Is Most at Risk of Being Left Behind?

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Diaries from the Frontlines: COVID-19 and Education Inequality: Who Is Most at Risk of Being Left Behind?

Over the last several weeks of the “Diaries from the Frontline” series, we have shown how COVID-19 and school closures have affected some of the world’s most vulnerable students. Education organizations have had to be adaptive and responsive to meet the most pressing needs of their students and their families while trying to plan for the long-term impacts of the pandemic. In this final blog post of the series, we take a look at the impacts of COVID on the most vulnerable students. CGD colleagues have written about how school closures are exacerbating inequality, how learning loss will be greater for children with less connectivity and parents less able to help them, and how school closures will put some children at higher risk of violence and other forms of abuse. Girls are more likely to be negatively affected by COVID-19, as 69 percent of education organizations said in response to a CGD survey. These impacts are likely to continue to be felt in the long term. As evidence from Argentina, the United States, and Indonesia has shown, less educated workers are more affected by economic crises, and students who drop out of school or experience significant declines in learning are likely to face lower lifetime productivity and earnings. That’s in addition to the potential psychological impacts of isolation and in some cases abuse during lockdowns. This week, we examine how one particularly vulnerable population served by the Luminos Fund—refugee children in Lebanon—has been affected. The Citizens Foundation in Pakistan describes what school closures mean for girls and their education and life opportunities. And Educate Girls, an organization based in India new to the series, shares stories from the frontlines.

Luminos: Education for refugee children during COVID-19

Lebanon is navigating economic strife, inflation, unrest, painful cross-border tension, and a pandemic, all while hosting one of the largest refugee populations in the world per capita. There are 910,256 registered Syrian refugees in Lebanon, but the actual number is likely even higher. Despite the Lebanese government’s efforts to offer school placement to refugee children, over a third of Syrian refugee children in Lebanon at the age of compulsory schooling (6-14) are out of school. For those that are in school, this academic year has had major disruptions: schools closed for weeks in the autumn due to political protests and unrest, and again beginning in March due to COVID. In Lebanon, the Luminos Fund offers back-to-school and homework support programs for Syrian refugees, including robust psychosocial support such as art and music therapy to help students process trauma. Many students have been out of school for years, and all are learning in English and French (the standard languages of instruction in Lebanon) for the first time. These programs are an opportunity for refugee children to catch up to grade level and prepare to assimilate into Lebanese classrooms. During COVID, Luminos has shifted these programs to online and message-based learning, for example through WhatsApp, which many families identify as their preferred communication format. For the refugee families that Luminos serves, financial pressure is a greater concern than COVID, which has implications for education. Mahmoud, a father, describes the stress that he feels: “My daughter receives some lessons on WhatsApp, and I go to my neighbor's home to use their internet connection to download the lessons because I do not have enough credits for 3G. Honestly, I am embarrassed because, first, I feel shy when I go to my neighbors’ for internet connection and, second, my financial status is very bad. I am borrowing money to buy food so I don't know how to afford buying my children notebooks, pens, pencils, erasers, etc. I cannot find a job.” Syrian refugee children, both boys and girls, are at particular risk of dropping out of school, especially now. Boys may be needed to earn income for the household. Girls are at risk of early marriage, perhaps to a man with a degree of financial stability, and may be at greater risk of sexual and gender-based violence during the pandemic. Even before COVID, Luminos needed to adjust school hours during harvest season because children go to work, and the crisis is accentuating these hardships. Some children are studying online, says Assem, a teacher, but adds that he sees children working, like selling napkins at a nearby traffic stop, or playing outdoors during COVID. Families report seeing some children scavenging for food or potential toys. When the Lebanese-Syrian border reopens, some refugee families may decide to return to Syria, depending on when schools reopen in Lebanon and the family’s assessment of the economic situation—a choice that illuminates the confluence of crises these families face. Luminos has continued to evaluate new ways to support refugee families and students through the crisis, such as by providing cell data cards to families who will have trouble accessing lessons otherwise. It has considered distributing tablets, but there is concern families may sell these devices for short-term income. “I hope schools will open and my children return to their schools,” says Azab, a father. “I hope life becomes normal again. I think life will not be normal as it was before because life is financially harder now. Honestly, I don't know what will happen.”

