the deportees

anonymous asked:

Sanvers reunion after Alex almost got launched into fucking space!!

She didn’t go with Alex because she knows Alex.

She knows Alex will be more focused if Maggie is safe. Knows she will be less likely to get herself killed if Maggie is safe.

She hates it.

But she knows her.

And anyway, there are other refugees to keep safe.

And that’s the point of a power couple, right? Stronger together, but sometimes ride or die means riding solo on different parts of the same mission.

So she kisses her like she loves her – because she does, god, how she does – and she tries not to think about the kind of danger Alex is strutting into while she makes rounds on every alien in National City she knows, warning them, smuggling them out when necessary.

She has a few bruises of her own by the end of the day, but that pales in comparison to the pain that shoots through her core when Susan Vasquez calls her with a tight voice and shaking hands.

“Maggie, it’s Cadmus. They’re launching a ship with the refugees into space. Alex… Alex is on the ship.”

She doesn’t hang up the phone so much as she drops it, and she only bothers with her helmet because of muscle memory, and she only pays attention to red lights so she can swerve away from creating four-way crashes, and she forgets what speed limits are because Alex, Alex, goddammit how could she have ever let her go alone, Alex.

“What’s happening?” she demands, and Vasquez won’t let her into the control room. She takes Maggie around the waist and she holds her and she pins her arms to her sides and she rocks her when she breaks.

“Supergirl’s up there with her. She’ll save her, Maggie. They’ll both save everyone.”

“Then why won’t you let me into the damn control room?” she chokes with a wet rage she hasn’t felt since the massacre at the bar.

“I – “

But a cheer rises up, then, and Vasquez chokes out a dry laugh and lets Maggie run out of her arms.

“They’re okay? She’s okay?”

J’onn’s face is in his hands but he nods at the sound of her voice, and she takes Winn into her arms and doesn’t complain when he lifts her off her feet and spins her around.

She does complain a little when he damn near drops her, and Susan has to run over to stabilize them both.

But only a little.

She doesn’t let go of Winn’s hand until the troops return.

The troops, of course, being Supergirl, Alex, and a ship full of refugees, brutalized for being their very selves, abducted and maimed and hunted to satisfy the agenda of xenophobic supremacists who would surely add Winn and Maggie to the list of deportees, gladly, after finding that both of them had dated, had loved, aliens.

Only Supergirl and Alex come back to the DEO, of course, and Winn kisses Maggie’s cheek, hard, before sprinting off the moment he gets a text from Lyra telling him to meet her at the bar.

When a cheer erupts from the agents in the hall, Maggie sprints, too.

Straight into Alex’s arms, and Alex lifts her off her feet – more effectively than Winn – and pulls her in for a deep, breathless kiss that has J’onn averting his wet eyes and Susan whooping and all the agents clapping and Kara somehow laughing and crying at the same time.

Maggie pulls back first and starts checking over Alex’s body with worried hands before Alex has even put her down yet.

“Are you hurt, are you – you – fucking space, Alex!”

Because suddenly the laughter, the relief, is gone from her eyes, and only sheer terror fills them. Alex splutters and Maggie shakes her head and yanks Alex down for another hard, long, desperate kiss.

She’s the first to pull back. Again.

Space, Danvers! That wasn’t part of our deal!”

“Deal was, you help me save everyone – “

“Alex – “

“They needed me, Maggie, my father – “

“Yeah, I know, I’m proud of you, babe, and I’m in love with you for exactly that, but damnmit, Danvers, I need you too!”

Her voice is thick with tears and her eyes are shining with them, her face a map of defiance, of rage, of relief, of agony, of love, of loss, of fear, of hope, and the agents who were laughing and cheering moments before are now being shooed away by Supergirl and Susan, because the kissing was fun, but the confessions are private.

“You… Maggie you’re… you’re…”

“Not exactly how I wanted to tell you,” Maggie chokes, not meeting Alex’s eyes, her arms wrapped around her chest now, her jaw set, now, her heart shredded with feeling an infinity of different things at once, now.

Alex stares at Maggie’s downturned face for what feels like a millennium – which is how far away she could have been from her, forever, if her sister hadn’t saved them all – and when she can’t bear it anymore, she touches her index finger to Maggie’s chin and gently – gently, so gently, and god she’d almost forgotten what a gentle touch feels like in the last few hours – lifts Maggie’s face up to meet her eyes.

“I’m in love with you, too, Maggie. I… If Kara hadn’t saved us, I… my only regret would’ve been… I’m in love with you, too, Maggie.”

For a long moment, neither of them moves, and for a long moment, neither of them breathes.

“Ally,” Maggie breaks the silence, and this time, her kiss is soft, her kiss is open, her kiss is tender and firm and healing.

Her kiss is forever.

“Alex. When you get a moment to disentangle from Detective Sawyer, I need to speak with you upstairs.”

J’onn’s voice makes them jump apart, but they stay in each other’s arms.

“Acknowledged, sir,” Alex’s voice trembles, but her eyes keep locked in Maggie’s.

“They’ll want to question me, too, I imagine. It might be a few hours.”

“I’ll be here. Always.”

Alex smiles softly and squeezes Maggie’s hands and starts to walk away, though it makes her body ache.

