unfair labor

anonymous asked:

buying or selling an image of the buddha is extremely disrespectful. pier 21 and other trash places mass-producing shitty buddha images with unfair labor to exploit nonwestern cultures is extremely disrespectful. using the buddha as an aesthetic is disrespectful. don't fuck with that shit.


anonymous asked:

Pretty sure people in Japan. Born to Japanese parents. In the nation of Japan. Have more of a say in their culture.

LOL um undermining the diaspora is racist, first of all. assuming that japanese-americans are less connected with their culture is undermining the impact white supremacy has had in forced assimilation, while also idk literally stripping away their ethnic heritage just bc of where they happen to live. 

japanese-americans have dealt with the brunt force of white supremacy via internment camps, exclusion laws, unfair labor laws, etc. it’s not even about questions of ‘their culture,’ (in which both parties have an equal say), it’s about how the culture is ‘shared.’ in which people living in heterogeneous societies have more of a say in bc they actually experience the repercussions of having the same white people who literally supported them being locked away for being japanese prance around in traditional japanese clothing bc it’s now trendy lmao.

like at this point, you should thank me for wasting my time explaining this. if you send me another dumb message, i will block you i’ve reached my daily quota for how long i can engage with racists.

In 1963, workers of the Hilton Hotel (now Plaza Hotel) demonstrated for better wages and working conditions. Hotel and union representatives had negotiated for weeks without coming to an agreement. The topics in discussion were wages, dues checkoff, and overtime provisions. First indication of the labor trouble came months before when the union filed an unfair labor practice charge against the hotel. During the 1960s, El Paso’s economy boomed, also benefiting from low wages. As this image shows, wages were the main reason for the strike. In the photograph, Leticia and Yolanda Abrego assist their mother, Mrs. Maria Garcia Abrego in the Hilton Hotel picket line. The placard reads: “On strike against Hiiton Hotel. We can’t live on $2.50 a day. Hilton is unfair to my Mommy.”

Source: http://digie.org/

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3.5/5 Stars.

Delicious Foods begins with Eddie, a young man with freshly severed hands, frantically trying to steer a stolen car from Louisiana to Minnesota. It’s a gripping first chapter that sets the stage for the rest of the novel. What exactly is Eddie escaping? How did he lose his hands?

From there, we step back quite a bit to see what led Eddie to this situation. We learn that his father died horrifically when Eddie was six years old. His mother Darlene, devastated by the loss of her beloved husband, turned to crack to cope with her grief and trauma. One day, when Eddie was still a child, Darlene disappeared. It turns out she had been lured away with the promise of a good job at a mysterious, nefarious company called Delicious Foods that essentially enslaves black employees, trapping them at the facility to conduct strenuous manual labor in exchange for drugs.

Delicious Foods is a southern gothic cultural satire with a distinctly surreal bent to it, and there are a lot of compelling metaphors at play: while modern slavery and unfair labor practices—particularly in the food industry—are current realities, Delicious Foods is just as much a commentary on pre-Civil War chattel slavery and the deep legacy of racial injustice in America. Hannaham’s characters are bombarded with modern examples of systemic racism, and these struggles often drive them to desperation.

Perhaps the most brilliant thing about this book is that Darlene’s chapters are actually narrated by crack cocaine (nicknamed Scotty). It’s a strange narrative device, but it totally works—and it really drives home the hold that drug addiction has over people’s humanity.

As much as I loved Hannaham’s ideas and the ingenuity of his narrative approach, I struggled with the pacing of this book. I’m not sure it had to be as long as it was. And as interested as I was in the story, there were few scenes that gripped me quite like the opening.

I read this for a book club, and I’m glad I did. There’s certainly a lot to discuss about slave labor, systemic racism, addiction, familial loyalty, freedom and forgiveness.

anonymous asked:

"I don't think social justice is healthy." Elaborate? I ask in good faith, promise. While I do not identity as conservative, especially socially, a lot of current leftist behavior, politics and ideology leaves me anywhere from irritated to angry. So does some conservative behavior, of course, but it feels less disappointing because I was never of the impression they were good. that being said, it's hard to know where to land because I don't believe social justice, as a concept, is harmful or >>>

or wrong. I believe there are things that are unjust, and that fighting to reverse those things is not an inherently suspicious or bad thing.

Oh, I am a big believer in 1) the empirical claim that the world right now is not fair, and is not fair in some very systemic ways like racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. and 2) that lessening those things is good and important and improves peoples’ lives, and that part of making a world where everyone has the autonomy and the resources to live the life they want involves combating those things. 

