#food inequities across

[eezordalf-the-ardent]

We should also consider if the inhabitants of the mega-sites consciously managed their ecosystem to avoid large-scale deforestation... Archaeological studies of their economy suggest a pattern of small-scale gardening, often taking place within the bounds of the settlement, combined with the keeping of livestock, cultivation of orchards, and a wide spectrum of hunting and foraging activities. The diversity is actually remarkable, as is its sustainability. As well as wheat, barley, and pulses, the citizens' plant diet included apples, pears, cherries, sloes, acorns, hazelnuts and apricots. Mega-site dwellers were hunters of red deer, roe deer, and wild boar as well as farmers and foresters. It was 'play farming' on a grand scale: an urban populous supporting itself through small-scale cultivation and herding, combined with an extraordinary array of wild foods. This way of life was by no means 'simple'. As well as managing orchards, gardens, livestock and woodlands, the inhabitants of these cities imported salt in bulk from springs in the eastern Carpathians and the Black Sea littoral. Flint extraction by the ton took place in the Dniestr valley, furnishing material for tools. A household potting industry flourished, its products considered among the finest ceramics of the prehistoric world; and regular supplies of copper flowed in from the Balkans. There is no firm consensus from archaeologists about what sort of social arrangements all this required, but most would agree the logistical challenges were daunting. A surplus was definitely produced, and with it ample potential for some to seize control of the stocks and supplies, to lord it over others or battle for the spoils; but over the eight centuries we find little evidence for warfare or the rise of social elites.

a description of talianki (located in modern day ukraine), a neolithic site from 5,700 years ago (inhabited from roughly 4100 to 3300 bc) from the dawn of everything by davids: graeber and wengrow

once again this book is fantastic - and one of its main theses is that "the agricultural revolution" and some of the conclusions we draw from it are, largely, not true.

the development of farming in human societies is a much much longer and more "playful" process than popular narratives would have us believe. 'agricultural revolution' suggests an on/off switch almost. and the way it's usually taught sees agriculture being "invented" and then spreading like wildfire to take over the globe - only then allowing for true cities and the "necessary evils" they entail. this simply isn't true. an urban, farming society is not automatically doomed to bureaucracy, inequality, and exploitation.

all across the world the archaeological evidence points to the domestication of plants taking literal thousands of years longer than it "ought to." and then, even when the domestication of a wild plant was complete there isn't an immediate rise of huge fields and class stratification (as the popular narrative goes). again - in the magnitude of multiple thousands of years. we have generations upon generations of humans with farming know-how who don't immediately begin a march of politics and inequality precipitated by farming.

agriculture isn't humanity's curse no matter what the memes and capitalists say. we are not doomed to our current ways - we can imagine, we can build, we can create new ways of being. the past is the present is the past. and fuck you capitalism and doomed "human nature" debates. and read the dawn of everything <3

#eezordalf's wisdom #anthropology #david graeber #david wengrow #books #history #wizardblr #wizardposting #the dawn of everything #talianki #ukraine #archaeology #neolithic #prehistory #studying my tomes #humanity i love you #the human condition #human experience

[twogyuu]

be here with me || ml

Pairing: Mark Lee x fem!reader

Synopsis:

And I keep saying okay (Okay) I never listen to my own heart I do whatever they say (They say) While looking like you're happy as hell (Oh, I) I really hope that you feel the same (Oh, I) Tonight

– 7PM, BooSeokSoon ft. Peder Elias

Alternatively: a series of events in one night that made Mark and you realize maybe you loved you each other more than a cherished childhood best friend.

Genre: Fluff with a good smattering of angst (DA NILE IS A RIVER IN EGYPT), crack, BFF-2-???, inspired by BBS's 7PM, clumsy heir!Mark, heir-to-normie!reader, struggling grad student!reader, secretary!Doyoung

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of food and alcohol, brief mentions of underage drinking, themes of social inequities, unhappy ending (kinda? up to reader interpretation), reader has long enough hair to be put in a bun

WC: ~8.9k

Taglist: @niinjo @dropsofletters @matchahyuck

A/N: A special thank you to @wooahaes for beta reading and keeping me company as I wrote my first Mark fic! 💙 In the words of Mark Lee, "This one's for you!" (and hopefully, he doesn't miss again 😭😂🏀🧺)

the playlist: anywhere but home (seulgi) >> 7pm (bss) >> sure thing (miguel) >> believe (paul blanco ft. crush) >> fallin' all in you (shawn mendes) >> with you (jimin and ha sungwoon) >> raise y_our glass (yunjin) >> abyss (woodz) >> cough (onew)

Winter was Mark’s least favorite season. 

Winter meant shorter days. The sun barely peaked over the city skyline when he arrived at the office. Despite all the windows letting natural light into the building (his father’s insistence on creating an eco-friendly company), he hardly looked outside, busy tapping away on his desktop, eyes trained on screens with bland PowerPoints, or scrawling his signature on the umpteenth document with words that started to blend and blur together into streaks of black ink. When he left with his trusted secretary, Kim Doyoung, the glass building a seemingly lonely and empty ghost of the busy life it held during the day, the dark night sky with a heavy gray haze had swallowed the sun and he was greeted by with what he’d like to think were stars (they were just blinking airplanes and signal towers in the distance he’d come to learn as he got older). Seldom did he leave before his hundreds of employees and catch the last few rays of sun. 

Winter meant the cold weather. His polyester suit sets already felt heavy on his thin frame. To have another layer and all the accessories that came with it was cumbersome. He had to watch how he turned his body so his wool coat wouldn’t accidentally take out a cup of coffee sitting on the table. He made a point to tuck his scarves into his chest, so the ends wouldn’t catch on the spinning doors of the entrance. He had an image to upkeep, which meant beanies that kept his head warm were not allowed for work attire. The tips of his ears would grow numb on the coldest days, just stepping out of his private car into the office. He felt bad for making Doyoung carry his leather shoes so he could change out of his snow boots while he was in the office.

There was one thing to look forward to in the winter though. 

(Autumn, really.)

With winter, also came you: his childhood best friend. 

Every year since the two of you were in high school, you’d spend your summers in Busan with your grandmother, helping her with her strawberry farm. In the fall, you’d return to the city for school, which also meant, Mark got to see you – when you weren’t busy with homework and your various part-time jobs, and him with his duties at his family’s company, that is. 

Peering out his back tinted window of his black Genesis, his eyes skimmed across the other vehicles and their drivers sluggishly passing by. He wasn’t sure why, but traffic seemed to be stalling later than usual today. Most nights, Doyoung seemed to whiz down the highway without a problem. 

A tired mother and her rambunctious daughter shouting and kicking in the carseat in the back. A taxi driver and a lonesome young boy sleeping on his seatbelt. An elderly woman with a fuzzy bucket hat pulled down over her eyes sitting in the front of the bus right behind the driver.

Despite the titles behind his name and the way his father’s business partners and employees praised and pampered him, Mark liked to think he wasn’t so different from all these people he was passing by on the drive. Life had its bright spots, but today was one of those seemingly dreary ones for everyone, glum and tired expressions painting their faces. It matched the dark, heavy gray clouds that loomed over the city. 

Tugging at the knot of his tie loose, Mark shook his head and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to shake the fatigue off his eyes. He slumped forward, pressing his forehead into the cool glass, hoping the cold would jolt him awake like after a couple sips of an iced Americano and the caffeine started coursing through his veins. A patch of fog formed from his breath and Mark raised his hand to trace a childish smiley face in it. For no good reason other than it brought him the smallest amount of joy, his expression mirrored the doodle as he smiled lazily at it.

Sometimes, it felt satisfactory to just let things be and exist. 

“We’ll arrive at the convenience store in about ten minutes, sir,” Doyoung announced from the front. 

“We’re off duty,” Mark caught his secretary’s watchful eye in the rearview mirror, “I told you could just call me by my name when we’re not in office.”

Mark peered outside again, quietly counting the cars he passed like the seconds until he reached you. 

“Right . . . Mark,” Doyoung huffed. “Sorry, force of habit." He cleared his throat, eyes flickering from the road back to his boss again. "Uh, but um . . .” his voice trailing off, blending with the car horns going off in the distance. 

Mark knew he had more to say than announcing the ETA. He always did on nights like this – it was like clockwork at this point. 

The older man glanced in the mirror again. He cleared his throat and asked, “Does your father know yet?”

Mark didn’t bother to look back up at him. 

“No,” Mark replied curtly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing well that a mini-lecture was coming. As great as Doyoung has been as a secretary, older brother figure, and a companion these past few years, he was a stickler for rules, structure, and tradition – something the two didn’t always see eye-to-eye on.

Doyoung sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You do know you know this . . . arrangement between you and Miss Y/L/N is only going to hurt you in the long-run, right? Your father –”

“‘Would be very upset with you associating yourself with anyone with ties to the fallen CEO of Choi Electronics, especially the former heiress, herself,’” Mark cut him off, quoting his secretary. It was not anything new – Mark knew this lecture like the Queen Mab monologue from Romeo and Juliet he was forced to memorize in high school: boring and long, but dramatic when it came from other people. 

He continued, “‘It’s not good for your reputation if this gets out you’re still seeing her’ – I know,” he looked up at the rearview mirror again, a bored look in his eyes. “I know, but I can’t just . . . let her go like that. Not yet, at least; she’s . . . been my best friend since forever.”

“Mark,” Doyoung warned, though there was a hint of sympathy in his tone. Doyoung has been around long enough to know how fond the young heir was of you. Being one of the few children in the elite corporate world, the two of you were quick to befriend one another, becoming attached at the hip before anyone could blink. Despite the way your friendship waxed and waned as the two of you grew older, at the end of the day, you’d always find one another, some way, somehow.

The fall of your family name a few years ago didn’t seem to break that habit.  

Doyoung knew, none of it was your fault. You didn’t deserve any of the misfortune that you had faced and were coming your way when you finished graduate school. You were merely a collateral piece of a larger, cruel game. 

“It’s not my intention to guilt trip you, but do keep in mind, this is . . . much bigger than just you,” Doyoung sucked in a shaky breath. “If this goes downhill, she might get hurt – a lot more than you.”

Though Mark didn’t reply, the way his eyes dropped to his limp hands in his lap was enough to give Doyoung the slightest ember of hope that deep down, Mark knew. On the surface innocent meet up between friends, but the weight of the situation felt like a firework lit aflame, the wick starting to burnout towards the blunt and explode. 

The facts were plain ans simple: the two of you were childhood best friend.

However, the media had a way of twisting facts into truths for the public.

If he was being honest, it was guilt, and perhaps justice, that gave Doyoung the will to bring Mark to meet you at least once per week. As much as his father pushed it and as much as he tried to hide it, Mark had never quite settled into his role as the future CEO of NCity, Inc. If Doyoung could characterize Mark, he was like a mural on the side of buildings in Hongdae: hidden, yet loud, colorful, and bright. He was clumsy and bluntly outspoken, speaking his mind and curiosities at the wrong times though with good intentions. This predestined career path forced him into a plain and gray box that veiled the majority of his personality. He grew hesitant of his words and thought twice before acting. Every now and then, you’d see flecks of his quirkiness that charmed the company staff and board of executives, but that was all that was allowed. 

As fond as Mark was of you, Doyoung was just as fond of Mark, but in the sense of a younger sibling. Though he rooted for Mark’s success as the future CEO, there was a piece of him who also wanted the young man to be happy. From Doyoung’s perspective, happiness always seemed to stem from you. If he could give Mark just that much, Doyoung would risk breaking the rules. 

The neon green, red, and white sign of the convenience store you worked at spilled into the interior as the vehicle neared. To a bystander, the black Genesis felt out of place in this neighborhood. The buildings were short and small, but cramped against one another. Small alleys offered uneven stone paths to travel between them. The concrete was cracked, the decade old coat of paint was chipped nearly bare. Dogs howled in the distance and a few construction workers, their cheeks stained with dust and soot, were seated outside the convenience store on the picnic tables enjoying ramen from white plastic cups and cheap soju, slurping at the noodles and moaning in satisfaction like it was a five-course dinner. 

Doyoung parked the car at his usual spot: on the side of the hill leading up to the store, where Mark could see you, but you could just barely see the head of the car. Mark’s face visibly lit up as craned his neck to catch you smiling and handing change over to a middle-aged woman. He wondered if the woman was a regular customer who you were friendly with, based on the way you laughed at something she said and excitedly waved ‘good-bye.’ Loose strands of hair fell out of your bun as you bowed, your expression gradually falling to a calm when the women left and you returned to organizing chocolate bars at the side counter. 

[Mark]: Dark or milk chocolate?

[Mark]: Grab one for me if it’s milk chocolate – employee discount pls :P 

He peered out the window, watching your reaction. 

