Roundup Quotes

I wanted to say sorry, I wanted to tell her I could not forget the roundup, the camp, Michel's death, and the direct train to Auschwitz that had taken her parents away forever. Sorry for what? he had retaliated, why should I, an American, feel sorry, hadn't my fellow countrymen freed France in June 1944? I had nothing to be sorry for, he laughed. I had looked at him straight in the eyes. Sorry for not knowing. Sorry for being forty-five years old and not knowing.

I knew I wasn't the picture of health, but I didn't think I was headed for the last roundup.

My grandmother was fifteen the day of the roundup. She was told she was free because they were only taking small children between two and twelve with their parents. She was left behind. And they took all the others. Her little brothers, her little sister, her mother, her father, her aunt, her uncle. Her grandparents. It was the last time she ever saw them. No one came back No one at all.

We know better than to compare ourselves with others online. We know a Facebook feed, for most, is a glorified highlights reel, a round-up of our best moments, our funniest selves, our greatest champions. We know not to compare our worst with someone else’s best. But

Head in the book. Nose sliding down the valley between the pages.

I don't know why the phone-people want all the 'normies' in Kashwak, but I know what a roundup usually means for the cattle.

PMS affects 90% of women, but is chronically under-studied: one research round-up found five times as many studies on erectile dysfunction than on PMS.

But under the Vichy government, Jews were sent there as from 1941. In ’42, the first direct trains to Auschwitz left Beaune-la-Rolande and Pithiviers.” “Why weren’t the Vel’ d’Hiv’ families sent to Drancy, in the Paris suburbs?” Franck Lévy gave a bleak smile. “The Jews without children were sent to Drancy after the roundup. Drancy is close to Paris. The other camps were more than an hour away. Lost in the middle of the quiet Loiret countryside. And it was there, in all discretion, that the French police separated the children from their parents. They could not have done that so easily in Paris. You have read about their brutality I suppose?

Over 80 percent of all GMOs grown worldwide are engineered for herbicide tolerance. As a result, use of toxic herbicides like Roundup has increased fifteen times since GMOs were introduced. GMO crops are also responsible for the emergence of ‘super weeds’ and ‘super bugs’: which can only be killed with ever more toxic poisons

The critical point is that thousands of people are swept into the criminal justice system every year pursuant to the drug war without much regard for their guilt or innocence. The police are allowed by the courts to conduct fishing expeditions for drugs on the streets and freeways based on nothing more than a hunch...and once inside the system, people are often denied attorneys or meaningful representation and pressured into plea bargains by the threat of unbelievably harsh sentences - sentences for minor drug crimes that are higher than many countries impose on convicted murderers. This is the way the roundup works, and it works this way in virtually every major city in the United States.

My dad was in the FBI when Hoover ordered the roundup of Asian Americans. He hated it and quit, joined the navy, and spent the next three years fighting in the South Pacific. Like so many, he didn’t talk a lot about the war. But when it came to leaving the FBI, he told me once, “You can always say no.

I didn't hear what he said, but I felt like laughing at his artificial imperiousness. The laugh took away every desire to attack, drained me... React. I began to tidy up. When I had finished I began again, a kind of roundup of everything that didn't appear to be in order. Lucidity, determination, hold on to life.

Glyphosate also interferes with ATP production by affecting your mitochondrial membranes. When coupled with the so-called inert solvents included in Roundup, the toxicity of glyphosate is magnified as much as 2,000-fold. This makes the membrane more permeable, allowing the glyphosate to go straight to the heart of the mitochondria.

Monsanto’s herbicide Roundup has been linked to cancer.20 The World Health Organization released a statement that glyphosate (Roundup) is a “probable carcinogen” in humans.21

ROUND-UP CANDY CIGARETTES, it said. SMOKE JUST LIKE DADDY!

It wouldn't bother me in the least if all the dogs in the world weere placed in a large sack and taken to some distant island - Greenland springs attractively to mind - where they could romp around and sniff each other's anuses to their hearts' content and would never bother or terrorize me again. The only kind of dog I would excuse from this roundup is poodles. Poodles I would shoot. To my mind, the only possible pet is a cow. Cows love you. They are harmless, they look nice, they don't need a box to crap in, they keep the grass down, and they are so trusting and stupid that you can't help but lose your heart to them. Where I live in Yorkshire, there's a herd of cows down the lane. You can stand by the wall at any hour of the day or night, and after a minute the cows will all waddle over and stand with you, much too stupid to know what to do next, but happy just to be with you. They will stand there all day, as far as I can tell, possibly till the end of time. They will listen to your problems and never ask a thing in return. They will be your friends forever. And when you get tired of the, you can kill them and eat them. Perfect.

Father, of course, was special all to himself. There could never be anyone quite to match him. I wanted to be like him, just as he was. But first I wanted, as he had done, to ride the range, to have my own string of ponies and take part in an all-brand round-up and in a big cattle drive and dash into strange towns with just such a rollicking crew and with a season’s pay jingling in my pockets.

LONDON, March 16 Ed telephoned from Vienna. He said Major Emil Fey has committed suicide after putting bullets through his wife and nineteen-year-old son. He was a sinister man. Undoubtedly he feared the Nazis would murder him for having double-crossed them in 1934 when Dollfuss was shot. I return to Vienna day after tomorrow. The crisis is over. I think we’ve found something, though, for radio with these round-ups.

I,believe, as do so many of my fellow Americans, that the wild horse is an irreplaceable national treasure. It would be a tragic mistake to allow this noble creature to disappear from our western landscape.” – Robert Redford

When I was initially approached about going to Comic-Con, the giant comic book convention, I said, 'I wouldn't be caught dead at one of those has-been roundups." But, as it turns out, I've been caught alive at those roundups often enough to wish I was dead.

The fact that police are legally allowed to engage in a wholesale roundup of nonviolent drug offenders does not answer the question why they would choose to do so, particularly when most police departments have far more serious crimes to prevent and solve. Why would police prioritize drug-law enforcement?

Imagine for a moment that I live right here, was born here, that my parents always have had a shop here, and on Boulevard du Temple there’s a bistro with a nice young waitress—I’ll be there. Imagine that there’s no such thing as Eastern Europe, no cellars for hiding neighbors, no transports, no round-ups, never any dreams of going from house to house—for a moment suppose it looks like this: a cat stretches its neck in sunlight on a porch, a secret game of chess unfolds between the waitress and that guy. He tracks her moves, she brings him coffee, as if by chance her hip jostles the board. T. Różycki, Colonies translated by Mira Rosenthal

She was in the book again and, by the time she got to page-turning time again, she'd forgetting I was there.

Ow! I think I have a parchment laceration now. Several, in fact.

Some sort of sorcery has placed me in the body of a prune! Save me, Mr. Grayson, or my good looks will be gone forever! My arms! Where are my arms?!

