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Adult Swim Pranked Fans with a Bizarre Mini-Episode of 'Rick and Morty'

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Last year, Adult Swim premiered the highly anticipated third season of
Rick and Morty on April Fools' Day. This year Adult Swim closed out its traditional April Fools' Day programming with a mini-episode that wasn't touched by creators Dan Harmon and Justin Roiland, amid reports that season four hasn't yet begun production.

Australian YouTuber Michael Cusak, known for sex- and violence-fueled viral animations like YOLO, directed the ten-minute prank video called "Bushworld." An Australian Rick and Morty stumble through an alternate dimension full of kangaroos, football, and snakes. Adult Swim has hired up-and-coming animators to direct non-canonical Rick and Morty adventures for years, but "Bushworld" is one of the largest and grossest yet. Peep the short below.

It feels a lot like Roiland's Rick and Morty prototype, The Real Animated Adventures of Doc and Mharti with its janky animation style and wildly unhealthy relationship between the titular characters. In an apparent throwback to the original short, Rick tries to suck Morty's dick to remove snake venom, and that's just one of the gross and unexpected shockers crammed into Cusak's surreal, violent take on Rick and Morty.

"Bushworld" viewers predictably love it or hate it, likely depending on their familiarity with Adult Swim pranks and impatience for Rick and Morty season four. Harmon has revealed in tweets and interviews that he and Roiland have yet to start working on new episodes while they negotiate a new contract for the blockbuster animated series, which shattered Adult Swim's ratings records last year. According to writer Ryan Ridley, the next season of canonical adventures could air as late as 2019.

Follow Beckett Mufson on Twitter.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.


The 21 Best Documentaries on Netflix

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Documentary filmmakers travel to the ends of Earth and into the innermost recesses of the things that make us human, and they emerge with no less than tales of human truth. In the past, I've uncovered the best action movies, funniest comedies, and scariest horror movies on Netflix, along with the site's greatest shows to watch when you're stoned, and even the most psychedelic movies to watch while you're tripping. Here’s a look at the absolute best documentaries on Netflix right now:

AlphaGo

Has artificial intelligence finally become smarter than humanity? Well, it can already beat us at our own games. Greg Kohs’s 2017 documentary basically picks up where the infamous Garry Kasparov–Deep Blue chess matches left off, as the Google-designed computer program AlphaGo squares off against the world-champions of Go, one of the world’s oldest board games.

Beautiful Losers

Aaron Rose and Joshua Leonard’s soft-spoken, often heart-wrenching timepiece captures the fleeting moments of some of today’s most pronounced visual artists. Meet a young Harmony Korine, Margaret Kilgallen, Mike Mills, and more, way back when they were still fucked up and unspoiled by acclaim.

Blackfish

Perhaps the biggest achievement of a documentary film is when it catalyzes social change. First it was Titicut Follies and mental institutions in the United States. Later, it was Super Size Me and McDonald’s menu options (I wasn’t stoked about that one, personally). In 2013, it was the brutal Blackfish and the sea-park industry. If you're the kind of person who "can't handle" witnessing suffering, maybe skip this one.

Cartel Land

Shot on the front lines, Matthew Heineman’s award-winning documentary gets you as up-close-and-personal to the pitifully failed War on Drugs and the human beings wrapped up in it. Be prepared to consider your next key bump muy deprimente.

Casting JonBenet

It takes a village to raise a child, and a nation to mulch her memory through the identity-grinder that is tabloid celebrity. By combining reenactments with recorded interviews of Boulder, Colorado actors vying to play roles of members of the Ramsey family, Casting JonBenet takes a wildly different approach to the documentary format. It opens a unique window into the case itself and into the fragile American psyche. In my not-so-humble opinion, Kitty Green is one of the most interesting documentary filmmakers working today.

Cocaine Cowboys 2

You know why everybody loves Cocaine Cowboys? Because it fucking rules. The original documentary isn’t currently on Netflix, but its sequel, detailing the life and times of “The Godmother” Griselda Blanco, sure is. Larger-than-life stories, unbelievable exploits, and wild wardrobes abound—all without having to rely on voiceover narration—in the way only Miami documentary filmmaking studio Rakontur knows how. (Full disclosure: I interned for them in high school and it was awesome.)

Exit Through the Gift Shop

I like to think the artist known as Banksy is actually a tightly-knit cabal made up of individual artists, dealers, and graffitos around the world. That’s probably not the case, and Exit Through the Gift Shop is less a true story than an unintentional presentation of street art’s cornball European sense of self-importance, courtesy of Thierry Guetta, a.k.a., Mr. Brainwash. But it’s still got pretty great footage of vandals fucking shit up.

Finding Vivian Maier

The most fascinating people are always the ones who don’t spend their lives telling people about themselves. As the story goes, after her death, a mysterious housekeeper was discovered to have taken 100,000 stunning photographs of a nation in flux. Immediately, people recognized her talent—what Finding Vivian Maier captures is the complicated legacy left in her wake.

Get Me Roger Stone

I’m gonna walk that last statement back a little bit, because Roger Stone walks a fine line between unabashed self-promoter and shadowy, secretive puppeteer. While Get Me Roger Stone won’t leave you with a firm grasp on the motives or the endgame of the conservative political consultant, it definitely paints a fascinating portrait of one of the most bizarre figures in contemporary American politics.

Icarus

I’m as suspicious of whether the Olympics really matters as I am of our obsession with “doping." 1. They’re sports. 2. Calm down. 3. Repressing what essentially amounts to new technology never ends well. However, there hasn’t been a better year to fear and loathe Russia since 1962, so why not settle into the reality that the year’s Best Documentary Feature winner is a dramatic and scandalizing investigation into the world of super-athletes?

Iris

With Grey Gardens and Gimme Shelter, Maysles brothers Albert and David cemented themselves as two of America’s greatest documentary filmmakers. Though David died decades before Albert created this documentary, the gentle spirit of their collaboration lives on in this rich portrait of the consummate fashionista, Iris Apfel.

Jim & Andy: The Great Beyond

Ever wanted a window into an actor’s process? Be careful what you wish for. I’m required by journalistic integrity to tell you that VICE Films produced this intimate portrait of Jim Carrey as he immersed himself in the part of Andy Kaufman for the 1999 film, Man on the Moon. I’m also required, by virtue of having great taste, to tell you not to sleep on this one.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi

Devotionals, knife play, and the sumptuous allure of raw flesh—what else do you need for a food documentary? Chef Jiro Ono dreams of sushi, and soon you will too.

Justin Bieber: Never Say Never

As music documentaries on Netflix go, the selection is surprisingly limited. No Woodstock. No Devil and Daniel Johnston. Nary a single Decline of Western Civilization film. Not even This Is Spinal Tap!! But I was pleasantly surprised to find this fascinating pop-doc about one of the biggest stars in the history of the world. Like, it’s Justin Bieber. But also: It’s Justin Bieber. Love him or hate him, at least you did the research.

Man on Wire

In 2009, Man on Wire won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature, introducing many Americans to the greatest exploit of high wire artist Philippe Petit. In 1974, the acrobat staged an elaborate trespassing scenario within the Twin Towers all so that he could tightrope-walk, rope and harness free, between them. Shot like a heist film, Man on Wire is the kind of documentary you want when you would rather be blown away by human feats than challenged by hard facts.

Pumping Iron

If anyone can change the constitutional rule that requires the President of the United States to be a citizen at birth, it’s Arnold Schwarzenegger, and if any bodybuilder-turned-action-figure-hero-turned-politician can win an election, it’s also Arnold Schwarzenegger. See where it all started in the pulse-pounding saga of the 1975 Mr. Olympia competition, the historic showdown between bodybuilding titans Lou Ferrigno and the man who would become Governator.

Rocco

Here’s an actual trigger warning: You might find some of the sexual acts depicted herein violent and challenging. This is, after all, a documentary about the hardest working man in hardcore pornography. Perhaps the most compelling, honest, and nuanced look at the industry so far, Thierry Demaizière and Alban Teurlai’s film literally opens on a shot of Rocco Siffredi’s cock. And then it starts getting intimate.

SHOT! The Psycho-Spiritual Mantra of Rock

When it comes to cool cats and downright downtown characters, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better subject than photographer Mick Rock. Here, VICE Documentary Films collaborator Barnaby Clay captures the man who photographed David Bowie, Queen, and Bob Marley, giving you a unique lens into what it takes to hang with the best of them.

Strong Island

My pick for 2017’s Best Documentary Feature—it lost to Icarus—was filmmaker Yance Ford’s no-filters journey into his brother’s brutal murder and the justice system that failed his family. The film is a frank, sobering portrait of systematic racism in America. Watch this if you want to learn and cry.

The Thin Blue Line

How much more can be said about the true-crime documentary they teach you about in film school? Errol Morris was a private detective before becoming one of the most revered documentary filmmakers on Earth, and here’s where it really shows. Netflix’s Morris selection is pretty good—after getting acquainted, check out Tabloid, Gates of Heaven, Vernon, Florida, and Wormwood, in that order.

The Wolfpack

VICE partnered with Magnolia Pictures to promote this movie in 2015 because it was so good. It follows the Angulo brothers of the Lower East Side, who love movies far more than your run-of-the-mill cinephile. But what makes this jaw-dropping exposé so special is that it is as much about film as it is about family. Director Crystal Moselle’s subjects will captivate you as they craft and costume the story of their severely isolated upbringing.

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.

Inside the Alt-Right's Violent Obsession with 'White Sharia War Brides'

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I met William Fears in August, at the so-called “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville that ended in Heather Heyer’s death. This was well before the 30-year-old gained a dose of national notoriety as one of three men arrested and charged with attempted murder of anti-fascist protesters after a Richard Spencer appearance in Florida. But Fears terrified me virtually from the jump: He wore typical alt-right garb—slacks and a blazer—and carried a flag representing the Texas chapter of self-proclaimed fascist group Vanguard America. James Alex Fields, Jr. was seen in the company of the same group before allegedly steering a Dodge Challenger into a crowd of counter-protesters, killing Heyer and wounding many others later that same day.



Around the time of our encounter, I was listening to Thomas Rousseau, now leader of Patriot Front—a post-Charlottesville split from Vanguard America—address assembled reporters about the forthcoming protest. The right-wing extremists expected violence, and while Rousseau said his group wouldn’t start fights, he added that “if the opposition starts something and the cops don’t finish it, we will.”

As if being in the presence of violent neo-Nazis wasn’t tense enough, this was around the time Fears turned to me and asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I did not know how to respond. I was unprepared for sexual advances from a neo-Nazi, and it seemed, as it often does to women doing our jobs in such situations—even those involving less flagrantly toxic men—that there was no right move. Either I would risk escalation by talking back, or else render myself powerless by saying nothing at all.

He proceeded to ask me if I wanted a boyfriend, and followed up with, “Do you want to continue the white race with me?”

This marriage of white supremacist thinking and unvarnished sexual aggression was jarring, and thanks in part to the violence that followed, stuck with me even before I caught wind of Fears’s alleged crime in Florida. That day in Charlottesville, he proceeded to smirk as I moved to distance myself from him. “How ‘bout a smile!,” he shouted, an aggressive admonition familiar to women everywhere.

The lingering feeling of discomfort has grown even more striking since I learned about the man’s violent history with women—a problem that, while obviously not unique to denizens of the alt-right, seems to feed off the racism endemic to the movement.

Two days after the Florida rally, the Harris County, Texas, district attorney's office filed charges against Fears for an incident in which he allegedly hit and choked his then-girlfriend earlier that month. And the previous January, Fears allegedly pulled a knife on Hannah Bonner, a reverend with the United Methodist clergy, at a Texas airport. “When I faced him, I knew I was face to face with something I’d never faced before,” Bonner recalled in an interview. “To see him finally get arrested for actually trying to kill people. It’s like, yeah, I was right.”

But it’s not just Fears—patriarchy and white supremacy are foundational to the neo-Nazi groups that converged in Charlottesville and continue to organize across the country in the age of Trump. The catcalls and insults they flung at me and other marchers that weekend—including homophobic slurs like “dyke faggot” hurled at clergy members—were invariably drenched in sexism and racism. White supremacy and misogyny are intertwined, and are emblematic of Nazi movements.

During the 2017 holiday season, for example, a series of domestic violence incidents suspected of being carried out by right-wing extremists resulted in 13 deaths and injuries to more than 20. Long before James Alex Fields was arrested, his disabled mother made repeated calls to the police in 2010 and 2011 to report that he was threatening or assaulting her. And last week, Matt Heimbach, chairman of the neo-Nazi group Traditionalist Worker Party, was arrested on charges of intimidation and domestic violence against his wife.

According to Marilyn Mayo, senior research fellow at the Anti-Defamation League’s Center on Extremism, starting around the 1960s, white supremacist groups in America argued that feminists organizing to upend traditional gender roles “were all Jews trying to create a different paradigm and weaken white men.” Alt-right supporters employ this same narrative today to explain hatred of trans women: A post from far-right rag Daily Stormer about a young trans girl, for instance, suggested, “Jews did this," and Discord (historically a preferred chat platform for the alt-right) logs point to a transmisogynistic obsession with genitalia.

But more pointed, contemporary calls on the far-right to “have white babies” are steeped in a newer mix of anti-blackness, anti-semitism, misogyny, and a eugenicist notion that the white race is and must remain pure in order to “repopulate.”

One month after my experience in Charlottesville, a Twitter account that appeared to be associated with Patriot Front propositioned me to “have his white babies.” Samuwell Haididi—who also appeared to be affiliated with Facebook accounts that belong to a man by the name of Cody Coombs—suggested I “might be fuckable” as long as I weren't Jewish.

As Donna Minkowitz, who writes and researches white nationalism for Political Research Associates explained in an interview, such advances are coloured by the fact that many of the men recruited into modern white nationalist movements were radicalized online. She pointed in particular to the “Manosphere,” the network of message boards and blogs where men discuss masculinity and the sexual conquest of women—not always in ways that encourage or condone violence, but often so.

In many ways, the reversal of women’s rights and feminism broadly is a driving force for recruitment on the far-right, along with the white supremacist conceptualization of what they call the “white ethnostate.” That fantasy is reliant not only on gaining sexual power over white women, but also imposing reproductive control over black women and women of colour. “They have this whole theory that white people are dying out and will be overwhelmed by the numbers of people of colour, and they’re terrified white people will be oppressed,” Minkowitz said. “They wouldn’t allow white women to have abortions, but will force abortions” on women of other races.

Alt-right leader Richard Spencer echoed this sentiment last year in a video on YouTube. “We want to be eugenic,” he said, later adding, “The idea that every being that is human has a right to life… that’s not how we think as identitarians!”

