I have been thinking … Police, Non-violent crime, and Revenue
We need reform for police departments. I know of so many local cities where I cannot speed even 1 MPH without getting a ticket. It is because police departments uses tickets as a way to fund the department. This is why you end up finding examples like “in 2013, Ferguson collected $2.6 million in court fines and fees, mainly on traffic violations and other low-level municipal offenses. That was the city’s second-largest source of income, or about 21 percent of its total budget.
Ferguson had more arrest warrants than residents of the city.” Police departments SHOULD be funding fully and independent of tickets. Money from traffic violations should go to supplementally fund road repairs and other violations should go to fund schools. This would discourage racial profiling, “driving while black” and cops for pulling over people just to fill their quotas. Police officers need to serve the people, not try to control them and use them as tools to fund their own budget.
Bobby Jamison and his family, wife Sherilynn and their 6-year-old daughter Madyson vanished from the small place where they lived by the road near Oklahoma on October 8, 2009. Their pickup was found locked days later, their belongings were insinde as well as their dog who was starving. Their clothes were left inside despite the fact that the weather was cold. The weirdest thing is that when searching the car the police found an envelope containing $32,000, it was known to many people that the family was having money problems. There were many theories, including a murder-suicide one but nothing was ever proven. However, on November 15, 2013, the remains of two adults and a child were found not very far from where their pickup truck had been found 7 years later. Further examination confirmed the bodies belonged to the Jamison family. No further explanations were given and the murders remain a mystery.
I’m sat at Starbucks doing some AP spanish work, and I have some thoughts floating around my mind that I want to put out in the open and get some input on..
First up, I’ve been thinking for a long time about starting up a written blog, but I’ve hesitated because they’re on their way down compared to other forms of blogging, like YouTube, Instagram, etc. But my lovely friend charlotteswvrld is working on a new one, and I am seriously debating it now…is it something you guys would like to see? It would be like a more professional version of this blog…and plus I’d pay for it…and post more photography…blah, why can’t I make up my mind about this. Thoughts are not only welcome but encouraged!!
Secondly, I want to travel this year. A LOT. If you live in a state that you think I’d like road tripping to, LET ME KNOW! I am in the process of shaping my future, and that involves a whole lot of you guys.
And lastly…I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve been a bit lost since getting home from Woodstock. More than lost…desolate. Confused about life. Blah-feeling. I’ve also been angry and unsettled, and working constantly on creating a better me. I’ve been exercising and eating a bit better and taking more time for self love and care…and more naps…yeah. What am I trying to say? I have no idea. I’ve just been a bit down and a bit lost with my feelings, so all I can do is plan plan plan for the beauty of the future.
If anyone wants to talk or chat or offer insight, my inbox is open. I’ve been pretty shit with keeping up and replying to messages, but I am trying…I’m up for a bit of love and mutual care right now.
Jean McConville was mother of 10 from Belfast who was kidnapped and shot dead by the Provisional IRA and secretly buried in Louth (ROI) in 1972. She was wrongly accused of passing information to British forces.
Jean was born in 1934 to a Protestant family, but converted to Catholicism when she married Arthur McConville, a Catholic former British army solider. After being intimidated out of a Protestant district by loyalists in 1969, they moved to West Belfast’s Divis Flats in the Lower Falls Road. This is where she was living at the time of her death, and was an IRA stronghold, from which attacks were regularly launched against the British Army and RUC.
Jean’s husband died of cancer in January 1972.
In the months leading up to her death, tension and suspicion grew between McConville and her neighbours. One night shortly before her disappearance, she was allegedly attacked after leaving a bingo hall and warned to stop giving information to the British Army.
On the night of her disappearance, four young women took McConville from her home at gunpoint, and she was driven to an unknown location. After being interrogated, McConville was shot in the back of the head, apparently while kneeling. Some have suggested that she was also tortured, as the post-mortem found cracked bones and mutilated hands. Her body was secretly buried across the border on Shellinghill Beach (also known as Templetown Beach) on the Cooley Peninsula in the north of County Louth, about 50 miles from her home. The place of her death is uncertain.
In 1999, the IRA acknowledged that it had killed McConville and eight others of the “Disappeared”. It claimed she had been passing information about republicans to the British Army in exchange for money and that a transmitter had been found in her apartment. A report by the Police Ombudsman found no evidence for this or other rumours.
Catherine comes back to the small town where she grew up to take over her father’s car repair shop. She quickly falls back to old habits, spending time with her best friends and enjoying long walks along the coast, memories of her mother flowing back. There’s a nice cottage a bit further down the road of where she lives that’s been on sale for a while until one day she sees someone inside. Curiosity gets the best of her and she knocks on the door, not expecting to come face to face with her childhood crush, Steve McGarrett. And he apparently only got hotter with the years. She feels the attraction pull her towards him but she’ll fight it the same way she had before. Until one night circumstances force to bring them together…
I went to the Corbyn rally in my hometown of Chelmsford last night. Those are not words I ever thought I’d be saying… For him to get such a warm welcome and healthy turnout in the middle of an entirely Tory/UKIP county (MP-wise) and, from my experience, a place where this kind of politics has relatively little voice was pretty encouraging. I mean the Norwich rally I went to (down the road from where I live as a student, in a Labour constituency with a left-leaning and generally great MP) was great, but you expect that kind of reaction from there. So this one was a bit special.
I had a few further strange press encounters: ended up being interviewed by Robert Peston, speaking for a while with Nick Robinson (who is pictured above photo bombing my audience panorama shot; he insisted he wasn’t working, just there for ‘personal interest’, and was going around the room talking to audience members about their stories) and maybe most bizarrely of all was followed around - with permission! - for the evening by a European news outlet who ended the night by recording me talking to Jeremy. Who even for Jeremy Corbyn seemed to be in a particularly affable mood and insisted on hugging pretty much each and everyone of the members of the public who came up and said something nice to him (me included).
Rather than make a hash of retelling what he was saying, I’ll upload the few videos I took of him talking about particularly key or topical points in due course.