I came across a NATO symposium on Human Performance Optimization that included a roundup of medical technologies that might be repurposed to optimize warfighters. In among the prosthetic limbs “to provide superhuman strength” and the infrared and ultraviolet vision–bestowing eye implants was this: corpus callosotomy to “allow unihemispheric sleep and continuous alertness.

In an era when whole cities like Flint, Michigan, have had their water poisoned; when gas companies tell you that fracking is safe, never mind the earthquakes and flammable tap water; when Monsanto lobbies ceaselessly against attempts to ban its herbicide Roundup despite it having been credibly linked with cancer; and when Big Pharma peddled the drugs that set off the opioid crisis, it is entirely rational to be skeptical toward monopolistic power.

I'm not one of your mustangs. I don't need saving." "Don't you?" she asked softly. "It's not a weakness or a character flaw. It's human nature to need someone. We all do. You need this, Keith. These horses need you. And I need you.

At Kapiti Plains our tents, our accommodations generally, seemed almost too comfortable for men who knew camp life only on the Great Plains, in the Rockies, and in the North Woods. My tent had a fly which was to protect it from the great heat; there was a little rear extension in which I bathed - a hot bath, never a cold bath, is almost a tropic necessity; there was a ground canvas, of vital moment in a land of ticks, jiggers, and scorpions; and a cot to sleep on, so as to be raised from the ground. Quite a contrast to life on the round-up! Then I had two tent boys to see after my belongings, and to wait at table as well as in the tent.

If you have to wear a hazmat suit to raise crops, why would you ever eat them? If you’re afraid of getting that crap on your skin, how much more insane would it be to put it in your mouth! Seriously? I often wonder, and I wish someone would research it if they haven’t already, whether the CEOs of Monsanto, Dupont, etc., eat GMO products and feed them to their families, or if they send out their ‘personal shoppers’ to the local farmer’s market to bring home fresh, organic produce every week? I suspect the latter. I’m quite sure they all have reverse osmosis water systems in their mansions. Let me put it bluntly, if I haven’t been clear so far. The day the CEO of Monsanto guzzles a gallon of Roundup, is the day I’ll consider buying their products, maybe.

Premenstrual syndrome (PMS) is a collection of symptoms that can include among other things: mood swings, anxiety, breast tenderness, bloating, acne, headaches, stomach pain and sleep problems. PMS affects 90% of women, but is chronically under-studied: one research round-up found five times as many studies on erectile dysfunction than on PMS.88 And yet while a range of medication exists to treat erectile dysfunction89 there is very little available for women, to the extent that over 40% of women who have PMS don’t respond to treatments currently available. Sufferers are still sometimes treated with hysterectomies; in extreme cases, women have tried to kill themselves.90 But researchers are still being turned down for research grants on the basis that ‘PMS does not actually exist’.91

By 2011, enough data had been accumulated to show that some risk existed due to long-term, heavy use of mobile phones, compelling the International Agency for Research on Cancer, a branch of the World Health Organization, to classify mobile cell phone radiation in the Group 2B category, indicating a possible carcinogen (a substance or source of exposure that can cause cancer).14 This is the same category as DDT, lead, engine exhaust, chloroform, and glyphosate (the active ingredient in Roundup®). Later, in 2016, a $25 million study conducted by the National Toxicology Program (NTP), part of the National Institutes of Health, confirmed what many have believed for years—that exposure to EMF radiation emitted from cell phones can lead to serious health issues including brain and heart tumors.

The critical point is that thousands of people are swept into the criminal justice system every year pursuant to the drug war without much regard for their guilt or innocence. The police are allowed by the courts to conduct fishing expeditions for drugs on streets and freeways based on nothing more than a hunch. Homes may be searched for drugs based on a tip from an unreliable, confidential informant who is trading the information for money or to escape prison time. And once swept inside the system, people are often denied attorneys or meaningful representation and pressured into plea bargains by the threat of unbelievably harsh sentences—sentences for minor drug crimes that are higher than many countries impose on convicted murderers. This is the way the roundup works, and it works this way in virtually every major city in the United States.

Weren’t you alarmed by all the racist talk? Hitler’s rants about the “Jewish virus” and “the noble German” . . . You can’t read more than four sentences by the man without knowing he was a racist fanatic, Ania’s daughter will press. I didn’t notice is all Ania can say. And it is true, as outlandish as it sounds. She has never been taught that drawing distinctions between races is dangerous. In Germany, there is no great history of equal rights. For thousands of years, the population was divided into an impoverished and disenfranchised peasant class and wealthy, ruling aristocrats. The only teaching that gives her pause is the Christian precept of kindness and tolerance. But the churches themselves are not making much fuss about Hitler’s harsh rhetoric. Christianity is superstition, Hitler says—a palliative against life’s brutal realities. This is before the war. Before the Jewish star badges, before the roundups and mass deportations and extermination camps. And, really, Ania is busy with her own life.

Next to the assignment of the yellow star, the decision to arrest children between the ages of two and 16, then separate them from their parents, was probably the most significant public relations mistake of the Vichy government and their German partners...the sight of youngsters in busses, roaming the streets alone, or holding their mothers hands as they mounted police vehicles made an impression on gentile Parisians. Police reports following the round-up were especially sensitive to public opinion...'The measures taken against the Israelite have profoundly troubled public opinion. Though the French population is generally anti-Semitic, it nonetheless judges these specific measures as inhumane. It is the separation of children from their parents that most affects the French population and that provokes strong criticism of the government and of the occupying authorities...In general, our measures would have been well-received if they had only been aimed at foreign adults, but many were moved at the fate of the children...

Shortly after he had dispatched his “letter of tears,” Paul’s fortunes plummeted to a new low. Claudius’s last years had been clouded by court intrigues, and in October 54, he was poisoned by his wife and succeeded by Nero, his adopted seventeen-year-old son. The accession of the new emperor was hailed with relief and joy and an empire-wide resurgence of the imperial cult. But Rome was in trouble: The Parthians threatened the eastern frontier and there were uprisings in Judea. Scapegoats were needed, and Marcus Junius Silanus, governor of Asia, was murdered by Nero’s agents on suspicion of treason and, in a roundup of local malcontents, Paul was imprisoned in Ephesus. Luke, always the champion of Rome and reluctant to admit that Paul was ever regarded as an enemy of the empire, tells us nothing of this. Instead, he claims that Paul’s mission in Ephesus came to an end after a riot in the Temple of Artemis, when the silversmiths who crafted figurines of the goddess accused him of putting them out of business by undermining the cult.24

But its other characteristic it shares with almost anything Martian. It can last long periods in hibernation, or if that isn't necessary, in a state of lowered vitality and activity—say when there is no food available. But with any increase in the food supply, then at once—almost like throwing a switch—it expands, multiplies to the full extent of the food supply." "I'll say it does!" "Cut off the food supply and it simply waits for more good times. Pure theory, of course, since I am reasoning by analogy from other Martian life forms—but that's why I'm going to have to disappoint Lowell. Fuzzy Britches will have to go on very short rations." Her husband frowned. "That won't be easy; he feeds it all the time. We'll just have to watch him—or there will be more little visitors from heaven. Honey, let's get busy. Right now." "Yes, dear. I just had to get my thoughts straight." Roger called them all to general quarters; Operation Roundup began. They shooed them aft and into the hold; they slithered back, purring and seeking companionship. Pollux got into the hold and tried to keep them herded together while the others scavenged through the ship. His father stuck his head in; tried to make out his son in a cloud of flat cats. "How many have you got so far?" "I can't count them—they keep moving around. Close the door!" "How can I keep the door closed and still send them in to you?" "How can I keep them in here if you keep opening the door?

