The System is Broken

Hope is possible if more people know the truth of a system so many would rather ignore.

Wells Fargo's Prison Cash Cow

paxamericana:

Wells Fargo is one of the top five largest banks in America, a fact that on its own is damning enough, basic human decency not exactly being conducive to success in the financial industry. Despite, or rather because of, its role as one of the leading sub-prime mortgage lenders prior to the 2008 crash in the housing market, the bank was handed $37 billion from the U.S. government, a transfer of wealth from the foreclosed upon have-nots to the haves doing the foreclosing – people like chairman and CEO John Stumpf, whose compensation actually rose after his company’s de facto bankruptcy to a cool $18 million last year.

(via smallrevolutionary)

Locked Down

I haven’t seen my husband in over 4 months. Our communication is solely by written word, and no, I’m not talking about instantaneous emails; I mean USPS snail mail. I get his letters in about two days time, but it takes about a week for him to read mine. We live in each others’ pasts, piecing it all together to create the present.
 
Following a riot in early December 2011 all those involved were put on lockdown. What exactly is a lockdown? It is when the groups involved in an incident cannot co-exist peacefully, so they are, essentially, sent to their rooms. Their “rooms,” let’s not use euphemisms; their cells are about the size of a bathroom and, of course, they’re shared between two adult men. They remain in their cells, unable to leave at all. Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying? Go to your bathroom. Close the door. Pretend your bathtub is a metal bunk bed. Stay there all day, all night. Every other day, you can be handcuffed and allowed to shower; be quick though the water’s getting cut off in 5 minutes whether your done or not – and that’s assuming the guard running the showers doesn’t have anything against you. Twice a week, you might get to go to outside for an hour. This is segregated yard, reserved for long lockdowns like this one: 5 cells, 10 guys, all the same race (no integration at this point, it’s still too dangerous) go to a small confined cement square for an hour. Then they’re returned to their cells. There are no phone calls. There are no visits. There is no end in sight.
 
When we first got together just over five years ago, we endured a three year stint without contact visits; I got to touch him once before he was taken from me. The first year offered nothing, the two subsequent years gave us one hour each week separated by glass – a blessing when you’re coming from nothing at all. Toward the end of the three years, we were married. Obviously, I love this man for so much more than what he can offer me physically. Now we’re back in a similar position to where we were five years ago, though we are without the luxury of an end date.
 
I remain the ever faithful, loving wife. Not many can do this and I admit pride in that fact. It takes a vision of a much larger picture and a strong belief in a greater purpose. We use times like these to reaffirm the depth of our connection, often writing each other responses to questions asked, but not yet received. I am continually affirmed and validated in my dedication to this love. I am constantly in awe of what we share and wishful that more people could experience this depth of connection and love. I swear, the world would be a better place. When you approach each decision with a perspective of love and commitment, not just to each other, but to being the best version of yourself for the other person, it colors and shapes your behavior. Even in his absence, I am fulfilled knowing that I make him proud. Because I know the standards he sets for himself in character and integrity, and because I know that he only wants the best for me, I know that if I am making my husband proud, I’m doing something right.
 
I have never been forced to work so hard for something so amazing. It is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and it’s worth it at each step. We inspire each other to grow and be the best individuals we can, so that when we unite we are unstoppable. We fight for what we want, what we believe we deserve, and we win. We win because we don’t give up. If you constantly quit, you are guaranteed to never win. We don’t quit. We may not always win, but we fight to the end and we win more than we lose. Not many people understand how, or why, I’ve chosen this life; even my sister has trouble with my decision. But if you could feel the way this man makes me feel, you’d make the same choice. It’s all worth it.
 
We’ll come up off this lockdown and we’ll get to hug and kiss again. It will be like we never lost it. There will probably be another lockdown in the future, it’s the nature of the environment; but I’ll be right here with my love, ever present, ever faithful, ever loving. For all he gives to me, I’m honored to give this to him.

misskayvee:

“It is both humiliating and humbling to discover that a single generation after the events that constructed me as a public personality, I am remembered as a hairdo.”
—Angela Davis

I can’t speak for elsewhere, but in Oakland I’ve never much considered your hair, your voice on the other hand…

misskayvee:

“It is both humiliating and humbling to discover that a single generation after the events that constructed me as a public personality, I am remembered as a hairdo.”

—Angela Davis

I can’t speak for elsewhere, but in Oakland I’ve never much considered your hair, your voice on the other hand…

(via kemetically-ankhtified)

0hsandy:

Thanks Tupac. You opened my eyes.

They should teach Tupac in schools.