Part of the problem here is white men feeling entitled to a lot from the world. As Keegan Hankes, a senior research analyst with the Southern Poverty Law Center, explained in an interview, white men in America are often taught from a young age that they will have the economic and social circumstances they desire: a great job, money, profound relationships. When struggling white men see these successes visited on other communities, they might regard it as an “embodiment of their declining prospects,” as Hankes put it. Their assumption of status and privilege has been upended, and by this logic, real societal problems such as economic inequality can be blamed on communities of colour.

Of course, there are a fair number of women who buy into the alt-right's conception of the deeply sexist fantasy that is an ethnostate. "We can’t restore our civilization with somebody else’s babies,” Ayla Stewart, a Utah blogger known as “Wife with a Purpose,” told alt-right booster Lana Lokteff on the radio last year.

“Women have a role [in the movement] in guiding the children and making them be supportive of their parents' views,” Mayo explained, adding that women have long been involved—if also marginalized—in white nationalist activity in America.

The far-right's systems of domination and power also form the basis for a so-called “White Sharia” movement employed by fascistic and Nazi groups. The term, which Minkowitz has described as “the idea that the sexuality, reproduction, daily life, and right to consent of white women should be controlled by white men in the white supremacist state,” is said by the Daily Stormer to have emerged as an “ironic” alt-right meme. This is another poisonous concept with which I became personally acquainted: Fears’s own Twitter bio—before it was suspended—read, “Charismatic leader of a White breeding cult," and the Patriot Front associate Haididi once referred to me on Twitter as a “White Sharia war bride.”

In an interview, George Ciccariello-Maher, a visiting scholar at NYU’s Hemispheric Institute of Performance and Politics, explained this concept of “White Sharia” as both an “obsession with this racial sexual power that they dream of having ... because they deeply dream of being barbaric,” as well as a racialized misunderstanding of Islam. Sacco Vandal, an ex-marine who writes for his own website as well as other white supremacist sites, provides a chilling window into the vile idea: “Our men need harems, and the members of those harems need to be baby factories,” he wrote.

Essentially, in this worldview, the only purpose of white women like myself is to breed.

The “Unite the Right” rally was obviously a wake-up call for many Americans about the resurgence of white nationalism in the Trump era. But it was also a window for me personally into the toxic masculinity endemic on the far-right. When I found out about Fears’s arrest in Florida months later, I was relieved to finally be able to identify the person who violated me that day, while simultaneously thrown back into the state of adrenaline and rage I experienced when I first encountered him on August 12. I was also unprepared for the lasting impact attending a political protest would have on my everyday life.

After the gunshot-laden aftermath of the Richard Spencer appearance in Florida last October, Fears was held for some time at the Alachua County Jail in Gainesville on a $1 million bond. His legal representation there, Eric Atria, declined to comment for this story, and Fears was eventually extradited to Texas, where he was indicted by a grand jury on February 20 for “Assault of Family Member - Impeding Breathing.” According to Fears’s court-appointed attorney in Texas, Patrick J. Ruzzo, he faces serious prison time if found guilty on the domestic-violence charge.

"At this point, as in all of the criminal cases I handle, we’re conducting an independent investigation of the facts,” Ruzzo said, declining to comment further for this story. Fears’s next court date was set for April 10.

No matter how his case plays out, I don’t expect to cross paths with William Fears again any time soon. But it’s clear there are plenty of others like him out there—and frighteningly little prospect of the kind of political or cultural intervention that might rein them in.

Follow Erin Corbett on Twitter.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.

Racists Are Threatening to Take Over Paganism

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There’s a war going on in the American Pagan community. On one side are racists who see gods like Odin and Thor as an embodiment of the supremacy whites have over the rest of the planet. On the other are the practitioners who believe these gods transcend racial lines and belong to everyone. Recently, the contention between these two groups has reached a tipping point as anti-racist Pagans try to claim the narrative around their faith before it is overtaken by alt-right racists.

Although the leaders of Nazi Germany were obsessed with Paganism and the occult, it has largely been associated with multiculturalism here in the United States. But with the recent rise of right-wing extremism in America, we've seen a co-mingling of racism and Paganism that has alarmed experts, activists, and Pagans themselves. For racists, the faith and its offshoots serve as both a cover and a recruiting tool. Today, one of the largest white nationalist organizations in the US, the National Socialist Movement, has traded in their Swastikas and Totenkopfs for Pagan symbols like the Othala rune. Similar groups have adopted Odinist phrases like "Faith, Family, and Folk." And while the Third Reich did embrace the Othala rune in their time, the symbol is far less inflammatory or recognizable than the Swastika in the United States, enabling these groups to fly under the radar.

White power's embrace of Paganism was on full display at the tragic Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia in August 2017. One notorious Pagan present was Stephen McNallen, the founder of the Asatru Folk Assembly, a far-right group fixated on "the survival and welfare of the Ethnic European Folk as a cultural and biological group." The rally also featured aspiring Pagan politician Augustus Sol Invictus, a an alt-right leader Richard Spencer credited with writing the first draft of the "Charlottesville Statement." Among other repugnant things, that infamous screed framed the refugee crisis as a religious war and promoted the concept of a white ethnostate.

Unfortunately, Charlottesville was just the tip of the iceberg. These racist Pagan groups are very much active. Recently, two Heathens and former members of the National Socialist Party purchased 44 acres of land in Tennessee to begin construction on a private religious community where they can "practice [their] religion freely" among "other culturally and spiritually similar people."

To the outside world, the far-right’s association with ancient gods and magic might seem absurd. But it’s actually been tied up with specific acts of violence and terrorism. One member of Virginia’s neo-pagan white nationalist group the Wolves of Vinland, Maurice Michaely, spent more than two years in prison for burning down a black church in 2012. A free man now, Facebook posts from 2015 suggest Michaely is back at work with the Wolves. In November 2015, three individuals with connections to Asatru were arrested in conjunction with a plot to ignite a race war. And in 2017, self-proclaimed “viking” and white supremacist Jeremy Christian was charged with stabbing two people to death on a train in Portland, Oregon.

Some Pagans have tried to combat the spread of racism within their ranks. They’ve formed advocacy groups like Heathens United Against Racism (HUAR) and The Asatru Community (TAC). These groups have banded together in public pronouncements: In August 2016, 43 Pagan organizations signed Declaration 127, a public renunciation of any Heathenry that promotes hatred or discrimination. Since then, that number has grown to more than 180 organizations in over 20 countries. And in 2017 TAC created "The Shieldwall," a manifesto compelling Heathens around the world to “denounce all those abusing [the Heathen] faith to spread hatred and negativity.”

Casey McCarthy, an activist and Seiðr-Worker (practitioner of Northern European magic), sees the white power movement’s shift from traditional signifiers like white robes and Doc Martens to tattoos of runes as an outgrowth of the “serious PR problem” that racists have in America. To him, this transition is not just about ideology or religion, it’s also about “languaging.” He told me that while most people have negative associations around something like the Swastika, the same doesn’t apply for runes and Norse myths.

Beyond that, McCarthy said, “They’re thinking strategically. Right now the narrative that the alt-right is selling to keep themselves afloat is that there’s a war on white people... that our culture, our way of being is being destroyed.” He pointed out that with white people in the majority in Europe, Canada, and the US, this narrative is hard to push without careful languaging around liberal ideas of multiculturalism. “The particular thing they are targeting in Norse paganism is the idea that everyone else gets to have their traditions, and everyone else gets to have their multicultural stuff, why can’t we have ours?”

Anti-racist Pagans are also worried that thanks to these prominent racists in their ranks, the adoption of Paganism could become a slippery slope to neo-Nazism. Xander Folmer, the founder and CEO of Huginn’s Heathen Hof, which started Declaration 127, told me, “It starts with things that we can usually agree upon, casually. Pride in one's heritage, respect for one's ancestors/ancestral traditions, a focus on the family… Then it moves from 'ancestral pride' and 'family' to 'supremacy' and 'exclusion.'”

James Calico, an activist and researcher with HUAR, shares fears about Pagans embracing white nationalism. He told me, “[Racist Pagans] get normal everyday folks who've got no interest in far-right politics, have never read a white nationalist tome, and would never in a million years identify as a Nazi to believe and repeat talking points consistent with a fascist message.”

While the battle for the soul and heart of American Paganism appears to have reached a tipping point, it has been developing behind the scenes for a long time.

According to Fredrik Gregorius, a senior lecturer at Sweden's Linköping University who specializes in the occult, Paganism has long been “associated with progressive movements such as women’s suffrage, vegetarianism, the labor movement, and so on.” However, white supremacist ideas have always been there on the periphery.

Russian mystic Helena Petrovna Blavatsky is one figure whose race-related writings from the late-1800s continue to be controversial. According to Gregorius, her idea was that humanity evolved from several “root races.” “The most famous interpreters of a more racist [view] of Blavatsky’s ideas about ‘root races’ are German Austrian esoteric writers [of the early 1900s] like Guido List and Jörg Lanz von Liebenfels, who is often seen as the primary founder of Ariosophy, a development of Theosophy that saw the Aryan race as divine.” Blavatsky’s work is also admired by modern racists like Tony Hovater, the “Nazi sympathizer next door,” who was profiled by the New York Times in 2017 and worked as an organizer for the recently disbanded Traditionalist Worker Party.

Modern Paganism can largely be broken down into two categories, "eclectic" and "reconstructionist." The most well-known form of eclectic Paganism is Wicca, which was created in 1954 with Gerald Gardner's Wicca Today and is typified by worshipping gods across various cultures. While this has sometimes been criticized for cultural appropriation, for the most part eclectic Paganism is generally progressive and inclusive. “[The founder of Wicca] was himself a Tory and quite conservative,” Gregorious told me over email, “but when Wicca came to the United States it quickly became integrated into the 60s subculture and second-wave feminism. So that created a different environment that it grew out of.”

Reconstructionist Paganism, on the other hand, attempts to recreate the spiritual practices of ancient peoples, from Norway to Egypt. Asatru, Odinism, and other forms of Heathenry typically fall under the umbrella of reconstructionist Norse Paganism, and almost all of them have racists thriving within their ranks. The SPLC recently classified racist strands of Nordic Paganism under the umbrella term of "Neo-Volkisch."

"Asatru and Odinism in America came out of a more nationalistic environment and it also aligned itself with pre-existing cultural images of the hypermasculine Viking,” according to Gregorious. “There is a narrative that early on connected the idea of Asatru and Odinism to ideas about ethnic identity. That didn't happened with Wicca in the same way.”

One of the nation’s most notorious alt-right reconstructionist Pagans, Seana Fenner, explained to me that, “A few years ago, there wasn’t as much interest or knowledge about Odinism or Asatru.” In 2006, McNallen estimated that Asatruars or Odinists numbered between 10,000 to 20,000 in the United States. But along with the rise of Donald Trump and emboldened racists across the nation, Fenner claimed to me that her brand of racial Paganism is “becoming wildly popular.” White supremacist Asatruars and Odinists are especially thriving in US prisons.

Fenner identifies as an Odinist. She also believes that the Holocaust was a lie and has an entire page on her website dedicated to “white genocide” where she claims, “It is only white nations that are being targeted for genocide by immigration.” In an especially chilling post on Memorial Day in 2017, she wrote of hoping to avenge all those soldiers who had died for “Jewish wars.”

Fenner also told me that she believes that non-white people cannot participate in Heathenry or Odinism because that would “[make the] religion into a joke.” The 74-year-old is the founder of Odinia International, a group with more than 5,000 followers on Facebook that advocates for the restoration of “native European religion.”

Fenner sees Christianity as a violent, foreign, Jewish religion that was forced onto European peoples. On the other hand, “Odinism is the final stage of deprogramming,” she told me. And it helped her enhance her “tribal identity.” Her main goal as an Odinist leader today is to “restore the native religion [of Europeans]” and she believes “white nationalism, or white identity, is central to” that mission.

To Fenner, the reason her task of converting Christians and “eclectic” Paganists to racist Odinism has gotten easier is simple: “It’s something people are drawn to because they wish to have this connection to their ancestors and their own native spirituality.” She finds there are two kinds of people drawn to her faith: those who “want to practice [their] own religion as part of [their] identity,” and those who feel they are being “marginalized and blamed for things they didn’t do.” The latter reason embodies the myth of reverse racism against whites that has helped fuel the rise of the alt-right in general.

This concept of “white genocide” has had a similar impact internationally in terms of mobilizing and energizing racists. On November 11, 2017, more than 60,000 white nationalists marched in the streets of Poland, rallying around this notion of a “Pure Poland, white Poland!” and demanding that the “Refugees get out!” For Fenner, this was a “wonderful” development she’d love to see happen in the US. “The only thing that would have been better would be if the Poles had bodily removed the non-Europeans from their nation, and sent the antifa protesters to a black nation in Africa where they could get all the diversity they need. But perhaps that will come.”

Fenner and her extremist group Odinia International are not isolated bad apples. Instead, they stand alongside ill-famed names like Stephen McNallen and his Asatru Folk Assembly, Jack Donovan and The Wolves of Vinland, and countless others who intertwine hate with Paganism. This hate has been trickling down, infecting Pagan communities across the nation, which has been especially disconcerting for practitioners of colour.

Former Salem, Massachusetts, resident Demetrius Lacroix told me that he got the sinking suspicion that his Pagan employers at the Coven’s Cottage were racist when they asked him to watch Hitler's War: What the Historians Neglect to Mention. Allegedly recommended by his bosses at the “family-owned witchcraft shop,” the documentary argues that the Nazis never wanted violence but were pushed into war by Allied powers. When Lacroix allegedly brought up his issues with the film, he said his employers acted like he was the one with a problem and then stopped talking to him altogether. “It was absolutely gaslighting,” he told me over the phone.

He started his job as a Tarot card reader in 2013. During his year-long employment, the shop started selling books by Pagan racists like Stephen McNallen. And the employers allegedly expressed “really uncomfortable views about Jews and women.” After the town’s busy season in October, Lacroix told me that the relationship between him and the owners soured until he was unceremoniously let go in August 2014.

The situation isn’t too far removed from the experiences he’s had with white Heathens in other groups. It’s why he’s started practicing African diasporic traditions like Vodun. “As a person of color in the community, you are already ‘othered,’” he told me. But he sees this explicit wave of racism as something far more toxic.

While the Coven’s Cottage declined multiple interview requests for this article, they did email a statement in which they described recent allegations of racism as slander and they denied being "white supremacists, racists, bigots or nazis." They wrote [sic], "We are compassionate and loving family run business that treats every single person we encounter, whether that’s in the shop or in our personal lives, with kindness, respect, dignity and genuine love regardless of race, gender, creed, religion, sexual orientation, etc."

Like Lacroix, Xander Folmer of Huginn's Heathen Hof has recognized the proliferation of racist Pagans. “Our communities tend to be fond of a kind of faux-neutrality, in which topics that are seen as being 'too political' simply get avoided,” he told me. But this wave of racists has forced him and his peers to stand up, because he believes that “Racism is a very real thing and a very real threat to our community and traditions.”

In response to the threat, Folmer used Declaration 127 to build a network “with many groups participating that had never spoken with outside groups before purely because they didn't want to risk running into racist elements.”

