enemy of the state
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Friday, April 28, 2006 | The current mood of DuctapeFatwa
Primero de Mayo: A Day without Immigrants, a Call to Respect Human Rights

On Monday, May 1st, millions of people in the US will participate in a demonstration for human rights.

Many people who do not have documents purchased from the Washington retailer will not go to work, to help educate others about their contribution to the US economy.

People who do go to work will refrain from buying and selling anything on Monday, also as an educational effort to help people be aware of the contributions of migrants, immigrants, and those who support human rights to the national commerce.

Some will march, others will attend rallies, but everyone will wear white, or a white armband or ribbon to show solidarity, for example someone "with papers" who will be working in a uniform can still show solidarity with the white armband or ribbon.

If you will be expressing support for human rights by not buying anything, please be sure to consider all the things you might possibly buy on Monday and take care of those things ahead of time. Such things as lunches, water, gasoline for a car, medication refills, cigarettes, beer, think through your Monday and all the things you might buy, and make arrangements to have those already purchased.

To find out about events in your community, check Migra Matters.

Man Eegee has a very comprehensive post about Primero de Mayo, and anyone who is not sure whether they will participate, props also to Man Eegee for helping a lot of undecided folks choose to do the right thing:

Prosecutors won't immediately seek hate-crime charges against two white teens accused of brutally beating and sodomizing a 16-year-old Hispanic boy, who was clinging to life after being left for dead, authorities said.

The two attacked the boy after he tried to kiss a 12-year-old girl at an unsupervised house party Saturday night in suburban Spring, authorities said

The attackers apparently were offended at the age difference between the victim and the girl, who is also Hispanic, and shouted racial slurs at him during the 10- to 15-minute attack, investigators said.

Authorities said the two dragged the boy from the party and into the yard, where they sodomized him with a plastic pipe from a patio table umbrella and poured bleach on him.

Such is the enemy, and while none of us can single-handedly stop the inevitable, we can stand up on this one day to take a stand for human rights, for non-violence, for peace, and pray that the idea catches on.

posted at 9:46 PM

Thursday, April 27, 2006 | The current mood of DuctapeFatwa

ACLU Petition: Torture is Un-American

Actually, torture is un-human, but let's not quibble. Americans who oppose this longstanding policy are courageous people. So go sign the petition. The ACLU plans to present it to Condaleeza Rice.

And encourage other bloggas to link it on their blogs, like Man Eegee and liberal catnip have done.

posted at 8:04 AM

Tuesday, April 11, 2006 | The current mood of DuctapeFatwa

Marching for Human Rights: A Personal Account of a Pueblo Presente

The day dawned sunny and cool, perfect marching weather!

Thanks to the success of Saturday's Incitement Constitutional, our group, including my own descendants, neighbors, friends, and their descendants, had swelled to over a thousand souls, representing all the world's continents. I will not try to say how many countries, or name them, suffice it to say that we were diverse. And so numerous, that when the hour of departure came, we were obliged to call upon the good offices of the local popo, to guide our massive convoy out of the neighborhood and on to the highway for the short ride to the gathering place.

A gathering place which, it turned out, was too small to accomodate the crowds which overflowed it, and they spilled out into the streets, streets which had not been intended to be "blocked off," but this was done de facto, and after the facto, the popo sighed and put up their cones, and stationed their cars, and the crowd grew more, and the cars had to be moved. And again. And again, as the people continued to arrive

In clumps, then streams, then rivers, then waves, the gente came. All dressed in white, from all directions, they converged. I was obliged to put on my sunglasses, so blindingly brilliant was the sea of white, as far as even those with very good eyes assured me they could see, and which my own eyes confirmed with the aid of binoculars.

Many did carry US flags, but many carried flags of other nations, and one creative young lady carried a long pole from which waved mini-flags of several dozen countries.

Some people had driven all night, from little villages in the surrounding area, and bore huge banners of the Virgen de Guadalupe emblazoned with the names of the little townlets. Several banners contained exhortations to vote NO on a draconian local hate law, and there were plenty of the now familiar "We are not criminals," and "We have a dream today," etc.

Those who had not heard about the white clothing plan were pleased to find no small number of what I imagined were wily and enterprising young folks selling white t-shirts with a variety of appropriate slogans and images, and these vendors did a thriving business, even among those already clad in white, including a descendant and his little friend from Mexico. The latter was quite taken with a shirt featuring the head of the Statue of Liberty over the words "Liberty for Immigrants."

"You can't have that shirt, objected the descendant. You are not an immigrant, you are a migrant. My mom and dad are immigrants, though, so I will have two, one for me and one for my sister. You should have this one," pointing to one that said simply "Human Rights for all Humans."