But Maggie pulls her back, and Alex hears her breath hitch.

“I’m home, Maggie. I’m home. I’ll only be upstairs.”

“Not in space.”

“No, not that far upstairs.”

They share a watery laugh.

“Nerd.”

“Your nerd.”

“No one else’s, Danvers. No one else’s.”

buzzfeed.com
This Senator Wants To Bring DACA Deportees To Canada
Could America's loss be Canada's gain?
By Lauren Strapagiel

Young undocumented immigrants in the United States woke up to an uncertain future Wednesday following President Donald Trump’s announcement that his administration will phase out the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which offered deportation relief to 800,000 immigrants brought to the country as children.

Now, a Canadian senator is proposing that up to 30,000 of those people find a new home across the border.

Ratna Omidvar, an independent senator appointed by Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in 2016, says DREAMers, as DACA recipients are known, are the “ripe, low-hanging fruit” of immigrants—young people who, in many cases, speak English, are high-school graduates, and have work experience. They have also undergone criminal background checks as a prerequisite to getting DACA status.

“Put that all in a basket together and you get something very attractive,” Omidvar told BuzzFeed News Canada.

With some adjustments to how Canada handles immigrant quotas, she said, the country could potentially take in 10,000 to 30,000 DREAMers.

Continue Reading.

The road to Siberia was horrendous. The people were packed into overcrowded animal wagons, with no mercy for even those who were pregnant or elderly. In most cases, the train carts that left Estonia with 60+ people arrived at their destination with less than ten people in the wagon. 

Men were separated from their wives and kids. In most cases, children never saw their father again as men were sent to GULAGs while women and children were re-located into faraway villages.

In some cases, mothers were also separated from their children. For some, this meant entire train ride was accompanied by non-stop screaming from mother who was separated from her children.

There was little to drink and little to no food. People on the train carts licked the condensed water off metal to get just a sip of water. The people who died were thrown off wagons - even infants and small children.

About first year a lot of deportees say they remember endless row of funerals and caskets. A lot of them saw their parents die because their parents gave their last food crumbs to their children.

So never say “it’s just a joke” about deportation related things. It wasn’t, it isn’t and it never will be.

In A Single Second


Request:  Hi! Can I request a drabble for the ‘Imagine Sherlock is mourning you, his wife’? Let’s say in a car accident (like in Doctor Strange) and he was there with her. Otherwise you’ve got free reign! Thank you so much! - @thegothicdancer

Summary: Sherlock and you have planned to spend an evening with your parents but something doesn’t go according the plan.

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Warning: Angst / Parenthood 

Word count: 2.652

A/N: I totally loved this request, even though the plot is kind of angsty. I have to admit that this got me right into the feels. 

*not my gif


It was Saturday night, you and Sherlock were in the living room with your three years-old child. You were sitting on the floor playing with your son. He was as beautiful as your husband. They both had curly hair and their eyes were crystalline as the ocean. He was identical to his father.

“And exactly when are they coming?” Sherlock asked while he was reading a book

“You mean, my parents?” you asked him and he nodded. “Well, I just received a text from my mom. She said that they were going to arrive at ten o’clock. Does it bother you?” you asked as you tried to take away everything that could hurt your son.

“Tonight?!” he exclaimed worriedly as he closed the book.

“Yes, tonight. What’s wrong with it?”, you looked at him with your eyebrow raised.

“I thought…”

He was interrupted by the phone, which was ringing. You both stared at it, confused. Sherlock walked towards it and answered the call.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said as he turned around to look at you. He frowned, covered the phone and muttered to you. “It’s your parents,” he took off his hand from the phone and resume the call. “Hello, I’m sorry. We were just trying to take some things away from Y/Son’s/N. He’s turning into a rebel boy,” he chuckled and glanced at his wife, who was starring him with a ‘behave’ look. “So, Mrs. Y/S, when are you coming?” Sherlock face got pale as paper. You looked at him confusedly.

“Is everything alright?” You whispered as you took your son and made him sit down on your lap. Sherlock ignored you and kept talking.

“So you’re not coming,” he raised an eyebrow and you frowned. You decided to stand up and talk with your mother. You knew Sherlock was not an expert at this so you tried to help him before a catastrophe could occur.

“Mom? Hi, it’s me,” you greeted with a smile on your face. But then, that happy face disappeared. “But why? Is there any reason why should we go there?” you asked confusedly and Sherlock glanced at you as he paced around the living room with his beloved child in his arms. “Mom, you know that’s far away. We are living in London not in Bristol. It’s not even Belgravia!” You hears your mom begging you to go to your ex house. “Ok, fine. We’ll try to be there be there by eleven o’clock. Good?” You paused so you could hear your mother’s reply. “Right, bye.”

You hang up and look stared at Sherlock. You started pacing around the living room and cursing under your breath.

“Hey, calm down,” Sherlock said as he grabbed your arm with his free hand. “What’s going on?”

“We have to rush, Sherlock!” You started panicking and ran to the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” He shouted from the living room and as a result your child started crying. “Oh, please. Not now,” He complained, rolled quickly his eyes and tried to reassure him. “It’s ok, everything’s going to be fine. Just stop crying,” he tried to do his best but it was not working. “Y/N!” He shouted.