But while groups like Heathens United Against Racism and proclamations like the Declaration 127 are important, some of the most effective initiatives against the hate of racist reconstructionists like Seana Fenner come from former hatemongers themselves.

In the late 80s and early 90s, Arno Michaelis was an Odinist—and a leader in the white power movement. He performed as a lead singer of the skinhead band called Centurion and organized followers under the banner of white nationalism. Today, he’s an activist against racism and the author of the book My Life After Hate. Michaelis is one of the cofounders of the organization Serve to Unite, a group created after a white supremacist conducted a mass shooting at a Sikh temple in Milwaukee on August 5, 2012, killing six. Pardeep Kaleka, the son of one of the victims, founded the organization alongside Michaelis, and the two now travel to schools and colleges across the country, speaking on the dangers of bigotry and racism.

“For me, the biggest draw [to racist Paganism] was it really pissed people off,” Michaelis told me over the phone. “Beyond that, it really made me feel like I was a warrior for my people. It gave me this sense of power and importance.”

While Michaelis said there are many ways for people to fall into the trap of racism, he argued the general pattern is one of “suffering” people. “If you are completely happy and contented with your life you have absolutely no reason to get involved in that bullshit.” His goal now is to reach out to people in the white power movement and break their cycle before it’s too late.

When Michaelis was in the white power movement, he considered himself an Odinist, but it was only later, after leaving that life behind and adopting Buddhism, that he decided to get Norse tattoos. His forearms are covered in Celtic knots, a Thor’s Hammer, various figures from Norse mythology, and a Viking shield. He explained that the culture of Northern Europe and the Middle East have been intertwined for thousands of years, and pointed to a long history of Vikings trading with Arabic peoples in the ancient world as a counter to the narrative of white separatists. “That [history] gets completely lost in their fear and ignorance.”

He got most of the tattoos in Denmark from a fellow former skinhead, and hopes they “spark a conversation” and “disrupt the narrative of white supremacist groups.”

“To me, it makes a statement that you can love your heritage without being intimidated by other people’s heritage, and be excited about multiculturalism in a broad sense. In many ways, the Vikings were a multicultural society.”

Michaelis and other activists are leading the fight against racism in the Pagan community and beyond. But they certainly have their work cut out for them. According to Fredrik Gregorius, it’s only going to get more contentious.

“I think we will see more [division],” Gregorius told me. “Occult and Pagan groups tend to reflect the larger social trends we face. And considering the political development today, I think this will only become more visible.”

Follow Sarah Lyons on Twitter.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.

How Charlottesville Is Recovering from the Deadly Alt-Right Rally

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In August, I returned to my old college town of Charlottesville to witness the now-infamous Alt-Right rally organized by two fellow University of Virginia alumni, Richard Spencer and Jason Kessler. The night before that deadly spectacle, the neo-Nazi wing of the Republican Party took over a slice of the campus for a sort of pregame pageant of hate, where they chanted anti-semitic slogans in unison. By the time cops cancelled the officially-approved event the next morning, I was about two blocks downhill of its intended site, Emancipation (formerly Lee) Park. Scores of white supremacists streamed past me, and a couple dozen counter-protesters shouted back at them.

The whole affair seemed like a surprisingly white one on both sides: Downhill of the rally, I initially only ran into one other black person, an old friend from the local arts scene, whom I’ll call Mekhi Chiles. (He told me he’s been doxxed—and his family threatened online—by Alt-Right types and asked to use a pseudonym for this story.)



I reached the scene of Heather Heyer’s death on Water Street about 20 minutes after a car roared through, passing along the way bloody survivors and broken glass and a stunned-looking Cornel West. The scholar aside, seeing so many whites victimized by white Supremacist anger reminded me of the Wednesday morning after Trump first won the presidency. Some of the moms at my kids’ progressive charter school in Brooklyn were openly weeping, and I felt oddly happy about that, at least for a moment. Now they know what it feels like to be called a nigger by your neighbors, I thought, when powerful white men can mock your genitalia and scorn your intellect and still win at the polls.

But after the rioters had dispersed and Trump expressed his sympathy for white supremacists, I worried for my old home. So I spent time over the last several months visiting C-ville and talking to longtime residents, citizens, students, and professors about the mood in town after the national spotlight had faded. Among other things, I wondered whether the Alt-Right’s negative energy could be converted to positive, community action.

What emerged were competing impulses of hope and despair, along with a consensus that much of the town and campus was dealing with something resembling collective PTSD.

As Assistant Dean of Students Kirt von Daacke told me, “Students that are Jews, students of colour, anyone who lived on The Lawn were pretty traumatized."

The aftermath of the attack on counter-protesters that killed Heather Heyer in August 2017

Last fall, I caught up with then-City Council candidate Nikuyah Walker about that strange, violent weekend, which local activists refer to as “A12” nowadays, for August 12. I didn’t see her at the rally, but we were both there that day and traded stories. Stories we’d heard of Alt-Right ralliers menacingly driving through black neighborhoods that weekend, of neo-Nazis stalking the lone synagogue downtown. We quipped that many C-ville blacks stayed home because, when you deal with racism every day, you don't need to make a weekend activity of it. Walker, a lifelong C-ville resident and now the town’s first ever black female mayor, told me, "We're used to being abused—the black, brown, poor community here."

Blacks have historically made up around 20 percent of Charlottesville’s population yet accounted for north of 70 percent of stops by local cops. This is a familiar American story. Black folk didn’t need the A12 weekend’s reminder of white supremacist lethality any more than we needed the advent of cellphone footage to know police fear, beat, and shoot us with impunity. But Nikuyah noted that there was newfound awareness of the danger of American hate after A12 because “now, you had white people, of all different income levels, being abused, too.”

Chiquita Melvin is a graduate school actor earning a Masters of Fine Arts at UVa. When she was a little girl on the south side of Atlanta, she said, she “knew from an early age there were people that didn’t like me because of the colour of my skin,” and that the the Ku Klux Klan was active nearby. When I spoke to her a couple weeks into the fall semester, she was not fearful, but she did feel the need to remain vigilant.

“I’m very watchful now, even just the cars that drive by, because a car was used as a weapon,” she said, referring to Heyer’s murder.

Mekhi Chiles

Mekhi Chiles’s hair sits in dozens of small twists, his furrowed brow and lively eyes making it seem like he’s always in on a secret. Chiles told me that, in the first days and weeks after the deadly protest, “the mood around town was rather somber” and the violence had “hit a lot of people with a shock.” There were competing voices. “I told you so, why didn’t you do anything?” and plenty of “I can’t believe this happened, what do we do now?’”

A self-described military brat, Chiles’s father retired from the US Air Force but remained in Germany; he will “really never come back, because of racism,” according to his son. Chiles has lived in Virginia for 20 years now and said that, if nothing else, at least for a moment after a summer marked by domestic terrorism, “eyes were opening up a bit.” Some residents who had previously been content to sit out local politics argued the community needed to "really look at these problems we’ve buried for 100 years.”

But when we touched base again four months after the town’s outburst of Trumpian political violence, Mekhi worried about “a large contingency of people just back into their day-to-day; [for whom] life is resumed as it were.”

Professor van Daacke, for his part, told me he was unearthing “the hard stories” about when slaves “built and ran this place.” He co-chairs the UVA President’s Commission on Slavery and the University and noted there was a bit more interest in his work after the summer’s gross exposure of extant American racism. Still, van Daacke voiced skepticism: “As a historian, we've come to these crossroads time and time again." Last generation, he added, “it was film footage of dogs sicced on peaceful demonstrators…[and] we’re back again. What we’ve always struggled with is the white moderate.”

Kirt Van Daacke

These days, I still think sometimes about the Brooklyn moms crying about Trump, wondering what to do next. I think about the self-described progressive folk in Charlottesville and the striking sight of Nikuyah Walker’s campaign signs, dropping their Pan-African colour motif of black, red and green on the grassy lawns of even the white neighbourhoods. I think about Mekhi Chiles telling me, “People have to decide passivity is not an option anymore.” He was wise enough to note the naivete of asking people “who benefit from the current system to work to change it.” He said, “If I’ve got a skateboard with four wheels on it, [and] that other guy has one with two wheels on it, do I really wanna have a non-operational skateboard to help that guy out?”

But Professor van Daacke was cautiously excited. The commission on Slavery was building a memorial that will include thousands of names of the slaves who built and maintained my alma mater. When I visited last September, he gestured to the window of his office on the second story of Monroe Hall and intoned, “Everywhere you walk around here is a slavery site. Let’s tell that story!”

As our chat meandered to local politics, the history professor interjected, “You have to understand the local government is a Jim Crow structure that was always designed to minimize black participation.” Indeed, when Nikuyah Walker won her five-year term on City Council last November, she became only the eighth person of colour ever to serve on the Charlottesville City Council. In its first session of 2018, the City Council appointed Walker to the mayoralty, a somehow fitting coda to a summer of racism. As Walker told me, “Charlottesville has had a very obedient group of black people in it and for the first time… people are voicing their concerns the way they are.”

She, too, noted the difficulty of convincing beneficiaries of status quo to accept change. But she expressed confidence that the trauma of A12 opened some eyes, and was “hoping that some true change can happen as a result.”

Just about a hundred yards from from The Lawn, where Trump’s Alt-Right fans had rioted and screamed about Jews, I stepped quietly out of Professor van Daacke’s office into the warm, wet air of Virginia in autumn. I walked through the grounds, past a preserved dorm room with a stuffed Raven in it where Edgar Allan Poe was said to once live. Beyond that stood the proud Rotunda, perhaps UVa’s finest building, one designed by an American who got to be president—and built by many people who still await real recognition as great Americans, too.

Amdé Mengistu is an attorney raising two boys in Fort Greene, Brooklyn.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.

Too Many Atheists Are Veering Dangerously Toward the Alt-Right

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Many Americans have been rightly horrified by the videos of white supremacists shouting “Jews will not replace us!” But what has gone less noticed is that, unlike far-right American movements of years past, you don’t hear much talk of God or religion at today’s alt-right rallies.

Richard Spencer, the white supremacist and movement figurehead who coined the term " alt-right," discussed his atheism last year in an interview with atheist blogger David McAfee. When he posted the interview on his own website, Spencer retitled it “The Alt Right and Secular Humanism,” leaving no doubt that he sees atheism and humanism as linked to his cause. Yet I don’t know of any prominent atheist, humanist, or secular organizations that took the opportunity to condemn Spencer.

As someone who has worked in the atheist movement for the better part of a decade, this silence scares me.

I became an atheist when I was studying religion at a Christian college, and for years I felt very alone in my atheism. So I was happy to find an online atheist community in 2009 when I started a blog that eventually led to the publication of a book that detailed my journey to atheism. For years I spoke at atheist conferences and worked as a full-time humanist community organizer.

I’m still an activist, but after nearly a decade of active participation in online atheism (a loose community of forums, blogs, YouTube channels, and fandoms of figures like evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins and writer Sam Harris), I mostly stepped away from the online side of atheism a few years ago. One of the biggest reasons for this was my growing concern over its failure to adequately address some of its darker currents—such as overt sexism, racism, and anti-Muslim bias.

Countless people I’ve spoken with over the years describe finding the movement through atheism’s frequently trafficked blogs and forums, just as I did. And there are of course valuable aspects of atheism’s strong online presence. Atheists who aren’t open about their beliefs—especially those living in totalitarian or ultraconservative environments where it isn’t safe to be open—can find resources that help them connect with likeminded peers, or simply feel less alone. Online forums and organizations like the Clergy Project, which offers anonymous support to religious clergy who no longer believe, positively impact people’s lives.

But there’s a toxic side to internet atheism. For years, women and people of colour have repeatedly voiced how atheist websites, organizations, and public figures ignore their concerns and tolerate—or even actively contribute to—an environment that makes them feel unsafe and unwelcome, particularly online.

Given these concerns, it’s not surprising that areas of online atheism increasingly seem to be overlapping with the alt-right.



As George Hawley, author of Making Sense of the Alt-Right, told NPR last year, the alt-right is not only “predominantly white millennial men” but also probably represents “a more secular population than the country overall,” meaning many of its members are “agnostics and atheists or people who are just generally indifferent to religion.” Cultural conservatives are leaving organized religion, Peter Beinart argued in the Atlantic last year, and many are making their way into the darker fringes of the right.

Like the alt-right, American atheists—a growing segment of the US—are more likely to be male, white, and younger than the general population. Atheists are also one of America’s most negatively viewed groups and can face social isolation or family rejection. While religious people have churches, mosques, and synagogues staffed with care providers to help them connect with others, reflect on their lives, and find support in times of need, nonreligious people generally don’t have access to these kinds of resources. The alt-right intentionally targets and preys on people—young white men in particular—who feel disconnected, marginalized, and misunderstood, seeking to give them a sense of identity, belonging, and purpose. It’s not surprising then that atheists, who are often marginalized in America, may be prime targets.

By neglecting to address its darker currents, online atheism has perhaps unknowingly planted the seeds for the alt-right’s harvest. Three years ago Reddit’s atheism subforum, perhaps the largest community of atheists on the internet, was found to be the website’s third most bigoted—meaning not just tolerant of overt displays of bigotry, but actively supportive of them. Last year, the Daily Beast revealed that the study’s most bigoted Reddit subforum, the Red Pill, was founded by Robert Fisher, a Republican state lawmaker who is also an atheist.

The problem is more widespread than figures like Spencer and Fisher, too. While championing liberal views on some issues, many of atheism’s most prominent advocates—the majority of whom are, like me, cisgender white men—have expressed troubling sentiments that align with views held by the alt-right and faced little to no consequences.

Last year Sam Harris hosted Charles Murray—who has famously argued that black people are genetically predisposed to lower IQs than whites—on his immensely popular podcast, calling Murray a victim of “a politically correct moral panic.” Harris has in the past called for profiling “Muslims, or anyone who looks like he or she could conceivably be Muslim.” (When I challenged him on this, he suggested I “wear a t-shirt stating ‘There is no God and I am Gay’ in Islamic countries and report back on [my] experiences.”) Outspoken atheist Bill Maher rightly came under fire last summer for using racist language on air. He has also argued that “most Muslim people in the world do condone violence,” told “transgendered” [sic] people to be quiet, and gave alt-right darling Milo Yiannopoulos a sympathetic interview on his HBO show. Lawrence Krauss, a popular skeptic who now faces numerous sexual harassment allegations, has criticized the #MeToo movement. Richard Dawkins, perhaps the most famous atheist in the world, has mocked women for speaking out about experiences of sexual harassment, shared a video ridiculing feminists, and railed against “SJWs” (short for “social justice warriors,” a derisive term for social justice activists). Look beyond atheism’s biggest names and you will find vocal Trump supporters like author Robert M. Price and immensely popular atheist YouTubers with more than a million subscribers. Their views are likely shared by more atheists than many would like to admit.