Tupac Uncensored And Uncut Prison Interview

(Source: sandyluvzalex, via bvdfish)

siddharthasmama:

anotherdyingtobedead:

-56 years ago Emmett Till was brutally murdered for whistling at a white woman… his mother refused to let his murder be be swept under the rug by having and open casket televised funeral…”Look what they did to my boy,” you’ll forever be remembered Emmett RIP
Emmett Till, a black boy from a Chicago, was visiting his grandfather and grand-uncle Mose Wright in the town of Money, Mississippi, population about 360. Although warned by his mother not to talk to whites, he disregarded that warning, saying “Bye, baby” to Carolyn Bryant, a white woman working at Bryant’s Grocery and Meat Market. Till and his cousin, Curtis Jones, were told to leave town. They did not. One week later, J. W. Milam and his half-brother Roy Bryant arrived at Wright’s house, and abducted the “nigger here from Chicago.” They beat him to death, gouging out one of his eyes, and dumped his weighted body into the Tallahatchee River. An all-white jury found the two not guilty. Emmett’s mother, Mamie, insisted on an open-casket funeral where his beaten, pulpy face was visible to the public, hoping her child did not die in vain.
“Look what they did to my boy.”

Literally crying looking at this - it’s graphic, I know, but I have to reblog this because it NEEDS to serve as a reminder of just how we were treated - even as innocent children - and that it was only 56 years ago. It’s sickening. Absolutely fucking sickening.

siddharthasmama:

anotherdyingtobedead:

-56 years ago Emmett Till was brutally murdered for whistling at a white woman… his mother refused to let his murder be be swept under the rug by having and open casket televised funeral…”Look what they did to my boy,” you’ll forever be remembered Emmett RIP
  • Emmett Till, a black boy from a Chicago, was visiting his grandfather and grand-uncle Mose Wright in the town of Money, Mississippi, population about 360. Although warned by his mother not to talk to whites, he disregarded that warning, saying “Bye, baby” to Carolyn Bryant, a white woman working at Bryant’s Grocery and Meat Market. Till and his cousin, Curtis Jones, were told to leave town. They did not. One week later, J. W. Milam and his half-brother Roy Bryant arrived at Wright’s house, and abducted the “nigger here from Chicago.” They beat him to death, gouging out one of his eyes, and dumped his weighted body into the Tallahatchee River. An all-white jury found the two not guilty. Emmett’s mother, Mamie, insisted on an open-casket funeral where his beaten, pulpy face was visible to the public, hoping her child did not die in vain.

“Look what they did to my boy.”

Literally crying looking at this - it’s graphic, I know, but I have to reblog this because it NEEDS to serve as a reminder of just how we were treated - even as innocent children - and that it was only 56 years ago. It’s sickening. Absolutely fucking sickening.

(via smallrevolutionary)

sagerabelaissoul:

In March 1993, photographer Kevin Carter made a trip to southern Sudan, where he took the now iconic photo of a vulture preying upon an emaciated Sudanese toddler near the village of Ayod. Carter said he waited about 20 minutes, hoping that the vulture would spread its wings. It didn’t. Carter snapped the haunting photograph and chased the vulture away. (The parents of the girl were busy taking food from the same UN plane Carter took to Ayod).
The photograph was sold to The New York Times where it appeared for the first time on March 26, 1993 as ‘metaphor for Africa’s despair’. Practically overnight hundreds of people contacted the newspaper to ask whether the child had survived, leading the newspaper to run an unusual special editor’s note saying the girl had enough strength to walk away from the vulture, but that her ultimate fate was unknown. Journalists in the Sudan were told not to touch the famine victims, because of the risk of transmitting disease, but Carter came under criticism for not helping the girl. ”The man adjusting his lens to take just the right frame of her suffering might just as well be a predator, another vulture on the scene,” read one editorial.
Carter eventually won the Pulitzer Prize for this photo, but he couldn’t enjoy it. “I’m really, really sorry I didn’t pick the child up,” he confided in a friend. Consumed with the violence he’d witnessed, and haunted by the questions as to the little girl’s fate, he committed suicide three months later.
fauxfurnotfriendships:

This photo still gives me shivers

sagerabelaissoul:

In March 1993, photographer Kevin Carter made a trip to southern Sudan, where he took the now iconic photo of a vulture preying upon an emaciated Sudanese toddler near the village of Ayod. Carter said he waited about 20 minutes, hoping that the vulture would spread its wings. It didn’t. Carter snapped the haunting photograph and chased the vulture away. (The parents of the girl were busy taking food from the same UN plane Carter took to Ayod).

The photograph was sold to The New York Times where it appeared for the first time on March 26, 1993 as ‘metaphor for Africa’s despair’. Practically overnight hundreds of people contacted the newspaper to ask whether the child had survived, leading the newspaper to run an unusual special editor’s note saying the girl had enough strength to walk away from the vulture, but that her ultimate fate was unknown. Journalists in the Sudan were told not to touch the famine victims, because of the risk of transmitting disease, but Carter came under criticism for not helping the girl. ”The man adjusting his lens to take just the right frame of her suffering might just as well be a predator, another vulture on the scene,” read one editorial.

Carter eventually won the Pulitzer Prize for this photo, but he couldn’t enjoy it. “I’m really, really sorry I didn’t pick the child up,” he confided in a friend. Consumed with the violence he’d witnessed, and haunted by the questions as to the little girl’s fate, he committed suicide three months later.

fauxfurnotfriendships:

This photo still gives me shivers

(via sagerabelaissoul)