TCF: COVID, gender, and class

“What are we supposed to do with a learning continuity plan when we don’t have anything to eat at home? Our girls are better off stitching footballs, at least that way we can put food on the table,” parents told Shakeela, a TCF principal running a government school for girls in a village in Narowal, Punjab. TCF estimates that a significant proportion of its students are currently at risk of dropping out, primarily girls and students from the lowest-income families. Boys who come from the lowest socioeconomic backgrounds, especially those currently in secondary school, are also at risk of leaving school to serve as an extra set of hands in the fields or at local shops. Principals, teachers, and community members from across the TCF network are echoing the challenge of keeping female students in school if closures persist. There’s a particular concern about girls dropping out during the transition from primary to secondary schooling, a problem which predates the pandemic but is likely to be exacerbated in its aftermath. The reasons for this are familiar: the loss of livelihood has a disproportionate impact on girls, as they are expected to take on traditional caregiver roles around the home while their mothers earn a living; distance to school and the cost of; early marriages; and familial and societal pressures. With several low-cost private schools at risk of closing due to the economic impact of COVID-19, parents are increasingly worried about their daughters’ job prospects (teaching is seen as a safe and respectable job for women, as we noted here). They are calling into question the value of educating them instead of teaching them skills such as beautician work, embroidery, or stitching. Ahsan, aged 10, used to help his father in the fields after school, but is now working from daybreak to sunset. He says, “Every day we used to play and do activities at school. I miss meeting my teachers and friends. Without school, it’s only work.” For many boys like Ahsan, the transition back to school may be challenging or even impossible, due to the economic pressure his family is facing. In addition to economic pressures to work, the digital divide is also preventing the continuity of learning for some students who do not have access to technology. That puts kids at greater risk of dropping out, as they’re unable to catch up. Accounts from the field of the impact of all these factors, however, have been mixed—some TCF principals are confident that they will be able to retain all of their students, while others are much more apprehensive. TCF’s TV program, self-study magazine, and community outreach have sought to keep families and students engaged with education. Continued parental support, where we find it, has been predicated on community members feeling that TCF did not leave them behind: the relief work that TCF has done, coupled with the regular community outreach by phone from principals and teachers has meant that some parents are happy to send their children, daughters and sons alike, back to school. How long this patience will last is yet to be determined.

Educate Girls: Losing girls due to lockdown?

The team at Educate Girls in India recognizes that learning loss due to COVID is important, but has been more troubled by the possibility of scores of girls losing out completely on continuing their education as a result of the pandemic. They have seen cases of this play out firsthand: girls who had been child brides but were allowed to stay home and finish their education have been sent to their in-laws. In other communities, Educate Girls staff have seen several girls trapped at home during the lockdown with an alcoholic father. The pandemic and lockdown have increased the risks of gender-based violence, with reports of calls to national helplines rapidly increasing. With Educate Girls’ field teams on lockdown, it is hard to translate these stories into quantitative data, but the reports from staff in communities Educate Girls serves have been deeply concerning. They have seen cases of this play out firsthand: Gita, a girl in a remote village in Rajasthan, was on the verge of completing her education when the pandemic hit and her school closed. Gita is a child bride who had been allowed to finish her education before moving in with her husband. Her family deemed it inappropriate for her (as for many girls in the area) to have access to a mobile phone—preventing her from accessing distance learning. When she did briefly use the phone to text a girlfriend, her father and brother believed her to be dishonoring her family, talking to a boy and not her husband, and sent her off to her in-laws earlier than planned. News traveled fast and three other girls in similar situations in Gita’s village were also sent to live with their husbands—accelerating their child marriages and diminishing their futures. They are unlikely now to ever set foot in a class room again. Another girl, Pinky, and her three sisters live in fear of their alcoholic father, even without a lockdown and now, cooped up at home, the situation is precarious. The pandemic and lockdown have increased the risks of gender-based violence, with reports of calls to national helplines rapidly increasing. With Educate Girls’ field teams on lockdown, it is hard to translate these stories into quantitative data, but the reports from staff in communities Educate Girls serves have been deeply concerning. Educate Girls, in partnership with the government of India and local communities, has enrolled more than half a million girls into school over the past 12 years, many for the first time. But the pandemic and lockdowns have created a real fear among staff that more than a decade of progress could disappear overnight. As livelihoods and health issues loom as the greatest risks, education is deprioritized. It is hard for a field worker to pick up the phone and have a conversation about school when their family has lost its income and its food. Like many other education NGOs, Educate Girls’ staff and volunteers have pivoted to do relief work beyond their usual role, supporting over 100,000 of the worst-hit families across 1,500 villages with the highest concentration of out-of-school girls. Despite substantial fears about the impact of the crisis on girls’ education, the hope is that the crisis will be an opportunity to rethink the systems and policies that have been at the root of girls’ repression all these years—and that NGOs can help press the reset button on the systems that are holding the most vulnerable back.