Carefully counting out his dollars for the three shirts. He smiled at the vendor, who wore a baseball cap adorned with the Mexican eagle and tricolor. "You are a migrant, too!" he exclaimed. "Thank you for letting my mom and dad be immigrants in your country."

He received a hug and kiss from the visibly moved matron, who refused payment for the shirts.
"No charge, what you say me worth more than shirts."

Also for sale were bottles of water, and to the delight of the younger descendants, pan dulce. An interesting thing we noticed, while usually items sold at large events are marked up a bit past the normal retail price, the prices of everything at the march, from shirts to white ribbons for peace, flags, snacks, baseball caps proclaiming that the wearer was "Hecho en Mexico," were all extremely low.

An adult descendant questioned a march "comite" worker about this.

"Nobody make profit, sell at cost, and much donate, so they divide up only cost of things and gas, that what you pay." Thus t-shirts were no more than five dollars, in most cases two or three, a bottle of water went for a quarter, and pan dulce for a dime.

We also saw people giving away water and pan de coco free of charge, and a few "vendors" who merely had boxes or jars marked "Donations."

While the majority of the crowd were clearly Latin Americans, I was very pleased to note a respectable number of people from Asia, Africa, and a sizeable gaggle led by a large banner inscribed "Croatia Love the Rights and Justice."

The "police presence" was quite discreet. As we arrived very early, we were a bit alarmed to see a group of SWAT teams disembark from their vehicles to deploy themselves, but as the morning unfolded, it became clear that the intention of the popo, at least on this day, was not to provoke, but to help, and on several occeasions, whenever a "counter-demonstrator" would unfurl his "Close the Borders" or some such banner, immediately a handful of uniformed gunmen would appear as if by magic, and escort him off to the area designated for the "other side."

One family had made a rather bad choice, and brought along with them a very expectant mother, to whom the expected commenced to occur, and again, as if by magic, the SWAT team that had made me so nervous appeared, one of them carrying a very ugly yellow upholstered chair, expropriated, I presume from a waiting room in the professional wing of the mall, and helped her into it as the rest of the SWATsters formed a cordon around her, and summoned the appropriate emergency vehicle, which somehow made it through the by this time packed crowd, she was installed into it, and dispatched to the closest hospital, which was mercifully quite close. From the gossip we heard that she made it to the delivery room, but barely, and named her little girl "Dignidad," in honor of the title given to April 10 as the Day of Dignity and Action.

I am proud to report that thanks to the help of you all, the DuctapeFatwa family had the most original and interesting signs, there may have been a suggestion that did not make its way, along with small and sticky chocolate fingerprints, to a piece of foam board, but if there was, it was the exception.

Aside from those carried by our own group, one of the best signs I saw was carried by two small but sturdy young men, it was a slab of sheet rock, with a simple outline of a house, and the neatly printed words:

As it turned out, the sign I carried was not made of foam board, but bore a more compelling and eloquent message than any words could convey. There had been some discussion on the question of whether the very newest descendant and her mother should attend the march at all, this particular descendant being so very new, but his mother quite rightly had the last word, and her last word was that she could think of no better choice for her daughter's first outing, she shall attend the march, she decreed, in the arms of our ancestor.

The original plan, some of you may remember was that Madame and I would march only a little way, then ride to the march's destination in an automobile, and await the rest of the marchers there.

We had identified a small side street near enough to the starting point to suit our purposes, and there we planned to station a vehicle and a couple of descendants. We had, we thought, planned everything.

So we arranged our white-clad selves, as planned, with Madame and myself at the front, with the youngest descendants, then behind them their parents, their parents behind them, and so on, and thus it was that with my tiny, precious bundle of a sign, my great great great granddaughter, in my arms, and surrounded by an impressive army of variously toddling, hopping, skipping, and delightedly squealing diminuitive descendants, I led my family as we marched forth, for human rights.

We did not march forth very far, however, for the one thing for which we had not planned, nor even forseen, was the sheer immensity of the crowd, those streams that became rivers, that became a sea, became a tidal wave of humanity, that closed major thoroughfares and brought a sizeable chunk of a sizeable city to a halt, traffic-wise.

The route of the march, a distance of some two or three miles, was almost instantly filled and overflowed, from starting point to destination, and still the people came. They came from the north, to the destination. They came from the south, to the starting point. And they kept on coming.

The march quickly morphed itself into a standing, whistling, cheering vastness of human beings. Unable to march, either forth or back nor in any direction, we stood where we were and represented.