“Not now, Sherlock,” you stated as you were looking everywhere for the pacifier, his blanket, his favourite, bloody rattle, diapers, and other stuff.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he frowned.

“Preparing your son’s bag. It thought it was obvious,” you said breathlessly.

“He’s crying, could you please calm him down? You know I’m not good at that,” you glared at him.

“You are good at anything but when it comes to parenthood you are not,” you scolded as you tried to reach the pack of diapers that was on the shelf. Sherlock saw you struggling so he took and gave them to you. “Thank you. Now go and change yourself, I’m going change him.”

“What should I wear?”

“I don’t know, maybe a dinner jacket?” you said sarcastically.

“But I’m already using one,” he said and gestured with his hands.

“Sherlock, you’re wearing a robe and a naughty suit. Please, go and change yourself,” you scolded as you tried to reassure you dear son.

Sherlock headed to the bedroom changed himself quickly and took the bag you’ve prepared before. You were waiting for him in the living room with Y/Son’s/N in your arms.

“Sherlock!” you shouted as you were heading to the door. He ran towards you and then noticed that something was wrong. “And the bag?”

“Hang on,” he said as he raced back to the bedroom. When he came back, you took the keys and closed the door.

“Do you have the keys of the car?”

“Mmmhh…” He put his hands in his pockets trying to get the keys out of them. When he finally got them, he show them to you. “Got them.”

“Good. Could you please open the door? I can’t do it with our child in my arms,” you asked and he did. “Where’s the car?”

“There in front of us,” he pointed at it as he carefully crossed the street.

“Wait. Stay there. I’ll help you. Give me the bag,” you gave him the bag and saw him crossing the street and putting it into the boot. He looked at both sides of the street so could know when to walk again towards you. He took your son from you and together you crossed the street.

“Sit him down in the car sit and fasten his seatbelt,” you said and he nodded.

“What else?”

“Just get into the car and start driving,” you told him and got into car. You were sitting by Sherlock’s side. You loover you shoulder at the back seat. Was he ok? He was not crying anymore.

“Sherlock, what have you done to our son?”

“Nothing whatsoever. Why?” He’d asked and started the car. “He’s not crying. That’s good, isn’t it?” You nodded and he smiled.

“He’s so like you,” you chuckled. “He has your eyes and your curls…and…”

“Except the cheekbones,” he interrupted. “Those cheekbones are yours,” he made you smile.

You had to admit it, Sherlock was a really good driver but you were a disaster when it come to the co-pilot. Seriously, you were pretty bad at it. However, you usually drove to go to work but it was it. You were not that good behind the steer wheel so, you were so thankful of having Sherlock. He only man who could touch the car unless there wad  an urgency.

But actually that was not your worry. You were thinking in something else. Something that has worried since you first met him. What would your parents think about him?

Yes, you were married and they already knew him but what will think about him as a father? It was the first time you were going to meet again and you knew your parents. They were peculiar as hell.

“Sherlock?” you asked him and he hummed, “Remember to be polite,” you muttered and he rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. This is so…ridiculous,” he chuckled. “But you know them. They are so polite, posh…wealthy,” you sighed.

“What does wealth have to do with this?”

“Should I remind you that my family is wealthy? Why do you think we have this Lamborghini?” you asked.

“I thought it was Mycroft’s present,” he glanced at her sighing. “Ok, right. It was your parents present for…Christmas?” he guessed and then glanced at you in order to get an answer from you

“Wedding,” you corrected him as you looked through the window. “See?”

“Fine,” he stated rolling his eyes and you quickly put his right hand on his as warm smile appeared on his face. “You know I’ll just do it because I’m – unfortunately -  your husband, don’t you?”

“You, bastard,” you said sarcastically and you both giggled. “I remind you that you haven’t said your vows…”

“I lost them! John had to write them again. But I said ‘don’t be stupid just say – I do – and it’ll do.’”

“Oh, my! You were afraid, Sherlock!” You laughed. “After three years, you proposed and a year later we’ve married. You seemed to be so convinced,”

“I was convinced. What makes you think that I was not…”

It started raining. Actually, it was pouring and both of you could hear the heavy drops falling on windscreen and on the roof of the deportee car. Definitely, it was going to be a long and unforgettable night.

The rain was going to ruin the whole nigh because according to your father, mom decided all of us were going to have dinner outsides.

“Aarhh!” You protested, gestured with your hands and let your arm onto the armrest.

“What’s wrong?” he enquired. “Are those female hormones? He said keeping his gaze on the motorway”

You sighed and exclaimed, “They’re gonna hate me,” You pouted and Sherlock sighed.

“Why would they hate you?” He frowned and kept his eyes on the motorway.

“Because we are different, Sherlock! We are different.”

“What makes you think that we are different?” he inquired calmly.

“We’re just…you know,” you sighed.

The rain was getting heavier and you wondered if your parents were considering to cancel the meeting. It wad hard for you to have your parents this far from London. Though you were the one who wanted to move to Baker Street, somehow a part of you didn’t want to.

“Y/N?” Sherlock asked keeping his eyes on the motorway but you ignored him. “Y/N?” he asked again and then you came back to ‘reality’.