Spencer’s views are not shared by the majority of atheists in America, but if we want to keep it that way, atheists cannot stay silent.

While there are certainly atheists and humanists doing the work and speaking out, too often atheists simply ignore this toxicity. And the silence of atheist organizations and public figures doesn’t come from ignorance. I spoke with a staffer at one of America’s largest secular organizations on the condition of anonymity who told me that issuing a statement condemning Spencer was discussed but shot down, in part because the organization’s leadership didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that Spencer is an atheist. This same organization, which regularly issues statements about political issues as a major part of its advocacy strategy, also reportedly declined staff requests to release a statement condemning Trump’s appointment of Steve Bannon as a White House adviser. According to the member I spoke to, the organization’s management didn’t want to publicly oppose anyone in Trump’s cabinet or inner circle.

When I asked my source why they thought a secular organization’s leadership would make these decisions, they replied, “When advancing atheism is your primary motive, you may have an interest in ignoring that some atheists are white nationalists and neo-Nazis. But staying silent also means keeping supporters who may otherwise be pissed off that you criticized the alt-right.”

As more and more nonreligious young white men seek out community, resources, and a sense of identity and purpose online, any overlap between online atheism and the alt-right should move atheists to speak out. Spencer’s views are not shared by the majority of atheists in America, but if we want to keep it that way, atheists cannot stay silent.

Some have argued that the mere fact of being an atheist does not obligate one to denounce Spencer, because atheism is not a belief system and Spencer is not a figure within the atheist movement, so his position in relation to the average atheist is different from the position of an average Christian in relation to a bigoted Christian leader. But when I discussed this with James Croft—a humanist community organizer who has also been deeply engaged in movement and online atheism for many years as a speaker and blogger—he emphasized that Spencer’s atheism is a central component of his worldview.

Croft pointed me to a second McAfee interview where Spencer suggested that he rejects Abrahamic monotheism because it says “we are all one,” and Spencer believes that civilizations need to define themselves in opposition to an “other.” So his atheism isn’t incidental; Spencer’s rejection of unifying religious messages is essential to his narrative of competing civilizations. Atheists who do not explicitly disavow this brand of atheism aren’t just missing an important opportunity to distinguish our community from Spencer’s dehumanizing ideas and actions. They are also failing to show that atheism does not necessarily lead to an oppositional attitude between peoples. In condemning Spencer, atheists have the chance to offer a robust, humanistic alternative to alt-right atheism that affirms the worth and dignity of all people to an increasingly secular generation.

But condemning Spencer and promoting an alternative aren’t enough. Atheists also need to ask ourselves difficult questions about the culture of our movement. Many atheists consider themselves transgressors who openly doubt and sometimes even mock the sincerely held beliefs of others—who take it upon themselves to slay “sacred cows.” This attitude is deeply embedded in movement atheism, where the most visible advocates tend to be vocally anti-religious. A 2013 study from the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga found that the atheists who consider themselves “anti-theists,” or vehemently opposed to religion in all its forms and eager to proactively fight it, have the highest rates of dogmatism and anger.

Croft suggested that this may be at the heart of the seeming kinship between so-called anti-theists and the alt-right. The taboo-confronting ethos of both movements, where irreverence is idealized and often weaponized, enables some of their members to style themselves as oppressed outsiders—despite often being relatively privileged straight white men. Many in the alt-right and atheist movements seem to see themselves as a group under siege, the last defenders of unfettered inquiry and absolute freedom of thought and speech, contrarians and truth-tellers who are unafraid to push back against the norms of polite, liberal society. If this is a part of why the alt-right seems to appeal to some atheists—and I suspect it is—then we must take a hard look at why that is and how to address it.

Many nonbelievers champion the idea that people can be “good without a god,” and while they’re certainly correct, it’s not enough to just say it. We need to live it. Otherwise it’s a slogan, just empty words. If there truly is no god that will fix humanity’s problems, atheist leaders and organizations that won’t take a strong stand against white supremacists don’t inspire much faith in our ability to do so ourselves.

The difficult truth spotlighted by both Spencer’s atheism and the silence of other atheists is that, despite the late Christopher Hitchens’s infamous proclamation that “religion poisons everything,” religion was never the problem. It was always something more complicated. Something uglier, more primal, more deeply human. Something the internet, with all the good it can foster, often facilitates. Until atheists and humanists confront this Something head on, we will continue to struggle with people like Spencer who embody an atheism that got rid of the gods but put white men in their place.

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Chris Stedman is the author of Faitheist and his writing has appeared in the Guardian, CNN, MSNBC, the Washington Post, and Salon, as well as his monthly column for INTO called "Exposed." After building humanist programs at Harvard and Yale, he is now a nonreligious community organizer in Minnesota.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.

Sex Workers Say They’re Being Pushed Off Social Media Platforms

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Sex workers are voicing concerns about increasingly being pushed off social media platforms. Between suspended accounts, suspicions of their accounts experiencing “shadowbans,” and a long-standing unwillingness for platforms to verify sex workers except those who have reached certain levels of fame, some in the industry say they're feeling unwelcome in spaces they’ve long used to communicate with fans and build their personal brands.

Melody Kush, a camgirl who has been in the industry for over a decade, experienced a permanent Twitter suspension in May 2017 just before she was supposed to give a talk about social media at an industry convention. Kush was known for her online presence and had attained nearly 114,000 followers in the seven years her Twitter account was up.

“It was the absolute worst time in my career to be suspended,” she told VICE.

To this day, Kush can't be sure what exactly caused her permanent suspension since Twitter never officially told her. She said she’d been temporarily suspended for using a photo with visible nipple in her header once in the past. At the time of her suspension in May, though, she didn’t have nudity present in her avatar nor header. Kush started using a backup account in the wake of her suspension she said she believes is currently under a shadowban—a term used to describe the way some platforms can make users’ accounts and content less visible on a given site.

In September, Kush also lost her original Instagram account permanently without explanation. She created a new account, which she also lost while ironically in a battle to get a number of catfish accounts of her taken down. “When you lose your best branding name, fake accounts rise to the occasion and try to make something and pretend to be you,” she explained, noting how fake accounts using her photos had been trying to scam money out of people amidst her social media woes. Kush is now on her fourth Instagram account, which she has made the decision to keep private. She’s had to replace her business cards multiple times within the last year due to losing social media accounts, leading to her spending hundreds of dollars.

“Absolutely, no question I feel pushed off social media,” Kush said. “I understand the need for content restrictions and stuff like that, which is completely legitimate and fair… But they’re not discriminating our content, they’re discriminating our persons, our work, our jobs. They’re invalidating us.”

Erotic model Melody Kush (photo courtesy of Kush)

Though Kush’s issues with social media began last year, stories like hers are increasingly being voiced by sex workers. Those in the industry interviewed for this article often pointed to the passing of the controversial US bill FOSTA/SESTA and implications for how sex workers are treated online. Experts say that FOSTA/SESTA, though its intention is to address sex trafficking, also punishes those consensually participating in sex work by censoring them online and generally leading to a less safe environment for them to work in. Other sites that sex workers use, such as review sites and Backpage’s adult services subsection, have been affected, further pushing sex workers off platforms they’ve used online for years.

Liara Roux, who has been doing sex work for over four years and producing porn for about a year, said she thinks there is “absolutely” a connection between FOSTA/SESTA and sex workers increasingly being pushed off online platforms. Roux also used to work in the tech industry.

“No platform wants to be the first to test the limits of this new law,” Roux told VICE. “It creates a federal law which refers to ‘facilitating’ of trafficking, and defines this as including consensual sex work.”

Roux said that “facilitation” is left up to interpretation, but that, historically, laws surrounding sex work have “been used to make sex workers less visible.” Roux said she believes her Twitter account is currently experiencing a shadowban and sent VICE a screenshot that showed a contact attempting and failing to find her via the search function on the social media platform.

“The general public isn't actually interested in the safety of sex workers,” Roux said. “The goal is to make it so they don't have to see it and don't have to confront it. This happened on the streets of NYC, and it's happening on the internet.”

Roux also said she has had issues using other online platforms as a sex worker, including Patreon, which she co-wrote an open letter to with other adult content creators amidst policy wording changes on the site in late 2017 surrounding adult content. While involved with organizing around Patreon, Roux said, she experienced a Twitter suspension “without any reason given or warning.” After filing an appeal and having her legal team contact Twitter, she said she regained the account after two days. “I fully believe this was due to media attention,” Roux said.

Sex worker and FreeSpeechCoalition industry relations person Lotus Lain (photo courtesy of Lain)

Lotus Lain, a sex worker who has been in the industry since 2010, is the industry relations person for FreeSpeechCoalition, a nonprofit trade association with a mission to protect and support the growth of the adult industry.

“What I’ve noticed recently on Instagram is a lot of accounts are being frozen, deleted, or once they’re deleted, then people are looking for that performer—and that’s when imposters are able to create fake accounts,” Lain explained. “Those imposters are DMing fans asking for money.”

Lain voiced concern that imposters’ accounts remain sometimes while authentic accounts of sex workers do not. It is the same situation that Kush described above, and the same that porn performer Prince Yahshua described going through recently.

“They’re not helping solve [these issues], they’re not addressing them,” Lain said of social media platforms.

Lain lost access to her Instagram account in 2017 and was unable to access that account until this year. She also said she has noticed the effects of suspected shadowbanning on sex work Twitter.

“I’ve seen a lot of friends begging for retweets,” Lain said, noting that sex workers are increasingly concerned their content is not going to show up others’ feeds. Twitter in particular, Lain said, has been a known hub for sex workers for years. “I felt like that humanized us... It humanized the industry because [fans and clients] were able to connect with us.”

“All of this removal of us online, it’s only making things more shady for the way we have to eventually do business,” Lain said. Unwillingness to verify most sex workers’ accounts, too, she said, has long contributed to hindering those in the industry, especially with catfish accounts running scams.

Others, like Hailey Heartless, are concerned that their activism has a correlation with the visibility of their account and content on Twitter’s platform. Heartless is a sex worker activist and a trans rights activist—she said she is “occasionally the target of harassment campaigns from transphobic people.”

“Shadowbanning sex workers is bad enough, but when we use our Twitter account as a tool of activism, to help vulnerable people, and we're attacked for it, then it creates a system where Twitter is siding with and upholding hate speech,” she said.

Heartless said she believes she experienced a shadowban in February right before she was supposed to give a talk at a feminist organization in Vancouver. When she gave out business cards with her handle on them to audience members, she said, they were greeted by harassing tweets aimed at Heartless rather than her account when they looked her up on Twitter. Heartless contacted Twitter support multiple times about this issue, but did not receive a response.

When contacted by VICE for comment about alleged shadowbanning, though, Twitter claimed they do not shadowban accounts.

"Anyone is welcome to use Twitter so long as they abide by the Twitter Rules and our terms of service." —Twitter spokesperson

But, they did describe how the visibility of content from accounts that have violated their terms of service can be affected. Twitter has also made a number of changes to its policies, including several in 2017, although none seem to have been explicitly targeting NSFW content. Twitter does mark some content as “containing sensitive content” as well, including NSFW images, which cause these to be hidden by default from others’ feeds. Currently, 97 percent of Twitter’s users have the sensitive content filter on.

When asked if sex workers are welcome to use Twitter, a spokesperson for the company responded: "Anyone is welcome to use Twitter so long as they abide by the Twitter Rules and our terms of service."

When I talked to Kush about Twitter’s response, she was concerned that they would not have simply issued her a warning about content that had been marked as violating their terms of service before taking action.

Instagram, when reached for comment by VICE, did not specifically say how it deals with sex workers’ accounts. Instead, they sent over some excerpts from the platform’s community guidelines, including how it does not allow nudity nor the offering of sexual services. VICE asked Instagram for further comment and to look into specific sex workers’ accounts that have had issues (with their permission), but has yet to hear back.

Meanwhile, amidst the issues sex workers are having online, a social media platform made for those in the industry has cropped up: Switter, which markets itself as a “sex work-friendly social space.” The site’s homepage describes how it was set up in response to the FOSTA/SESTA bill and “shadow-banning” of sex workers’ social media accounts. Kush said she signed up for it, but is just going to observe for a bit to see how it develops for now. She said her personal site, which is private with overseas hosting, “seems like the safest place right now.”

"They’d rather just push us aside, block our voices, and not listen to what’s safe or reasonable for us. It’s unfair. it’s just completely unfair.” —Melody Kush

All sex workers interviewed for this article expressed how important social media is to their work. As well, most also said that they knew others in the industry who were experiencing the same or similar issues as them.

“These platforms need to realize that as they control the media people are exposed to, they need to be responsible for protecting marginalized groups’ right to free speech,” Roux said. “It's my belief that all these attacks on sex workers are unconstitutional.”

Lain said she has censored herself in certain ways online lately, including taking her email off public platforms, ceasing use of Skype, and “definitely not saying anything online as far as anything being offered or for sale.” She said being unable to access her Instagram account for so long also negatively affected her business.

“Every place we become ostracized, it just forces us to go further underground, not necessarily as safe, and makes our businesses more difficult,” Kush said. “Rather than finding ways to work with us and having us work within boundaries that I’m sure we can come to an agreement on, they’d rather just push us aside, block our voices, and not listen to what’s safe or reasonable for us. It’s unfair. it’s just completely unfair.”

A Caribou Hide, a Sound, and My Unexpected Tears

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When the show was over I went back to my room, sat down on the edge of the bed and began to cry.

This was March 15. I had just come from covering the opening of I Can’t Make You Those Mittens Because There is a Hole in My Heart and My Hands Hurt, an exhibition by Jeneen Frei Njootli. The show was being held in a gallery in Peterborough, Ontario and I had driven out from Montreal to be there.

I Can’t Make You Those Mittens is presented without explanation. There is an essay on Frei Njootli’s work by Olivia Whetung available for purchase, but the show itself is left achingly open to interpretation. Frei Njootli is a member of the Vuntut Gwitchin, a First Nation whose expansive traditional territory is centred in Old Crow, a fly-in only community in the Yukon. Frei Njootli describes her practice as being inextricably tied to the land and life of the Vuntut Gwitchin. I have lived in the Yukon for most of my adult life.

The hide of a barrenlands caribou from the Porcupine herd features prominently in I Can’t Make You Those Mittens. It’s the first thing you see when you walk into the gallery, looming above you on a black wall. The show, which the artist herself describes as “sparse,” is very loosely spaced, which gives this piece a weight it would not otherwise have in a more crowded setting. It’s impossible not to stare at. It’s magnificent.

The hide was harvested by Frei Njootli’s brother, she said. She brought the skin back—still wet, unfinished—on the plane from the Yukon to Vancouver, where she lives and works.