Zap. Sports channel. Normal is nine innings, four balls, three strikes, somebody wins, somebody loses, there’s no such thing as a tie. Zap. Normal is unreal people, mostly rich unreal people, having sex with rappers and basketball players and thinking of their unreal family as a real-world brand, like Pepsi or Drano or Ford. Zap. News channels. Normal is guns and the normal America that really wants to be great again. Then there’s another normal if your skin color is the wrong color and another if you’re educated and another if you think education is brainwashing and there’s an America that believes in vaccines for kids and another that says that’s a con trick and everything one normal believes is a lie to another normal and they’re all on TV depending where you look, so, yeah, it’s confusing. I’m really trying to understand which this is America now. Zap zap zap. A man with his head in a bag being shot by a man without a shirt on. A fat man in a red hat screaming at men and women also fat also in red hats about victory, We’re undereducated and overfed. We’re full of pride over who the f*ck knows. We drive to the emergency room and send Granny to get our guns and cigarettes. We don’t need no stinkin’ allies cause we’re stupid and you can suck our dicks. We are Beavis and Butt-Head on ’roids. We drink Roundup from the can. Our president looks like a Christmas ham and talks like Chucky. We’re America, bitch. Zap. Immigrants raping our women every day. We need Space Force because Space ISIS. Zap. Normal is Upside-Down Land. Our old friends are our enemies now and our old enemy is our pal. Zap, zap. Men and men, women and women in love. The purple mountains’ majesty. A man with an oil painting of himself with Jesus hanging in his living room. Dead schoolkids. Hurricanes. Beauty. Lies. Zap, zap, zap. “Normal doesn’t feel so normal to me,” I tell him. “It’s normal to feel that way,” he replies.

French police and the SS worked together on round-ups in Marseille, classified as ‘moral cleansing’. In all, some 75,000 Jews would be deported from France in terrible conditions to concentration camps in eastern Europe. Only 3 per cent returned alive.

The shortage of information did not keep the Cheyenne Sun from taking some strong editorial positions. Indeed, the Sun’s impartiality, never more than a thin veneer, seemed to disappear entirely. It ran a front-page article about a Mr. Johnson, who had experience as a small cattleman “up north.” Johnson reported, according to the article, that the officers conducting the roundups (usually foremen of big cattle companies) gave him every possible help, but that he was bedeviled by rustlers. The Sun declared that Mr. Johnson’s experience was the same as for hundreds of others and that “for the good of the state the rustlers must be driven out.”29 The Sun then devoted its entire editorial page to a series of articles that unblushingly favored the positions of big cattlemen. One article stated that it was imperative for the big cattlemen to take a stand, to combat the huge problems with cattle stealing, to smash down once and for all the kingdom of thieves in northern Wyoming — where twenty-two big cattlemen had been put on a death list (no proof of this fantastic charge was provided) and all the cattlemen had been ordered away from their property.30 Other articles repeated the charges that cattle were being shot down on the range by rustlers, that it was impossible to obtain convictions, and that the rustlers were so boldly threatening that the big cattlemen must protect themselves.31

. The Truth: In this case the negative effects completely outweigh the positive. Sure, GM crops may be “no-till,” but we have effectively increased the amount of toxic chemicals released into the environment while simultaneously creating a new breed of “superweed” that is resistant to “safe” herbicide. Myth 7: Monsanto's glyphosate, known as Roundup, is a nonthreatening, biodegradable herbicide. The Truth: Roundup was forced to remove the term biodegradable from its packaging.  Roundup persists in the environment and has toxic effects on wildlife. During crop growing season, the toxin known as Roundup was found in 60-100% of air and rain samples taken from the Midwest. Yuck. Myth 8: GM and Non-GM crops have

The EPA continues to classify Roundup as low-toxicity, despite numerous studies that have linked glyphosate itself or inert ingredients in Roundup to health problems, including birth defects.

Doctors and researchers, from local emergency rooms to the Centers for Disease Control (CDC), link the growing use of handheld electronic devices to an alarming increase in injuries to children, especially when parents or caregivers are distracted and fail to properly supervise young children in the moment. The Wall Street Journal, in a roundup of research and interviews with experts on the subject, noted that injuries to children under age five rose 12 percent between 2007 and 2010, after falling for much of the prior decade, according to the most recent data from the CDC.

Jazz was the opposite of everything Harry Anslinger believed in. It is improvised, and relaxed, and free-form. It follows its own rhythm. Worst of all, it is a mongrel music made up of European, Caribbean, and African echoes, all mating on American shores. To Anslinger, this was musical anarchy, and evidence of a recurrence of the primitive impulses that lurk in black people, waiting to emerge. “It sounded,” his internal memos said, “like the jungles in the dead of night.”94 Another memo warned that “unbelievably ancient indecent rites of the East Indies are resurrected”95 in this black man’s music. The lives of the jazzmen, he said, “reek of filth.”96 His agents reported back to him97 that “many among the jazzmen think they are playing magnificently when under the influence of marihuana but they are actually becoming hopelessly confused and playing horribly.” The Bureau believed that marijuana slowed down your perception of time98 dramatically, and this was why jazz music sounded so freakish—the musicians were literally living at a different, inhuman rhythm. “Music hath charms,”99 their memos say, “but not this music.” Indeed, Harry took jazz as yet more proof that marijuana drives people insane. For example, the song “That Funny Reefer Man”100 contains the line “Any time he gets a notion, he can walk across the ocean.” Harry’s agents warned: “He does think that.” Anslinger looked out over a scene filled with men like Charlie Parker,101 Louis Armstrong,102 and Thelonious Monk,103 and—as the journalist Larry Sloman recorded—he longed to see them all behind bars.104 He wrote to all the agents he had sent to follow them, and instructed: “Please prepare all cases in your jurisdiction105 involving musicians in violation of the marijuana laws. We will have a great national round-up arrest of all such persons on a single day. I will let you know what day.” His advice on drug raids to his men was always “Shoot first.”106 He reassured congressmen that his crackdown would affect not “the good musicians, but the jazz type.”107 But when Harry came for them, the jazz world would have one weapon that saved them: its absolute solidarity. Anslinger’s men could find almost no one among them who was willing to snitch,108 and whenever one of them was busted,109 they all chipped in to bail him out.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close enough that she could hear his heart beating. "I would never intentionally hurt you, Aiwattsi. If I ever did break your heart, it would break mine too.