“Yes, what?”

“He’s crying,” he paused as you looked at him in disbelief. “What? Help him.”

“Well, put a CD into the slot, that’ll might help,” you said as you were making gestured with your hands to your son.

“I’m driving, for god’s sake!” he roared.

You quickly glanced at him. He was right, he was driving. He was driving on a dark and damp motorway. The windows on your car gone fog, further limited Sherlock’s visibility.  He tried to defog with the heater. Defogging, kept your air conditioning blowing at both windscreens and your back window.

Scared, you grabbed Sherlock from the shoulder. You didn’t shake it but it was enough to make him get angry.

“Get off. I’m driving!” He scolded.

“The lights,” you mumbled. “Sherlock, the lights!”

“What?” He asked. “Could you make me a favour and shut him up?” The child started crying loudly.

“Sherlock! Look what you’ve done!” You scolded and glared at him. “Turn the lights on!”

“I can’t drive with someone yelling,” he ignored you and went back to the previous subject.

Rain made it more difficult to stay on a roadway, to stop, or to avoid colliding with other vehicles. The roads were very slippery at the beginning of the rainstorm. 

“Sherlock, the lights!” You shouted at him worriedly.

He didn’t look at you but it was enough to know that he was upset with you. Sherlock has often behaved like a whim child, but you had enough. At least for that night.

“Will you turn the bloody lights on?!” You yelled.

“No need to. Trust in me, we’ll not need them,” he replied.

“Do it! Do it, now!” You scolded.

“Why should I?” He inquired annoyingly.

“Just turn them on!” you ordered.

“Why?!” He turned his gaze down to you and yelled furiously.

Suddenly, out of nowhere raced a car towards you. Sherlock stepped on the breaks it but made it worse. The sudden braking caused a skid. Since the roads were slippery, stopping the wheels too quickly caused them to lose all traction with the road, and the imminent car accident became a tragedy.

The another car driven then smashed into the overturned vehicle. One was absolutely destroyed and another had flipped over.

You weren’t fastening your seat belt because you were trying to calm down your son, so when the car crashed you’ve been thrown out of the window. On the other hand, Sherlock and your beloved child stayed inside the Lamborghini.

After a couple of minutes, Sherlock slowly and painfully opened his eyes. He tried to sit down and look around him. The car was turned, there was glass everywhere, he touched his face and then saw blood on the pavement.

Suddenly, he could hear someone crying. He stood up and began looking for them. They started crying louder and louder, that was when he realized it was his child.

He started panicking; panicking like he never did before.

“Son!” He shouted desperately. “Oh my god! Where are you, little mine?” He whispered as tried to follow his voice. “Keep crying, keep crying!” he yelled. He still couldn’t find him. He started looking around him and tears sprang on to his eyes. “Where are you?” He mumbled. Sherlock couldn’t hear your voice, just your child’s. That’s why he started asking for you. “Y/N!” He couldn’t anything else than his son’s cries. “Y/N?! Y/N! Oh, god! Where are you?!” He began jogging around the car until he saw a figure moving. He approached to it. It was your son. “Oh, dear lord,” Sherlock got his son out from the broken car and tried to reassure him. “I’m here. It’s alright, I’m here. Dad’s here.”

Even though Sherlock wasn’t this kind of person, it seemed that you had changed him. Not from the outside but from the inside. He was not more the arrogant, ignorant, the most unfriendly and egocentric man people had the misfortune to have known. No, he was different. He changed for good.

“Let’s go and find your mother. Y/N!” he shouted desperately with his child in his arms crying out loud. “Oh, my God!” He said under his breath when he saw his wife lying on the pavement. When he was standing besides you, he knelt down and began shaking you. “Come on, don’t leave us. Please, don’t,” he’s eyes were full of tears, his body was shaking and his voice was breaking. “Please, don’t leave me. Look at me,” he took your head hoping that you’d open your eyes. Unfortunately, you were lifeless. There was no pulse, no heartbeat, no breath.

Sherlock’s heart was breaking piece by piece. He felt that his whole world was falling apart. He had never experienced such a horrible and heart-breaking thing. He loved you, and he really meant it.

“Come back, come back. Please,” he cried. “I know I’m the most stubborn, ignorant, obnoxious, intelorable, annoying, stupid person you have ever met in your whole life, but I realized how wonderfully my life has been going since I met you. I’ve had a first class experience of love undefined and the more I get, the more you proof to give. So I thought, what will I do without you in my life. And if I could describe you in one word, I’d call you my life. Thank you for everything. I love you,” he said. “Those were my vows and I love you, because I’ll still love you, that’s the reason every single day I was completely happy.”


TWO WEEKS LATER

“…she suffered a brain injury, bruises and abrasions…” John read quietly the words written on the post mortem results file.

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock said. “I don’t even mind what’s happening out there.”

“So, you’re not coming to Scotland Yard,” John stated, but actually it sounded like question. He waited for an answer but no, the detective decided not to reply. “Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked as he saw his best friend sitting on his armchair with a miserable face.

“I miss her; I miss my wife. I miss her smile, her tenderness, I miss her all. She was my entire world and I lost her in a single second, John,” he said as he shed a tear. “I would do anything to have her in my arms again.”

