Courtesy of KID OMEGA.
My name is Quentin Quire, mutant freedom fighter and future leader of the X-Men! I have come here today not to bury humankind but to merely make them wish that they were dead.
No more will we, your superiors in every conceivable way, allow you and your pathetic politicians to wallow in lies like pigs in excrement.
This time around, the revolution will not be televised. The revolution will be telepathic.
I won't lie to you, ladies and gentlemen, this is going to hurt.The truth always does.
Wolverine and the X-Men #12, cover by Mahmud Asrar
last of my commission art posts for now 8)
thank you to these people who commissioned me! <3333
A silent protest in Love Park, downtown Philadelphia orchestrated by performance artists protesting the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson. The onslaught of passerby’s wanting to take photos with the LOVE statue exemplifies the disconnect in American society. Simply frame out the dead body, and it doesn’t exist. In this event, artist activists staged a scene where Kieth A. Wallace, an Actor, pretended to be dead for an hour in front of the statue while others took turns holding a sign with “Call Us By Our Names” written on it.
To see more photos from this performance, check out #CallUsByOurNames on Facebook.
I am not a journalist, I am merely a friend of the artists involved. I was not at this event.
As the photos show, the social experiment and silent protest highlighted the peoples reaction in the foreground of the photo. In this context the people become the performance art, and the faux dead body becomes a backdrop. As an artist, I don’t want to give you my interpretation of the art of these photos. They should speak for themselves. But I did talk to Lee Edward Colston II, an actor, who was involved in the event.
Here are some of his observations of the social interactions he witnessed:
I don’t know who any of these folks are.
They were tourists I presume.
But I heard most of what everything they said. A few lines in particular stood out. There’s one guy not featured in the photos. His friends were trying to get him to join the picture but he couldn’t take his eyes off the body.
"Something about this doesn’t feel right. I’m going to sit this one out, guys." "Com’on man… he’s already dead."
There were a billion little quips I heard today. Some broke my heart. Some restored my faith in humanity. There was an older white couple who wanted to take a picture under the statue.
The older gentleman: “Why do they have to always have to shove their politics down our throats.” Older woman: “They’re black kids, honey. They don’t have anything better to do.”
One woman even stepped over the body to get her picture. But as luck would have it the wind blew the caution tape and it got tangle around her foot. She had to stop and take the tape off. She still took her photo.
There was a guy who yelled at us… “We need more dead like them. Yay for the white man!”
"One young guy just cried and then gave me a hug and said ‘thank you. It’s nice to know SOMEBODY sees me.’
I don’t always post on this account, but when I do, I try to bring awareness to current events because this blog has the most followers.
this is important please spread
The metaphoric resonance of holes through the hands is overwhelming.
90-year-old Holocaust survivor Hedy Epstein arrested for peacefully protesting today in Ferguson. You can help get her and others out (@AwkwardDuck, @GeekNStereo, and some I’m less familiar with, Twitter-wise) by donating to #OperationHelpOrHush. They are not only raising money to bail out peaceful protestors, but they use all funds to help the community and bring them food, water, medical aid, gas masks, and other equipment to help them not die during this terrible time. Follow @SheSeauxSaditty for more info.
Okay, fellow white people. We need to talk.
Let me tell you a story: I was an angry punk teenager. Not violent, but I did a shitton of trespassing, and I got into a lot of screaming matches with cops.
I have never been arrested.
I have never been violently attacked by police. Hell, I have never been seriously threatened by police.
I am fully aware that I’ve survived to adulthood largely on the benefits of my race.
When you are white in America, you get away with all sorts of shit. Have you read this account from a white dude who actively tried to get himself arrested? You should. It’s telling.
So, if that’s your main frame of reference for dealing with law enforcement, it is really easy to assume that when someone else gets targeted by the police, they must have done something really bad. After all, you know the police aren’t that petty, right? They’re there to help: That’s what TV tells you, what your teachers told you, what your parents told you. “If you’re in trouble, find a police officer. They’ll help.” And, y’know, if you’re white, most of the time, that’s probably true.
When you’re white in America, it is awfully easy to pretend that you don’t live in a country where the nonviolent physical presence of black people, especially black men, is considered sufficient threat to justify use of lethal force. It’s really easy to pretend that laws are enforced equally; that arrest rate has any demographic resemblance to actual crime rates; that the police are there to protect us from the bad guys.
And, I mean, I get that. It’s a lot more comfortable to pretend that safety correlates to virtue than to confront the ugly truth that a system that benefits you very directly does so at the cost of other people’s lives; that what you were taught was the just reward for being a good person is, in fact, the privilege of your skin. That’s a big part of why we work so hard to retcon narratives about how the black people our police murder must have been dangerous, highlight every casual infraction like it’s a killing spree. We are so desperate to believe that the system that feeds us is just.
It doesn’t feel good to acknowledge that stuff. It feels gross. A system we trusted—one we should be able to trust, that should work for the benefit and protection of everyone has made us accomplice to some deeply horrifying shit.
But here’s the thing:
This happened. This is happening. Not recognizing it; stonewalling and insulating ourselves in our little bubbles does not make it go away.
And not acknowledging it, not having asked for it, does not make us any less complicit, or any less responsible for owning and fixing this. We are actively benefitting from a fucked, corrupt, murderous system. That is on us. As it should be.
So educate yourself, get the tools, and start dismantling this fucker. You have the time: after all, no one’s shooting at your kids.
Privilege is the bandwidth to speak up and dismantle because you’re not in fear for your life. And there is no conscionable excuse for failing to use it.
August 17th, 2014
Captain Johnson broke a direct promise he made on Saturday when officers and SWAT under his control broke up the night’s demonstration using military-like vehicles and tear gas while enforcing a midnight curfew.
Johnson insisted at a press conference earlier in the day that those methods would not be used.
“We won’t enforce it with trucks, we won’t enforce it with tear gas. We’ll communicate. We’ll talk about, you know what, it’s time to go home,” Johnson told a boisterous crowd.
But shortly after midnight, when the curfew went into effect, riot police equipped with rifles, shields and five armored vehicles, shot tear gas and smoke grenades to disperse defying protesters chanting “No Justice, No Curfew”.
It was initially unclear whether tear gas or smoke was volleyed. Police spokesmen on the ground told reporters there that the anti-riot agent they were using was merely smoke.
But several reporters tweeted pictures of the canisters they picked off the ground which showed that riot CS smoke was being used.