"Se oye! Se siente! El pueblo esta presente!"

"Bush! Escucha! La gente esta de lucha!"

"Si se puede!"

We, of course, were not the only family group, and having registered our presence, as the crowd continued to grow, those of us with infants and elders began to consider the logistics of an early exit.

How, we wondered, would we manage to move ourselves out of a crowd already so tightly packed that movement was impossible, and becoming more so by the minute?

We were not to wonder long. March workers appeared from nowhere and passed the word down to make a way, and the crowd made a way out of no way, and we, along with a goodly number of other families, made our way through the miraculous parting, to applause and cheers. "There goes the future!" they shouted, as the mothers and fathers pushing perambulators and carrying babies, in arms, on shoulders, and in several cases, still in mothers, began our second march, making our exit, to leave the afternoon to the young folks and the various local politicians and clerics who were to speak, though only a fraction of the crowd would hear them, the assembly now filling such a large area that the distance between speakers' podium and much of the would-be audience was now literally measured in miles.

And as they cheered for the future, they cheered also for the past still present, squashing themselves back further to make room for abuelitas and abuelitos, leaning on the strong arms of descendants, many dressed in the white version of the traditional garb of their various tribes. For them, the simple and heartfelt shout: "Gracias."

And yes, they also cheered this grizzled old terrorist, and the precious sign I carried, the future, and the six-generation swarm I led out, "Viva la familia!"

"Where are you parked?" asked a young lady in a chauffeur's cap, when we finally reached a gap breathable enough so that "making a way" for us was no longer necessary. She was a driver of one of many buses donated for the day by private bus companies. "The speeches will go on for a while," she said. "We can take you back to your car."

We accepted gratefully, and so received the VIP treatment for the short distance to our own convoy, a distance which I confess that by this time, my feet did not consider to be so short, though of course I would never have admitted it. "Thank you for this kindness," I told her. "I think some of the children are getting a little tired."

If she perceived that none of the children appeared tired in the least, being a young woman of good breeding and exemplary tact, she smilingly agreed that it would be quite a walk for them, after the morning's excitement, and excorted Madame and myself to the "Executive" bus, and installed us into the most luxurious of its seats, having dispatched her colleagues to assist the rest of the family in boarding the rest of her small fleet, which we filled to capacity, even with a generous amount of lap-sitting.

Though by this time all the surrounding streets were closed to vehicular traffic, a few telephone conversations in very rapid Spanish caused the popo to gesture that they were open to her buses, and we rolled out, and amid continued cell phone communications between our benefactor, and presumably the popo, we arrived at our destination and disembarked, presenting her as a thank you gesture with our leftover water and provisions, and made our way home without incident.

"Do you think she thought we were dignitaries of some kind?" wondered a granddaughter.

"We are," I replied, sinking thankfully onto a comfortable array of pillows.

"Well," reflected Madame, "we had planned to march only a little way, and that is what we did."

posted at 12:43 AM

Friday, April 07, 2006 | The current mood of DuctapeFatwa

I Will March on April 10, and So Should You

On Monday, April 10, I will march, together with my family. I came to this decision after reading an excellent rant, with some very enlightening links, on XicanoPwr's blog.

You do not need my words today, you need his, and I hope that they will inspire you, also, to march.

It seems that immigration debate has brought out the worst in some. In fact, Sen. Ken Salazar is now receiving calls from xenophobic racist ass-wipes:
Salazar, one of only three Hispanic Senators, said hate-filled attacks have been among the barrage of lobbying calls, letters and e-mails his office has received in recent days.

"I am not a racist against Mexicans _ I want all minorities kicked out," one message said.

Salazar said that another message told him: "Put all the illegal aliens on trains and deport them out of the country. They come in vans. Rail cars would be a step up."

Another e-mail said Salazar should "go back to Mexico," even though his family has been here for centuries and helped settle the New Mexico capital city of Santa Fe before the United States was even a country.
So why are they all getting all riled up? Could it possibly be that they can't stand to see those who they think they have "conquered" make a life for themselves? Do they expect Salazar to just live in subservience to their whims?