Deportation a ‘Death Sentence’ to Adoptees After a Lifetime in the U.S.

By Choe Sang-Hun, NY Times, July 2, 2017

SEOUL, South Korea–Phillip Clay was adopted at 8 into an American family in Philadelphia.

Twenty-nine years later, in 2012, after numerous arrests and a struggle with drug addiction, he was deported back to his birth country, South Korea. He could not speak the local language, did not know a single person and did not receive appropriate care for mental health problems, which included bipolar disorder and alcohol and substance abuse.

On May 21, Mr. Clay ended his life, jumping from the 14th floor of an apartment building north of Seoul. He was 42.

To advocates of the rights of international adoptees, the suicide was a wrenching reminder of a problem the United States urgently needed to address: adoptees from abroad who never obtained American citizenship. The Adoptee Rights Campaign, an advocacy group, estimates that 35,000 adult adoptees in the United States may lack citizenship, which was not granted automatically in the adoption process before 2000.

Mr. Clay is believed to be just one of dozens of people, legally adopted as children into American families, who either have been deported to the birth countries they left decades ago or face deportation after being convicted of crimes as adults. Some did not even know they were not American citizens until they were ordered to leave.

Adoptees from other countries, like Vietnam, Thailand and Brazil, have faced deportation. But the sheer number of children adopted from South Korea, once a leading source of children put up for adoption abroad, has made it the most visible example of the issue, and of the enormous challenges returnees face as they try to once again navigate a foreign culture, this time with little or no assistance.

Many have nowhere to go, often living on the streets. In South Korea, one deportee served a prison term for robbing a bank with a toy gun. Another, who like Mr. Clay had mental health problems, has been indicted twice on assault charges.

“Deportation is like the death sentence to them,” said Hellen Ko, a chief counselor at the government-run Korea Adoption Services, who monitored Mr. Clay as a caseworker. “They had a hard time adjusting to life in America. It gets even harder for them when they return here.”

The government here does not know how many of the 110,000 South Korean children adopted into American families since the 1950s have been deported. When the United States deports Koreans, it does not tell Seoul if they are adoptees. At least six cases have been documented, though, and officials here say that they have been unable to determine the citizenship status of 18,000 Korean adoptees in the United States.

Once back in their birth country, they are on their own and often go undocumented.

“All I had was $20 on me; I didn’t know where I was,” Monte Haines said, recalling the day he landed at Seoul’s gateway airport after being deported in 2009, more than 30 years after an American family adopted him. “There was nobody there to talk to.”

Americans have adopted more than 350,000 children from abroad since the 1940s, according to the Adoptee Rights Campaign, and the United States left it to the parents to secure citizenship for the children.

But some did not understand that their children did not automatically become citizens when they completed the adoption. Other adoptees have said that their parents were put off by the cost and paperwork of the citizenship process, or that they essentially abandoned them.

In 2000, Congress passed the Child Citizenship Act, which granted automatic citizenship to children adopted by United States citizens. But the law did not retroactively benefit adoptees who were already legal adults.

This omission left adult adoptees with criminal records but not citizenship, like Mr. Clay and Mr. Haines, vulnerable to deportation as America has become increasingly aggressive in pursuing illegal immigrants in recent years.

Immigration law allows the federal government to deport noncitizen immigrants found guilty of a wide range of “aggravated felonies,” which include battery, forged checks and selling drugs.

Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, was unable to say how many adoptees without citizenship had been deported. The New York Times Magazine reported in 2015 that at least three dozen international adoptees had faced deportation charges or had been deported. With President Trump pledging to increase deportations, adoption advocates fear that the number will climb, with devastating consequences for those deported.

“As a child, I didn’t ask to be sent to the United States. I didn’t ask to learn the English language. I didn’t ask to be a culturalized American,” said Adam Crapser, who was deported to South Korea last year, at age 41, after 38 years in the United States. “And now I was forced back to Korea, and I lost my American family.”

Mr. Crapser, who left behind a wife and three daughters in the United States, was abandoned by his first adoptive parents and abused by his second. He accumulated a criminal record over the years, including a conviction on burglary charges.

But in recent years, he had begun turning his life around and applied for a green card in 2012. That triggered a background check, leading to the deportation proceedings that flipped his life upside down.

“They waited until I had a family, and they waited until I had children,” he said. “They waited until I had something to lose.”

Mr. Crapser, who had never traveled abroad while living in the United States, said he “could not read a sign” when he landed at Incheon Airport outside Seoul. Korean faces and the language swirling around him came as “a complete shock,” he said.

His deportation put a strain on his relationship with his wife in the United States, and he has not seen his daughters in 15 months. Living out of suitcases in a tiny studio in Seoul, Mr. Crapser said that he struggled to keep himself busy to fight depression and that his job opportunities were extremely limited.

“The language is the biggest barrier because of how late I came back here to Korea,” he said.

Mr. Haines, another South Korea-born deportee, said he could barely pay his rent and buy food with the $5 an hour he earned as a bartender in Seoul.

“I have been here for eight and a half years, and I am still having a hard time to survive,” he said.