As well as being an artist in her own right, Frei Njootli is one of the founding members of the feminist, Indigenous social media project ReMatriate. I had interviewed her once before, in Whitehorse, during a show by that group honouring her godmother, Lorraine Netro, a Vuntut Gwitchin elder and longtime advocate for the Porcupine caribou herd. The future of the herd is currently threatened by the recent American decision to open the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, where the caribou calve, to oil exploration and drilling. This issue is one of more than mere ecological preservation—the Gwich’in have relied on the Porcupine caribou herd for thousands of years, and consider them of a spiritual and cultural importance that a non-Gwich’in person would be hard-pressed to comprehend.

The Gwich’in word for the calving grounds—where oil companies would like to drive trucks and cut up the earth and pump out the oil to fuel more trucks—loosely translates to “the sacred place where life begins.”

I’m not a Vuntut Gwitchin person. I think, though, that it’s impossible for anyone who has ever seen a caribou—one lone caribou, black against the snow, moving with his measured steps towards some purpose you cannot see—to not grasp that there is something sacred in them.

I Can’t Make You Those Mittens is designed to incorporate senses and features not customarily found in a standing art exhibit, Frei Njootli said. The time of day, the way the light moves across the room, whether or not some elements—such as a cymbal attached to a power tool which turns to spin it at designated intervals—are active when the viewer is present all influence the way the show might be perceived. Smell is also a subtle but powerful element. When the cymbal is turning, for example, it not only gives off a sound, but the constant rubbing of the tool along its edge causes it to give off a faintly warm, coppery aroma as it wears the metal down.

Likewise, the caribou hide has its own odour—earth, smoke, flesh, musk. The smell makes me unspeakably homesick. As it warms under the lights and the presence of the bodies in the gallery it grows increasingly pungent.

Certainly, that smell, coupled with the nostalgia of being home and not home, is part of why I found myself so shook up later. But what really unhinged me was a sound.

For a crowd of about 20 people, Frei Njootli gave a one-time sound performance as part of opening night. Frei Njootli works in multiple mediums, including sound art, for which she builds her own microphones and component parts. She used beads falling, felt caught in machine parts, dragging, scraping things over various surfaces and—the thing that really rattled me—the sound of metal cymbals for the performance. Not smashing together, as they would typically be used, but rolling, faster and faster, spinning on their topsides like dropped plates.

I was seated on the lip of the window with my back against the glass and my notebook propped against my knee. The sound thrummed through my chest and stuttered in my breast bone and hummed in the window behind me. The noise was so thick it had a metallic taste, rising higher and higher like a shouting match in which neither person can be heard, like an argument about to turn towards a violence which both people are helpless to prevent.

When I am working as a journalist, there are often things I cannot say. We are not supposed to share opinions, are discouraged from forming connections with our subject matter, and, while it is impossible not to having feelings, those feelings should never show on our face. A journalist is supposed to observe, not partake. But this sound—this splendid, terrible sound—shook my heart and left me struggling to continue to hold that mask in place.

When asked, afterwards, by another listener, what I thought of that particular sound, my answer was immediate— oppressive. The woman, a professor from the local university, was surprised, only partially agreed.

“But I feel like it was alright,” the professor said. “Because (the artist) was there to direct that sound.”

I had not felt alright about it. That sort of noise is not something that can be controlled. I wandered around the gallery as the night wound down, making notes, watching other people talk, think, socialize, react, trying to keep a straight face. Something in me had been struck my that sound and continued to reverberate. There was a too-full and yet curiously empty feeling in my chest I was at a loss to explain.

The night ended. I went for a drink. As I sat at the bar at the Only Cafe on Hunter Street, I wrote in my notebook—five, six, seven times, on a blank page, right in a row— what is that sound?

I drank the first beer. I ordered another. Half way through the second drink, something loosened up, clicked. Pen still in hand, I wrote, beneath that— that sound is the sound of someone you love hurting you and you don’t know why.

That sound—the way it rolls around you and vibrates through you, the way it surrounds you, is uncomfortable and familiar, a sound you struggle to understand through that discomfort, that you struggle to both push away and embrace—is one I knew in a strange, misplaced way. The sound of someone you love hurting you and you don’t know why. A feeling anyone who has ever covered a bruise given to them by someone in the next room knows. A feeling many, many women know.

I stared, stunned, at what I had written.

I knocked back my drink and went back to my rented room. When I was finally alone I looked at the notebook again and came undone.

I don’t know why that sound did what it did. Someone else, hearing the exact same sound at the exact same moment would almost certainly not have had the same reaction. I think there are some places in everyone that are like silent animals—you can ask them all day long why they do what they do, but you’re never going to get an answer.

That’s perfectly alright. And I’m grateful. It’s a beautiful thing, to see or hear something outside yourself that’s also inside yourself, somehow. It’s not a bad thing, to be made to cry.

Frei Njootli’s show I Can’t Make You Those Mittens Because There is a Hole in My Heart and My Hands Hurt runs at the Artspace gallery in Peterborough, ON, until April 16. It is part of a year-long series of solo shows by Indigenous women hosted by the gallery.

Follow Lori on Twitter.


America's First 'Craigslist Killer' Was a Six-Foot-Tall Norwegian Widow

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The La Porte, Indiana, attorney M.E. Leliter had a strange visit in the spring of 1908. The widow Belle Gunness wanted to make out her last will and testament. She feared that she would be murdered by Ray Lamphere, an ex-hired hand whose advances she had spurned. The night of April 28, the Gunness farmhouse burned to the ground. When the embers had cooled enough for investigators to dig through the rubble, they discovered the headless body of a woman clutching the charred remains of three children. But that wasn't all they discovered.

In Hell's Princess: The Mystery of Belle Gunness, Butcher of Men, out today from Amazon's Little A imprint, true-crime writer Harold Schechter explores the legend of the female serial killer referred to as Lady Bluebeard. The discovery of a number of decomposed, dismembered bodies buried on her property led to a much different portrait of Gunness than that of the heroic mother who died trying to save her kids. More than a dozen men arrived at the farm with the promise of love via newspaper want-ads, only to be murdered, butchered, and robbed of their life savings. Lamphere was tried and found guilty of setting the fire, but the children's murders were left unresolved. Not only is it unclear if Gunness really died in the inferno, the six-foot-tall Norwegian widow may have staged the whole thing—and gotten away with it.

VICE caught up with Schechter by phone to find out more about the story of Belle Gunness.

VICE: How did you learn the story of Belle Gunness?
Harold Schechter: I first came across a reference in a book called Women Who Kill by Ann Jones. There's also a 1950s book, American Murder Ballads and Their Stories, by Olive Woolley Burt. It's a collection of murder ballads that were orally transmitted and printed with little descriptions of the crimes that they relate to. There are a couple of Belle Gunness ballads in that book. The title of my book comes from one of the ballads, in which she's referred to as the Princess of Hell, and there's another ballad that I quote as the epigraph to the book where she talks about butchering men. I had been interested in the whole phenomenon of female serial murderers for a while.

It all happened so long ago. How did you do your research?
I made a research trip out to La Porte, Indiana, where they have this historical society museum, and I found all kinds of documents relating to Belle Gunness. There's trial transcripts and the local newspapers covered her case extensively. I came back from that trip with hundreds of pages of primary source material that I had scanned onto my iPad. I hired a genealogical record searcher to assist in digging up information. She was able to go to various Chicago courthouses and dig up some really interesting stuff. By the time I began writing the book, I had plenty of material.

On the spectrum of female serial killers, how does Belle Gunness stack up?
Contrary to popular notions, there have been many female serial murderers. There's a culture critic, Camille Paglia, who says there are no female "Jack the Rippers," which is basically true. That kind of sexual-mutilation murder is very specifically the male form of serial killing. Women tend to dispatch their victims with poison, and people tend to think of poisoning somehow as this quaint, Victorian way of killing somebody. But some of these women are worse than Jack the Ripper. All the atrocities he committed were postmortem, where these female serial poisoners take great sadistic pleasure in prolonging the agony of their victims.

What made Belle Gunness different?
The thing that made Belle Gunness unique and fascinating to me, in a morbid kind of way, is the fact that she butchered her victims' bodies like farm animals. That made her unique in the annals of American serial murder. Belle, again, would not only murder these victims, apparently by administering poison and then delivering a death blow with a hammer, she would drag their bodies down to the cellar of her farmhouse and chop them up like farm animals, then bury them in this backyard graveyard that she had. That added element of violent sadism made her very unique to me.

How did Belle's physical size relate to her ability to butcher people like livestock?
She had the physical wherewithal to do that. Belle was in the neighbourhood of 250 to 300 pounds when she died. She was a big woman. She’d been raised a sharecropper's daughter in Norway and had always done a lot of physical farm labour. In spite of that, and judging from existing photographs, her evident unattractiveness, she was able to exert some sexual hold on a lot of her victims. Her whole modus operandi, in an age before Craigslist, was luring these lonely bachelors to her farmhouse by putting matrimonial ads in Scandinavian-language newspapers. A string of these hapless guys just showed up, one after another, at her farm, and then disappeared. It's straight out of a gothic horror novel.

Was there a term back then for her type of murderer? Is it fair to say that Belle Gunness might be the first noted "Craigslist killer"?
I don't think they did back then. Later on, these people were labeled "want-ad killers." Back then, there were what they used to call matrimonial agencies, which were kind of like Tinder or Match.com, these fly-by-night organizations where they would try to hook up what they used to call old maids or widows with unmarried guys. There was a huge population of Norwegian immigrants back then, many of whom were farming in the Midwest, and there was one particular paper which was very widely circulated. All the ads were in Scandinavian-language newspapers. After Belle Gunness's crimes were discovered, there were campaigns against a lot of these matrimonial agencies.

Where did the nickname "Lady Bluebeard" come from?
They compared her to the famous fairy-tale figure who would marry a succession of wives and then murder them and chop them up, leaving their bodies in this forbidden room. The connection to Bluebeard wasn't only that she was murdering a succession of spouses or potential spouses, but she was also chopping up their bodies and keeping them around her premises, the way Bluebeard did. On the first Sunday after the crimes were discovered, an estimated 20,000 people showed up at Belle's farm. It was like a carnival. People selling ice cream and popcorn, peddling postcards of the farm, the victims, and the remains that had been dug up. That turned the story into this Edgar Allen Poe-like horror tale.

Who was Ray Lamphere?
Ray was just handyman that Belle hired. As she tended to do with her handymen, she entered into a sexual relationship with him. Ray began to think that they would get married. He would be co-owner of this big farm, but he was supplanted by this other guy, Andrew Helgelien, a Midwestern farmer who was Belle's final victim. She spent about 18 months luring him to her farm and then murdering him. Exactly what happened between Ray and Belle is a little unclear. She kicked him out of the farmhouse as soon as Andrew arrived and consigned him to the farm. Apparently Lamphere was very resentful about being displaced.

Did he know about the murders?
Evidently, what seems to be the case is that Lamphere knew that Belle had killed, and was possibly blackmailing her. In any case, there was this very dramatic rift between Belle and Lamphere, and she tried to have him arrested. She did have him arrested several times for trespassing, and tried to have him declared insane. Finally, she went to her lawyer and made out her will and told him that she was afraid that she was going to be murdered by Lamphere. That very night, her farmhouse burned down. Ray Lamphere was accused of arson and murder. That was the nature of their relationship.

Tell me about the skull that was eventually discovered. How did it play into the search for Belle Gunness?
Ray Lamphere spent the evening Belle’s house burned down at the home of this local African American woman, Elizabeth Smith. Later on, investigators going through Elizabeth Smith's house discovered this human skull. (This wasn't until years later, after Elizabeth Smith died.) When they went through her possessions, they found a human skull. People immediately assumed this was Belle Gunness's missing head, and that it proved that Ray Lamphere, abetted by Elizabeth Smith, was responsible for murdering Belle Gunness and starting the fire. But Elizabeth Smith dabbled in black magic, and apparently this skull was related to that and had nothing to do with Belle Gunness.

How was Belle Gunness’s story received in the news media of the day?
It was the heyday of what was called "yellow journalism." Hearst and Pulitzer were competing against each other in terms of attracting the largest number of readers. All the papers owned by Hearst and Pulitzer, but particularly the ones in Chicago and the Midwest, would print the most sensationalistic stories about Belle—this was the beginning of tabloid journalism in our country. You had that going on for weeks and weeks and weeks, these front page stories about Lady Bluebeard, Lamphere, and her murder farm just drumming up all this incredible morbid curiosity.

How was the story sensationalized?
I guess you could say the journalistic standards were very relaxed back then. All kinds of rumors would be published as facts. Naturally, the crimes were described in the most lurid possible way, and the number of victims that she had potentially murdered were exaggerated. Rumours were flying. It might be 50 or 100 people she had killed. They basically stopped digging after they had uncovered about a dozen bodies. We don't definitively know the number of people she killed. Fueled by all this sensationalistic journalism, these various myths and folktales immediately grew up about Belle, as they tend to do around any sensational serial murderer.

Finally, what do you think happened to Belle Gunness?
It's still a mystery. We don't know whether Belle died in that fire or escaped. Was the body of that woman Belle Gunness? There were family members of these bachelors she had killed who were starting to nose around. Things were closing in on her. Some people feel she just committed suicide and set the fire herself. Since there was no head, since they never found the head to this body, there are other people who believed she staged the whole thing, that she lured some woman to her farm, murdered her, chopped off her head, set fire to the house, and escaped. Even now we don't know if she died in the fire or got away with it. It’s still unresolved to this day.

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.

The Alt-Right Is a Subculture Without a Culture

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Al Stankard is a racist. He believes that the biggest problem facing humanity is the insistence that everyone is equal, that a "globalist elite" is imposing multiculturalism on Europeans, and that black people in the US who demand reparations are engaging in "seriously violent, vitriolic rhetoric." He effectively disguises these abhorrent views by dressing like, in his own words, a "shit-lib." When I met him on the campus of Rutgers University in the fall of 2017, he was sporting a giant hiking backpack, an oversized flannel shirt, and weather-worn boots. His black hair was unkempt, bordering on a mullet. The 30-year-old philosophy student spends his days lazing around the New Brunswick, New Jersey campus, drinking green tea out of a silver cup he keeps at his hip, gushing about the hyper-literary indie bands he enjoys like the Mountain Goats. This persona works to his advantage when he attempts to spread his views.

Actually, it’s surprising that Stankard hasn’t gotten punched in the face for his beliefs like Richard Spencer. He proudly identifies as the guy who chased down Spencer's assailant, and as a member of the so-called alt-right. He’s also the champion of those he described to me as “quiet white males who are normal outwardly but are secretly wanting to go back in time and help Hitler win World War II or something.” And as we walked and chatted last November, he stopped, unannounced, to tape up a flyer that declared, “The Only Way to Win the War on Racism Will Be to End It.” He’s done this before, and to his disappointment, it didn’t even make the school paper. That’s probably because you’d have to do a double-take to catch what he meant. What Stankard is calling for is not an end to racism itself, but rather the right for self-described racists to peddle their toxic worldview without facing consequences.