Jesus, she said. -Are you in there at all? -I am, Annie, I told her. -Bursting to get out.

So this was the way they got to you in America. No roundups, no camps, merely insidious cruelty to your children.

The first stage is the roundup. Vast numbers of people are swept into the criminal justice system by the police, who conduct drug operations primarily in poor communities of color. They are rewarded in cash—through drug forfeiture laws and federal grant programs—for rounding up as many people as possible, and they operate unconstrained by constitutional rules of procedure that once were considered inviolate. Police can stop, interrogate, and search anyone they choose for drug investigations, provided they get “consent.” Because there is no meaningful check on the exercise of police discretion, racial biases are granted free rein. In fact, police are allowed to rely on race as a factor in selecting whom to stop and search (even though people of color are no more likely to be guilty of drug crimes than whites)—effectively guaranteeing that those who are swept into the system are primarily black and brown. The conviction marks the beginning of the second phase: the period of formal control. Once arrested, defendants are generally denied meaningful legal representation and pressured to plead guilty whether they are or not. Prosecutors are free to “load up” defendants with extra charges, and their decisions cannot be challenged for racial bias. Once convicted, due to the drug war’s harsh sentencing laws, people convicted of drug offenses in the United States spend more time under the criminal justice system’s formal control—in jail or prison, on probation or parole—than people anywhere else in the world. While under formal control, virtually every aspect of one’s life is regulated and monitored by the system, and any form of resistance or disobedience is subject to swift sanction. This period of control may last a lifetime, even for those convicted of extremely minor, nonviolent offenses, but the vast majority of those swept into the system are eventually released. They are transferred from their prison cells to a much larger, invisible cage. The final stage has been dubbed by some advocates as the “period of invisible punishment.”13 This term, first coined by Jeremy Travis, is meant to describe the unique set of criminal sanctions that are imposed on individuals after they step outside the prison gates, a form of punishment that operates largely outside of public view and takes effect outside the traditional sentencing framework. These sanctions are imposed by operation of law rather than decisions of a sentencing judge, yet they often have a greater impact on one’s life course than the months or years one actually spends behind bars. These laws operate collectively to ensure that the vast majority of people convicted of crimes will never integrate into mainstream, white society. They will be discriminated against, legally, for the rest of their lives—denied employment, housing, education, and public benefits. Unable to surmount these obstacles, most will eventually return to prison and then be released again, caught in a closed circuit of perpetual marginality.

The photos hide everything: the twenties that do not roar for the Hoels. The Depression that costs them two hundred acres and sends half the family to Chicago. The radio shows that ruin two of Frank Jr.’s sons for farming. The Hoel death in the South Pacific and the two Hoel guilty survivals. The Deeres and Caterpillars parading through the tractor shed. The barn that burns to the ground one night to the screams of helpless animals. The dozens of joyous weddings, christenings, and graduations. The half dozen adulteries. The two divorces sad enough to silence songbirds. One son’s unsuccessful campaign for the state legislature. The lawsuit between cousins. The three surprise pregnancies. The protracted Hoel guerrilla war against the local pastor and half the Lutheran parish. The handiwork of heroin and Agent Orange that comes home with nephews from ’Nam. The hushed-up incest, the lingering alcoholism, a daughter’s elopement with the high school English teacher. The cancers (breast, colon, lung), the heart disease, the degloving of a worker’s fist in a grain auger, the car death of a cousin’s child on prom night. The countless tons of chemicals with names like Rage, Roundup, and Firestorm, the patented seeds engineered to produce sterile plants. The fiftieth wedding anniversary in Hawaii and its disastrous aftermath. The dispersal of retirees to Arizona and Texas. The generations of grudge, courage, forbearance, and surprise generosity: everything a human being might call the story happens outside his photos’ frame. Inside the frame, through hundreds of revolving seasons, there is only that solo tree, its fissured bark spiraling upward into early middle age, growing at the speed of wood.

Today, this tactic of including influencers in the creation of content (often called “roundups”) is a staple of the content marketing practice.

My bet is that had Bt corn been Monsanto’s initial product launch instead of Roundup Ready soy, things might have been very different for GMOs. Genetic engineering could have been associated in the public mind from the outset with the reduction of chemical pesticides and might therefore have faced less widespread opposition. Some environmental groups might even have cautiously supported GMOs as part of their long-running campaigns to reduce pesticides in agriculture. Bt crops might even have been adopted by organic farmers as a more efficient way to deliver a biopesticide that they had already been relying on for many years. Instead, mostly because of the ‘original sin’ of Roundup Ready, Monsanto found itself embroiled in a succession of controversies that have today made the company a byword for chemical-dependent ‘Big Ag’.

The riders got the cattle out of the brakes and started them downvalley to the accompaniment of many yells, much shouting back and forth, and the usual good-natured persiflage and joking that is part of any roundup crew.

The family trees of the poor don't grow to any height.

Pesticides are an increasing potential problem for our microbes and they take many forms. The most popular is called glyphosate (or Roundup), which stops vegetables and fruit sprouting or going mouldy once developed. It was invented by Monsanto in the 1970s and is probably the most commonly used chemical for farming in the world. In 2013 over 1.7 million hectares of land in the UK was sprayed with it, and the majority of non-organic breads (especially wholemeal) tested contain glyphosate residues. Traces of it are found in the blood and urine of cattle and even in humans living in cities. Even at sub-toxic doses it could be adversely affecting human health and, like most chemicals, contains potential carcinogens.4 We know it affects soil microbes, and much less is known about its effects on our gut microbes – but early studies suggest it is not good.5 We may prefer to let our fruit and vegetables deteriorate and change colour after a few days, rather than keep them chemically in suspended animation with adverse effects on our microbes. While there is little solid research on whether eating organic foods is better for us and our microbes, there are studies showing levels of pesticides in our bodies can be dramatically reduced within a week by switching to organic produce.

Meanwhile, the use of toxic herbicides, such as glyphosate in Roundup, has increased fifteenfold since GMOs were first introduced

Census data formed the basis of the lists used during all future roundups for deportation.