Your phone buzzed, halting you in your task to fish it out of your back pocket to swipe at the screen and read the message. There was a moment of surprise that flashed across your face, quickly followed by a soft smile. You spun around, shielding your eyes and squinting out into the dark to try and make out his car. 

You must’ve seen the black Genesis – your smile only grew as you turned back to your phone, tapping away at your screen. 

“She’s coming,” Mark confirmed aloud.  

Mark unbuckled his seat belt and fumbled with the loose knot around his neck. He hastily pulled off his tie and haphazardly threw it onto another seat and pulled on his trench coat. Folding the collar down and patting away any wrinkles, he quickly turned to Doyoung. The young man excitedly slapped the driver’s seat twice as if the older man already didn’t have his attention.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, bro! You can go home – I’ll get back on my own,” Mark explained. 

“Mark–”

“Don’t wait up!” he waved Doyoung off, clambering out of the car. 

You were already walking down the steps. Your faded yellow vest was traded in for your black puffer jacket. A white plastic ‘THANK YOU’ bag hung on your forearm, presumably containing the chocolate bar Mark asked for, amidst other snacks you got for free from time to time. You were trying your best to keep cool, but Doyoung could tell you were beaming. There was an extra pep in your stride and your lips were pressed into a tight line, but it looked funny because you were trying to suppress a grin. 

“You’re here,” you greeted him. You stopped a landing above Mark, clasping your hands together in front of you. You rocked on your heels, your composure slipping, letting the corner of your lip quirk up at the way he looked at you. His dark orbs were wide, reflecting the LED lights of the convenience store behind you. Unlike you, he didn’t try to hide his excitement, a grin spreading across his face.

“I’m here!” Mark sang. Immediately, his arms flew open, welcoming you for a hug. 

You rolled your eyes, but continued to descend towards him, settling to his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. The plastic of the convenience store bag crinkled and crackled between the two of you. Your cheeks already hurt from smiling so much. Though you saw each other frequently enough (though at strange hours), Mark was always a breath of fresh air in your routine; the warmth of the fire on a cold winter day.

“God, I missed you,” he muttered, his voice muffled. 

“It’s only been a week,” you retorted.

“Still too long.”

Just as you scoffed, the honk of the car behind Mark tore your attention from one another. You turned to see that Doyoung had rolled down the window giving you both stern, knowing looks. 

Doyoung was more than happy to arrange for the two of you to see each other at these hours, but he had two rules: (1) Don’t draw attention to yourselves and (2) stay safe. 

“Be careful,” Doyoung warned. He turned to Mark, “Let me know when you get back, okay?”

Mark nodded and shooed him off. 

“Why are you sending him away?” you exclaimed, peering over his shoulder as Doyoung drove away. “No Doyoung today?” 

Sometimes the older man joined the both of you – as a good friend rather than a secretary. You all grew up together after all. 

“Just you and me,” Mark sighed, letting you go. “We have a flight and long day tomorrow – he wants to prep.”

“Flight?” you frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Milan,” he replied, “New business partners – dad wants to establish a holding in Europe.”

“Mark, you should’ve told me.”

“I want to be here,” he remarked. “I’ll be fine! Let’s just . . . enjoy the night. “You and me – quality alone time. It’ll be fun. I need it.”

“Ew,” you wrinkled your nose jokingly, “Don’t say it like that – you sound greasy.”

“But I do!” he scoffed. Hands stuffed in his coat pockets, he bumped your shoulder playfully. “I need it, it’s been a long week.”

“Company drama?”

He kicked at the invisible pebbles along the pavement and nodded. “It feels like a whole k-drama sometimes. He said this, she said that, you should go on this blind date."

You ignored the way your heart ached for him. As glamorous as it seemed on the surface, what lied underneath was complicated and overwhelming – it was like a knot unwilling to untie itself. With a heavy sigh, you nodded and turned to link arms with him. You led him down the street. Mark’s footing faltered at first, but was quick to fall in sync with your own. 

“You know what tea is best served with?” you asked, staring up at the sky.

“Um,” Mark furrowed his brows together in confusion. “Honey biscuits?”

You jokingly shot him a disapproving look at his answer. 

“Mrs. Jung’s spicy noodles.”

. . . .

The walls were thin – quite literally. 

Only a faded blue tarp with an opening that flapped in the winter breeze defended the customers from the cold. Round metal tables were scattered inside, customers were scattered, seated on multi-colored plastic stools, sniffling and slurping on steaming bowls of noodles. There were no barriers between the kitchen and the seating area. A grill sizzling with meat and pots boiling on a fire stove greeted visitors. Spice and the smell of smoke wafted freely over the stainless steel edges, settling in the crevices of people’s coats and sweaters. The scrape of metal tools against one another clanged loudly and thwarted conversations, forcing people to shout to hear each other. Every now and then, Mark would bend over the table and ask loudly, “What was that again?!”

Mrs. Jung’s noodle shop was a street restaurant Mark and you stumbled upon in high school. You both were coming home from your first day of cram school – the “elite” one your mothers had tittered about just weeks before. It was in a part of the city neither of you were particularly familiar with and putting full faith in your navigation skills, Mark willingly followed you off three stops too early from home. Eventually, Mark ended up reaching out for his mother’s driver to rescue the two of you, but while waiting, you both grew hungry waiting and wandering around. Unfortunately, you only had 1248 won worth of money pooled together from the depths of your pockets – couldn’t even afford triangle kimbap at the 7/11 nearby. 

Taking pity on the two of you, Mrs. Jung offered the both of you dinner on-the-house – apparently, you reminded her of her daughter who had left for university a few months ago. Since then, Mark and you made a point to visit at least once a month (with adequate funds, of course). You were especially regular customers during the depths of finals season, when you clung onto your last brain cells and hardly had the time or energy to cook. 

Despite the less than luxurious conditions he was accustomed to, Mark liked dining here most. He felt at ease, like no one was watching. It was just him and his best friend, enjoying a simple meal under the stars (or so he’d like to imagine there were in this hazy city). It didn’t matter if he had sauce on his face. He could slouch, snort at a stupid joke, and slap his knee when someone said something funny. 

“So,” you started as you leaned over, placing the last slice of beef in his bowl, “How was the blind date?”

Mark stopped mid-chew and peered up at you, harshly swallowing down the wad of rice in his mouth. 

You sat back and waited attentively. 

“Blind date?” he asked slowly as if he didn’t know what you were asking. 

You nodded. “The one with the heiress of Jung Cosmetics – He . . . Hera? I think was her name? Her parents named her after the Greek goddess.”

“Ah, right,” Mark sniffled, returning to his food. He wondered why you were suddenly interested about it. “Hera – it was fine.”

“Did you like her?”

Mark paused mid-bite and glanced at you again. “She was fine.”

“Fine as in ‘she’s so fine’ or like fine as in she’s ‘meh’?”

“She was alright,” Mark explained, shoving the soft noodles in his mouth. “Didn’t like her, but didn’t hate her.”

“So . . . you wouldn’t marry her?” you asked. 

He looked at you strangely, but answered you nonetheless. “No – I don’t think so.”

He faked a cough, hoping to change the subject, but he wasn’t sure what. 

 "So . . . uuuhhh," he wiggled his shoulders back and forth, eyes trained on a Sharpie stain on the table, refusing to look at you. "How about you? Meet any boys yet?”

Immediately, you scoffed and scowled at him. 

Mark peered up at you playfully, dipping his spoon in his broth. “What?”

“Mark Lee.”

He raised a hand in surrender. “Hey, innocent question – you asked me, so I ask you. Plus, you’re cute, people are looking,” he shrugged, “And it’s university – according to Jeno, that’s like . . . the hot soup recipe for dating and all, ya know?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his stupid analogy, pretending as if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his unintentional compliment. This wasn’t the first time and if anything, it was a term of endearment.

“Hot like this soup!” Mark exclaimed. “Well, was – it’s kind of lukewarm now.”

"You know I don't have time for dating, Mark," you grumbled.

Despite what he just told you, he blew at the broth on his spoon as if it was scalding hot and inhaled the liquid. 

Within seconds, his eyes widened in horror as something caught in the wrong pipe. His lips pursed momentarily as he tried to keep his mouth shut to swallow whatever was left and prevent himself from spraying you. Mark finally started coughing up a fit, pounding at his chest. He turned away from you, covering his mouth with a napkin.

“Oh my god, you idiot – are you okay?” you asked. 

“Hot!” he repeated in between coughs. 

“About to be on your deathbed and you’re still on about that stupid joke,” you grumbled. Though you sounded upset, the way you adjusted yourself to hover over him suggested different. 

“No!” Mark waved. “The broth was hot!”

“You said it was lukewarm?”

“Hot! Spicy! I choked on a pepper flake or something!” he stuck out his tongue and fanned it. 

“Oh,” you settled back down in your seat. 

You paused momentarily before the pieces clicked. You reached into your plastic bag, pulling out a short bottle of banana milk and handing it over to him. 

“Here,” you pressed the drink into his hand. 

He peered down at it curiously then back to you. “You sure?”

“Of course,” you chirped. 

“It’s yours though.”

“I have more,” you fibbed. You split a pack of three with your coworkers earlier, each person getting one. You made a point to pull off the straw wrapped in clear plastic and puncture the top. “Drink,” you pushed it towards him. “It’ll help with the spice.”

Mark finally complied, taking a long sip. He let out a small sigh of satisfaction when he pulled his lips off with a pop. His eyes flickered from the drink to you. 

“What?” you asked bluntly. 

He giggled to himself like a drunk, shaking his head. “It’s been forever since I’ve had banana milk, you know?”

“When was the last time you had some?” you asked. 

“High school,” he reminisced, “When Chenle bought all that alcohol and snuck it into our hotel rooms on the school trip? I woke up hungover and you gave me one saying it’d cure it.”

Your eyes widened in horror at the memory, causing Mark to laugh even harder.

"I . . . lied about that," you told him, monotonously.

"No shit," he took another sip, "But I believed you and still drank a full eight pack."

"It's all I could afford from the 7/11!" you defended yourself.

"Lying about this helping with spice now too?" he ignored your comment.

"I'm a little more skilled in the art of drinking and hangovers now that I'm older, thank you," you turned your face back down to your noodles to ignore him.

Mark snickered, relishing in the memory. Even though he felt like shit and probably a whole lot of work for you taking care of him, it was a pleasurable moment for Mark – a time when things were simpler and not much mattered. 

Simple. 

Like now. 

These were small bits of his life he liked to keep close to his heart. 

First hangovers, banana milk overdoses, and all. 

. . . .

“I got this for you, by the way.”

Mark waved a small black gift box tied with a pink bow in front of your face as the two of you were exiting Mrs. Jung’s noodle shop. You stopped abruptly in your tracks, rapidly blinking at the item in your line of vision. 

You wondered why you hadn’t noticed it before. It was simple, but the pink bow was hard to miss. Was he holding it all along? It was no bigger than his hand – you figured he might have put it in the pockets inside his coat, which is why you didn’t see it. 

Your eyes flickered to him, though not with the excited expression he was hoping for. Contrary to his own bashful yet teasing and excited smile, your brows were furrowed together, a small frown tugging at the corner of your lips. 

Eyes beaming, Mark shook the box gently – just enough to hear a quiet rattle inside the box. 

“Mark, what did I say about gifts?” you sighed, pushing his hand down. 

“Y/N,” he dragged on the last syllable of your name, “C’mon – please!”

“I thought we agreed ‘no gifts’ – unless it was the holiday or our birthdays?” you reminded him. 

Mark was quick to press the box into your hands, wrapping his own around yours as to secure it and not let it fall to the ground. Your breath hitched a little at sudden touch and the warmth that encased your hands. You hadn’t expected him to be so . . . “aggressive” about this. 

“I wanted to – for you,” Mark insisted. 

You frowned, unconvinced. 

Mark knew you didn’t like gifts – especially from him after your father lost his position at the company. He couldn’t completely understand it, but he knew enough that it lied within a feeling of guilt and discomfort. You didn’t want to feel like some charity project. On that same note, you didn’t want to be a burden to your childhood friend. After all, it was partially his father’s doing for what happened to your family. 

The milieu surrounding your friendship of over twenty years was not the most ideal – not that it was either of your faults. A part of you always wondered if he still only hung around because he pitied you. You felt bad for even having such a thought – Mark had been so kind and understanding of you all these years. However, you couldn’t help, but question it when most have abandoned you. You didn’t dare push him away for you held onto the small sliver of hope that maybe he wasn’t like that. 

To lose him was a reality you didn’t want to know. . 

“Take it,” Mark pushed the gift closer to your chest. He took a step back. “If not for you,” he pointed to himself, “For me.”