“This is one of the problems with being by design so inoffensive is that it’s not interesting to people,” he told me. “I’m not being incendiary about it, though that’s sort of the point.”

The millennial’s beliefs that whites are actually the underdogs in America didn’t come from a Confederate-loving father. Instead, it was something he said he felt deeply as a child and refined both by neoreactionary online journals and racist web series like Murdoch, Murdoch, which looks like a crude copycat of South Park. After being sufficiently “red-pilled”—or called to consciousness in the parlance of the right—he dedicated himself fully to what he calls his “mature viewpoint” and now runs a website called Acid Right that he hopes will make those beliefs hip to a certain literary set.

As bizarre as that sounds, his M.O. of appropriating left-of-center literature or politically neutral art and infecting it with racism is not novel. It’s actually part of a time-honored culture war waged by right-wing extremists through the ages that helps them normalize their hateful ideas by couching them in familiar or appealing trappings. The "alt-right" is itself a euphemism invented by racists who wanted to lose the stigma of their hateful beliefs, and its foot-soliders know—perhaps better than even their forebears—that the best way to spread their ideas through fashion, music, and comedy is via a Trojan Horse.

Before arriving in New Jersey, the New Hampshire-born son of a Frank Sinatra impersonator had musical aspirations. About five years ago, that meant trying to become "the Bob Dylan of the racist movement." Unfortunately for him, his fascist folk fantasy was dashed when he realized he didn't have any rhythm. These days, Stankard fights "the war on racism" through books, poems, and screenplays that he writes under the “groovy, off-kilter” pen name HAarlem VEnison.

At right-wing protests and conferences, he gives away his racist ephemera to attendees with the hope of uniting the online contingent of the alt-right movement with the more seasoned white supremacists who've just been folded into it. Most importantly, though, he believes this subversive culture he is cultivating will also help evangelize the alt-right cause.

"I think it’s all cumulative," he said. "If you slip in those red pills enough, people will start having them in their diet. That’s what I do. I'm basically invisible. But if I build a corpus, or even a literary movement, it becomes something that people recognize."

The problem there, for Stankard, is that his “corpus” is not very good. “The Bicycle Diaries,” for instance, is an amateurish short play that consists of characters sitting on bar stools making cryptic statements and regurgitating scientifically dubious theories of racial inequality—which have been euphemized under the umbrella of “human biodiversity,” or HBD, as part of the alt-right’s larger rebranding. He also has a book called Lo! a racist exhile, which one reviewer (himself the author of a poetry book called Beatnik Fascism) calls “psychedelic” and reminiscent of the Velvet Underground. Certainly, Stankard is no Samuel Beckett or Lou Reed, but his aping of them offers a window into the twisted way in which the far-right has tried time and time again to graft itself onto broader culture.

Vegas Tenold spent six years embedded with some of the most extreme hate groups in the United States for his book Everything You Love Will Burn: Inside the Rebirth of White Nationalism in America. He said it's not hard to understand why music has always been the most effective propaganda tool in a racist's toolkit. It's a visceral medium, and choruses are meant to be drilled into one's head. "I think that's what the far-right understands," he told me. "When you’re hearing this thing over and over and over and over again, you just kind of take it in."

In the 70s, it was swampbilly bad boy Johnny Rebel who made albums like For Segregationists Only and the punk rock concert series Rock Against Communism. In the 80s, it was outlaw country acts like David Allen Coe and Oi! bands like Skrewdriver. By the late 90s, the mantel was taken up by NSBM (National Socialist black metal) acts like Burzum and Absurd. Basically, hate has always seemed to find a home in society’s subcultures.

According to a paper called “Nazi Punks Folk Off,” written by a professor of leisure, music, and culture at Leeds Beckett University named Karl Spracklen, some genres are more likely to become associated with white supremacy than others. English folk, for instance, might be appropriated more readily than hip-hop, because on the surface, it represents a sort of mythicized white past. Extreme forms of metal music might be appropriated before pop music because taboo-breaking, elitism, and nihilism are inherent to various metal subgenres.

But black metal isn't exactly the catchiest music, and therefore has limited ability to proselytize to the mainstream. Though Stankard didn’t cut it as a Nazi Mr. Tambourine Man, a group called Right Wing Death Squad Entertainment created an entire trove of parody tracks by artists with grotesque names like Reich Khalifa ("We Dem Goys") and The Red Pillers ("Mr. Right Side"). Though they have been taken down by YouTube, their catalog, which has been praised by white nationalists at Counter Currents Publishing for being "post ironic," is apparently available elsewhere. Besides infiltrating niche subcultures, racists have long taken songs, such as the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," and subverted its meaning by substituting the existing lyrics to advocate for genocide.

Since 2015, artists like Cyber Nazi have taken the 80s synth sounds of New Order and Depeche Mode that are openly admired by racists like Andrew Anglin and Richard Spencer and mutated them into muzak they describe as “fashwave.” Most of Cyber Nazi's songs don’t contain any lyrics at all. Instead, they’re subtle electro tunes designed to fly under the radar despite their hateful underpinnings. As sites like Twitter continue to de-platform racists, this music goes somewhat undetected, thereby reaching more people. When reached for comment, YouTube noted it had started to use machine-learning technology in June of last year to flag certain videos for human employees to review. But it's not exactly an easy task for either an algorithm or a person to figure out what to do with vaporwave music spliced with historical audio of Hitler. The alt-right knows this—they are an adaptive enemy that is constantly changing tactics to subvert the platform's guidelines. (Although YouTube removed Cyber Nazi's first video, "Galactic Lebensraum," on March 13, plenty more of his music is still available on the site.)

The same strategy is taking place with regards to clothing. “I think it’s a way of blending in, of evading notice, of not being as obvious,” said Cynthia Miller-Idriss, a sociologist at American University who studies the hidden symbols of far-right fashion. “And that allows you to not have stigma at a workplace or wherever in a public setting. I’m sure that is a big part of the appeal.”

In fact, the far-right has always appropriated working class culture, dating back to when members of the fascist political group National Front co-opted the style of non-racist skinheads in 1980s England by donning Doc Martens and Fred Perry polo shirts. Miller-Idriss noted to me that because those brands are now so connected to the far-right as to be name-dropped by the Southern Poverty Law Center, racists have moved on to co-opting other athleisure brands like Lonsdale in the new millennium. She said that a popular tactic among extremist youths is to wear a shirt emblazoned with that company's logo under a zip-up hoodie. That way, when someone is in sympathetic company they can let the letters NSDA (National Socialist German Workers' Party) show, but they can cover up completely when an antiracist, teacher, or cop walks by.

Additionally, much has been made of Richard Spencer’s attempts to make Nazis look “dapper,” and in the days leading up to the Unite the Right protest in Charlottesville, racist blogger Andrew Anglin recognized that his cohorts had an optics problem that went beyond their neo-Nazi beliefs. The notorious recluse was concerned that the troll-army who read his ultra-racist site, the Daily Stormer, wouldn't know how to dress “sexy” for a big day out in front of news cameras. In a last-ditch effort to ensure a strong showing, he published a PSA: "Look good," he wrote on August 9. "It is very important to look good. We must have Chad Nationalism. That is what will make guys want to join us, that is what will make girls want to be our groupies. That will make us look like bad boys and heroes. That is what we are going for here." In one of his early speeches collected in a 1923 book, Mussolini said democracy took "style" away from the life of the Italian people, and promised that fascism would bring it back. Anglin couldn’t really promise that, but he figured he could at least try to teach his troll army how to properly wear a shirt.

Anglin was heard loud and clear: There were no white hoods at Unite the Right. And while there weren’t any really “sexy” styles on display either, the effect of an army of dudes in white polos and khaki pants storming the University of Virginia was disconcerting to many. As Cam Wolf put it for GQ, it was also indicative of a new world in which it was necessary to ask: “Is your neighbor wearing a polo and khakis because he’s a style-agnostic dad? Or is he just actively supporting the creation of a white ethno-state?”

This call to khaki was just Anglin taking his sartorial pronouncements one-step further. Immediately after the 2016 election, he declared New Balance sneakers the "official shoes of white people" because the company's vice president of public affairs made pro-Trump comments. And though it seems counterproductive to thank a business executive for his political stances by dragging his company into controversy, it doesn’t seem like the alt-right will stop co-opting brands anytime soon. Racist Matthew Heimbach, co-founder of the recently imploded Traditionalist Worker Party, told the Washington Post that the goal of this strategy was to prove to people that the alt-right was a "reliable economic, social, and political bloc" worth courting. (Considering the speed at which brands scramble to disavow the endorsement of racists, it doesn't seem like Heimbach's strategy is working.)

While Anglin wants American racists to dress like Larry David, Spencer wants them to dress like GQ models, and Stankard wants them to look like Conor Oberst circa 2001, all three men understand the power that fashion and culture can grant a fledgling movement.

But while the extreme right of the 20th Century and today share a penchant for clothing, the differences are stark. Stankard, Anglin, Spencer, and all the garden-variety racists who make up the self-described alt-right today obviously don’t have a singular state-sanctioned vision or the authority to mandate one like Mussolini and Hitler. And unlike the skinheads of yesteryear, this group of memelords and shitposters don't even have a set of IRL touchstones to help them forge their identity. At first, that might appear as a weakness. But it’s allowed this movement to act like a poisonous gas, inchoate enough to fill up whatever cultural container you want to put it in.

Take comedy. With the alt-right, humour might be its most diffuse yet noxious offering. In our meme moment, racist comedy has slyly managed to garner significant mainstream appeal.

Sam Hyde is a comedian who first went viral in 2013 for his TED Talk billed as a discussion on challenges facing the world in the 21st Century. Instead, Hyde spent 20 minutes mocking the people who usually participate in such events.

His brand of humour is best described as anti-comedy. It’s not laugh-out-loud funny, because it contains multiple layers of meaning depending on who's listening. With phrases like “ideas are amazing” peppered throughout, his TED Talk was probably humourous to those who find rhetoric on the left to be idealistic, impotent word-salads. But when he talks about "teaching African refugees Javascript," it only lands as an explicitly racist joke for someone who has been "red-pilled.” As evinced by the nervous laughter of the audience, a casual listener might catch on, though converts clearly do. As one YouTube commenter put it: "Never seen an entire audience get cucked before!" Another described Hyde as a "white supremacist Eric Andre."

Hyde’s biggest project was his sketch comedy group Million Dollar Extreme’s live action show World Peace, which aired on Adult Swim in the fall of 2016. Like his TED Talk, the show apparently featured subliminal messages to the alt-right like hidden swastikas before the network removed them, though references to David Duke and the racist moonman meme remained. The show performed decently enough within Adult Swim’s lineup that year, reaching almost 900,000 viewers per week on average, which is only slightly less people than The Eric Andre Show.

World Peace was not exactly a smash success compared to other Adult Swim programs like Rick and Morty—though it did manage to rake in upwards of a million viewers during its premiere, which was more than other shows on the programming block with built-in followings. What's more, it is notable in the sense that it’s one of the few alt-right cultural products to ever break through to the mainstream, however briefly. Hyde lost his show just four months after it premiered—a fact that he attributed to his support of Donald Trump. After that he was crowdfunding about $1,700 a month on Patreon and $500 a month on Hatreon. (The latter platform lacks the hate speech restrictions of its mainstream counterpart, though it hasn't been processing payments for almost a month.) He uses that money to produce videos, like one of himself pretending to be the extremist who plowed into a crowd in Charlottesville and killed a woman named Heather Heyer, that has since been removed by YouTube.

Although he’s now more overt about his alt-right affiliations and YouTube seems better able to flag his content, Hyde was able to exist in the mainstream for an extended period of time partly because it was difficult to discern whether or not he was pulling an Andy Kaufman-style con, in which he was just playing a caricature of an alt-right persona in order to enrage liberals but didn’t actually believe the ideas he was pushing. Trying to unpack alt-right figureheads only to fall into a state of self-doubt is a common occurrence among mainstream journalists. During the months that the Atlantic’s Luke O'Brien tried to track down Anglin for a cover story that came out in 2017, he repeatedly wondered if he was chasing a method actor. When I met up with Hyde just after the presidential election at a Chinese restaurant near his home in Fall River, Massachusetts for an off-the-record interview, I walked away simultaneously convinced I had either just been in the presence of a genuine American Nazi, or was destined to appear on his YouTube channel as the subject of a prank.

"Mainstream news sources still have yet to catch up to the discursive strategy of the right," M. Ambedkar, who wrote an essay about the aesthetics of the alt-right under a pseudonym for fear of getting doxxed, told me. "They still haven't caught up to that element of irony, that evasive element."

That “evasive element” Ambedkar refers to epitomizes why attributing a singular aesthetic to the alt-right is a fool's errand. It's a pair of dad shoes, a lyric-less song, a brand of comedy that's so post-ironic it's impossible to say who's even being mocked. It's a shirt under a jacket that can be zipped and unzipped depending on who's watching—a message that always remains just out of the reach of whoever attempts to decipher it. It seems like nothing to a teen who's online, but at a certain point, it's embedded into their consciousness. And at that point, it's too late.

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.

Breaking Down Trump's Toothless Twitter Freakout About Mexico

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Donald Trump spent Easter Sunday the way he seems to spend most days: angry at something he probably saw on Fox News and tweeting only semi-coherently about it.

This time, his target was a "caravan" of hundreds of Central American migrants traveling north through Mexico to the US that BuzzFeed first reported on last week and was featured on Fox & Friends Sunday morning. His take on it was exactly what you'd expect:

Trump continued to tweet about it early Monday, before reiterating the same sentiment in person at the White House Easter Egg Roll, as the New York Times reported. Here are his Monday tweets about Mexico:

As is the norm with these tweetstorms, Trump appears to get some basic facts wrong. Migrants seeking to cross the US border now can't "take advantage" of DACA, a program allowing some people who were brought to the US as children to stay in the country, because DACA only applies to people who have lived in the US since 2007. (Unnamed White House sources told the Times that Trump was actually referring to the misconception among migrants themselves that they can get legal status if they come to the US now—a bit of context utterly absent from Trump's tweets.)

Moreover, DACA isn't "dead." The program is still accepting renewal applications thanks to a court ruling declaring it has to remain active while a legal battle over Trump's decision to end it plays out. And it's Trump, not Democrats, who have moved to kill it: It was Trump's executive order to shutter the Obama-era program that put DACA at risk in the first place, and in a series of votes in February Senate Democrats backed multiple compromises that would have given DACA-eligible migrants a pathway to citizenship while boosting border security. The only compromise Democrats opposed virtually in lockstep was one that would have dramatically slashed legal immigration, and they were joined by several Republicans in rejecting that idea.



Finally, as the right-of-center free-market group the US Chamber of Commerce has pointed out, NAFTA doesn't just benefit Mexico but a lot of manufacturers and farmers in states that voted for Trump. (Of course, Trump generally views trade agreements as zero-sum games where one side has to win and the other has to lose, a perspective that is at odds with most economists and other experts. Even left-wingers who dislike NAFTA tend to do so because they say it hurts workers, not because it benefits Mexico more than the US.)