This, in brief, is how the system works: The War on Drugs is the vehicle through which extraordinary numbers of black men are forced into the cage. The entrapment occurs in three distinct phases, each of which has been explored earlier, but a brief review is useful here. The first stage is the roundup. Vast numbers of people are swept into the criminal justice system by the police, who conduct drug operations primarily in poor communities of color. They are rewarded in cash - through drug forfeiture laws and federal grant programs - for rounding up as many people as possible, and they operate unconstrained by constitutional rules of procedure that once were considered inviolate. Police can stop interrogate, and search anyone they choose for drug investigations, provided they get 'consent.' Because there is no meaningful check on the exercise of police discretion, racial biases are granted free rein. In fact police are allowed to rely on race as a factor in selecting whom to stop and search (even though people of color are not more likely to be guilty of drug crimes than whites) - effectively guaranteeing that those who are swept into the system are primarily black and brown.

Roundup, has been correlated with changes in the animal microbiome.

I remember Mexican children, the sons and daughters of migrant farmworkers, starting each fall at my elementary school. By the time we got to Thanksgiving, the harvest and livestock roundups were complete, and all of those schoolmates would be gone.

USDA statistics, as of 2012, showed 99 percent of durum wheat, 97 percent of spring wheat, and 61 percent of winter wheat as part of the harvesting process had been doused with Roundup, the world’s

She tells me stories of police roundups at black nightclubs in earlier days, where men were locked up long enough for “police to have their way with the women.

You know that you are no hero and that you never wanted to be the one. You have never wanted to die for your nation, or for freedom, or for anything else, for that matter: the fates of Winkelried and Ordon [legendary heroes who died for their countries, which were overwhelmed by superior enemies] have never tempted you. You have always wanted to be alive, to live like a normal person, to have respect for yourself and for your friends. You have always enjoyed the moral comfort that allows you to take pleasure in your inner freedom, in beautiful women, and in wine. This war surprised you in the company of a pretty woman, not while you were plotting an assault on the Central Committee headquarters. Nevertheless, they did declare this war on you and over thirty million other people, and so you are forced to recognise that amid the street roundups, the ignoble court sentences, the despicable radio programs, and the distribution of leaflets by underground Solidarity you will not regain the normalcy that was based on respect for yourself. Now you must choose between moral and material stability, because you know that today's "normalcy" will have the bitter taste of self-defeat. And you will not, for the sake of life's enjoyments, give in to the tempting offers of freedom made by the policeman, who seeks to delude you with promises of happiness but really brings suffering and inner hell instead. No, this is not heroism. It is mere common sense.

You know that you are not a hero and that you never wanted to be the one. You have never wanted to die for your nation, or for freedom, or for anything else, for that matter: the fates of Winkelried and Ordon [legendary heroes who died for their countries, which were overwhelmed by superior enemies] have never tempted you. You have always wanted to be alive, to live like a normal person, to have respect for yourself and for your friends. You have always enjoyed the moral comfort that allows you to take pleasure in your inner freedom, in beautiful women, and in wine. This war surprised you in the company of a pretty woman, not while you were plotting an assault on the Central Committee headquarters. Nevertheless, they did declare this war on you and over thirty million other people, and so you are forced to recognise that amid the street roundups, the ignoble court sentences, the despicable radio programs, and the distribution of leaflets by underground Solidarity you will not regain the normalcy that was based on respect for yourself. Now you must choose between moral and material stability, because you know that today's "normalcy" will have the bitter taste of self-defeat. And you will not, for the sake of life's enjoyments, give in to the tempting offers of freedom made by the policeman, who seeks to delude you with promises of happiness but really brings suffering and inner hell instead. No, this is not heroism. It is mere common sense.

Roundup is a herbicide that contains glyphosates. Glyphosates have been shown to cause birth defects among animals and humans. Glyphosates are also responsible for wiping out bee colonies. Bees are important because they pollinate plants. Lose the bees and we’re screwed.” I

When summer began, I headed out west. My parents had told me I needed a rest. “Your imagination,” they said, “is getting too wild. It will do you some good to relax for a while.” So they put me aboard a westbound train. To visit Aunt Fern in her house on the plains. But I was captured by cowboys, A wild-looking crowd. Their manners were rough and their voices were loud. “I’m trying to get to my aunt’s house,” I said. But they carried me off to their cow camp instead. The Cattle Boss growled, as he told me to sit, “We need a new cowboy. Our old cowboy quit. We could sure use your help. So what do you say?” I thought for a minute, then I told him, “Okay.” Then I wrote to Aunt Fern, so she’d know where I’d gone. I said not to worry, I wouldn’t be long. That night I was given a new set of clothes. Soon I looked like a wrangler from my head to my toes. But there’s more to a cowboy than boots and a hat, I found out the next day And the day after that Each day I discovered some new cowboy tricks. From roping And riding To making fire with sticks. Slowly the word spread all over the land. “That wrangler ‘Kid Bleff’ is a first-rate cowhand!” The day finally came when the roundup was through. Aunt Fern called: “Come on over. Bring your cowboys with you.” She was cooking a barbecue that very same day. So we cleaned up (a little) and we headed her way. The food was delicious. There was plenty to eat. And the band that was playing just couldn’t be beat. But suddenly I noticed a terrible sight. The cattle were stirring and stamping with fright. It’s a scene I’ll remember till my very last day. “They’re gonna stampede!” I heard somebody say. Just then they came charging. They charged right at me! I looked for a hiding place-- A rock, or a tree. What I found was a tablecloth spread out on the ground. So I turned like a matador And spun it around. It was a new kind of cowboying, a fantastic display! The cattle were frightened and stampeded…away! Then the cowboys all cheered, “Bleff’s a true buckaroo!” They shook my hand and slapped my back, And Aunt Fern hugged me, too. And that’s how I spent my summer vacation. I can hardly wait for show-and-tell!

The weekly news round-up show is on. The well-dressed presenter walks across the well-made set and into shot, briskly summing up the week’s events, all seemingly quite normal. Then suddenly he’ll twirl around to camera 2, and before you know it he’s talking about how the West is sunk in the slough of homosexuality, and only Holy Russia can save the world from Gay-Europa, and how among us all are the fifth columnists, the secret Western spies who dress themselves up as anti-corruption activists but are actually all CIA (for who else would dare to criticise the President?), while the West is sponsoring anti-Russian ‘fascists’ in Ukraine and all of them are out to get Russia and take away its oil, and the American-sponsored fascists are crucifying Russian children on the squares of Ukrainian towns because the West is organising a genocide against Us Russians and there are women crying on camera saying how they were threatened by roving gangs of Russia-haters, and of course only the President can make this right, and that’s why Russia did the right thing to annex Crimea, and is right to arm and send mercenaries to Ukraine, and that this is just the beginning of the great new conflict between Russia and the Rest. And when you go to check (through friends, through Reuters, through anyone who isn’t Ostankino) whether there really are fascists taking over Ukraine or whether there are children being crucified you find it’s all untrue, and the women who said they saw it all are actually hired extras dressed up as ‘eye-witnesses’.

Monsanto and DuPont Pioneer have grown into global seed giants, now controlling 45 percent of all the seed sold in the world. Short of going completely organic and dropping out of growing commodity grains, how is a farmer supposed to avoid raising corn and soybeans that have been genetically modified to withstand Roundup?