Though you only answered with a heavy sigh, the reluctance evident in the way your shoulders slumped and your arms fell to your side, you took it nonetheless. You flipped it over in your hand, studying it with your eyes and examining it with your finger pads, grazing across the smooth velvet material of the box.  

“Open it,” Mark urged. 

You looked up at him again, feeling nervous.

He only nodded at you, gesturing with his hand for you to do so. He wanted to see your reaction. 

You caved – never had you seen someone so excited to see another person open a gift before. Gently, you started pulling at the pink ribbon, the satin cool and smooth under the pads of your fingers. With ease, it slipped off – its once pretty and neat form now collapsed into a lifeless thread. Pulling off the lid and pushing aside the white tissue paper, a small beige wallet with cushion-style stitches and gold painted metal clasp sat inside.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your mind immediately flashed to last week’s outing when the two of you had gone window shopping after hours when all the storefronts had grown dim and the doors were locked. 

“ That’s so ugly,” Mark giggled, his mouth half-full with red bean bungeoppang. 

“I like it,” you insisted, reluctantly turning away from the glass display, the wallet sitting on a sterile white stand surrounded by purses and backpacks of similar styles. You joined him, continuing down the sidewalk.

The streets were quiet at this time of night. Nearly silent enough that you could hear each other’s breath and the click of your shoes against the pavement. Only a few lonely souls walked the streets, phones pressed to their ear as they chatted with their loved ones, hurrying to the comfort of their own home. The street lamps lit your pathway, casting a soft orange glow across everything, your shadows were long and slanted, accompanied by that of trees. 

“It looks like something my grandma would use,” Mark tried to explain. He handed the bungeoppang over to you for a bite. The wax paper crinkled under his hold. 

“Your grandmother is a woman of good taste!” you retorted. 

“Is she?” Mark asked, thinking back to her last outfit choice at the art gala downtown. It was a bright pink business suit – she almost looked like she was a piece of artwork instead of the paintings and sculptures instead. 

He threw one last look over his shoulder. Indulging in your treat, you failed to notice the way his eyes lingered a while longer, making a mental note of the store name. 

“It’s classy,” you huffed. “Simple with sophisticated detailing.”

“Whatever you say,” he muttered. 

Roughly, you handed the treat over to him, nearly wacking him in his chest. Unfortunately, Mark wasn’t fast enough to catch it; the bungeoppang slipped out of the wax paper and splattered onto the sidewalk. 

“Dude!” you both groaned at the same time. 

“Mark–”

“Ah!” he raised a finger at you, already anticipating your protest. “I don’t wanna hear anything except ‘thank you, Mark.’”

You closed your mouth, pressing your lips together. Your hands tightened around the small wallet, suddenly feeling heavy in your hands. 

Once upon a time, goods like this were a ‘given’ to you – if you wanted it, you could have it. Not to say that you were a spoiled brat and received everything at a snap of your finger, but you didn’t have to think twice about the cost of it. It’s funny how things you once took for granted were now a privilege to even hold like this. 

“Don’t think too much about it,” Mark finally said, breaking the silence. Hands stuffed in his pants pocket, he took another step closer to you, knowing your mind was reeling with thousands of questions, your heart twisted in every which way. He wrapped his hand around yours again, giving you a firm squeeze. “It’s alright to want it . . . to have it, to be given it.”

Sometimes, you hated the way he was so generous.

Sometimes, you hated how he knew you so well – even more than yourself.  

. . . .

“Doyoung’s getting married at the end of summer.”

You stopped pumping your legs and let them drag against the pile of wood chips underneath you as you drifted backwards on your swing, skidding to a halt. The two of you stumbled upon an empty playground nearby, opting to loiter around and found yourselves on the swingset. Your bones creaked a little too much for the jungle gym and the seats of the seesaw were much too small for either of you. 

Your jaw fell slack at the sudden news – it wasn’t bad news. It was actually really good news given what you’ve heard about Doyoung’s special romantic situation throughout the last couple years in passing. Though you wished your reaction could have been happier, it was the reality of the circumstances that made your heart feel heavy. 

This was the first time you were hearing about Doyoung’s wedding. You had figured that if they already had a date set, that meant the plans were in process: invitations were made, venues were picked, wedding dresses and tuxes were tried, cakes were tasted, and seating charts had been laid out.

Yet you heard none of it. 

You wondered why Doyoung and Mark had kept this from you on purpose on the few occasions you’ve met over the past few months or so. The last you heard about him and his partner was simply that Doyoung thought she was “the one” and thinking about getting engaged. 

Perhaps they forgot to tell you about it with the new business deals and product launches Mark had talked about over dinner? 

But was the answer really that simple? It was a wedding after all – one of the biggest events in a person’s lifetime. 

You hoped they had good intentions, but the fact was you were no longer a part of their world despite your years of friendship and history together. It was as if the pluck of your dad’s name plaque at his office desk and you were suddenly a distant commoner among the crowds watching kings from aways on their pedestal. Of course, these kinds of affairs are never done without family politics. As lovely as she was, Doyoung’s mother was superficial – her only son’s wedding had to be pristine and fairytale perfect. You could only imagine the number of renowned names on the guest list, including Mark’s family.

If that was the case, you were on the blacklist.

There was a time where your parents were on the list of VIP guests – and you were dragged along. Not only weddings, but birthday parties, graduations, retirements – rich people always found a reason to celebrate. Then, Mark and you were twelve you were pesky wedding guests, trying your best to sit still for once while brides and grooms walked down the aisles, eyes wandering to the cake, your minds wondering about the dinner and the music selection for tonight. 

You always knew, but with Doyoung being the first one to go, you realized you were getting to that age of business “proposals” and marriage. Now you wondered what twelve-year-olds would be watching Mark walk down the aisle. 

When? 

And with who?

You couldn’t put a finger on why, but your heart ached a little at the thought. 

“T-that’s great,” you said softly, you looked away from Mark. “Congrats to them – really,” you choked out a half-hearted chuckle, “it was a very long time coming.”

Only the wind answered you. It nipped at the tip of your nose as if to tease you and seeped through the openings of your outerwear, sending chills down your spine. Your mind spiraling with questions that you didn’t have the answer to (or rather didn’t want to know the answer to), you failed to notice the longing and wistful expression on your companion’s face as he stared off into dimly lit streets.

“Do you ever think about us?” Mark finally blurted. 

You whipped your head towards him. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, still refusing to look at you. “Like . . . when we’re going to get married.”

When we’re going to get married.

His last few words echoed in the chambers of your mind. Of course, the practical part of you knew that he meant when you were going to get married – separately. Him with someone else and you with someone else. 

Yet for some reason, the way he said it, his tone laced with sincerity, made you want to believe he meant otherwise. 

“Y-you and me?” you asked to confirm. 

“Yeah,” he replied, drawing out the word. 

You didn’t think he was understanding your question. 

“No, no, no – as in . . . like,” you sucked in a shaky breath, “You with me?”

Finally, he tilted his head to look at you. You could hardly make out his eyes in the dim lighting, only remnants of the streetlamp slipping though the bare trees and past the jungle gym, reflecting off his face. However, perhaps it was for the better as the way his eyelids hung heavy made you nervous. It did not appear “heavy” in a sense that he was tired, but that mix of giddiness and bittersweet look of nostalgia that some people got when they were drunk. 

Mark didn’t have any alcohol tonight though. 

Could it be . . .?

He smiled cheekily, resting the side of his head on his thumb wrapped around the chain holding up the swing. 

“You? Wanna marry me?” he asked. 

“Mark,” you huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“If Doyoung and Emmy are enemies to lovers, we could be childhood friends to lovers,” Mark teased. He let out a heinous cackle, sounding like one of those hyenas in Lion King. 

“Mark,” you gritted your teeth. 

“I’m kidding!” he chuckled. “Geez, calm down – would it be that bad to get married to me?”

You didn’t answer him, pretending you didn’t hear his question and started pumping your legs again. 

“What kind of story trope do you think your love life is gonna be like?” he continued to muse. “I think I’m an enemies to lovers kind of guy too.”

“If that was the case, you would’ve loved Hera already,” you remarked. 

“Nah,” he shook his head, shoving his hands into his trench coat. “Didn’t hate her enough the first time.”

“Mark,” you whined, accompanied by an annoyed chortle. You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics sometimes. “Why are we talking about this?” 

“Ey,” he got up from his swing and stood a safe distance from you. You weren’t moving that fast, granting him the chance to punch you softly in the shoulder when you swung by. “I’m just pondering and trying to make conversation.”

“Let’s talk about something else?”

“Okay,” he paused. “I’m curious – who was your first love?”

“Mark Lee,” you groaned.

“I think you’re a first love kind-of-girl,” he rambled on. “I know your first kiss was Haechan – gross, by the way, but your first love. I don’t think you ever told me.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “There’s a reason why I never told you.”

His interest piqued, Mark grabbed onto the chains holding up your swing, bringing you to a halt, nearly knocking foreheads with him. For the second time that night, your breath hitched, your faces so close to one another. He was too close for comfort – too close for best friends. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes – one that you don’t think you could handle for too long, tearing your gaze to the side. Unfortunately, he was quick to adjust his position and tilt his head to maintain eye contact with you. You couldn’t help but notice the way your lips were a finger-width away apart, and if you just tilted your chin up – god, you shouldn’t even be thinking about kissing him right now.

You let your hands slide down away from his own, tightening your grip around the rusted metal, somehow, finding solace in the way the rough and uneven surface of the metal dug into your palms. You let out a shaky breath and broke eye contact with him once more. 

"H-Haechan," you replied softly. 

Silence. 

“My first love,” you cleared your throat and continued a little more confidently, “Was Haechan.”

Your answer came a beat late – enough to tell Mark that it was a lie. His lips quirked up, eyes still trained on you.

“I knew it,” he whispered, equally quiet, a hint of melancholy in his tone. 

The delicate moment was suddenly interrupted by his Super Mario ringtone, his device vibrating violently in his pocket. 

You let out a small, shaky breath and turned away – Mark noted the way your feet stuttered, pushing your swing to the left, further away from him in an attempt at courtesy of letting him take his call. 

Cursing under his breath, he fished his phone out of his pocket and swiped at the screen. 

Kim Doyoung. 

However, rather than answering it right away, he stared at the name flashing across the screen. The green ‘answer’ button and the red ‘ignore’ button pulsed with each vibration, urging him to make a choice before Doyoung hung up or was sent to voicemail. It reminded him of the Matrix when Neo had to make a choice between the red pill and the blue pill. 

Did Mark want to continue living in the reality he was born into?

Or to feign ignorance and live in the bliss you gave to him?

He knew if the older man called this late at night, nothing good would come out of it. He could come up with multiple scenarios right now: An emergency at work. Perhaps his father had found out and was furious, urging him to come home.

Or worse, the reporters and paparazzi. 

Mark chose the latter.

He swiped at the ‘ignore’ button and readjusted the volume to mute all notifications. 

Was it such a crime to crave happiness? Even if it was just for a minute? An hour? An evening?

“Let’s get out of here,” Mark said, breathlessly. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up to face you, a strained smile stretching across his face. 

His footsteps stopped when he was just a few inches from you, the toes of your shoes nudging against one another. 

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” you asked. 

He shook his head, extending a hand out to you. 

“But it could be important,” you protested, your grip slipping off the chains. 

“I promised,” Mark replied, “Just you and me tonight.”

You seemed unconvinced, however. 

Mark let out a heavy breath, taking your hand in his own and gently tugged you off the swing. It didn’t take much – it’s not like you were trying to resist. 

There was that sense of guilt surging in your chest again, but you tried your best to ignore it as Mark took off in a jog. 

Though it was never said, you both knew, neither of you wanted this night to end just yet. 

. . . .

It’s funny, isn't it?

When the two of you were no more than five, reaching for his hand, and him yours, was second nature – no questions, no hesitations about it. Whether it was him seeking your comfort after being chased by Renjun on the playground or you merely trying to catch up with him after seeing him down the red carpet at yet another lavish event, your chubby fingers would interlock like two adjacent puzzle pieces snapping in place. 

It was comfortable. It was easy. It was fun. It was friendship. It was love – not romantic, but something innocent and untainted. 

Yet as the two of you grew older and you were introduced to the concept of "cooties" at the end of first grade, unknowingly he and you slowly began to unlearn the habit of linking hands when you were with each other. It started when Jaemin teased you for holding Mark’s hand during a game of hide-and-seek. This was the first moment you were quick to let go of him under the watchful eyes and mocking snickers of your classmates. As second grade started, you grew bashful and more hesitant to keep doing so. With the two of you being in separate classrooms, however, it made the process easier and neither of you questioned it. Rather than at school, you’d find yourself falling back into old habits at company dinners where the two of you were bored and ran off to play, or when his father brought him over during a meeting with your parents. 