Sylvia Savellano, a Filipino American from Oakland, met her first Brigadistas at Grove Street College. Syl was impressed with the Brigadistas’ community work and viewed communism as “communities working together.” Syl was twenty years old when she went on the Third Venceremos Brigade to Cuba in 1970 and was joined by two hundred other politically radical young men and women of all races from across the United States. The six-week experience of working in the sugarcane fields, living in bunkhouses, meeting young Cubans, and visiting institutions was a turning point for her and her companions.
Before Syl went to Cuba, however, she was seeing a Honduran woman. She thought about coming out during the Brigade selection process but decided against it. Since Cuba viewed homosexuality as a “crime against the people,” upon her return Syl knew that it was impossible to be a gay person in the movement. So she buried her feelings, volunteered at the San Francisco International Hotel, and was one of the first (along very few) women activists in the Kearny Street Asian American Movement.
Syl led a double life, an assumed straight sister in the Asian American movement during the day and a pervert at night in gay dance clubs. Recalled Syl, “It was isolating. It was a quiet thing. I could not tell anybody. Any inclinations, I had to can it… I came out to my family because of the I-Hotel. But to my Movement friends I lived with… they did not know what was going on.” Then it all came to a head when one of Syl’s fellow Brigadistas called a meeting to start a chapter of the Third World Women’s Alliance (TWWA) in the Bay Area in 1971. Syl, along with her girlfriend and several other lesbians of color, piled into a car and enthusiastically went to the first meeting called for women of color:
“We thought we could express our sexual identity. Wrong… We were isolated. We felt bad.We all picked up that we were not welcome, at least to not talk about our lesbianism. So we pulled out. We got the cold shaft… In the Asian and Third World movements, we could have been treated better. It felt like our own people [were] stabbing us. [Name withheld] said, “We are not going to have any of ‘that’ here; we have too many bigger issues.” So we boycotted [the TWWA]. We did not want to go. It was only for straight women. It was not the place to go.”
[…] Fortunately, Syl was Filipino and found a place in the Filipino radical group KDP (Katipunan ng mag Demokratikong Pilipino, Union of Democratic Filipinos). Homosexuals were allowed in KDP because one of its founding national leaders, Melinda Paras, was a lesbian. Melinda, born and raised in Madison, Wisconsin, was a young teenage Asian American anti-war activist and Venceremos Brigadista when she went to the Philippines and joined the revolutionary nationalist movement.
[…] A year later, the radical members of the Philippine support network formed KDP. […] Melinda immediately informed her leadership group of her personal situation. There was no problem with [Melinda’s] lesbianism, as Cynthia’s older sister was a lesbian and Bruce was supportive. Melinda’s stellar political credentials as a revolutionary movement activist and deportee also deflected any question that homosexuality had suddenly transformed her into a “social parasite.” Melinda’s standing as one of the KDP national leaders was, however, paramount to protect. Fearful that KDP’S detractors would use Melinda’s homosexuality to discredit the organization, the couple did not disclose their relationship. But it was a well-guarded known secret in the organization, and eventually there were a dozen gay and lesbian KDP members. As a result, Filipino lesbians and gays in KDP gained political skills not available to other queer people of color, equipping them to contribute substantially in later years to a wide range of movement-organization efforts.
—  “Asian Lesbians in San Francisco: Struggles to Create a Safe Space, 1970s-1980s” by Trinity A. Ordona in Asian/Pacific Islander American Women: A Historical Anthology edited by Shirley Hune, Gail M. Nomura

missychloemon  asked:

Do you have any facts about Australia? I have to a school project on their school systems but Im not getting graded on it.

Australia and its school systems:

Australia was founded in 1901 by Jimmy “Crocodile” Austral, a deportee of England who was banished for cannibalism, having eaten 32 members of the House of Lords. In accordance with English colonial law, this entitled him to an entire already-inhabited continent.

Austral brought with him his pet rabbit, which was pregnant. Within three years, Australia was completely overrun by rabbits, which lead to Austral building a rabbit proof fence across the country, dividing it into West Australia and New South Wales, the directions North and East were only invented in 1909 and not introduced to Australia in 1921. Most of the rabbits west of the fence evolved into kangaroos, a species which contributed to the invention of the pocket. Most pockets in modern pants are harvested from live kangaroos to this day.

Austral’s son, Dundee Kidman Austral, founded the school system in 1924 as a means to separate native Australians from their children, so they could be more easily abused. About 70,000 hunter gatherers were collected and shipped to “Social Centers for Harrowing Offensive Outrageous Lugubriosity“ or “S.C.H.O.O.L.” where they were viciously broken down and tormented into acting like their insane English overlords. The practice proved so effective at beating children down that it soon caught on in England, then in the rest of Europe, and finally even in America, where schools exist to this day as centers where parents can dump their progeny to be abused in the most nauseating and insulting manners.

Having evolved since those days, presumably with the help of Darwin city, Australia is now a more peaceful land where only 87% of the wildlife is deadly, only 92% of native descendants are subjected to atrocious non-stop abuse, and a mere 99.8% of the English descended population are still cannibals. The school system has also changed over the years to feature more Catholicism.

Australia’s national anthem is “Waltzing Matilda,” a traditional ballad about a homeless man drowning in a puddle. It is currently ruled by Reichskanzler Abbott, a descendant of the Austral family who like his ancestors, lives on a strict diet of human flesh and whole raw onions.