Welkley came with four fiddles after dinner, two hanging from the fingers of each hand. Astonishing fiddles, nothing modest about them, smelling wonderfully of wood and varnish and gleaming brown, orange, vermilion. They were the best he’d been able to find in such a short time, Welkley explained. She was to choose one of the four, as a gift from the royal family. Fire thought she could guess which member of the royal family had spared a minute amidst his preoccupations to order a roundup of the city’s finest fiddles, and again she found herself uncomfortably close to tears. She took the instruments from the steward one by one, each more beautiful than the last. Welkley waited patiently while she played them, testing their feeling against her neck, the sharpness of the strings on her fingertips, the depth of their sound. There was one she kept reaching for, with a copper-red varnish, and a clarity like the point of a star, precise and lonesome, reminding her, somehow, of home. This one, she thought to herself. This is the one. Its only flaw, she told Welkley, was that it was too good for her skill.

I once conjured up this image of Hitler. I imagined that he didn’t kill himself and that he was kept in a kind of open booth at Auschwitz, like a circus attraction of old times. He had been stripped naked and everyone visiting Auschwitz could let him know what they felt about him. Then I extended the picture. I had hundreds of these booths. There were the SS men who had shot Jews in trenches and in forests, the guards at the camps, the man who owned the company that made the Zyklon B, the men who inserted the canisters into the chutes, the women who had denounced Jews to the secret police and of course all the French gendarmes who took part in the roundup in July 1942. And do you know what I realised? I realised there would be more of my booths than visitors.

are you going?” I asked when Cory didn’t answer. “I don’t know. Stop talking. I need to think.” “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I don’t know anything. Please stop the car. I think I’m in labor. I should get to the hospital.” Cory remained silent as he kept his eyes on the road ahead of us. I didn’t know where he was driving, but I had a bad feeling about it. Another contraction gripped me as he maneuvered around a tight curve that caused me to slam into the door on my right side. “I didn’t kill her. At least not on purpose,” Cory eventually said in a voice so soft I could barely make out his words. “Stella wasn’t an easy person to love,” he continued when I didn’t reply. “She had such a beautiful spirit, but she seemed to forever be heading for the ultimate high or the deepest low. She never could find and maintain any sort of balance in her life.” I saw a tear slide down

The real point here, however, is not that innocent people are locked up. That has been true since penitentiaries first opened in America. The critical point is that thousands of people are swept into the criminal justice system each year pursuant to the drug war without much regard for their guilt or innocence. The police are allowed by the courts to conduct fishing expeditions for drugs on streets and freeways based on nothing more than a hunch. Homes may be searched for drugs based on a tip from an unreliable, confidential informant who is trading the information for money or to escape prison time. And once swept inside the system, people are often denied attorneys or meaningful representation and pressured into plea bargains by the threat of unbelievably harsh sentences - sentences for minor drug crimes that are higher than many countries impose on convicted murderers. This is the way the roundup works, and it works this way in virtually every major city in America.

We can argue all we want about how different guns were in the 1790s, when it took a minute to fire three shots, and about the correlation between the numbers of guns and gun deaths in the contemporary world, and how Australia’s 1996 roundup program worked. Those debates are academic, however. In this instance, the Constitution apparently is a suicide pact, and not just metaphorically.

Finding the best PC games is no easy task. There are, you may have noticed, quite a lot of them. From Steam games to… all those other platforms you love so much, there’s never been more choice available to the discerning PC gamer There is plenty more still to come on PC, so check out our list of upcoming games. So let us help. Below, you’ll find our list of the best PC games you can play right now (before the shouting starts: this is not an ‘all-time greats’ roundup). We’ve tried to include a broad range of genres, and have explained our picks using the medium of words. But please feel free to disagree with us in the comments section.

But I also understand why Steve, who'd sewn his share of panels over the years, would fly into a rage as the end approached: 'And don't put me in that fucking quilt!' Being of a mind to have his body dumped instead on the White House lawn. The guilt had begun to seem too passive, even too nice, letting the war criminals off the hook and providing the media with far too easy a wrap up. Much neater than trying to unravel the Gordian knot of AIDS activism, the Byzantine infighting and turf protection, the in-your-face bad manners of those who wouldn't go quietly. The quilted dead made for prettier sound bites, especially effective at zeroing in on the "innocent" victims, the kids and the hemophiliacs. At the same time there began to appear a certain overview phenomenon under the general rubric of AIDS-and-the-Arts. Typically these were hand-wringing accounts of the impact of so much cultured dying, lamenting for instance the White Way silence left by Michael Bennett, the songs unsung. This litany was something of a mixed bag, bringing under the same umbrella the likes of Way Bandy and Halston, Miss Kitty and Keith Haring. Though it was surely true what Fran Lebowitz so scathingly observed If you removed all of the homosexuals and homosexual influence from what is generally regarded as American culture, you would be pretty much left with 'Let's Make a Deal.' these roundups of the arts tended to foster in the general populace ever new heights of Not me.

My traitorous subconscious plucked through memories for the next stop on Sam’s Repressed Horrors Roundup.

One study conducted on rats showed that Roundup might lead to excessive extracellular glutamate levels and glutamate excitotoxicity and oxidative stress.[1] In other words, Roundup can cause excessive levels of the neurotransmitter glutamate, which, in turn, can cause damage to the neurons. Another study showed that glyphosate could cause toxicity to the cells, oxidative effects, and apoptosis on human cells.[2] Yet another study showed that inhalation of glyphosate may cause DNA damage.

The website Bossip included Ayla in a roundup of “mediocre mayo packets who spent their whole entire pay day splattering not-very-subtle racism all over Al Gore’s world wide web

Massive round-ups of strays have been replaced by daily intake and elimination, the large crate full of dead dogs replaced by a steady trickle of bodies. Euthanasia has become assembly-line work, performed by an army of euthanasia technicians and animal control officers. The mass killing of animals is no longer a public spectacle as it was that day in 1877 along the banks of the East River. It is all but invisible to pet owners, who therefore don’t have to feel discomfort or moral outrage. The slow bleed of our shelter system is one of the saddest aspects of our pet obsession.

It was still the Wild West in those days, the Far West.… It was a land of vast silent spaces, of lovely rivers, and of plains where the wild game stared at the passing horseman. It was a land of scattered ranches, of herds of long-horned cattle, and reckless riders who unmoved looked in the eyes of life or of death. In that land we lived a free and hardy life, with horse and with rifle. We worked under the scorching midsummer sun, when the wide plains shimmered and wavered in the heat; and we knew the freezing misery of riding night guard round the cattle in the late fall round-up. In the soft springtime the stars were glorious in our eyes each night before we fell asleep; and in the winter we rode through blinding blizzards, when the driven snow-dust burnt our faces.… We knew toil and hardship and hunger and thirst; and we saw men die violent deaths as they worked among the horses and cattle, or fought in evil feuds with one another; but we felt the beat of hardy life in our veins, and ours was the glory of work and the joy of living.