However, these moments became less and less frequent until it was nothing. 

The rule was simple and it had finally solidified when the two of you were ten.

Boys and girls didn’t hold hands.

Therefore, neither did you and Mark. 

It was an unspoken agreement and has remained so until this day. 

It didn’t faze you when he offered a hand earlier – the adrenaline and euphoria overtaking your consciousness and your senses to think properly, you willingly took his hand and ran wherever he wanted to lead you. However, when the fleeting and short-lived emotions had passed and you had fallen from cloud nine like a rain drop from a heavy gray cloud, your nerves were starting to get the better of you. Even if it was something so normal when you were children, it’s why now, even the ghostly brush of his fingers against the back of your hand brought heat to your ears and made your throat constrict as you stood next to Mark, shoulder-to-shoulder on a train to Cheomdangdong. 

Bellies full and conversations fell quiet, but unwilling to part ways, the you both decided along the way for one last walk along the Han River. Having sent his driver home, there was no way to get to the other side of the city, except by train. Mark scanned his neon orange metro pass for the first time in months for a ride in comparison to your worn and scratched green one that you used daily. 

The evening rush hour had long passed. Your cart was fairly empty sans the elderly businessman dozing off in the corner and the few bleary-eyed high school students in crumpled navy and white uniforms with Airpods jammed in their ears, returning home from cram school. There were an abundance of seats for either of you to sit, yet Mark and you opted to stand, holding onto the worn velvet straps tied around the stainless steel poles. 

Only the rhythmic chugging of the train wheels rolling across the rusted tracks, rushed through your ears. The silence that settled between the two of you was comfortable, but the growing tension was deafening – at least to you. 

You wondered if he felt the same. 

When the train halted at the second to last stop on the line, the sterile white doors hissing open, he and you trickled out with the last few passengers into the dreary tunnel. Perhaps your steps were too wary and slow, hoping to fall in sync with Mark’s, because the elderly businessman was suddenly wide awake and hastily squeezed his way between you and the door, pushing you into your best friend. Reflexively, his arm came up to wrap around your shoulder, turning and pressing closer into his body, while the man grunted something under his breath before taking off in a speed walk down the strip. 

It didn’t quite hit you, the position the two of you were in until Mark muttered, “Geez . . . asshole. Where does he have to go this late at night anyways?”

You turned in his hold and leaned away to look at him. Your best friend scowled at the stranger’s figure fading in the distance. 

As if on cue, he peered down at you. He shifted his hands onto your shoulders, eyes scanning up and down your figure.

“You okay?” he asked, finally catching your gaze. Though it wasn’t his fault, he offered you what looked like an apologetic smile. 

It wasn’t a rough shove, but Mark figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

You nodded, muttering, “It’s fine.”

Letting out a small breath, you readied yourself to take off towards the stairs that led to the streets and took a step or two backwards. Mark’s hands slipped off your shoulders, one of them falling a little faster than the other, just in time to graze against one of your own, sending heat to your ears again – though you tried your best to ignore the steam that were probably coming out of your ears out of embarrassment. 

He was your childhood best friend for heaven’s sake. 

Yet this time, instead of just letting it be like on the train, Mark didn’t let the opportunity pass this time. He was quick to lurch for your swinging hand, encasing it in his own. He feigned ignorance and courage, not paying mind to the look of shock and terror that flashed across your features. He gave your hand a small squeeze, marching forward into the night, not daring to let go. 

Rather than looking forward, you continued to look at him, searching his face for any hint of anger or regret – any reason that would explain why he would suddenly hold your hand like this. 

No, it was far from scandalous. It wasn’t like he kissed you unprompted or planned on taking you home to warm his bed. 

Nonetheless, this seemingly familiar act from your childhood felt taboo and wrong. Something that once felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together, now felt like putting a spherical block through a square hole. 

He was Mark Lee of NCity, Inc and you were Y/N Y/L/N of rented, tattered textbooks and the less than quarter full tip jar at the alley convenience store. 

As hard as you looked, however, Mark’s nonchalant expression didn’t budge. Eventually, to avoid tripping on the stairs, you forced yourself to divert your eyes. 

Only then, did his lips quirk into a small, gentle smile for a split second.

For tonight, he wanted it to be simple. 

Just Mark Lee and Y/N Y/L/N. No titles, no obligations. Just childhood friends enjoying the little time that remained of the fleeting night, slipping through your fingers. 

. . . .

Water lapped gently against the shore as Mark and you walked along the Han River in blissful silence. The half-moon casted a pearl-like glow across the waters, turning it blue. You’d like to imagine the two of you looked like you were silhouettes in the distance stuck in the Starry Night Monet painting. Black shadows blending into the night – seemingly unimportant to the critical eye. 

Mark’s fingers still woven with your own, the weight and the warmth of his hold grew familiar and comfortable with each step. It was as if he were imprinting himself  in your own hand, and yours, his. You’d both catch each other’s eye every now and then, only exchanging soft smiles before continuing your way to no end. No words were exchanged, but the both of you knew, the feelings, whatever they were, were there, wrapping around the both of you and settling on your shoulders like a fleece blanket on a cold evening. Friendship, love – you weren’t sure if you could even label whatever it was between the two of you, whether it be in the past, right now . . . what would be.

Tonight, however, selfishly, you just wanted to indulge in this moment: where it was just you, him, and the Han River. There were no expectations, no roles that neither of you needed to fill. 

Though it seemed like the two of you were walking for hours, when the ring of your phone interrupted the peace, it felt like minutes cut short. 

“Don’t,” Mark warned as you halted in your steps, already reaching into your coat pocket to grab for your phone.

The device, untouched for the past hour or so, felt cool against your fingers as you looked up at him. 

“It could be important,” you muttered. “It could be my parents or my younger brother.”

“Or Doyoung,” Mark said, his lips crumpling. 

“And if it is?” you gave his hand a firm squeeze. 

“I don’t want to go back – not yet.”

You sighed, pulling out your phone nonetheless to look at the time, but inevitably also revealing the caller ID. 

1:34AM. 

Kim Doyoung. 

The call ended, but started up again within the next few seconds, Doyoung calling again. 

You glanced back up at him, a conflicted look flashing across your eyes. 

“Y/N,” he said, breathlessly though he hadn’t run. Mark knew though, at the end of the day, you were a practical person and knew your place in the world too well. The urge to rip the device out of your hand and throw it into the river itself was strong. 

“It could be . . . important,” you muttered reluctantly, finger hovering over the green ‘answer’ button. “Doyoung would never bother if it wasn’t.”

“I don’t want this night to end,” Mark blurted. “I don’t want this to end.”

But the both of you knew – with every night, came a dawn. 

You smiled sadly, breaking away from him and answered the call. 

“Y/N? Is Mark still with you?” Doyoung asked hastily. He was clearly worried. 

“He is,” you replied, trying to stay calm. 

“Send me your guys’ location right now – I’m sending a driver,” he urged. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, peering at Mark. 

Doyoung paused, letting out a huff into the receiver. “Y-You’re trending on Twitter – there are pictures and his father is furious.”

Your jaw grew slack – something both you and Doyoung feared finally manifesting itself into reality. After listening to his instructions on how to proceed, you handed the phone over to Mark as the older man needed to talk to him as well. The two argued, Mark not letting down his guard until Doyoung said something that brought about a look of devastation into the peaks and valleys of Mark’s sharp features. After a few nods and words of ‘yes,’ the younger hung up, handing you over your phone. 

Silence engulfed the two of you again, but this time out of discomfort. 

Nonetheless, Mark couldn’t quite let this night go just yet. Not caring if there were reporters around to catch this on camera, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed his lips against your forehead, letting his lips linger for a few seconds more before pulling away. 

“This isn’t over,” Mark reassured you, giving you a firm squeeze. “We’ll talk about this, hm? I’ll find my way back to you.”

But just because it felt right, doesn’t mean it was right. 

You belonged to two different worlds now; two worlds that were never intended to mesh. 

Perhaps in another life, simple nights like this could last a lifetime instead of the seemingly few hours of dark.

#mark lee x reader #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct angst #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios

[probablyasocialecologist]

The UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization coined CSA in 2009 to describe practices aimed at increasing farm resilience and reducing the carbon footprint of a global food system responsible for up to 37 percent of annual greenhouse gas emissions. Since then, however, observers say that CSA has been usurped by the Gates-led corporate alliance, with programs like Water Efficient Maize for Africa serving as green-painted Trojan horses for industry. “CSA is an agribusiness-led vision of surveillance [and] data-driven farmerless farming, [which explains why] its biggest promoters include Bayer, McDonnell, and Walmart,” said Mariam Mayet of the African Centre for Biodiversity. “From a climate perspective, it entrenches the global inequalities of a corporate food regime. There’s no system shift at all.” Octavaio Sánchez, the grizzled director of Honduras’s National Association for the Promotion of Organic Agriculture, contends that policies that promote true resilience must focus on regenerating soils through the use of organic fertilizers, crop rotation, and the preservation of native seeds able to adapt to changing conditions. These are the cornerstones of a global agro-ecology movement that has emerged from the seed and food sovereignty coalitions of the past three decades. The peasant-led agro-ecology movement—with La Via Campesina and AFSA in front—rejects the familiar refrain from agribusiness promoters that it is condemning farmers to permanent poverty and stagnation. The movement’s position is supported by both a growing literature of case studies and the development of scientific agro-ecological practices. When Gates Foundation officers were preparing to launch AGRA in 2006, researchers at the University of Essex published a study showing that agro-ecological practices increased yields by an average of nearly 80 percent across 12.6 million farms in 57 poor countries. The authors concluded that “all crops showed water use efficiency gains,” which led to “improvements in food productivity.” The UN’s High Level Panel of Experts on Food Security and Nutrition recommended in 2019 that governments support agro-ecological projects and redirect “subsidies and incentives that at present benefit unsustainable practices,” a judgment based on similar studies undertaken around the world.

#green revolution #agroecology #agriculture #farming #food sovereignty #climate smart agriculture

[submalevolentgrace]

"Like many First Nations people, the significance of this time of year holds centre stage in my mind. It’s living rent free and eating all of my food.

It’s that time of year when Indigenous people get a harsh reality check on how deep the casual racism and microaggressions can go. It’s also the main time of year when the phrase “I’m not racist but …” gets used like a welcome greeting. We discover this ugly truth in those we consider friends or family; often in people we look up to.

Ever walked into a crowded room and felt out of place, alone and vulnerable? Now, imagine that everyone in that room suddenly stops and stares directly at you. Watching and judging your every move. That is what the lead up to 26 January feels like for me. Having at least one person who recognises the inequalities can be the difference between violence (in all its forms), and safety.

Every year, I have to take the time to do an internal review on where I am emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually and politically in order to ascertain how I’m going to approach 26 January while considering my safety and mental health.

I have been that person who responds to every racist social media post or comment I come across. It’s exhausting and distressing.

I have remained silent and tried to pretend that this date doesn’t exist. It’s lonely and disempowering.

I have attempted diplomacy and handed out the “agree to disagree” phrase like lollipops and was still actively sought out and covered in racist verbal vomit.

While you might be out there getting ready for your barbecues, back yard cricket and goon of fortune, so many of us are riding an emotional rollercoaster of pain, anguish and frustration, while trying to reconcile our love for our white friends and family. You have the privilege of ignorance and indifference. We have the burden of existing in a space where we are told that we are not wanted, valued or respected. We have to actively choose how to navigate this war zone every single year."

(keep reading)

#auspol #invasion day

[mariacallous]

In many areas of health, women receive worse care, and suffer worse outcomes, than men. Women experience higher rates of adverse drug reactions. Across hundreds of diseases, they are diagnosed later than men. Women are more likely to suffer from common mental health conditions. In moments of acute pain, women are less likely to be given painkillers.

One small positive is that this gender health gap is finally getting the attention it deserves. “We’re much more aware of these issues now than we were previously,” says Angela Saini, a journalist and the author of Inferior: How Science Got Women Wrong. “It’s become a huge topic right across academia, medical research, health institutions, everywhere. Even everyday people see it in the press all the time.”

Seeing this health gap is one thing. Knowing what causes it is another—as only then can it be fixed. Ahead of speaking at WIRED Health in London on March 19, Saini sat down with WIRED to talk about how the gender health gap is misperceived and what needs to change for it to be closed. This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

How is the gender health gap being misunderstood?

We make assumptions about sex and gender which may not explain the gaps that we’re seeing. It’s very common for people to make very bold assertions about men’s and women’s bodies being completely different, and needing a completely different system of health care, needing different regimes of research, when in fact, sex only really matters in certain contexts when it comes to health.