But if fact-checking Trump's rants seems necessary (he is the president, after all), it also tends to be tedious and besides the point. To put it bluntly, none of the stuff he's talking about is likely to become real outside of this man's head. It might fire up his nativist base, but won't accomplish much else. After all, nothing has happened that would make Congress more amenable to passing immigration-related legislation than it was just weeks ago, when it failed to do anything. In fact, just about the only thing that could end the deadlock would be if Trump decided to agree to the compromise that's been on the table for years but has been blocked by right-wing opposition: Giving some undocumented immigrants a path to citizenship while improving border security. And if Trump is trying to prod Mexico into making concessions on NAFTA negotiations, it's not clear that that's going to work—Mexico is in the middle of a presidential campaign, and Trump's Twitter rant caused both leading candidates to fire back at him. (An anti-Trump, left-wing candidate is currently leading in the polls.)

Maybe Trump is playing some whatever-dimensional chess with both Congress and Mexico. But at the moment, his tirade reads more like pointless wheel-spinning. Legislators aren't likely to get much done before the midterm elections and Trump's immigration initiatives (which, again, include ending DACA or at least trading DACA for restrictions on legal immigration) have been stymied by the courts and congressional gridlock. And while NAFTA negotiations are a complicated beast, even observers who think Trump is deploying a decent strategy doubt he'll scuttle the whole deal. Again, if he did, it might mean real economic problems for his base.

Just a couple weeks ago, Trump signed a budget deal that didn't include funding for his famous but hypothetical wall after making toothless Twitter threats about vetoing it. These new tweets on DACA and NAFTA seem similarly all bark, no bite—the knee-jerk reaction of a Fox News viewer frustrated at his powerlessness. Why is Trump ranting about this stuff on Twitter? It's all he can do.

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.

This Artist Broke Silly Laws in 50 States and Photographed Them

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If you happen to be walking down Madison Avenue in Manhattan, keep an eye peeled for art amidst the advertisements. One block over from the fancier shopping on 5th Avenue, above a luxury goods store hawking Fendi bags, photographer Olivia Locher has turned four humble panes of glass—literally the window of her second floor studio—into a guerrilla art gallery.

Every day for ten days, from April 1 to 10, Locher is showing a new photograph from midnight to midnight. Called Moving, Everything Must Go, it's Locher's salute to the capitalist playground she's lived and worked in for the past three years before she packs up and vacates 159 Madison Avenue.

Locher is a prankster. Her photographs are colourful and sunny, but beneath the surface they bubble with absurdity. She's well known for her series I Fought the Law, which featured photographs of people violating strange and arcane laws in all 50 states. An example: In Connecticut, pickles must bounce to be officially considered pickles.

VICE caught up with Locher to find out what inspired her latest act of artistic disobedience and what her neighbours think of her pop-up photo show.

Olivia Locher in her studio

VICE: Why did you decide to do this show and what's the title about? Are you trying to do some spring cleaning?
Locher: The title, Moving, Everything Must Go came about because I'm moving studios. I've occupied and worked from 159 Madison Avenue for the past three years. I've always noticed people passing by on the street get very curious by my strobe light going off when I'm shooting and tend to look up and into my space. I love to have studio visits and entertain people, so this is my last rendezvous for the public who wouldn't get that formal invite inside. Eight of the ten images were shot from my studio, so I'd like to think of it as an invitation to see what happens inside of this space. None of my neighbors or the businessmen below have fully grasped what it is that I do, so here's that chance.

The windows at 159 Madison Avenue

Why'd you pick these ten images?
I wanted for these images to act as a signifier for the street below. My images are all, in some way, advertisements, but they are not selling anything beyond a concept and an idea. To create images that are easily digestible, I often channel my knowledge of the deep history of advertising and its power of persuasion. I've decided to leave any information (titles, my name, et cetera) out of the images, so the pedestrians will be left with only their own impact and knowledge of the image.

When selecting the photos, I was considering things that are familiar. Most people will see a photograph of David Bowie, but if you look closer and longer, you will see that it's someone's child posing as David Bowie. I am inspired by the tension between the comedic and the tragic, plus the pull of high versus low.

Why is it important to show work on your own terms?
Anyone who creates can show work on their own terms! I come from a strong DIY and punk background, and my youth revolved around experiencing DIY shows. I don't have permission to show this work. I'm waiting for my building to slam down my door and tear the prints off the windows, but that's what makes it special. So far, my building’s reaction has been positive or unaffected.

A lot of times in life you don't need approval. I think it's important to follow your impulses. I've had the idea for this show for the past two years and always knew my last month occupying the space was the time to execute it, so here we are.

How does your window display interact with the shop windows on street level? Is there any conscious comment on consumer culture there?
Yeah of course! What's funny about Madison Avenue is everyone tries to advertise. When you look up into windows, everyone has some sort of sign up. It happens from the highest to the lowest scenarios. You'll see Citi Bank posting huge banners in their windows and also see a small business next door putting terrible looking signs and advertisements in theirs. This must come from the deep history of the ad man on Madison Avenue. Everyone is still trying to swindle you into buying something that you may or may not need.



I want people to have the rare opportunity to see something on Madison Avenue that has no set goals for them. Hopefully, if anything, this public display can brighten someone's day. Andy Warhol's last factory was located directly across the street at 158 Madison Avenue. My doorman once told me that Warhol often used to remove work from his studio through his large windows, because the pieces wouldn't fit though his doorway. That idea stuck with me and led to what I'm doing now.

Other than seeing the photos in real life or on Instagram, is there a way for people to check the work out?
Yeah! At the very end of this I'm releasing a new handmade zine. I'm currently working on them right now. I also show my work in formal situations—I am represented by the Steven Kasher Gallery. And my first book, I Fought the Law, is available via Chronicle Books.

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.

How the Government’s New Crime Bill Could Screw Over People of Colour

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The Canadian government’s proposed changes to the criminal justice system will result in more wrongful convictions and penalize people of colour, according to defence lawyers.

Justice Minister Jody Wilson-Raybould announced Bill C-75 Thursday, touting is as a means to reduce court delays “while ensuring that Canadians have a well-functioning criminal justice system that respects their rights and maintains public safety.”

Many believe the bill was in part a response to the Gerald Stanley trial—an all-white jury recently acquitted Stanley of manslaughter and second-degree murder in the death of Colten Boushie, a Cree man. As part of the bill, the government wants to remove the right of Crown and defence lawyers to exclude jurors through a peremptory challenge. However, experts who spoke to VICE raised a number of major concerns with the bill and said it will most likely negatively impact racialized people, who are already overrepresented in Canadian prisons

“These changes are worse than anything Harper ever did,” said Jack Lloyd, a Toronto lawyer who specializes in cannabis arrests.

Here’s a breakdown of the key concerns over this bill:

Scrapping preliminary inquiries

Bill C-75 proposes eliminating preliminary hearings in all but the most serious offences (i.e. murder) as a way to “ensure criminal cases can proceed more efficiently to trial.” These hearings serve as a “dress rehearsal” for a potential criminal trial, said Toronto lawyer Dan Stein, which the media can’t report on.

“Both sides get to see how strong or weak their case is” in a lower pressure situation, Stein told VICE. The outcome could be that there isn’t enough evidence to go to trial, certain charges are thrown out, or the defence agrees to a plea deal because the evidence is so strong. Eliminating this step could actually make court processes more inefficient because trials will be less organized, and longer seeing as neither the defence nor Crown had the benefit of going through a dry run.

Lloyd said getting rid of preliminary hearings also means people could wrongfully end up in jail because a case that otherwise wouldn’t have made it to trial will go to trial.

“They are robbing accused persons of rights to speed up the court process,” he said.

Police won’t automatically have to be cross-examined

The bill will also allow police officers’ evidence to be submitted in signed, written form, without requiring them to be present at trial and cross-examined. Defence lawyers who want to cross-examine cops will need to make a special request to the court.

Annamaria Enenajor, a partner at Ruby, Shiller, and Enenajor, said this provision gives police evidence a built-in advantage.

“It amplifies the presumption of credibility of police evidence,” she said, noting often times it’s just the evidence of the accused versus the cops.

Recently Toronto police pepper-sprayed a man who was already handcuffed and lied about it under oath.

Enenajor said in all likelihood, defence lawyers will default to requesting the right to cross-examine police, but the extra step in having to make such a request will result in more court delays.

Abolishing peremptory challenges

Peremptory challenges work by allowing the Crown and defence to eliminate potential jurors without having to give a reason. In Stanley’s case, it meant no Indigenous people were on the jury hearing his trial.

But criminal defence attorney Dan Stein told VICE the Stanley trial was an outlier—usually the accused is a person of colour and the defence uses peremptory challenges to get a more diverse jury.

“In most cases, you’d be happy to have a person of colour on the jury,” he explained.

Enenajor said this reform will punish people of colour the most—the opposite of its stated intent. As it stands, if a potential juror gives an accused person a certain look, that alone is good enough for a defence attorney to eliminate them. But under the proposed rules, lawyers will only be able to challenge potential jurors “for cause” because of suspected bias. Ultimately, she said the decision will be left up to the judge.

“It’s going to be hard to challenge someone for being discriminatory because no one is going to admit to being racist,” she said.

Raising maximum penalties

Bill C-75 is also raising the maximum punishments for summary offences to two years in jail, which is quadruple what the current maximum is for some crimes.

This could result in people getting punished more severely. But Enenajor noted it will also negatively impact low-income and racialized people because paralegals, and articling law students aren’t able to run trials where the punishment is more than six months of jail time. Only licensed lawyers are able to run those trials.

“[Marginalized] people have less access to proper legal advice and representation before the court,” she said. “People who self-represent increase delays in the justice system and are more likely to be wrongfully convicted.”

No reform on mandatory minimums

Notably, the bill didn’t touch on Stephen Harper-era mandatory minimum jail sentences, some of which have already been struck down as unconstitutional.

Lloyd said getting rid of those would have been an effective way of decluttering the court system, because people generally choose to go to trial if there is a mandatory minimum as opposed to taking a plea deal.

“You might as well try and beat the charges and cross your fingers that you don’t have to go to jail.”

Will likely be challenged

Enenajor said she’s shocked at the “colossal” scope of the bill, which suggests scrapping centuries-old procedures in some cases.

“It really has blindsided the criminal law and defence community,” she said. “It was just astonishing that the government decided to table this before a long weekend without prior consultation.”

Even if the government passes Bill C-75 into law, Stein it will likely be challenged across the country.

“Defence counsels are going to be chomping at the bit to challenge this,” he said.

Follow Manisha on Twitter.

Man Sues InfoWars for Spreading Rumor He Was the Parkland Shooter

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Within hours of the mass shooting at Parkland’s Stoneman Douglas High School, online trolls seized on the tragedy and waves of misinformation poured out of anonymous threads on 4chan and fake news sites. Naturally, some of these false narratives claimed the shooter was a Muslim, a DACA recipient, or a communist.

One photo that made the rounds on 4chan was of 24-year-old Massachusetts resident Marcel Fontaine. In the photo, which according to Snopes was pulled from an old 4chan thread making fun of liberals and communists, Fontaine is wearing a “Communist Party” T-shirt that features several communist leaders dancing and drinking (get it?). A fake “Laguna Beach Antifa” Twitter account referred to the shirt as an “Antifa shirt” in a tweet that was shared more than 3,000 times before the account was suspended.

But the photo's popularity was also helped out by Infowars writer Kit Daniels. In an article originally titled “Reported Florida Shooter Dressed as Communist, Supported ISIS,” Daniels included the photo of Fontaine and described the picture as being sourced from a “Japanese cartoon image board.” Although the article was later updated by InfoWars to remove the photo, the original version was reposted verbatim by other, even less reputable right-wing blogs and news sites, which still feature Fontaine.

But Fontaine is now suing InfoWars, its publisher Alex Jones, and Daniels for defamation, seeking damages in excess of $1 million. Although Fontaine declined a direct interview, I spoke with his attorney, Mark Bankston, who told me that more than a month after the shooting, even after the photo has been repeatedly debunked, Fontaine continues to be harassed and threatened by an InfoWars audience that has been taught to disregard all mainstream sources of information as “fake news.”



Not only is the 24-year-old still regularly receiving a large volume of harassing messages, but he has also been the subject of conspiracy theories about the Parkland shooting being a false flag attack, and some have even accused him of being a second shooter. Bankston added that Fontaine is terrified of being caught up in a similar situation to the Comet Ping-Pong pizzeria case, where a deranged man fired a gun after Jones and InfoWars promoted the “Pizzagate” pedophile ring conspiracy theory. (Jones later apologized for his role in spreading the misinformation.)

Neither Jones nor InfoWars responded to my request for comment.

Fontaine's lawyer also noted that the attention from InfoWars labeling him as a “communist” has led to public death threats, with one Twitter user writing in reference to Fontaine that “the only good red is a dead red.”

In a petition filed Monday, Fontaine’s lawyers argue that this form of malicious defamation is a regular occurrence at InfoWars, which has a habit of reporting defamatory conspiracy theories. The petition cites comments by Jones about not only Comet Ping Pong but also the Sandy Hook massacre, the Las Vegas mass shooting, and yogurt maker Chobani—which Jones said was “importing migrant rapists,” a comment he later apologized for after the company sued.

According to Fontaine’s lawyer, this case falls into a slightly different category of defamation. “There are two different standards of defamation depending on whether the person who has been defamed can be reasonably defined as a public figure, or even a limited purpose public figure,” he told me.

This distinction stems from a 1964 court case, New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, where it was ruled that in order for published information about a public figure to be considered libelous or defamatory, it must be made with “'actual malice'—that is, with knowledge that it was false or with reckless disregard of whether it was false or not,” according to the 1964 decision. And proving malice is more difficult than proving simply that something isn’t true.

But Fontaine is not a public figure by any stretch of the imagination, therefore the recklessness with which his client’s photograph was used is a clear case of defamation, his lawyer argues.

Whatever the outcome of the case, it's by now obvious that the internet allows conspiracies and other misinformation to spread much more quickly than they used to. And many of the parties responsible for falsehoods are anonymous Twitter and 4chan users, who aren’t as easy to sue as a site like Infowars. Jones can apologize for the blatant untruths InfoWars has published, but that doesn’t mean readers stop believing in them. Fontaine might win the lawsuit or at least settle with Jones, as Chobani did last year. But will that stop similar claims from circulating next time there’s a mass shooting?

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.

The 'Affluenza Teen' Is Out of Jail

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When Ethan Couch was on trial for drunkenly plowing his vehicle into a group of people assisting a stranded driver in 2013, a psychologist testified that the teen suffered from "affluenza." This is a made-up word meant to describe a condition in which you're so rich that you don't know right from wrong, and at the time it upset a lot of people, set off a national conversation about privilege, and made Couch infamous. He didn't get locked up for the deadly accident, but for violating probation years later—and now Couch has been set free, the New York Times reports.