Firma Monsanto została założona w 1901 roku, w Saint Louis w stanie Missouri, i produkowała sacharynę sprzedawaną Coca-Coli. Przez pół wieku wytwarzała preparaty owadobójcze, plastik, rozmaite środki chemiczne, sławę zyskała jednak w latach sześćdziesiątych, kiedy to wojna w Wietnamie spopularyzowała produkt zwany Agent Orange, czynnik pomarańczowy - silny środek powodujący opadanie liści. Amerykanie stosowali go w lasach i na polach uprawnych, chcąc doprowadzić swoich wrogów na skraj głodu. Samoloty bojowe rozpylały wówczas nad krajem chmury trucizny: pół miliona Wietnamczyków zmarło, pół miliona dzieci urodziło się zdeformowanych - a tymczasem firma rozwijała się i bogaciła. W latach siedemdziesiątych wynaleziono bardzo silny środek chwastobójczy oparty na glifosacie, nazwany Roundup, po latach wyprodukowano nasiona soi, kukurydzy i pszenicy odporne na spore nawet ilości tego herbicydu - nazwane Roundup Ready - i bardzo wydajne. Nasiona te rozprowadzone zostały wśród wielkich producentów w Stanach Zjednoczonych, Kanadzie, w Ameryce Łacińskiej. Obecnie firma kontroluje 90 procent światowego rynku nasion transgenicznych.

Curated content/Roundup posts Perfect for: Raising attention and awareness. Many new bloggers post curated content pieces to drive traffic.

Edzia recalled being “very happy to get away from the Ukrainians” when they left for the West in late 1945, “because they had pogroms after the war. They were killing Jews.” To her mind, “they were worse than the Germans. . . . I think my family was mostly killed . . . by Ukrainians who were our friends.”16 Jacob Heiss, also born in 1930, remembered how the Germans arriving to carry out roundups would call out merrily, “Spielzeit für die Kameraden” (Playtime for the comrades), and the next day “you would get up in the morning and see hundreds of dead people every place you walked.

A few months ago, twenty thousand women and girls were rounded up by the Germans and relocated to rural areas of occupied France.” Oh, no. A wave of repugnance flooded his body. “They’re coerced to perform farm labor to feed your country.” She took a jagged breath. “Many of the women were dragged away, kicking and screaming, by soldiers with bayonets.” He ran a hand through his hair, attempting to comprehend the enormity of the mass roundup. The British naval blockade is depleting Germany’s food supply, and now we’re resorting to forced labor to feed our people. Despite the dire circumstances, he detested his country’s solution to nourish a starving population.

Shemp moved to Los Angeles sometime after January 1937, when he filmed his last Joe Palooka short with Vitaphone. He was relocated by September of that year when he filmed the Hollywood Roundup at Columbia. Even intense research work by

Monocultures and monopolies symbolize patriarchal agriculture. The war mentality underlying military-industrial agriculture is evident from the names given to the herbicides destroying the economic basis of the survival of the poorest women in the rural areas of the Third World. Roundup, Machete, and Lasso from Monsanto. Pentagon, Prowl, Scepter, Squadron, Cadre, and Avenge from American Home Products, which has merged with Monsanto. The language is of war, not sustainability.

There is no single text, perhaps, that is more consistently the object of humanist contempt than the book of Genesis. The creation of the cosmos in six days; Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden; Noah’s flood: here are stories that have long served as prime exhibits in the contention that religion is merely a farrago of childish nonsense. This is why Genesis can pretty much be guaranteed not to feature in round-ups of the ancient texts that humanists are prepared to acknowledge as influences. Yet humanists, no less than Jews or Christians, are indelibly stamped by it. In fact, if there is a single wellspring for the reverence they display towards their own species, it is the opening chapter of the Bible.

Is there a support group for people who didn’t like ‘Brokeback Mountain’? We must, if the rave reviews and the newspaper reports are to be believed, be a very tiny — not to mention vulnerable — minority. Am I dead inside because I didn’t experience the torrent of emotions I’ve been reading about? Am I as emotionally crippled as Ennis because I didn’t blub and hug after sitting through this ‘visceral’ movie, but instead wanted to go and ‘help with the roundup’?

As soon as the election in the United States is over with, Karimi will make his move. He has been looking forward to this for a very long time, as I have. What’s the report from the FEMA Camps and the round-up?” “The round-up of the small churches and synagogues is nearly complete. From what camp commanders have told me, very few of the Christians and the Jews have done much in the way of physical resistance, and that disappoints them. They’d like to bash some heads in, although some of them might anyway, since the passive resistance is getting on their nerves. Not like anyone outside of the camp would know anyway,” “That’s good to hear. After the election, you can step it up, and then no one will be in our way. I’ll talk to you again after the election. Have a great day, David.

Claude Lévy and Paul Tillard titled La Grande rafle du Vel d’Hiv, about the massive July 1942 roundup at a Paris sports stadium where Jews were held in hideous conditions for weeks before being deported to Auschwitz.

Dear friends and enemies, Season’s greetings! It’s me, Serge! Don’t you just hate these form letters people stuff in Christmas cards? Nothing screams “you’re close to my heart” like a once-a-year Xerox. Plus, all the lame jazz that’s going on in their lives. “Had a great time in Memphis.” “Bobby lost his retainer down a storm drain.” “I think the neighbors are dealing drugs.” But this letter is different. You are special to me. I’m just forced to use a copy machine and gloves because of advancements in forensics. I love those TV shows! Has a whole year already flown by? Much to report! Let’s get to it! Number one: I ended a war. You guessed correct, the War on Christmas! When I first heard about it, I said to Coleman, “That’s just not right! We must enlist!” I rushed to the front lines, running downtown yelling “Merry Christmas” at everyone I saw. And they’re all saying “Merry Christmas” back. Hmmm. That’s odd: Nobody’s stopping us from saying “Merry Christmas.” Then I did some research, and it turns out the real war is against people saying “Happy holidays.” The nerve: trying to be inclusive. So, everyone … Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Good times! Soul Train! Purple mountain majesties! The Pompatus of Love! There. War over. And just before it became a quagmire. Next: Decline of Florida Roundup. —They tore down the Big Bamboo Lounge near Orlando. Where was everybody on that one? —Remember the old “Big Daddy’s” lounges around Florida with the logo of that bearded guy? They’re now Flannery’s or something. —They closed 20,000 Leagues. And opened Buzz Lightyear. I offered to bring my own submarine. Okay, actually threatened, but they only wanted to discuss it in the security office. I’ve been doing a lot of running lately at theme parks. —Here’s a warm-and-fuzzy. Anyone who grew up down here knows this one, and everyone else won’t have any idea what I’m talking about: that schoolyard rumor of the girl bitten by a rattlesnake on the Steeplechase at Pirate’s World (now condos). I’ve started dropping it into all conversations with mixed results. —In John Mellencamp’s megahit “Pink Houses,” the guy compliments his wife’s beauty by saying her face could “stop a clock.” Doesn’t that mean she was butt ugly? Nothing to do with Florida. Just been bugging me. Good news alert! I’ve decided to become a children’s author! Instilling state pride in the youngest residents may be the only way to save the future. The book’s almost finished. I’ve only completed the first page, but the rest just flows after that. It’s called Shrimp Boat Surprise. Coleman asked what the title meant, and I said life is like sailing on one big, happy shrimp boat. He asked what the surprise was, and I said you grow up and learn that life bones you up the ass ten ways to Tuesday. He started reading and asked if a children’s book should have the word “motherfucker” eight times on the first page. I say, absolutely. They’re little kids, after all. If you want a lesson to stick, you have to hammer it home through repetition…In advance: Happy New Year! (Unlike 2008—ouch!)

