whaat

month

November 2011

26 posts

“In fact, the War on Drugs began at a time when illegal drug use was on the decline. During this same time period, however, a war was declared, causing arrests and convictions for drug offenses to skyrocket, especially among people of color.

The impact of the drug war has been astounding. In less than thirty years, the U.S> penal population exploded from around 300,000 to more than 2 million, with drug convictions accounting for the majority of the increase. The united States now has the highest rate of incarceration in the world, dwarfing the rates of nearly every developed country, even surpassing those in highly repressive regimes like Russia, China, and Iran. In Germany, 93 people are in prison for every 100,000 adults and children. In the United States, the rate is roughly eight times that, or 750 per 100,000.

The racial dimension of mass incarceration is its most striking feature. No other country in the world imprisons so many of its racial or ethnic minorities. The United States imprisons a larger percentage of its black population than South Africa did at the height of apartheid. In Washington D.C., our nation’s capitol, it is estimated that three out of four young black men (and nearly all of those in the poorest neighborhoods) can expect to serve time in prison. Similar rates of incarceration can be found in black communities across America.

These stark racial disparities cannot be explained by rates of drug crime. Studies show that people of all colors use and sell illegal drugs at remarkably similar rates. If there are significant differences in the surveys to be found, they frequently suggest that whites, particularly white youth, are more likely to engage in drug crime than people of color. That is not what one would guess, however, when entering our nation’s prisons and jails, which are overflowing with blakc and brown drug offenders. In some states, black men have been admitted to prison on drug charges at rates twenty to fifty times greater than those of white men. And in major cities wracked by the drug war, as many as 80 percent of young African American men now have criminal records and are thus subject to legalized discrimination for the rest of their lives.”
—

Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness

Things that you probably already knew but are worth repeating.

(via thecurvature)

Nov 30, 2011466 notes
#drug war #ssdo #usa #truth
Nov 28, 20118,842 notes
#mark twain #body #state #rights #anarchy #anarchism
Nov 28, 2011431 notes
Kid Smpl - Keep It Close

kid smpl.

Nov 26, 20111 note
#kid smpl #downtempo #future beats #future funk #future garage
Nov 26, 20112 notes
#hi-fi #old #vintage #photo #music equipment
Nov 26, 20112 notes
#skateboard #deck #old #internet k-hole
Nov 26, 20115 notes
#swag #internet k-hole #retro #style #fashion
Nov 26, 2011170 notes
#poetry #lit #kim addonizio
Nov 26, 20114 notes
#gif #ruins
Play
Nov 26, 20116 notes
#Holy Other #Nu-Witch #Video #Nostolgia #Music
Acid Andy - Jack Dawson Polka (Studio Barnhus)

Acid Andy - Jack Dawson Polka

Nov 26, 20111 note
#future beats #future funk #music #electronic
Futureworld Com Truise

Com Truise - Futureworld

Nov 26, 20119 notes
#Com Truise #future funk #chillwave #synth jams
Nov 24, 20111,799 notes
“We want ‘poems that kill.’
Assassin poems, poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead.”
—Amiri Baraka (via grammatolatry)
Nov 24, 2011356 notes
#poetry #lit #amiri baraka
Nov 18, 2011298 notes
Nov 18, 201166 notes
#Atheism #Psychonaut
Nov 16, 20112 notes
#photo #vintage #couple
Nov 16, 20118 notes
#america #the atlantic
I know of a lot of places (schools, homes, hospitals, prisons) that could use donated books a lot more than OWS.

unaguerrasinfondo:

real talk. the OWS movements should be distributing resources to people/movements in need. 

Nov 15, 2011164 notes

Grandpa Joe Died Just Before 9/11
a poem to my father

I remember the pop-gun salute
21 tin-can cacophony and the way
your usually narrow eyes
were horizon wide
as they slipped the flag into your
desert fists. I remember
how the soft fabric must have caught
at the palms of your hands like velcro.

My cousin Ryan said that
he saw Joe go. That he turned to him,
his face painted green and gray
in the yellow hospital bed at the VA.
He said Joe opened his mouth, but
only threw up consonants and lunch
before the nurses piled on top of him
as the machines screeched out in protest.

Two days later you stood knee deep in the gravel
river of my driveway. You begged me,
“I need you now” and I turned my dry
eyes to the ground, kicking the stones
at my feet into waves.

A week later we ate pizza at Stella’s
and you drank beers and laughed with
your brothers. I ate slices with anchovies
from outer space, observing like a scientist.
I took mental notes on how to touch
your shoulder and grow a beard.

Three months ago you came back
from Florida and slid into my room
stinking of the bayou and voodoo.
You gave me an alligator head
and a book of poems before
disappearing into the spell of
my sleep.

Nov 14, 20111 note
#poetry #original #poem #family
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