Australia is divided into eight districts:

  1. The Capitol
  2. New South Wales
  3. Tasmanian South Wales
  4. Queen’s South Wales
  5. South South Wales
  6. North South Wales
  7. Victorian South Wales
  8. The West

Australia today thrives on its tourist industry, its pocket industry, and on funds siphoned from “New Zealand,” a set of subsidiary islands to its east where Hobbits are farmed for food and pets. Australia is best known across the world for its didgeridoos, which go like “Oowowowoeowoowowoeow.”

Good luck with your project!

Simone Veil dies at 89: The legacy of the French Auschwitz survivor and women's rights icon

Simone Veil, the French campaigner and activist, has died at her home on Friday at the age of 89.

Mrs Veil survived Auschwitz and went on to become one of France’s most respected politicians, steering through landmark laws to liberalise contraception and abortion.

Sending condolences to her family, French President Emmanuel Macron tweeted: “May her example inspire our fellow citizens, as the best of what France can achieve.”

Tributes for the former European Parliament president also poured in from Brussels, with European Commission chief Jean-Claude Juncker acclaiming her for “helping build sustained peace in Europe”.

Mrs Veil is credited with securing peace for Europe Credit: AFP/Getty Images

Born Simone Jacob in the Mediterranean city of Nice on July 13, 1927, she was arrested by the Gestapo in March 1944 and deported to Auschwitz with one of her sisters and her mother Yvonne.

The two girls, who were put to work in a concentration camp, survived - as did another sister who was deported for her part in the French Resistance.

Mrs Veil’s mother died of typhoid in Belsen just before the camp was liberated in 1945 and her father and brother were last seen on a train of deportees bound for Lithuania.

“Sixty years later I am still haunted by the images, the odours, the cries, the humiliation, the blows and the sky filled with the smoke of the crematoriums,” Mrs Veil said in a TV interview broadcast in 2005.

After the war, she studied law at Sciences Po, the elite school of political science in Paris, where she met her husband Antoine Veil, who died in April 2013.

The couple had three sons, one of whom, Claude-Nicolas, died in 2002.

As a young judge she lobbied for improvements in prison conditions, and, in 1970, became the first female general secretary of the Council of Magistrates.

At Auschwitz-Birkenau in 2005 with Jacques Chirac  Credit: PATRICK KOVARIK/AFP/Getty Images

It was the springboard for a political career that fundamentally changed France.

In 1971, feminists began a campaign to overturn France’s ban on abortion, attacking the stigma of pregnancy termination and women’s deaths in backstreet operations.

Mrs Veil threw herself into the battle, setting up an organisation to defend women who were prosecuted for abortion.

A member of the centre-right Union for French Democracy, she was named health minister under president Valery Giscard d'Estaing and led a battle that marked her generation: the legalisation of abortion.

Mrs Veil led the charge in the National Assembly, where she braved a volley of insults, some of them likening terminations to the Nazis’ treatment of Jews.

In a chamber where there were just nine women and 481 men, the 25-hour debate is remembered for Veil’s calm, measured opening speech as much as for the hostility of some of her opponents.

One lawmaker accused Mrs Veil of “genocide” and another spoke of embryos “thrown into the crematorium ovens”.

“I did not imagine the hatred I would stir up,” Mrs Veil said in a 2004 interview.

“There was such hypocrisy,” she said. “The assembly was mainly filled with men, some of whom were secretly looking for contacts to arrange an abortion for a mistress or a member of their family.”

Mrs Veil and Mr Chirac leaving the Elysee Palace in 1974 Credit: AFP/Getty Images

The legislation - named the “Loi Veil” (Veil Law) - is today considered a cornerstone of women’s rights and secularism in France.

A staunch believer in European integration, Veil went on to become the first elected president of the European Parliament in 1979, a position she held for three years.

She last held major public office between 1998 and 2007, as a member of France’s Constitutional Council.

Her experience left her with no tolerance for the far-right National Front, and in 1983 she condemned fellow conservative politicians for seeking electoral arrangements with the anti-immigration party.

Among other posts she served from 2000 to 2007 as president of the French Foundation for preserving the memory of the Shoah, or Holocaust.

In the early 1990s she was a member of a delegation which investigated detention camps during the war in the former Yugoslavia.

In 2010, Veil joined the Academie Francaise, the elite intellectual guardians of the French language, becoming only the sixth woman to join the “immortals”, as the 40 members of the academy are known.

Mrs Veil, Mr Chirac and her ceremonial epee Credit: REUTERS/Charles Platiau

Each “immortal” is given a ceremonial sword. Veil’s was engraved with the three things that had imprinted her life.

They were the mottoes of the French Republic and the European Union - and the number 78651, which was tattooed on her arm at Auschwitz.