I am worried that large sections of the existing anti-racism anti-sexism anti-homophobia anti-transphobia etc. movement are both unhealthy for the people participating in them and ineffective at creating a better world.

I think social justice is often unhealthy for people participating because there are a lot of ambient messages that disagreement means you aren’t listening to oppressed people, that confusion means you’re making unfair demands for emotional labor, that doubt means you’re struggling with internalized oppressive messages, that the only kind of personal growth is growth that brings you more in line with the community consensus. 

I think social justice is often unhealthy for people participating because there is a lot of language policing and an expectation that people not have or not enforce certain kinds of boundaries, and a lot of focus on symbolic harms at the expense of energy directed at substantive harms. 

And I think social justice sometimes does not improve the lives of the people who it is intended to serve, either because it emphasizes messages about how their lives are a hellscape of senseless violence in a way that makes it scarier than it needs to be to be oppressed, because it prioritizes intracommunity fights over fights for legal rights, financial resources, and strong communities, or because it often encourages people to sever relationships with people who disagree with them and results in increasingly isolating people. I also think that social justice communities, like every other community and not particularly at a higher rate than other communities, have abusive people who manipulate discursive norms in order to isolate, harass, and harm others, and that some features of social justice communities can make it very hard to protect oneself and others from abusive people. 

So I want to build a better social justice, and all my criticism of social justice on this blog is towards that end.


This coming week, our union—United Auto Workers Local 2865—has called a system-wide strike in protest of unfair labor practices (ULPs) by the university. Although particular grievances differ from campus to campus, in aggregate, they concern the university’s unwillingness to bargain over key aspects of our employment, including class size and the number of terms (quarters, semesters) students are able to work. Also at issue is the university’s history of illegal intimidation of student workers. For example, this past November, an administrator at UCLA threatened overseas students with the loss of their visas for participating in a sympathy strike—a claim as insulting as it was untrue.

The reasons for striking are serious, but also banal. By any measure, our labor is appallingly undervalued by the managers of the UC, its remuneration calibrated neither to the ballooning costs of living in present-day California nor to the wages of our peers at equivalent out-of-state universities. Nonetheless, many of us persist in believing that, no matter how untenable or degrading, our working conditions can always be tolerated, since they are only temporary, lasting no longer than our apprenticeships. The ideology of grad school rationalizes this deficit as the price of shelter from the “working world,” of which the academy is surely the opposite. Those who do not support the strike will claim that grad students are not workers at all, but rather professionals in the chrysalis stage of a post-laborious life cycle. Labor is the fate of the unlucky, the futureless, the unspecial—of all who fail admittance to the academy, or who find themselves passed over in the competition for grants, honors, and jobs. Today’s strikers, tomorrow’s adjuncts.

The academy has always warmed to such delusions. To exist, universities depend on the extraction of un- and underpaid labor from students and faculty, exploiting a population convinced of its special intelligence and competitive edge. Fear of imposture, of mere adequacy, is the coin of the academic realm. As minter of this coin, the university holds its subjects in a state of blind dependency: students compete for the attention of a shrinking pool of professionals (part-time instructors currently outnumber tenure-track faculty by a ration of four to one), while the latter scurry to commodify the drippings of a hive-mind on the brink of colony collapse. A population that does not recognize itself as working will not mind working harder, longer, and more obediently, whatever the personal cost. For many grad students, the very idea of a contract governing the limits and conditions of our labor is a source of skepticism, and even derision. This system is not an alternative to the working world; it is the model every employer would eagerly adopt. Far from prefiguring an emancipated society, the university offers a foretaste of the total domination of workers by management.

Perhaps our peers are right: perhaps we strikers are the futureless, the luckless, the unspecial. To which we should reply—Yes, and so are you! Of course, logic dictates that some of us will be retained by the academy as its favored prodigies; that some of us will best our peers on a tightening job market; that odds will always (ever) be in someone’s favor. But this is not a logic, not a system, that we could ever willingly endorse. The university profits by our atomization, our disunity; it encourages our delusions of specialness, our faith in anointment and meritocratic providence; it thrives on our belief, against every shred of evidence, that we are not workers. We are striking because we are workers. We are striking, not to withdraw our labor arbitrarily, but so that we can find each other outside the walls of the academy. We are striking so that we do not end up like the fortunate ones.

There are no fair labor practices in the academy or anywhere else; there are only the gains that we win for ourselves, together, fighting.


Some strikers, some friends  

children’s literature which teaches children to be critical, discerning and/or reject unfair labor practices and authoritarian government is my number one favorite thing on the entire planet

children’s literature which prepares children to deal with tremendous adversity and tragedy / which does not dismiss tragedies which may have already occurred in their lives is also very important to me