Very often what we’re seeing in terms of gender health gaps are failures to do with sexism, and misdiagnosis because of assumptions based on history and myths in health research.

Take heart attacks. Women are very likely to have them. But society associates heart attacks with men. When a man has typical heart attack symptoms, people—and I mean everyone, men, women, health professionals—are much quicker to identify that as a heart attack than when a woman has exactly the same symptoms. We don’t think of women as having heart attacks in the same way as men. That’s not a sex difference—it’s about the gender assumptions that we have that we associate with certain conditions.

Where we’re at now, there’s public awareness and academic awareness about gender health gaps. But work needs to be done at a much deeper level, from condition to condition, to understand what the actual reasons are underlying the differences we’re seeing. Is it a sex difference? Or is it sexism?

Where are these things being confused?

Consider the sleep drug zolpidem. Here’s a medicine the US Food and Drug Administration approved years ago, with guidance to doctors on different dosages for men and women. There are very few drugs like this. If you look at drug labeling, it’s very unusual to have different doses for men and women.

The reason given was that researchers noticed women were processing the drug more slowly than men. So in the morning, if they had taken this as an insomnia treatment the night before, women would still be feeling sleepy, which would be a problem if they had to drive a car or operate heavy machinery. So they said women should take half the dose.

But what later research revealed was that the difference doctors were seeing was less due to some innate sex difference and more to do with weight. The size of your body also impacts how quickly or how slowly you process a drug.

Well, if weight here is being used as a proxy for sex or gender, a larger woman would need the higher dose; a smaller man a lower dose. So why would you just not use weight as the measure for what dose a person should get? That would be a much more effective way of deciding. But because we collect data along certain lines and not others, then guidelines get written along certain lines and not others.

To give another example, sometimes women’s pain is not fully appreciated when they come forward. Women are statistically more likely to go to a doctor when in pain compared to a man. But then common myths and assumptions start to emerge: “It’s not that serious.” “She’s being hysterical.”

So there are lots of things to pick apart here. It’s the picking apart that we often don’t bother with. We just see a difference, and then that gets ascribed to something without us really knowing what the root cause is.

So how can we get better at picking apart sex differences and sexism to reduce the gender health gap?

For me, it’s about taking medicine to the next level of investigation, which is at the level of the social determinants of health. Many of the things that kill most of us have a huge social or environmental component. Things like diet, stress, the way that we are treated in society.

It’s only relatively recently that research started to be done into the impact of sexism and racism on health, and the impact of other social factors. The job that you do, your status as a married person or not, these can also have health outcomes.

So there’s all these little pieces where research is needed, and it’s an ongoing project. It's not as though you’ll only do a study once into the effects of being married or being a stay-at-home wife on your health. Because those social factors are always changing.

Sex and gender is an aspect of this social story. But it’s important to understand where it can be appropriately invoked. Sometimes gender is relevant, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes sex matters, sometimes it doesn’t.

What’s standing in the way of things getting better?

Well, research funding agencies are much more interested in looking inside our bodies for explanations for why things are as they are. The outside world is much more difficult to study, because social circumstances are always changing. They can be very different between households, even within households. It’s much harder to collect data on social circumstances.

But we’re at the stage where we can learn so much from people’s mobile phones tracking their activity. Data is being collected on what people are eating, their movements, how active they are. Eventually we’ll be able to build personalized pictures of people, and stop generalizing about people in groups and assuming that they’re typical of that group, and then understand them as a complex individual.

Who is making progress on understanding and closing the gender health gap?

Sarah Richardson’s team at Harvard University—she runs the GenderSci Lab—has done incredible work breaking down the causes of gender health disparities. They’re getting medical researchers to think very carefully about the context of the conditions that they're investigating.

The team did brilliant work during the pandemic. At the beginning there were all these very wild claims about gender differences with the virus—for instance, that women were protected because on average they have a stronger immune system. They showed that if you looked at the data this didn’t really hold up. They helped dispel this very pseudoscientific assumption that the virus was hitting all populations uniformly, and helped end the neglect of demographic patterns as a factor in Covid, the kind of jobs that people were doing, who were frontline workers, and so on.

This work around sex contextualism, as Richardson calls it, is a really compelling model for how to think about sex and gender in research.

[eaglesnick]

“In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of.”   — Confucius, Chinese teacher and philosopher

According to Jeremy Hunt, Chancellor of the Exchequer, his recent budget announcements will “eliminate low pay altogether". Speaking in Parliament last November he stated:

“People who get up early, put in the hours and work hard for their families deserve to be paid fairly” (Hunt: 22/11/23)

I couldn’t agree more. It is therefore such a pity that Hunt was being less than honest with us. According to The Resolution Foundation analysis of ONS data (reported in the Guardian. March 2nd 2024) after almost 14 years of Tory rule, average wages are still “below their 2008 peak".

In other words, despite inflation now falling and private sector wage rises being above inflation, the average worker in this country is no better off than they were over a decade a go. The Resolution Foundation has calculated that the 15 years of low wage growth under successive Tory governments has cost the average worker £10,700, the worst period of pay growth since the Napoleonic wars.

But who cares about the plight of the average UK worker or their families? :  certainly not Conservative governments. Under the Tories the tax burden for the average worker has rocketed, mainly through stealth taxes, and is set to reach the highest lever since the second world war.

But it’s not all bad news.

During the same time frame, emergency food parcels for the poor have risen from less than 100,000 in 2010 to over 3,000,000 a year. And while the poor queue for their food parcels, the rich are busy counting the massive increase in their personal wealth.

“Soaring levels of wealth across the UK, coupled with high levels of wealth inequality, mean that the wealth gap between the top and middle tenth of households in the UK has grown to a record £1.2 million per adult. ( Resolution Foundation: The UK's wealth gaps have grown over £1.2 million, 20/07/22)

So, when the Tories talk about an improving economy and tax cuts for ordinary working families, just remember what the stark economic reality is for the millions of workers “who get up early, put in the hours and work hard for their families”: stagnant wages and a society with ever increasing inequalities between those that work to improve the country’s wealth and and those who benefit from that work.

#uk politics #jeremy hunt #rishi sunak #inequality #rich #poor #taxes

[enbycrip]

I have come across a number of things in books and podcasts about historical West Africa recently which have made me think about our current society and how we as humans handle prestige, class, resources and stability.

(I am aware I’m writing this as a white European and that the people this knowledge passed to me through had European or American accents and names; while all of them referenced academics with African names, I am acknowledging as a starting point here that there is going to have been flattening of power relationships, oversimplification, translation issues, issues with how oral histories reach academic writings, and the issues of a colonial lens *at the very least* in the transmission of knowledge to me here, and that’s before whatever misunderstanding and issues with my lack of context and structural racism have occurred in how I have processed what I have read and heard.)

So it seems that, in a lot of medieval West African kingdoms, particularly historical Ghana (relationship to the modern state of Ghana is complex and not really geographical), land was neither owned by individuals/families or by the king a la European feudalism; it was in something closer to corporate wider kin/tribal group ownership.

Unlike the situation in *most* of medieval Europe, there was just not a land shortage; there never seems to have been an issue with any individual or familial group having security of tenure of a particular area of land as long as they had the capacity to work it.

The issue of shortage was *labour*, not land itself; it’s basically the complete inverse of the situation in Western Europe in the 14th century just before the decade preceding the Black Death, when there was so much labour due to population growth that all the marginal land was under cultivation just to feed everyone and there was this underclass living in serious poverty and food insecurity, who were, horribly and familiarly, the first people to start dying in the decade of disasters that led up to the Black Death.

This kind of situation, where *land* is the prestige resource, is the one really baked into the European and colonial mindset, and you can still see the effects of it stretching into our modern western capitalist mindset when, in a lot of ways, that doesn’t entirely make logical sense. But, in medieval to early modern West Africa, the prestige resource was *labour*, not land.

Hence the long, stable social history of slavery in West Africa; when labour is your scarce resource, holding and controlling labour is how you gain, hold and demonstrate power and prestige.

And because it is long and stable, the institution of slavery in West Africa seems to have had a lot more in common with serfdom in Europe or thralldom in early medieval Scandanavia than chattel slavery in the Americas or Roman slavery. Because both of those depend on an Imperial mindset. While a society can *absolutely* persist stably with manifest inequality and exploitation, and even dehumanisation of whole classes of people, it can’t *use up* people the way those institutions did and still remain stable.

It’s not even simply an issue with birth and replacement rates etc; there are conditions of life that humans can tolerate on a generational scale and ones we can’t. We are these highly social apes that evolved to survive and thrive in small, hierarchical but highly interdependent clan communities. So there are certain kinds of stress we can tolerate an enormous amount of *if* we have other protective factors.

Imperial societies do not allow their underclasses these factors because they do not only seek to *maximise* output of resources at any given time; they see the maximum theoretical output as their “right”. They work slaves to death and exploit land to infertility because they can always conquer more land/take more prisoners/buy more slaves. The fact that they *can* acquire MORE people, and/or more land, quickly becomes a social imperative; they are *duty-bound* to acquire more people and/or more land; to EXPAND, and not doing so becomes a “loss”.

(Yes, Augustus set Rome’s imperial boundaries; it didn’t stop them continually starting wars for resources and prisoners to become slaves until the collapse of the Empire.)

I think it is fairly clear that modern capitalism is a global imperial society. You can, in fact, explicitly see that evolution. Capitalism was born at the same time as Spanish imperialism - and colonialism-genocide - in the South Americas; it was South American silver that was the resource injection that allowed the beginnings of the stock market in the Netherlands. Both of these were part of the Spanish Empire at the time, and the Netherlands’ nascent capitalism powered itself on that resource injection and used it to leap free from Spanish control and immediately begin its own colonial ventures.

Capitalism was part of the imperial machinery of the Dutch, French and British Empires; the American Empire has been more explicitly capitalist than it has been imperialist, as one became more overtly acceptable than the other. It didn’t really change its nature; just moved it from a national base - and let’s be clear; nation states are as much social constructs as anything else is, and the fact that they are somewhat anchored to a geographical location does not give them more objective reality than, for example, money - to something more diffuse that nonetheless still operates to systemically entrench power and privilege to certain people and marginalise others.

#capitalism #disaster capitalism #african history #european history #imperialism #colonialism #slavery #medieval history #early modern history #anti capitalism #capitalism is imperialism #world history

[the-world-annealing]

Communism, Anti-Colonialism, and Palestine

The state of Israel is deeply unjust for denying millions of people basic rights, ranging from democratic representation to energy to food and water. Violent resistance against this domination is justified insofar it helps these people throw off their shackles.

I consider the above incredibly straightforward, and it's genuinely worrying for me to see people come up with justifications for why it's best if the occupation continues indefinitely in its current form. I genuinely don't get why someone who views all human life as valuable could even believe this.

But at the same time please consider what 'there is no two-state solution, it's all Palestine' would imply if you tried to like, actually implement it. The region contains fifteen million people, who are about 50/50 split Israeli/Palestinian, clearly your solution isn't to set up a representative government and let democracy save the day, so do you just want to ship seven million people off to wherever their grandmothers were born?

"I mean, it worked for the pied-noirs..." the pied-noirs totaled less than a million, made up only 10% of Algeria's total population, and had an imperial metropole eager to take them back. Do you know what situation is actually analoguous to the pied-noirs'? Returning only those Israelis who settled across the 1967 borders.

"Dang I guess we just can't let them be full citizens then", look, if your definition of 'anti-imperialist action' is to replace one legally enshrined ethnic underclass with another then I think you've gone and replaced any concern for human wellbeing with crude geopolitics.

"Oh no those poor colonizers lmao" look, even if you think every single Israeli currently alive is complicit enough in the crime of occupation to lose fundamental rights (what's your thoughts on people complicit in more traditional crimes btw? just curious), what's your plan for all the ones born after them?

The presence of the Israelis is not inherently a problem; the problem is the gross economical and political disparity between them and the Palestinians (which really is the root cause of all the sectarian conflict; look up the timeline on the Jewish National Fund and 1936 revolt and suddenly things make a lot more sense).

(the above is also my response to any right-winger trying to suggest multiculturalism is doomed so either side should hurry up and genocide the other already - you are mistaking economical conflicts for ethnic ones as you literally always do, but this started as an economical conflict and it can be solved by economical means)

Any kind of just resolution to the conflict would involve enormous redistribution of capital, and in any moral one-state solution that state would be very unlike Israel, but guess what? Fixing wealth disparities and unjust political structures is the mandate of communism already, and if those inequalities exist along racial lines then that's a symptom but does not require an exceptional new treatment.

tldr: It would be incredibly difficult for a variety of reasons to create an Arab-only state where Israel currently exists, fortunately attaining economic and political justice does not actually require demographic change, so maybe make that clear somewhere and stop giving ammunition to the people who're accusing you of clamoring for genocide.