Thanks very much to the teams at the Luminos Fund, TCF, and Educate Girls for sharing their stories. These stories have illuminated for us what new relief operations, distance learning and learning loss, the roles of educators, and COVID-19 impacts on girls and the most vulnerable populations have meant in reality. While the series is ending for now, CGD’s education team will be continuing to research these issues related to the pandemic’s longer-term effects on global education.

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topinforma · 7 years

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what-happened-at-donald-trumps-inauguration-the-speech-the-protests-and-the-carnage

WASHINGTON — The nation’s stark divide was on full display in Washington Friday as Donald J. Trump became America’s 45th president amid joyous roars of support and eruptions of chaos throughout the city, including the removal of a half-dozen protesters who tried to disrupt the swearing-in ceremony

Less than two miles from where Trump, former Presidents Barack Obama, George W. Bush and Bill Clinton joined hundreds of elected officials at the west front of the U.S. Capitol, anarchists armed with crowbars and hammers marched through the city’s streets, toppling over news boxes, smashing bus stop glass, vandalizing businesses, spray-painting buildings and, in one case, bashing in the windows of a black limousine.

The acts of violence prompted helmeted police to chase the protesters with batons, hose them with pepper spray and fire flash bangs into their ranks. Three D.C. police officers were injured and at least 90 activists were arrested as the sound of explosions and sirens filled the air – marking the most intense confrontations in a day that began with protesters shutting down at least a few security checkpoints.

The confrontations intensified shortly before 2 p.m. as protesters hurled objects — including concrete bricks — at police in black riot gear, who fired back with more flash bangs and pepper spray. As helicopters swirled overhead and well more than a dozen booms echoed through downtown buildings, dozens of activists fled, coughing uncontrollably and pouring milk in their eyes to wash out the stinging liquid. Trafficked throughout the area was left gridlocked.

Trump’s inauguration capped a campaign that galvanized millions of Americans who were eager to embrace a Washington outsider willing to say, or tweet, whatever is on his mind. The 70-year-old real estate mogul — who has never before held elected office — was jubilant Friday morning.

And legions of his supporters were on hand to embrace their new president.

Kathy Davis and a friend sat in yellow ponchos in a light rain west of the Capitol, awaiting a moment they’d long anticipated. Both evangelical Christians, they’d driven down together from upstate New York on Thursday.

“We have just known that Donald Trump was supposed to be president, ” said the 59-year-old. “When we saw the miracle happen on Election Day, I can’t tell you the feelings that rose up.”

One 68-year-old grandmother so adored Trump that she and her family drove 19 hours from Missouri to D.C. to watch him become commander in chief. Security had confiscated Marian Curry’s pepper spray and taser but let her keep a small folding chair because of her arthritic knees.

Curry insisted she’s neither a Republican nor a Democratic, but something about Trump drew her in.

“He woke me up,” she said.

Donna Lutz, a 71-year-old teacher from Florida, said she’d lost friends over her support for him.

“For the first time in my life, I have not been able to have an opinion,” said Lutz, decked out in a bright red coat, fuzzy red earmuffs and a button with Trump’s face. “I was very passionate, so now I get to see that my passions were shared.”

But her feelings certainly weren’t shared by everyone.

Trump’s inflammatory rhetoric has angered and offended millions of Americans others, making him the most unpopular incoming president in at least four decades. Friday, Trump supporters and detractors came face to face on the National Mall, around the White House and throughout downtown D.C.

In one case, 10-year-old Josh Wheeler’s anti-abortion sign was thrown to the ground, driving him to tears.

Wheeler’s father, Todd, said a protester had pushed the boy and called him names, though another anti-Trump demonstrator helped comfort Josh afterward.

“We’re disappointed in the police for letting them do that,” said Wheeler, whose family came to Washington for the inauguration from Indianapolis.

At John Marshall Park’s checkpoint, Black Lives Matter protesters — chanting “Shut it down” — did just that. Five men chained themselves together, preventing anyone from passing and forcing police officers to redirect attendees to other entrances.

“It feels great that we closed the checkpoint,” said 28-year-old Aaron Goggans, one of the organizers. “But we know this is just the beginning.”

At the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and 20th Street, a very different sort of demonstration was being held as the earthy scent of burning pot wafted, and reggae pumped from a sound system. A cry went up from the crowd of marijuana enthusiasts waiting for their free joints.

They were reacting to a herd of motorcycles roaring past, one bike flying a Trump campaign flag.

“What’s up Bikers for Trump? ” said the DJ. “Come for some free weed?”

Across the street stood five D.C. police officers, hands in their pockets.

As the newly inaugurated Trump signed paperwork on Capitol Hill, hundreds of protesters meandered up Massachusetts Avenue from Union Station, occasionally blocking both sides of the thoroughfare.