And those who overtly and tacitly supported this line of thinking, abdicated their responsibility as decent, rational human beings in a way that was craven, cowardly and unforgivable. Apparently it has now become patriotic to wave the Stars and Bars at rallies and parades, yet it is unacceptacle to wave a Mexican flag. But of course they aren't racist. It is funny when they do get called out on, they are willing to go to the exterme to whitewash any evidence. At Firedoglake, guest blogger, Pam Spaulding, highlighted the xenophobic comments left by readers on Lucianne.com readers regarding illegal immigrants, which was later reveiled that those comments were "brownout." As we all know, not everything can be deleted from the internets.

|Truck full of Mexicans! '|""";.., ___.
|_..._...______====|= _|__|..., ] |
"(@ )'(@ )""""*|(@ )(@ )*****(@

Sorry they have no insurance

heh, found this in the comments section of another site.
Its people like these who expect us to say "Si, Señor" while licking their boots, and not speak unless spoken to! But when we do standup for ourselves, we are then demonized, the same way the Iraqis were demonized before going to war, all to make themselves look like the "good guys", in fact, they are nothing but a wolf under the a fine suit, with a bag of tricks. They wants us to believe how GRATEFUL we should be to live here in America, and how we should feel GOOD about licking the boots of our masters. That is why xenophobic jackbooted racist repeat the same Republican meme that its America who has given us everything, and we have not given anything back. What a false assumption on their small minded view.

I'm sorry, but I'm not some stereotypical "Si, Señr" Hispanic for some racist to kick around. I have contributed as much of my sweat, blood, and tears, and money, as any man, only to see clever and greedy bastards squander it away in their murderous wars. What has this country done for me expect for skinheaded pigs who are quick to deny me my civil rights, taxing me into poverty because I am not part of their top 10% club. I am tired of paying $5 for a .20 cent box of "American" cereal. I am tired of feeling depressed because I can't write out a simple check for $800 for a 1 bed apartment. America, you just aren't worth the dime anymore! And when you DO opt to buy into the so-called "American Dream", corporate pigs slip in extra fees and contracts which me must buy in order to get what we want. The system is corrupt. Sorry, but I simply refuse to support this cancerous system of corruption.

So if these "True Americans" don't want the undocumented in this country anymore, then why do they continue to hire them to do their work? They obviously are desireable as workers. Ya got a problem, go complain to the contractors, motels, restaurants, etc. who hire them, and stop criticizing them just because they want to earn an honest day's pay. So what's the problem. Could it be that they are showing Americans up as they actually WORK on their jobs? So go ahead and build your damn border wall, chase them away, but don't go cryin' when this economy comes crashing down, estupidos!

Frijolero - Molotov
No me digas beaner, Mr. Puñetero
Te sacaré un susto por racista y culero.
No me llames frijolero, Pinche gringo

Now I wish I had a dime
for every single time
I've gotten stared down
For being in the wrong side of town.
And a rich man I'd be
if I had that kind of chips
lately I wanna smack the mouths
of these racists

Podras imaginarte desde afuera,
Ser un mexicano cruzando la frontera
Pensando en tu familia mientras que pasas
Dejando todo lo que tu conoces atras
Tuvieras tu que esquivar las balas
De unos cuantos gringos rancheros
Les seguiras diciendo good for nothing
wetback? y tuvieras tu que empezar de cero

Now why don't you look down
to where your feet is planted
That U.S. soil that makes you take shit for granted
If not for Santa Ana, just to let you know
That where your feet are planted would be Mexico

posted at 10:23 PM

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Actions like Sep 11 do not happen in a vaccuum. Long before those hijackers ever stepped foot on the planes the damage had been done. They were brainwashed with the same type of garbage propaganda that is spewed from Fatwa's weblog.
Middle Eastern countries are so much more barbaric today and preAmercia than America can ever hope to be...America has only been around 230 years...who did you blame for everything before that Ductape? I am calling a Fatwa on your bullshit!
IMO - terrorist plain and simple. He is an Al queda operative who should be put in a cage on gitmo
My favorite..."In Defense of Holocaust Deniers"
I always thought that "The Enemy Within" was just a metaphore for liberalism, that is, until I encountered Ductape Fatwa. He should be in an orange jumpsuit for sure.
ductape is either a commie, al queda, or a deep cover mole
Tells you something about this asshole doesn't it. He's really serious.
I believe that DF is nothing but a Republican plant...
Ductape is a commie, a terrorist, and he drinks blood too. He drinks Capitalist blood. He eats unborn babies too
Give me your address and I'll send you $20 and a thank-you note for taking your hatred elsewhere.
A terrorist with a sense of humor!
He ain't nuthin' but shit
Jim Sagle

inadequate, halfway house bullshit
Arthur Gilroy
You are a dumbass. Fuck you and your condescension about us "benighted sheeple."
Untruthful, damaging bullshit
John Locke
no better than the neocons and no different than Timothy McVeigh space
a turd in the punchbowl...if DF were Joe Hill he probably would have killed himself rather than get put to death.
A compost pile of fecundity
despicable and literally mentally ill