Two nationalistic physicians, Drs. Nazim and Shakir, played a key role in [mobilizing] these killer units of chété, as they were called [to massacre Armenian deportees.] Although these units at first fought against the Russians in the Caucasus, the Turks found a better use for them in massacring caravans of Armenian deportees. These men were heartless, butchering deportees in ravines and on narrow mountain passes, raping women, and stealing what few possessions they still carried. Kurdish tribal groups were similarly encouraged to raid caravans. The gendarmes who were supposed to “protect” the caravans either disappeared during these attacks or joined in on the assault

In addition to Drs. Nazim and Shakir, other physicians were involved in the genocide. For example, Dr. Ali Saib was accused in postwar trials of having poisoned and gassed infants and children. Numan Pasha, also a physician, was accused of having poisoned sick Armenians in Erzerum, Sivas, and Erzinjan. Tevfik Rushdu, a brother-in-law of Dr. Nazim, had been responsible for disposing of bodies by putting them in wells and covering them with lim and soil.

—  Survivors: An Oral History of the Armenian Genocide, by Donald E. Miller and Lorna Touryan Miller 
Confirmed: US government is deporting Central Americans to their deaths

The US government is deporting undocumented immigrants back to Central America to face the imminent threat of violence, with several individuals being murdered just days or months after their return, a Guardian investigation has found.

The Guardian has confirmed three separate cases of Honduran men who have been gunned down shortly after being deported by the US government. Each was murdered in their hometowns, soon after their return – one just a few days after he was expelled from the US.

Immigration experts believe that the Guardian’s findings represent just the tip of the iceberg. A forthcoming academic study based on local newspaper reports has identified as many as 83 US deportees who have been murdered on their return to El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras since January 2014.

Affair with a Married Woman

by Martha Shelley
(as printed in Nice Jewish Girls: A Lesbian Anthology (1982))

A woman from Israel
asks me if there’s more to learn
and why they call it gay:
My love, you don’t need lessons
you could’ve invented the way–
in three short afternoons
between work and picking up the kids
you learned as much as I did
in as many years
of being queer.

Yes, you know gay,
but I need to teach you queer
I need to tell you about hostile glares
and false arrests
and you have no defense
a queer can’t bear witness
against a lying cop. They call your boss,
you lose your job, there’s no redress:
“You can’t teach youngsters to be perverts here!”
–or back there–in the Promised Land of ours
the shooting gallery
where patriarchy first took root
and grew its tallest flowers.*

(Thousands of little clay Ishtars
lie broken beneath the phallic minarets.)

Queer means the State takes your kids
or gives your husband custody
and you become a deportee,
an “undesirable alien”
because you desired me.

Queer means a teenage gang
who tried to beat me up and bang me
on the ferry to Manhattan.
Who cared? Passengers stared
at the dyke, who deserved what she got
for dressing like that.

Queer means crazy, it means
the uncle who signed an aunt in
to the looney bin.
(The family still whispers about it.)
Electric shocks prescribed by the Doc
who made burnt offerings of human souls
and sacrificed a woman’s brain to Woman’s Role.

Queer means burning,
it meant the stake and the rack
when the Doctors wore black
to the Inquisition.
Just yesterday it meant the ovens:
the ashes of a hundred thousand pervert lovers
dirtied the German skies
before the Jews got fried.

You want to be gay and free
you want your husband to leave you be;
be careful–he sits like a jealous Baal
waiting for you to decide
which way to jump.
He has all the trumps on his side.

Gay isn’t a game–five thousand years of lies
point at our hearts
like machine guns ready to fire
we have only the fire in our eyes
which they can’t see
the fire in our bellies
which they can’t feel
a dream of fire–and do we have the guts
to make it real?

*The author notes that she is referring to the entire history of the Middle East from Sumeria to the present. She does not subscribe to the anti-Semitic and historically ignorant notion that the Jews invented patriarchy.

Actual quote from Turkish website

“With the “Deportation Law” issued in 1915, a group of approximately 90 people living in Tomarza was sent to Syria”

…b…i…t…c…h…

for fucking reference Raymond Kévorkian’s encyclopedia of armenian genocide history, extremely well-cited, lists the number of deportees at 10,000 from the district and the number of survivors at 300.

Fuck you

Some nationalities were deemed to be unworthy of membership in the new Soviet family. As early as 1923, the new regime had built high-security, fourteen-mile deep “frontier zones” along the new Soviet borders. But certain national groups living near the borders were still suspected of harboring sympathies for foreign powers. This was the official justification for a program of mass deportations of almost all ethnic groups with a Turkic connection, among them Crimean Tatars; North Caucasian Karachais, Balkars, and Kalmyks from the Caspian Sea; and Georgia’s Meskhetian Turks. In the Caucasus, they also deported Kurds, Armenian Hemshins, Chechens, Ingush, and Pontic Greeks. The execution of this policy virtually amounted to genocide. Soviet secret police troops closed off an entire region, rounded up hundreds of thousands of people—women and children as well as men, Red Army soldiers included—evicted them from their homes, crammed them into disease-ridden cattle-trucks, and sent them into permanent exile in Kazakhstan or Siberia. Their homelands were abolished, their cemeteries dug up, and their culture erased from the official record. As many as a quarter of the deportees died en route or never returned.
—  The Caucasus: An Introduction, Thomas de Waal. 
Plane Wreck At Los Gatos (Deportee)
Joel Rafael
Plane Wreck At Los Gatos (Deportee)

Plane Wreck At Los Gatos (Deportee) - Joel Rafael (written by Woody Guthrie)

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, “They are just deportees”