The march had taken on a carnival feel, with stilt walkers, large puppets, a brass band and a giant inflatable elephant adorned with the word “racism.”

“Immigrants are welcome here!” People chanted. “No hate! No fear!”

Trump supporters leaving the inauguration taunted the peaceful protesters, waving their ubiquitous red “Make America Great Again” hats.

Earlier, at 10th and E streets, protesters had blocked the entrance to a checkpoint.

A group of women tied themselves together with purple yarn and sat on the ground to prevent people from passing through.

“Hey, hey, ho, ho! Donald Trump has to go!” the group of about 100 mostly young protesters. “End white supremacy!”

Armed with signs, brass instruments and life-size wooden crosses, the assembly danced, blew whistles and sang peacefully along with a small marching band.

The protest continued until a large group of inauguration goers — many dressed in suits and dress clothes — tried to push through the human barricade. People starting falling to the ground and swearing until police officers helped create a lane for the attendees to pass through.

Throughout the city, other anti-Trump protests popped up.

At 14th and I streets NW, about 100 anti Trump marchers chanted, ‘Whose streets? Our streets!”

One man carried a bundle of American flags over his shoulder.

“It’s not enough to continue shouting into the echo chamber of social media,” said Clara Mystif, 31, a writer from Florida. “We’re here to actually put our bodies on the line in support of our friends who are going to be targeted by this regime.”

Law enforcement was prepared to contend with more than 60 demonstration groups that planned to gather in Washington, including DisruptJ20, which expected at least 30,000 participants. The activists’ website promised “a series of massive direct actions that will shut down the Inauguration ceremonies and any related celebrations.”

They set out to challenge a security plan that took months of planning and millions of dollars to execute. Among the obstacles facing agitators: Checkpoints, roadblocks, truck-barricaded streets, hundreds of Jersey barriers, miles of fencing and 28,000 security officials deployed across 100 square blocks in the heart of Washington.

On Friday, counter-demonstrators also arrived to support their new president — most notably, Bikers for Trump, a group that served as a vigilante security force at the Republican National Convention and expected 5,000 members in Washington.

The region’s normally packed Washington-bound Metro trains were mostly empty early Friday. In a yellow line car headed south, two groups of four wearing Trump gear — beanies saying “Trump America’s 45th president” and American flag scarves — sat ebulliently at the end.

One bearded man in a North Face vest and sweatpants, clearly new to Metro, propped his feet on a divider and later asked if he could smoke his cigarette. He hopped off his seat to record a selfie video with his friends.

“It’s the best day in America,” he beamed.

The man swiveled the camera to show the rest of the crowd.

“Washington sucks,” he bellowed, before turning the camera off.

“I said ‘Grab them by the p–y,’ 17 times yesterday,” he joked later, referring to Trump’s vulgar comments on the set of Access Hollywood in 2005. He casually repeated the phrase several times, until his female companion shushed him.

“Today’s a huge day,” he said as the train approached their stop.

“Yuuuuge!” his friend responded.

Meanwhile, just before 9:30 a.m., outgoing President Obama left the Oval Office for the final time.

As he did, reporters asked, “Feeling nostalgic?”

Obama responded, “Of course.”

Another reporter shouted, “Any words for the American people?”

The 44th president of the United States answered, “Thank you.”

Despite Trump’s reputation as a showman, the celebration in honor of the former “Apprentice” star was smaller than the one in 2009 for the nation’s first African American leader.

Trump’s 3 p.m. parade is expected to last just 90 minutes. Obama’s took more than four hours. Trump is expected to appear at three official balls. Obama attended 10. Just 450 bus permits had been sought for Friday. About seven times that many – more than 3,000 – registered eight years ago.

Though Trump suggested “record numbers” of people would attend Friday’s festivities, at least one longstanding ball had to cancel due to a lack of interest, and others have struggled to sell tickets. Compared to past celebrations, far fewer notable celebrities and musicians are attending or performing, and a number of the city’s great halls haven’t been rented.

D.C.’s Trump International Hotel, which the new president will pass during his parade, has frequently been targeted by protesters in recent months. An extra layer of high metal fencing appeared outside its front doors this week, and staff have carefully monitored everyone coming and going.

Washington’s lack of enthusiasm for Trump’s arrival may be due in part to the adversarial relationship he’s long had with the fiercely liberal capital, a place he described as a “swamp” that needs draining.

Just 4 per cent of D.C.’s residents voted for the new occupant of the city’s most hallowed quarters: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

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topinforma · 7 years

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New Post has been published on Mortgage News

New Post has been published on http://bit.ly/2jhfJcC

what-happened-at-donald-trumps-inauguration