Western Europe is not immune to this type of historical reconfiguration. On April 9, 2017, Marine Le Pen, president of the National Front (a far-right political party in France) and a member of France’s National Assembly, contended that France bore no responsibility for the notorious Vél d’Hiv roundup of more than thirteen thousand Jews (including approximately four thousand children) in July 1942. Jews were held at a stadium near the Eiffel Tower in Paris for five days in searing heat and horrific conditions—little food, water, or facilities—until they were deported to death camps and murdered.13 This roundup was planned by the Gestapo and members of France’s collaborationist government, conducted by French police, and supervised by French officials.

The major global association of weed scientists, representing experts in eighty countries, identifies twenty-four species of weeds that are now wholly immune to the effects of Roundup’s active ingredient, glyphosate.14 New generations of super-weeds are proliferating across some sixty million acres of soybean fields that no longer respond to the toxins in Roundup, reports the Union of Concerned Scientists.15

I was going. I couldn’t stay here. Every breath of its stale air, every square inch of the place mocked me, grabbed at my ankles. It needed blood to survive and it wasn’t going to get mine.

In September, Hitler complied with the request of Werner Best, the Reich Plenipotentiary in Denmark, to have the Danish Jews deported, dismissing Ribbentrop’s anxieties about a possible general strike and other civil disobedience. Though these did not materialize, the round-up of Danish Jews was a resounding failure. Several hundred – under ten per cent of the Jewish population – were captured and deported to Theresienstadt. Most escaped. Countless Danish citizens helped the overwhelming majority of their Jewish countrymen – in all 7,900 persons, including a few hundred non-Jewish marital partners – to flee across the Sound to safety in neutral Sweden in the most remarkable rescue action of the war.

When Trump said he would deport millions of undocumented immigrants who were otherwise obeying the law, his critics saw it as the beginning of a Hitler-like roundup of the people who are “different” in some way. I saw it as a thoroughly impractical idea that served as a mental “anchor” to brand Trump as the candidate who cared the most about our porous borders and planned to do the most about them.

Moreover, plenty of people, pregnant and not, have good reasons not to trust both Big Pharma and Big Government, let alone the two acting in coordination. In an era when whole cities like Flint, Michigan, have had their water poisoned; when gas companies tell you that fracking is safe, never mind the earthquakes and flammable tap water; when Monsanto lobbies ceaselessly against attempts to ban its herbicide Roundup despite it having been credibly linked with cancer; and when Big Pharma peddled the drugs that set off the opioid crisis, it is entirely rational to be skeptical toward monopolistic power. Johnson & Johnson, one of the major vaccine makers, not only is caught up in the opioid lawsuits but also has been ordered to pay out billions in legal settlements in recent years over alleged harm caused by several of its prescription medications and even its ubiquitous talcum powder (found to have contained asbestos). Against this backdrop, and given the lack of debate and allowable questioning of the vaccines in many progressive spaces, it’s no surprise that so many went off to “do their own research”—finding my doppelganger, and many more like her, waiting with their wild claims about vaccine shedding and mass infertility.

A fat man in a red hat screaming at men and women also fat also in red hats about victory, We’re undereducated and overfed. We’re full of pride over who the f*ck knows. We drive to the emergency room and send Granny to get our guns and cigarettes. We don’t need no stinkin’ allies cause we’re stupid and you can suck our dicks. We are Beavis and Butt-Head on ’roids. We drink Roundup from the can. Our president looks like a Christmas ham and talks like Chucky. We’re America, bitch. Zap. Immigrants raping our women every day. We need Space Force because Space ISIS. Zap. Normal is Upside-Down Land. Our old friends are our enemies now and our old enemy is our pal. Zap, zap. Men and men, women and women in love. The purple mountains’ majesty. A man with an oil painting of himself with Jesus hanging in his living room. Dead schoolkids. Hurricanes. Beauty. Lies. Zap, zap, zap.

Where is Abu Fadi,” she wailed. “Who will bring me my loved one?” —The New York Times, 9/20/1982 I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the red dirt not quite covering all of the arms and legs Nor do I wish to speak about the nightlong screams that reached the observation posts where soldiers lounged about Nor do I wish to speak about the woman who shoved her baby into the stranger’s hands before she was led away Nor do I wish to speak about the father whose sons were shot through the head while they slit his own throat before the eyes of his wife Nor do I wish to speak about the army that lit continuous flares into the darkness so that the others could see the backs of their victims lined against the wall Nor do I wish to speak about the piled up bodies and the stench that will not float Nor do I wish to speak about the nurse again and again raped before they murdered her on the hospital floor Nor do I wish to speak about the rattling bullets that did not halt on that keening trajectory Nor do I wish to speak about the pounding on the doors and the breaking of windows and the hauling of families into the world of the dead I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the red dirt not quite covering all of the arms and legs because I do not wish to speak about unspeakable events that must follow from those who dare “to purify” a people those who dare “to exterminate” a people those who dare to describe human beings as “beasts with two legs” those who dare “to mop up” “to tighten the noose” “to step up the military pressure” “to ring around” civilian streets with tanks those who dare to close the universities to abolish the press to kill the elected representatives of the people who refuse to be purified those are the ones from whom we must redeem the words of our beginning because I need to speak about home I need to speak about living room where the land is not bullied and beaten to a tombstone I need to speak about living room where the talk will take place in my language I need to speak about living room where my children will grow without horror I need to speak about living room where the men of my family between the ages of six and sixty-five are not marched into a roundup that leads to the grave I need to talk about living room where I can sit without grief without wailing aloud for my loved ones where I must not ask where is Abu Fadi because he will be there beside me I need to talk about living room because I need to talk about home I was born a Black woman and now I am become a Palestinian against the relentless laughter of evil there is less and less living room and where are my loved ones? It is time to make our way home.