#this applies to a lot of colonialism discussions honestly #politics #discourse #metadiscourse #communism #liberalism #israel #palestine #gaza #israel palestine conflict

[cajunwitch101]

PROTECTION MAGIC::

Protection magic is anything done with the intention to banish negative energy and strengthen inner power. It’s the reminders from our grandmothers, their small rituals and superstitions. We all have our ways of feeling safe and of warding off the adverse influences of the outside world. We are living through an unfathomably violent and chaotic time in human history, plagued with inequality across the scale. These turbulent cycles have occurred before, but now with the prevalence of social media, we are inundated with heartbreaking and overwhelming imagery nearly constantly. Our nervous system — and our souls — can only process and experience so much. Anxiety and worry can create a life of their own, overtaking our psyches and manifesting even more negativity around us.Staying embodied and centered during uncertain times can be difficult, but necessary. Right now, we are being called to increase our prayers, create networks of safety amongst our communities, and implement all our strongest protective tools. You can find the simple tools of protecting yourself, your home, and your loved ones

RITUAL BATHING:

When we experience traumatic events, or sudden life transitions, our spirits can become disconnected from our bodies from the shock. For example, people who’ve experienced a horrible accident might have an out of body experience, or someone suffering from depression might dissociate. The simplest way to reset our energy is through water, in any form. Water contains the essence of life and instantly purifies the aura and clears the mind. Whether you just take a hot shower, dip into the ocean, or cleanse yourself in a river, all forms of water are grounding and healing.

Visit your favorite body of water and imagine the water washing away any stagnant energy you’re holding. Sea salt or epsom salt specifically help draw out tension and trauma held in the body. Add herbs to your bath to amplify the cleansing properties of your ritual. The most simple protection bath ingredients you can purchase at any supermarket healthstore or corner market: fresh rosemary, fresh mint, and lemons. Cut and chop all ingredients in a large bowl or bucket of room temperature water, and pray over the mixture, speaking your intentions for physical or energetic protection. Pour the mixture over your head and imagine all of the plant matter absorbing and releasing any malevolent energy. Discard all plant matter and dress in light colored clothing afterwards.

KITCHEN MAGIC

Every culture has plants traditionally used to ward off evil. Whether the plants are used as incense, or eaten as food,engaging with them helps us absorb their magical qualities. Our immune systems protect the body from both negative energy and unwanted pathogens, making nourishment key to our overall wellness. Food is one of our greatest medicines and a first line of defense. And luckily, our kitchens are already stocked with healing and protective medicinal herbs.

A simple fire cider can be made to protect the immune system and fight off any pathogens, both physical and energetic. Mix chopped fresh herbs and vegetables like oregano, sage, thyme, garlic, onion, ginger, chilies, turmeric, and pack in a jar with apple cider vinegar, making sure the vinegar covers the plant material. Store in a cool dark place for 2-4 weeks and then strain — now you have a potent fire cider! Take a shot of your fire cider potion regularly, especially during cold and flu seasons. Many of these pungent herbs contain antimicrobial and antiviral properties, helping us fight off illness, as well as malefic energy. There’s a reason these herbs have been used historically to avert everything from vampires to plagues.

Jewelry is a great way to wear your power talismans on you throughout the day. Try wearing protective crystals like obsidian, turquoise, or carnelian or balancing metals like copper or gold. Find pieces that resonate with you and make you feel powerful. Evil eye charms can be worn as bracelets or other jewelry, or hung anywhere in the car or home. The evil eye symbol protects us from negative energy, and especially the unintentioned gaze of others.

Clothing and fashion is another way to express protective barriers. The clothes we choose to wear carry their own energetic significance. If you’re experiencing a lot of stagnant emotions or depression, try wearing white or light colored clothing to uplift some of that energy. White is a purifying color that stops us from picking up any outside influences. If you’re suffering from anxious thought patterns, try covering your head with a bandana or hat to block some of that energetic interference. The color red symbolizes protection and empowerment, and can be worn to create a strong energetic shield.

SMOKE CLEANSING

Burning incense is another ancient technique used to clear energy and call in protective spirits. Try using an incense that relates to your ancestral spiritual practices (if you don’t immediately know which plants to use, this is a fun research topic) and steer clear of any commercially available white sage or products that contain it. With the rising interest in ritual practices, white sage has become synonymous with the idea of “cleansing” negative energy or “smudging” and is sometimes viewed as the only plant that can be used for such reasons. Nothing could be further from the truth, as each plant and herb contains their own potent magic, and no one plant is better than another. Herbs used worldwide for cleansing energy include: frankincense, pine, cedar, rosemary, and different types of sage. Find the sacred incense that resonates with you or is plentiful in your local landscape.

PRACTICAL MAGIC

Our homes are an extension and reflection of ourselves, and therefore of our energy fields. Chaos and clutter within the home can be reflected in many ways, and can create energetic blockages in our lives. Research principles of feng shui to see if there are ways to create more energetic alignment in your physical spaces. Also, any act of cleaning is in itself a cleansing ritual. When we clean our home, we remove stagnant vibrations. As you sweep or clean, imagine negative energy being released back into the universe. Mirrors can also be placed throughout the home to deflect unwanted spirits and energies from entering your space. Pay special attention to your doors and windows; those are important places to cleanse with incense, and place protective talismans near those entrances and exits.

PROTECTION MAGIC OVERVIEW

Protection magic is an ancient practice, and can be found in the customs, superstitions, and rituals practiced by cultures worldwide. You may be performing many of these already, as they are largely instinctive and inherited. Coming back to these roots is where the most potent magic lies. What small daily rituals do you or your family practice? What makes you feel safe, or grounded in your body? Delving into the practices of your direct ancestors or lineages, and engaging with the practices of others with respect and awareness, can enrich and expand the practices you already maintain.

Stand empowered in your own magic and share your gifts with your friends and families, and with children and youth especially. We are responsible for protecting our own energy, and safeguarding future generations. Listen to your intuition. Keep your shields up. Stay healthy, protected, and blessed. As they say, your grandmother’s & great grandmother's prayers are still protecting you.

#witchcraft #witchyvibes #witch community #witchblr #witchcraft spells #spell work #magick #witchy #witchy tips #witches of tumblr #pagan witch #witch blog #baby witch #eclectic witch

[fatehbaz]

As the Zapatistas say, “walking we ask questions,” [...].

It is about working together, side by side, in common purpose. We try to reach a sense of reciprocity -- we work towards the world we want to see together. [...] [W]e each bring to the table what we can. [...] Solidarity [...], at its best, it is about relationships and becoming [...] people who actually care about each other. In reality, solidarity is a messy and exasperating exercise. [...] There were countless brilliant initiatives and projects that were a credit to national and international solidarity, from introducing potable water systems, solar energy supply, technologically appropriate means of communication, pirate radio, organic horticulture [...]. And of course, there were a lot of unsuccessful and failed ventures, because it was a learning experience [...].

Beyond solidarity, the Zapatistas were planting the seed of Zapatismo and encouraging people to, instead of simply supporting them, “Be a Zapatista wherever you are.” Solidarity as movement building. When asked what the best contribution was that internationals could make to the Zapatista struggle, an old Zapatista back then said, “More Seattles.” A more contemporary version would be “More Black Lives Matter Uprisings.” [...]

---

Within Fortress Europe there are various territorial bases of what might better be described as counter-power. [...]

[I]n Athens, [...] the rebellious neighborhood of Exarchia is home to a large community of Greek and international radicals. [...] The people have created a neighborhood-wide structure to offer support to refugees and migrants and [...] they live together, they eat together and they struggle together. Activists have squatted buildings to provide shelter for those that needed it, food is distributed from various social centers [...], there are free health and education initiatives and resources are shared [...]. Walking around Exarchia [...], you get a palpable sense of everyday solidarity -- not just with the refugees and migrants, but for global social and political movements based in the neighborhood, from Kurds to Palestinians. [...]

For years, Exarchia has been a living, breathing center of counter-power in the [Euro-American] [...] core committed to supporting developments in the periphery in a reciprocal manner. And it’s the threat of a good example, which is why they are faced with unrelenting state repression. Now, because of the rapid gentrification of the area [...] and the rampant commodification of living spaces via [air b and b], it can feel like a territory under siege. [...]

---

Exarchia is not exceptional, there are bases of anti-systemic alternatives all across Europe albeit on a smaller scale and in different forms. I’ve witnessed comparable autonomous projects in, for example, the Connewitz neighborhood in Leipzig, or Vallekas in Madrid. Christiania in Copenhagen is something else -- more of an intentional community -- but shares similar traits. The common factor is the desire to create communal, non-capitalist initiatives that bring people together and foster mutual aid. [...] These are dark days in Europe with the rise of the far right, the climate crisis, the pandemic and gross inequality. What the anti-systemic nodes represent is a radical alternative and a ray of hope.

---

Words of Ramor Ryan as transcribed in an interview conducted by Liam Hough. Published as: Ramor Ryan. “Zapatismo, solidarity and self-governance: a conversation.” ROAR Magazine. 23 March 2022. [Some paragraph breaks and contractions added by me.]

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

By Sharon Parrott

It’s tempting to ignore a budget resolution released just days before the start of the fiscal year that it’s meant to guide, and amid the chaotic debate around a short-term extension of government funding to avoid a shutdown. But House Budget Committee Chair Jodey Arrington’s proposed budget is important for what it illustrates about House Republicans’ disturbing vision for the country: health care stripped away from millions of people, higher poverty and hunger, capitulation to climate change, more tax cheating by high-income people, and large-scale disinvestment from the building blocks of opportunity and economic growth—from medical research to education to child care. It would narrow opportunity, worsen racial inequities, and make it harder for people to afford the basics. It reflects the wrong priorities for the country and should be roundly rejected.

Chair Arrington made clear in his remarks the intent to extend the expiring tax cuts from the 2017 tax law, which included large tax cuts for the wealthy. In addition, the budget resolution itself would pave the way for unlimited, unpaid-for tax cuts that could go well beyond those extensions. The extensions alone would give annual tax breaks averaging $41,000 to tax filers in the top 1 percent and cost more than $350 billion a year, the Congressional Budget Office estimates. The budget reflects none of these costs and fails to explain how—or whether—they will be offset.

A shocking share of the spending cuts Chair Arrington specifies target people with low and moderate incomes, including $1.9 trillion in Medicaid cuts and hundreds of billions in cuts to economic security programs, such as cuts to assistance that helps people afford food and other basic needs. Just last week the Census Bureau released data showing that poverty spiked last year, more than doubling for children. Rather than proposing policies that could reverse this deeply troubling trend, the budget proposal would deepen poverty and increase hardship.

The budget would also make deep cuts in the part of the budget that is funded annually through appropriations bills. Disingenuously, the budget resolution shows that these cuts total more than $4 trillion over ten years—but hides the program areas that would be cut, labeling them “government-wide savings.” But this year’s House Appropriations bills—which include substantial cuts—make clear that cuts would fall on a wide range of basic functions and services that support families, communities, and the broader economy, including Social Security customer service, support for K-12 and college education, funding for national parks and clean air and water, rental housing assistance for families with low incomes, and more.

Chair Arrington claims the budget’s deep and damaging program cuts are in the name of deficit reduction. But the failure to identify a single revenue increase for high-income people or corporations—and in fact, to potentially shower them with more unpaid-for tax cuts—is an extreme and misguided approach. Moreover, calling for a balanced budget in ten years is merely a slogan that has little to do with addressing our nation’s needs—and the budget resolution resorts to gimmicks and games to even appear to get there, including $3 trillion in deficit reduction it claims would accrue from higher economic growth it assumes would be achieved by budget policies.

A budget plan should focus on the nation’s needs and lay out an agenda that broadens opportunity, invests in people and families, reduces the too-high levels of hardship and financial stress faced by households across the country, and raises revenues for those investments. But the Arrington budget blueprint would shortchange much-needed investments and lock in wasteful tax cuts to the already wealthy for the next decade.

House Republicans are pursuing a damaging agenda at every turn—first threatening the nation with default, and now demanding deep cuts in an array of priorities in this year’s appropriations debate, risking a government shutdown, and proposing a budget blueprint that would take the country in the wrong direction.

#us politics #news #common dreams #2023 #republicans #conservatives #rep. Jodey Arrington #house budget committee #house republicans #us house of representatives #federal budget #trump tax cuts #trump 2017 tax cuts #congressional budget office #Medicaid cuts #social security cuts #House Appropriations committee #federal deficit #op eds #Sharon Parrott

[felassan]

BioWare Blog post: "Dragon Age Day 2022"

"Happy DA Day from Thedas and BioWare!

