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On its last day of service Bergbahn Lauterbrunnen–Mürren (BLM) class Ce 2/4 number between Grütschalp and Winteregg.
Inspired by the "Occupy Wall Street" protest in NYC, protest organizers decided to set up camp on 16th Street and H St. NW. The camp was named "Occupy H St.". This area would be the backdrop for Metropolitan Police, Federal police, and military raids. This is the area that was cleared out for Trump's famous photoshoot in front of St. John's Church.
The scaffolding over the walkway on next to the Hayes-Adams Hotel on H Street provided the ultimate venue to express and promote messages that related to the protest. Protest organizer's transformed this area into a makeshift memorial/museum. I heard that all of the signage, art, and posters were collected by the Smithsonian for safe keep and will be displayed on day in one of its museums My guess is the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC).
Tech note: I really like the way the #Power sign was backlit and waited until someone walked by it. Fortunately, this young lady was taking a video as she walked down the wall. [Honestly, I didn't realized she was taking a video until I processed this photo. All the better...]
Instagram: tbofotography
#blacklivesmatter
On a sunny and rather chilly June afternoon, activists and protesters showed up near the front entrance of the Cook County Jail on California Avenue to call for the defunding of not only the police, "but the entirety of the carceral system that works to control, harm, and destroy Black and brown lives throughout Chicago and the entire country." The event was hosted by the Chicago Torture Justice Center and Black Lives Matter Chicago. After meeting in front of the entrance, well over 100 protesters on foot and most likely the same number in vehicles circled the correctional facility. Those walking loudly expressed their support for reforms to the justice system and for the inmates just behind the walls of the facility. The vocal expressions were supported by those in their vehicles blowing their horns as they took up the rear of the march and caravan.
Defund the Carceral System Rally, March & Car Caravan at the Cook County Department of Corrections, Chicago, Illinois, USA
St. Marks Place, at Flatbush Avenue (Brooklyn, NY). This is the intersection where two NYPD cruisers drove forward into protesters rather than reversing. (You might have seen above-ground footage. The exact location is off to the right, out of the frame)
Outside dining, with distance, has been permitted for a week now.
Black lives matter.
Artwork ©jackiecrossley
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You’re Not Black – Amy Saunders
I sit with them at lunch
Fried chicken on my plate
I eat with a knife and fork
“You’re not black, if you don’t use your hands to eat”
Yet I know that hands tied up the strange fruit on the trees in the south
The fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop*
I don’t recognise the Caribbean music, or the Afrobeats
I only know of Liszt, Chopin and Ludovico Einaudi
Whose names you’ve probably never heard
“You’re not black, if you don’t know this beat”
Yet, I am familiar with the beat of pounding
Pounding of sugar cane, the whipping of backs
The cries and screams of my ancestors
Ring loud in my head centuries later
So how dare you? How dare you put me down!
Question my ethnicity, I’m still a shade of brown
And I’m sorry if I don’t live up to your ‘black norms’
But I live in a world with segregated dorms
Society crushes me, tells me I’m ugly
But copies my features, they must think it’s funny
I’m not trying to in any way be mean
But I live in a society covered in white sheen
Sorry to Bother You, but I should Get Out
’Cause The Hate U Give leaves me with no doubt
That I am not The Help, the help that you need
But the Hidden Figures are clear to see
That I should stop trying to be ‘Black’ and just try to be
Me
*from ‘Strange Fruit’ by Abel Meeropol
A top 15 winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2019, Amy Saunders was only 13 years old when she wrote this poem.