Our fans are the best. The best. How else could we describe a community so passionate, and compassionate, that you not only created your own holiday to celebrate all things Dragon Age™, but you did it for charity? For some, today is merely December 4th—but for us, it’s Dragon Age Day (aka DA Day), and we’d like to be the first to officially welcome you to this year’s celebration!

We have a lot to celebrate this year, with Dragon Age: Dreadwolf deep in development and Dragon Age: Absolution just around the corner. And of course we’ll be celebrating the whole franchise alongside you, including a new short story, a small collaboration with The Sims 4™, and discounts on the games across all platforms. But let’s kick things off with your contributions.

First, take a look at the amazing art atop this post. 32 different artists from across the community were kind enough to contribute their unique takes on the companions from Origins through Inquisition. It’s a gorgeous piece, and we couldn’t be more honored to have such a talented and passionate community. If you want a closer look at any of the pieces or want to follow the artists, check out our social channels throughout the day to see them posted individually!

Since 2018, the Unofficial DA Day team has raised money for a charity of choice, starting with $6,795 for the Child’s Play charity in that first year. By 2020, they had essentially doubled that, raising $13,560 for the Legal Defense Fund, and in 2021, they doubled it again, notching $27,224.69 for the AbleGamers charity.

This year, they’re partnering with the Trans Empowerment Project, a non-profit organization with a focus on supporting the most marginalized people in the queer community, such as disabled and trans people of color. TEP addresses immediate needs of the community through efforts like transportation assistance, legal assistance, and deliveries of food and clothing—among many other support services—and also collaborates on broader outreach programs to help combat systemic oppression and inequality. 

To support this vital work, they collect donations through Tiltify, which allows them to offer all kinds of rewards to supporters. It’s quite an impactful production, with all donations going straight to the charity. As in previous years, BioWare is glad to help support this work with contributions of our own. If you’d like to join us, head over to the donation page for more details.

This DA Day is particularly exciting because it comes just five days before the launch of an entirely new Dragon Age project: Netflix’s Dragon Age: Absolution. Come December 9, you’ll be able to dive into a whole new Dragon Age animated story, a six-part series created in close collaboration between BioWare and Netflix.

If you haven’t had a chance to check out the latest trailer, you really need to because it is fantastic!

Before you ask, we’re sworn to secrecy on any new details—but we can say that you should keep an eye out for interviews about the project, both from our developers and from the team at Netflix as the series rolls out over the coming weeks. 

…okay, maybe we can share one thing:

[new Dragon Age: Absolution character posters]

Friends, we wanted to thank you for your years of amazing support of the past and future of Dragon Age. We’ve had a particularly fun and fascinating year working on Dreadwolf, reaching the Production phase in February, announcing the Dreadwolf name in June, and hitting Alpha in October—along with showcasing some of our amazing team members throughout the year. 

We wanted to close out this year with a little treat to celebrate Dragon Age Day in our own way by sharing a key cinematic from the game. Enjoy!

[new in-game cinematic]

The Dread Wolf awaits.

Whether you’re celebrating with us in-game, readying for Absolution, or waiting for Fen’Harel to make his move, we’re right there with you. Keep an eye on our social channels for more fun stuff today, and as always, have a happy Dragon Age Day!

—The (Dread) Wolf Pack"

[source and full blog post link]

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas #lgbtq #blood cw #dragon age: absolution #alistair theirin #fav warden #morrigan #queen of my heart #cassandra pentaghast #my lady paladin #fenris #the fenaissance #cole #spirit boy

[coochiequeens]

'A woman who falls through the cracks is falling with her children'   

Away from threat of Islamist violence or floods, health risks for pregnant women in Nigeria's refugee camps remain high 

By Adie Vanessa Offiong, CNN Photographs by Taibat Ajiboye for CNN

Editor’s note: This story is part of As Equals, CNN's ongoing series on gender inequality. For information about how the series is funded and more, check out our FAQs.

Abuja, Nigeria (CNN)Aisha Aliyu is eight-months pregnant and sprawled out on a mat in front of her house with four of her children spread around her feet. Two-year-old Hauwa and five-year-old Abba are both crying and tugging at their mother's coffee-colored hijab. She, in response, rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue at them. She looks tired. 

The child Aliyu is carrying is her tenth. The last four were delivered in the Durumi Camp, a place in Nigeria's capital city, Abuja, that she and an estimated more than 3,000 other internally displaced people call home. 

In 2013, Aliyu fled her home in the village of Wala in Nigeria's northeastern Borno State to its capital, Maiduguri. She said her village was attacked and much of it burned down by armed Islamist group, Boko Haram. Two years later, the militant group attacked Maiduguri, forcing Aliyu to again migrate, this time travelling over 856km south to Abuja with her husband and five children.

The now 39-year-old saw having many children as a way of replacing her relatives killed by the insurgents, but reveals she was done after her last pregnancy in 2021 and began using contraceptives. However, she became pregnant again this year. 

Having already borne children in Durumi camp (one of 264 communities for internally dispaced people (IDPs) known to exist across Nigeria as of September 2021), Aliyu was fearful, knowing of the limited resources she would have access to. The farmer's wife had been unable to afford the food and medication she needed to stay healthy, and antenatal services were limited.   

Aisha with five of her children

The space initially set up as a birthing suite at the camp was rudimentary and barely hygienic, explains Liyatu Ayuba, appointed the camp 's Women's Leader by the site's Chairman when she arrived in 2014. She has since handled issues regarding health, food or children on behalf the IDPs.  

"It was a tent that we swept, and I would put a mat or wrapper on the floor for the women to lie down on to give birth," says Ayuba, who for much of the camp's history has been its only birth attendant. Many of the displaced women refer to her as Mama. 

 Ayuba says the tent was a shanty built with corrugated roofing sheets and a sandy floor. If gloves were available, the birth attendant used them and if not, she explains that she covered her hands with polythene bags and cut umbilical cords with a razor blade. 

"I gave birth to three of [my children] with Mama's help on a mat under the shelter," Aliyu tells CNN, referring to the birthing tent. "Mama cut the umbilical cord and bathed the baby."  

In 2019, a non-governmental organization set up the camp's health post where Aliyu's ninth child, Hauwa, was delivered in 2021. The post is a small clinic located inside a repurposed 20ft shipping container, where wooden boards partition the space to create a delivery suite which looks more like a storage space and just about holds a bed, a baby cot, a drip stand, a broken chair, a trolley and empty containers that should contain water. The other half is the consultation room with a table, two chairs, a bed, and a cupboard where medicines and devices are kept.    

Though basic, the clinic at least provides a consultation space that women previously had to make do without and Ayuba is proud to say the camp has not recorded any deaths among mothers or babies under her watch. 

The makeshift delivery room partitioned in the shipping container used as the camp's health post

'No 'special arrangement' for those who are pregnant in Nigeria's camps

Aliyu is one of many internally displaced women bearing children in Nigeria's camps, with some grounds not even housing a health post or shelter for birth, instead needing women to go into labour in their own shelters or that of their birth attendant. 

A 2021 PhD thesis by Fatima Mahmood Jibirilla at Walden University, states that women living in IDP camps in Nigeria "have a higher risk of maternal death than women living in their homes." The author cited a range of factors increasing the risk of maternal and neonatal deaths in these settings, including inadequate prenatal care services and limited family planning programs.  

"There are no special arrangements for pregnant women in IDP and refugee camps [in Nigeria]. There are poor antenatal services that are inadequate to detect and address likely pregnancy-related complications and other signs of poor pregnancy outcomes," the author writes. While there have been no maternal or infant deaths at Durumi on her watch, according to Ayuba, multiple doctors volunteering there and across camps in Abuja corroborated the concerns highlighted in the study to CNN.  

In a country that has long had among the highest maternal mortality rates in the world and has the third highest number of internally displaced people (IDPs) in Africa as of the end of 2022, according to the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre (IDMC), the lack of adequate maternal healthcare provision in these camps is a significant concern, one of the doctors told CNN.

The 2022 IDMC figures also show that 4.5m Nigerians were classed as "internally displaced people" as a result of both conflict and natural disasters, with flooding outstripping protracted violence as the main source of displacement. 

The camp nurse, Isa Umar examines a pregnant woman during antenatal session

While there is no national breakdown of IDPs by sex or age, a 2023 report by the Camp Coordination and Camp Management (CCCM) Sector says there are 1,575,741 women and children in the Nigerian states of Borno, Adamawa, and Yobe alone, making up 74% of the 2,124,053 IDPs in those states. 

Nigeria's total IDP population relies largely on the graces of charitable organizations for its health care, Ayuba and the camp's nurse Isa Umar told CNN. 

'If it happens, I am dead.' The prohibitive costs of care   

Wednesdays are antenatal day in Durumi. When CNN visits, camp nurse Isa Umar, who himself was forced to leave his home due to the insurgency, is in the consultation room using a handheld ultrasound scanner to monitor a baby's growth and a fetoscope to monitor the heartbeat among the expectant mothers coming in. 

Umar measures each pregnant woman's stomach followed by her weight. After they've been seen, women compare notes while sitting on the clinic's veranda, discussing how any of the medicines Umar has prescribed will be paid for.   

The set up is far from adequate. Umar tells CNN: "We don't even have folic acid or anti-malarial medicine to give them. I have to write these for them to go and buy." Malaria is endemic in Nigeria and infections pose various risks during pregnancy, such as premature labour and miscarriage, and folic acid is recommended for those who are pregnant or planning to become pregnant, to reduce the risk of certain birth defects. 

But for most of the 64 women recorded in the camp's birth register this year, these costs are prohibitive. Folic acid, for example, costs ₦3,000 ($3.74) for 100 tablets and Aliyu tells CNN she could not possibly have afforded that cost for the duration of her pregnancy. She says she's only been able to take this vital supplement when NGOs have donated them free of charge. Back home in Wala, her N100 ($0.11) hospital card had entitled her to free folic acid as well as other resources while pregnant. 

Getting clean water at the camp is also a challenge, Aliyu shares, explaining that it's a time-consuming, strenuous task requiring her to make several trips daily and is one she can no longer do in the final weeks of her pregnancy. Instead, she now pays for it to be delivered. At its cheapest, enough water to make the family's breakfast of pap (porridge made from ground corn) and other domestic chores for a month costs ₦24,000 ($28.43). Costs can rise by 25% on days when there is no electricity and a generator is needed to work the pumps, or when water sellers must go farther to fetch it.  

With Aisha almost full term, she is no longer able to go to fetch water and now has to pay up to N500 daily for it to be delivered to her home

There are also the costs of giving birth in Abuja that Aliyu didn't have back home.   

To immunize her babies at the camp, the mother of nine has to take them to the nearest government hospital where nurses have certain expectations that fall to the mother, she tells CNN. These include making sure the baby is wearing diapers and bringing various items including cotton wool and baby lotion, which would cost money Aliyu says she doesn't have.  

"In Borno, it was not compulsory to use [diapers] when going to the hospital. We just used our wrappers (a piece of fabric women tied around their waist). But here, the nurses insist that (the babies) must wear diapers and (we must) have an extra one in our bag," Aliyu says. Multiple mothers shared similar concerns with CNN. 

Dr Charles Nzelu, Head of Special Duties at Nigeria's Federal Ministry of Health tells CNN he believes health workers are simply acting in the overall interests of the baby and that a lack of medical skill, experience, and communication is resulting in a lack of understanding about the women living in the IDP camps. "When you come to me as a doctor, I will give you medical advice the way it's supposed to be," he explains. "When you are more experienced, you are flexible (with) the way you relate with patients." He adds that this government, which came into power in May, will work to address issues like these.

"I can't afford treatment. If it happens, I'm dead"Pregnant resident of Durumi Camp in Abuja, Aisha Aliyu

In the meantime, Aliyu says she is struggling to meet all her needs and those of her children. To afford what she can, Aliyu makes and sells wigs and traditional caps worn by men, earning on average ₦10,000 ($12.49) a month.

Money is not her only concern. Aliyu worries about catching malaria and about not being able to produce enough breastmilk because of the poor quality of her diet. Her family survives on staples such as pasta and maize in different forms. 

"I can't afford the treatment" for malaria, says Aliyu. "If it happens, I am dead."

Difficulty fulfilling promises

The National Commission for Refugees, Migrants and Internally Displaced Persons (NCFRMI) is responsible for Nigeria's growing number of displaced people. Its commissioner tells CNN that the organization, which was set up in 1989 and has a health budget of N250 million for 2024, has paid for midwives to visit IDP camps to assist in deliveries of babies as frequently as funds allow and has, in some instances, also paid off people's hospital bills. CNN was unable to verify this budget figure provided by the Commission which it said is not yet public.

However, some of the IDPs who have been in Durumi since the informal settlement formed in 2014, say that no midwives sent by the Commission have visited the camp during their time here and that in the past, it has been difficult to get it to fulfil promises they say the Commission made to the camp, such as furnishing the health post with an additional bed, scanning machine, gloves and other health equipment. 

CNN asked the NCFRMI about the services it provides to those in Durumi but did not receive a response prior to publication.

The nurse takes the weight of the pregnant women during antenatal

Within the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), where Abuja is located, the Territory's Health and Environmental Services is responsible for all health matters including services provided to people in IDP camps, including reproductive care and sexual health services, such as birth control. Dr. Dolapo Fasawe, Mandate Secretary of the FCT Health and Environmental Services, tells CNN that IDP camps in the area have functional clinics supported by area council staff and partners from outside, explaining that they cannot build permanent structures because the camps are meant to be temporary. She adds her belief that "the issue with maternal care in such places is child spacing, not maternal mortality." Birth spacing helps to improve maternal health outcomes as becoming pregnant too soon after giving birth increases the risk of complications. Doctors CNN spoke to also highlighted this as a concern in the camps, and Nigeria more widely.

But many residents of the camp told CNN they had not heard of the FCT Health Services or seen them at the camp and explain that the provision of birth control is again handled by non-profits working in the camps. When Fasawe was informed of this by CNN, she said it was a wakeup call for her department to act promptly. This "has opened our eyes to the need to focus on them," Fasawe says. "We need to (conduct some) outreach asap."

Nigeria's Federal Ministry of Health oversees health for the country (including provisions provided by the Commission). In response to the concerns, the Ministry of Health's Nzelu tells CNN that maternal and child health is a very high priority for government but explains that the Ministry primarily provides policies and guidelines for states, local governments and government agencies to follow and does not typically intervene directly. He said: "As a government, we are still working to make sure that both the state and all these agencies of government that are charged with the direct implementation, do their best to make sure that those inhabitants of IDP camps are well taken care of."

A volunteer doctor brought his own kit to do blood tests at the Durumi camp

'A woman who falls through the cracks is falling with her children'   

African NGO, Pro Health International, has been sending volunteer medical professionals to provide free healthcare services for IDPs across Nigeria for over 12 years. They were last in Durumi in June and describe it as one of the most impoverished IDP camps within the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), where Abuja is located. 

Pro Health International Founder and Executive Director Dr. Iko Ibanga shared that his team raised the issue of health challenges within IDP camps two years ago with the Minister of Health at the time, Dr. Osagie Ehanire. "We were told it would be looked into, but nothing was done," he says.

Ehanire did not directly respond to CNN about whether Pro Health International raised the issue of health challenges among internally displaced people with him, but the former health minister highlighted the NGO's work as a useful implementer of maternal health services in more recent years, and shared emergency response plans for IDPs that were put in place in the north-east of the country (where Boko Haram is most active) and go back to 2016. He tells CNN: "Women's Health services were prioritized and featured strongly in the programs designed to the needs of internally displaced women." This region does not include Abuja, however, where the Durumi camp is located.

Women at the Durumi IDP camp, sitting on the veranda of the makeshift health post

The 2023 health budget is ₦1.17 trillion ($2.2bn), which is a 42.6% increase since 2022 and the highest percent of the total budget allocated for health. But In Africa's largest economy, this is only 5.7% of the annual budget of ₦20.5 trillion, and is much lower than the 15% of annual budgets all African Union member nations, including Nigeria, pledged in 2001 to spend on "improvement of the health sector".    

According to the National Primary Health Care Development Agency, a health post, which is the most basic health care facility, should be able to cater to a population of 500 and have 34 items always available to serve that population. Durumi's health post serves more than 3000 people and has just 10 of these items: a waste bin, scissors, fetoscope, weighing scale, chair, tables, two beds, kidney dishes, and a cupboard, all provided by NGOs according to Ayuba and Umar who say they both manage the facility without a salary.

Nzelu shares that the Ministry of Health is currently conducting a health needs assessment in most of the IDP camps to learn what is and is not lacking to ensure adequate health care services. He tells CNN: "With the budget cycle currently on, it can inform some of the things we are able to get into the budget and hope that the National Assembly gives approval so that we can implement."

Pro-Health International's Ibanga is emphatic about the risks displaced people face during the perinatal period and beyond. "When [a woman] is ill, it affects everything tied to her and her children are the most important things tied to her," he says. "A woman who falls through the cracks is not falling by herself. She is falling with her children." 

This story was edited by Eliza Anyangwe and Meera Senthilingam

#Nigeria #Nigerian women #Maternal health #Pregnancy while displaced #As Equals #Durumi Camp #Abuja #Book harassment #internally dispaced people (IDPs) #A refugee camp had only one birth attendant #The birth attendant didn't always have surgical gloves #Folic Acidcosts ₦3000 ($3.74) for 100 tablets #Refugees and access to clean water #Refugees and malnutrition #Refugees and preventable diseases #Refugees and access to birth control #A woman who falls through the cracks is falling with her children

[not-in-the-library]

Hello, i have some questions about Jimena and Dhriti. first off, how did these two meet? How are giants treated in this world? are they equals with humans? one is more dominant than the other? I know you said that Jimena and Dhriti live in a community, is this a community of giants or humans (or both!) I have so many more questions, but I'll let you answer those ones first.

Jimena and Dhriti met when Dhriti was out doing some field work on behalf of their university. The lodging provided was a repurposed ranger station on the edge of Jimena’s hometown. Jimena covered for their normal delivery man and ended up on the doorstep of her future husband!

Giants and humans are equals in every way. Of course there are prejudiced people out there, but there aren’t any intense baked in caste systems that bar anyone from living the lives they want to. (Though wealth inequality is a huge obstacle for many, neither species is universally more wealthy)

Giant and human culture were developed alongside each other, and they both have as much diversity as real world human cultures do. They’ve been engaged in a happy cultural exchange for thousands of years, and the influences are felt in every aspect of their culture. Music, food, art, clothes, philosophy, architecture, power structures. They all influence each other in an ongoing back and forth.

As far as population goes, there are significantly more humans, as giants tend to have fewer children and understand that a massive population isn’t sustainable.

Jimena’s hometown has had giant residents in the past, but not in her lifetime. That was a long time ago, before they simply moved on to greener pastures that better suited their lifestyles. They did come back to visit, and remained a part of the community, but once they all passed away, no one moved in to take their place. There are large government organizations/guilds that cover the whole map, much like real world rangers, and they always have a mixed species team wherever they’re stationed. This organization is very underfunded, and is nearly nonexistent.

The town that Jimena grew up in is very small and tight knit, so Dhriti has a hard time getting involved. They don’t face much discrimination, and is actually very well liked by everyone who they’ve met with thus far, but are very hesitant to step foot in town. They have mobility issues, and a human town isn’t exactly (giant) ADA compliant. Their cane and moments of rest are enough, but they didn’t work up the courage to find out until after they and Jimena started spending more time together.

Dhriti is met with public politeness and private suspicion. It’s a bit concerning for this young woman to be running around and spending long hours with a giant you’ve only spoken to twice.

There are some unsavory stereotypes associated with giants, particularly human abduction. I don’t want to think too much on trafficking, but it did/does exist in this world, though that’s not where this stereotype comes from.

In the early days of giant and human nations, there were many arranged interspecies marriages, not exclusive to noble families. The couples weren’t expected to bear children (ouch) and often allowed planned infidelity for the sake of heirs. This made an odd line of succession, but was ultimately successful in uniting families and communities across species.

This is long outdated, and is considered a bit barbaric. The narrative in many circles blames gluttonous giants who only wanted to take not only lovely human partners as their own, but also human property. These unions were sometimes secured by placing undue pressure on one side of the family, but it was usually based in economics, with human consent being paramount (though it was the parents who consented, not the actual spouse-to-be).

This stereotype is one of many that giants still have held over them to this day, and Dhriti is acutely aware of that. They don’t make any advances without Jimena explicitly saying she would like to move forward, both because they know that they’re in a position of power over her, and also because they know how disastrous unwanted romance could be for the both of them

#gt community #g/t writing #g/t scenario #g/t #sfw g/t #g/t ocs #g/t characters #character asks

[howtomuslim]

Embracing the Radiance of Ramadan: A Journey of Spiritual Enrichment

Fasting and Prayer: A Symphony of Devotion

In the sacred month of Ramadan, Muslims around the world engage in fasting from dawn to sunset, abstaining not only from food and drink but also from negative behaviours. The act of fasting is not merely a physical challenge; it is a profound spiritual journey, fostering self-discipline, empathy, and a heightened awareness of one’s actions.

Quran (2:183) — “O you who have believed, decreed upon you is fasting as it was decreed upon those before you that you may become righteous.”

The Health and Spiritual Benefits of Fasting: Nourishing the Body and Soul

Beyond its spiritual significance, fasting during Ramadan offers a myriad of health benefits. The detoxification of the body, improved mental clarity, and enhanced self-control contribute to both physical and spiritual well-being. It’s a holistic approach to rejuvenation and self-improvement.

Hadith (Sahih Bukhari) — “Fasting is a shield; so when one of you is fasting, he should neither indulge in obscene language nor should he raise his voice in anger.”

Zakat ul Fitr: Illuminating Paths of Compassion

An integral aspect of Ramadan is the Zakat ul Fitr, a charitable donation given before Eid al-Fitr. This act of giving is a means by which Islam actively addresses poverty and inequality. It ensures that those less fortunate can also partake in the joyous festivities of Eid.

Hadith (Sahih Bukhari) — “The fast remains suspended between Heaven and Earth until the Sadaqat al-Fitr are paid.”

Ramadan Traditions Around the World: Unity in Diversity

Ramadan is not only a personal journey but a global celebration. Traditions vary across cultures, enriching the tapestry of this holy month. From communal iftar gatherings for Muslims and non-Muslims alike to the vibrant lights adorning streets, Ramadan fosters a sense of unity, bringing Muslims together worldwide.

In the month of Ramadan, the beauty of Islam shines brightly, offering a path of self-discovery, compassion, and unity. It extends an invitation not only to Muslims but to people of all backgrounds to witness the profound spirituality, generosity, and cultural richness that characterise this sacred month.

#islamicreminders #islamdaily #islamic #allah #quran #islamiyet #muslim #islam #mosque #new article #new blog #ramadan #muslim fashion #duaa #muslims

[organizeworkers]

Join the Emergency Workplace Organizing Committee for a discussion of

Climate Justice at Work

Tuesday, April 9 at 8 p.m. ET / 5 p.m. PT

We’ll be joined by workers in union and non-union workplaces who’ve been fighting climate injustice at work. Farmworkers, teachers, solar construction workers, and Starbucks baristas — all building their worker power to demand better working conditions in a changing climate and a sustainable future for all.

Co-sponsored by Labor Network for Sustainability and Climate and Community Project.

Register

Panelists include:

Alfredo J.: farmworker and member of Familias Unidas Por La Justicia. Alfredo and Familias Unidas are leading the fight to protect farmworkers, and all workers who labor outside, from deadly heat and other climate hazards. These workers feed our families, working long hours to ensure food gets to our kitchen tables. Their courageous organizing won permanent, year-round expanded heat protection regulations for outdoor workers in all of Washington State. 

Lauren B.: teacher and member of the Chicago Teachers Union. Lauren is a high school social studies teacher and Chair of the Chicago Teachers Union Climate Justice Committee. She and her coworkers are fighting alongside local environmental justice leaders for green, healthy, sustainable community schools.

Joseph S.: solar energy construction worker and member of the Green Workers Alliance. Joseph and over 1,400 non-union utility scale solar and wind energy construction workers across the country are leading the fight against job insecurity, low wages, lack of benefits and poor safety conditions for this essential workforce. They are demanding better for green energy workers who do the critical work to ensure a zero-emissions future and a living planet for us all.

Mad A.: Starbucks barista, member of SBWU. Starbucks workers at Mad's store in Houston took action on the shop floor around health and safety concerns over working with a broken AC system in the Texas heat. Organizing around this issue galvanized the store and helped them develop a culture of strong union involvement after a period of low participation.

Mijin Cha: moderator. J. Mijin Cha is an assistant professor of environmental studies at the University of California, Santa Cruz, a fellow at Cornell’s Climate Jobs Institute, and board member for both the Greenpeace Fund and the Center on Race, Poverty, and the Environment. Dr. Cha’s work looks at the intersection of climate, labor, and inequality.

Register

#workers #unions #organizing #labor #climate change