Couch had a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit—as well as weed and Valium in his system—when he killed four people and paralyzed his passenger on a joyride near Fort Worth. He pleaded guilty to four counts of manslaughter, but even though prosecutors wanted to send him to prison for 20 years, Couch ultimately received ten years of probation, and no jail time, for the killings.

In December 2015 he made national news again after he went missing and a video of him at a party where people were playing beer pong emerged. Authorities eventually busted him and his mom, Tonya, in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, where they were living under assumed identities. Couch was arrested for violating his probation and sent to jail for 720 days. Last year, prosecutors said Tonya Couch violated her probation by drinking a beer and holding a gun, though she avoided time behind bars. She was recently arrested for failing a urine test and locked up.

Now her son has just been released in time for his 21st birthday, according to the Times.

It's worth noting that juveniles in Texas aren't often sent to jail for accidentally killing people—or at least that's what one of Couch's attorneys told D Magazine. And his story is far from the first time that a privileged got completely off the hook for something heinous, or that the American criminal justice system has put more weight on lying or deception that it has on taking lives.

Correction: An earlier version of this article said that Couch had been released from prison. In fact he was serving time in a Texas jail.

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.


There’s Only One Correct Way to Measure a Penis

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If you were paying attention to the headline-grabbing work of pioneering sexologist Alfred Kinsey in the years after World War Two, you would have learned that the average length of an erect penis is around 6.21” while the average girth is 4.85". Because Kinsey and his team were the first to get granular over penis size, and the first to be famous for conducting such titillating research, these figures enjoyed incredible staying power over the subsequent decades. I posit that this 70-year-old data set’s notoriety—along with the ubiquity of porn and the rumoured existence of Jared Leto’s formidable trouser schnauzer—may share the responsibility for the prevalence of Short Penis Syndrome or Penile Dysmorphic Disorder.

Thing is, the majority of men who obsess over having a penis they perceive as being too small, are well within the actual average range. That’s not entirely the fault of studies’ limitations, of course, but the repeated publication of skewed data certainly hasn’t helped. Before you dust off your ruler, here's some background on how the figures get wobbly.

The 3,500 participants in Kinsey’s groundbreaking 1948 study were all white, all college aged, and therefore not representative of the general population. Further throwing the data into doubt, Kinsey and his team simply accepted the numbers the undergrads’ gave them as gospel. Incredibly, simply asking a non-representative bunch of guys to just tell you how big their dicks are was still regarded as an acceptable way to gather penis size data throughout the rest of the 20th Century. In the 1990s, Durex commissioned a rather non-representative survey that saw the average erect length and girth had risen to 6.4” and 5.2” respectively.

In 2001, Durex competitor Lifestyles actually had two nurses measure each of 301 hardened volunteers for their study. This was progress of a sort, but again it was mainly US college students being measured so it was not a sample representative of all ethnic backgrounds and ages. Furthermore, this data wasn’t collected in a clinical setting but in a tent behind a Cancun nightclub during spring break. Despite the choice reading material on offer, 25 percent of volunteers were unable to scare up a serviceable boner and, even those who did may have seen their true maximum engorgement impinged by the sheer volume of tequila and Corona-Light sloshing around their sunburned bodies. The erect length and girth was recorded as 5.87” and 4.97” inches respectively.

In 2013, Debby Herbenick—also of the Kinsey Institute—decided to gather self-reported penis measurement data by incentivising respondents to be more accurate with by offering to match them up with a better fitting condom. Exaggerating would of course leave the respondent with a baggy condom or, in the unlikely event of anyone playing down their size, they’d end up in a condom that was too tight. Herbenick’s averages were even lower. She noted an average length of 5.7” and an average circumference of 4.81”. Another interesting finding from the study backed up something that many penis owners and/or users already knew to be true: Even when they are attached to the same person, some erections are more impressive than others and that differences in tumescence could impact measurements to a significant degree.

In particular, Herbenick saw that respondents who became aroused via oral sex before measuring tended to be larger that those who bootstrapped a stiff one. When talking to LiveScience however, Herbenick was quick to point out that: “We don't know if that means that when men have oral sex that it's more arousing and they get a bigger erection, or means that men who have bigger penises could be getting more oral sex in the first place."

While incentivising a more honest measurement was a canny move by Herbenick, the following year, a team of British researchers decided to do away with self-reported measurements altogether and hand the ruler to the professionals. Researcher David Veale and his team at King’s College, London looked at the penis measurements of 15,521 men taken in a clinical setting, by urologists who all adhered to a standard measuring protocol. When the results came in the average penis size was once again, revised downwards.

Veale reckoned it at 5.16” in length and 4.59” in girth. In the paper, he concedes that “relatively few erect measurements were conducted in a clinical setting.” This, as I’ve postulated in a previous penis-related article, is surely because getting a convincing erection in a clinical setting is easier said than done. As a stand-in for a stiffy, Veale’s study looked at stretched flaccid length which urologists have long noted, is commensurate with erect length.

Veale’s study had limitations of its own but what is has seemed to have done is help codify and standardise the way in which the penis is measured. Bearing in mind that the method by which an erection is attained may affect the measurement, do what you need to work up a maximally engorged subject. Place a transparent plastic ruler on the dorsal (upper side) surface of the penis. Then press the base of the ruler towards the pubic bone, the pubo-penile junction. Really jam it in there as far as you can. You’ll see why in a moment. Whether the penis you’re measuring is circumcised or not, disregard foreskin. That’s like a 5’8” dude using his man bun to get away with saying he’s 5'10”. The reading you are going to take is at the very tip of the glans or head.

This measurement is referred to as Bone Pressed Erect Length (BPEL). BPEL and Bone Pressed Flaccid Length (BPFL)—in which the flaccid penis is stretched—were used in Veale’s study because it prevents the pubic fat pad from diminishing the penis’ true length—hence the pressing in of the ruler. This gelatinous obstruction is no trifle: the more excess fat a man accumulates, the more the penis is buried, causing it to effectively lose length.

Now girth. If you have a measuring tape handy, neat, but all you really need is a piece of string/a shoelace/some al dente pappardelle to wrap around the penis shaft at the widest point then measure with your trusty ruler. If the glans happens to be the widest point, sorry; that doesn’t count.

Having used standard measuring methodology and in light of recent, non-self reported data, many men who obsessively ruminate on the size of the penis should have a less distorted perspective on how they stack up against the mean and, in so doing, may find them less susceptible to Short Penis Syndrome. Regardless of their place in the pecker order, men susceptible to this type of body dysmorphia would do well to remember that length of intercourse and erectile function play a much larger role in partner’s pleasure than size.

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This article originally appeared on VICE AU.

How SoundCloud Rappers and Xanax Influenced Fashion

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From teen dealers selling fake Xanax bars on social media to addicted college kids using the benzos to help with panic attacks or comedowns, VICE UK is investigating the rise of Britain's counterfeit Xanax use. Read more features in this series here and watch our new film about mental health and fake Xanax, 'Xanxiety: the UK's Fake Xanax Epidemic' here.

Subcultures can often be represented, like a coat of arms, by their drug of choice. Acid for hippies, ecstasy for the Second Summer of Love, endless cans of Monster Energy for pop-punk. It goes without saying that these are broad assumptions. Being bang into pills and enjoying the musical stylings of Happy Mondays aren’t mutually exclusive. But you can learn a lot about the guts of a subculture by how it expresses itself through drugs, music and clothes – the latter usually carrying the most cues because it’s so visual. “Fashion is instant language”, so says Miuccia Prada. In which case it’s worth asking what the recent trinity of Soundcloud rap, contemporary fashion and Xanax is telling us.

Labelled as such because they’re leveraging the streaming platform to swerve traditional routes into the music industry, Soundcloud rappers tend to draw from elements of Atlanta trap and 00s emo and pop-punk. Their names sound like anime characters or former Myspace celebrities, they look like they’re auditioning for a role in a live action reboot of Street Fighter, and they all love – or have fallen out of love – with benzos. Artists like Lil Peep, Lil Uzi Vert, Lil Pump, and Smokepurpp, though not always on the same page sound-wise, all self-promoted themselves into mainstream consciousness while barely having to leave the house. In order to do that, they had to stand out.

The point is to look as unique as possible, but most artists tend to have variations on the following: multi-coloured hair, clothes that combine Hot Topic vibes with current streetwear, and a shit load of jobstoppers (face, neck and hand tattoos). As many outlets have already noted, Soundcloud rappers have a distinctly punk sensibility that – in both sound and presentation – can be seen as the logical rebuttal of the polished everyman vibe that Drake has got going on. Sometimes it feels infantile (see: Lil Pump rapping in a fluffy pink hoodie and a backpack), sometimes it feels surrealist (see: Lil Uzi Vert in general), but it is consistently so far over the top it would turn heads in space.

Occasionally, their notoriety precedes their career. Now disgraced Bushwick rapper 6ix9ine rose to fame last summer an Instagram selfie went viral and turned him into a meme. Months later his, debut single “Gummo” went straight to 58 on the Billboard Hot 100. His style is essentially rap game Dahvie Vanity – rainbow hair, rainbow grillz, and “69” tattooed all over his body like a piece of designer luggage. He’s also been accused of a horrific sex crime, to which he pled guilty, so we’re not going to talk about him anymore, but his was a clear image-first foray into the music industry – an extreme example of Soundcloud rap’s relationship to fame. Since careers are built almost entirely through social media, looks and personality carry just as much clout as the music itself, if not more. As a result, their feeds are hyper-personalised places where music promotion, fashion shoots and Xanax use sit, normalised, side-by-side. In June, Lil Pump celebrated hitting one million Instagram followers by cutting a cake in the shape of a Xanax bar.

Not that this is unusual. This is how celebrity operates now. High fashion has a decades old history with rap. Kanye West, A$AP Rocky, Pharrell and Odd Future all have their own clothing lines, Lil Yachty joined Nautica as a creative designer last year, Raf Simons has been a long-time collaborator, Tupac literally walked down the runway for Versace in 1996. What’s happening with Soundcloud and fashion now is playing out similarly to relationships we’ve seen before, whether it’s between Vivienne Westwood and punk or Stone Island and grime. Soundcloud rap obviously isn't the first subculture to come with a drug attached to it, either, but Xanax acts as a bridge between a specific music scene and the struggles faced by a generation at large.

Before he passed away last November after accidentally overdosing on Xanax laced with fentanyl, Long Island rapper Lil Peep made his debut walking for VLONE and Marcelo Burlon during the Spring/Summer 2018 menswear fashion week circuit (surely the first time a catwalk has ever been graced by a model with the word “Daddy” emblazoned on their chest in gothic script). He also sat front row at Balmain, Fendi and Haider Ackermann shows. Similarly, Lil Uzi Vert is always in Vogue for his “seriously show-stopping ensembles” while patron saint of kitsch, Jeff Koons, recently described him as “very poetic”. All chipped nails and stick n’ pokes, Peep’s look has always been that of a luxury mall rat – bold, dynamic and uncategorizable. The same goes for Lil Uzi Vert, who credits Paramore's Hayley Williams as one of his biggest inspirations, has been known to dress like Avril Lavigne and sometimes wears his hair like he’s running a feminist Tumblr in 2012. Both have a similar style – spikes, chokers, and sweatbands disrupted by streetwear and luxury labels – and both have had problems with Xanax.

Illustration by Owain Anderson

Hours before his death, Lil Peep uploaded videos to Instagram of himself dropping Xanax bars into his mouth. Every song contains references, one way or another, to being fucked up. Lil Uzi Vert responded to the news by tweeting about his own Xanax use and attempted move towards sobriety (his breakout single “XO Tour Lif3” contains the lyrics “Xanny, help the pain, yeah/ Please, Xanny, make it go away/ I'm committed, not addicted, but it keep control of me/ All the pain, now I can't feel it/ I swear that it's slowin' me, yeah”).

The rise of Xanax use in the US and UK speaks to a generation wracked with anxiety, a general sense of doom, and few outlets for it beyond social media and self-medication. Xanax, whether readily available in the US or easily accessible online in the UK, is a cheap and instant band aid for a problem too vast to have a solution. It makes sense, then, that Soundcloud rappers – most of whom are in their very early 20s – would hold up a mirror to that. At just 21 years old, Lil Xan has already built a brand for himself off the back of Xanax and come to reject it. Now clean and going by “Diego”, his Instagram bio is full of broken hearts and the words “Really Wished Anxiety didn’t exist !”

Oddly, the aesthetic choice that seems to most represent the generational duality of hope and hopelessness is face tattoos. Rather than acting as bold statements to the world at large, they have come to represent something very intimate. For many Soundcloud rappers, face tattoos are an act of self-motivation. A way of saying there’s no going back from there. “It was kind of like a push for myself to be successful with the music I was doing,” Lil Peep said in an interview with GQ. “It can make it harder to get a job when your face is covered in tattoos.”

Arnoldisdead – a producer/rapper in the Xanarchy collective that includes Lil Xan – said something similar when explaining why he got a huge portrait of Anne Frank (or “Xan Frank”) on his cheek. “There are people in history that didn't have the power to control, to actually do things that they wanted to do with their lives… To be stuck in a house, and end up dying... dude I'm dying to make music. That's the way I look at it.” Even in VICE's documentary, Xanxiety: The UK's Fake Xanax Epidemic, UK rapper Clayton offers, “It's do or die” about his decision to cover his whole face in tattoos to stop him falling back into the “rat race”.

There is a palpable nihilism and vulnerability to many of these artists that’s reflected in both what they put in and on their body. Although there is an element of performance at play where many compare their rap alias to a wrestling or a video game character – "choose your fighter" style – a large element of it is also self-expression. It’s personality externalised in the most dramatic sense, finding inner-quiet by being as loud as possible.

“When I think of Lil Peep, I think of a big broken heart that has been delicately patched, sewn, stapled, safety pinned and stuffed all back together, which he wasn’t afraid to wear on his sleeve,” Instagram “it girl” Josephine Pearl Lee told HypeBeast. “This is very apparent in everything he touched and shared with the world, from his music to his art to his personal relationships and to his style… he wore a sense of humour and found the fun in the darkest places. He wore his nostalgia for the 2000s and his love for 2017. He wore his music, heart and soul.”

While not every Soundcloud rapper is into Xanax, and not every kid who takes Xanax is into Soundcloud rap, there is a relationship between them that is manifesting itself visually – trickling down into street style and upwards to couture. Lil Uzi Vert is equally at home on Vogue as he is on Pitchfork. It made a strange sort of sense to see Lil Peep shape-shift between smoking on a beat up sofa wearing his own crew’s merch to sitting beside Carine Roitfeld in a gold-studded Balmain jacket, and a cursory glance at the ASOS website right now will reveal an endless parade of men with neck tattoos modelling checkerboard long sleeves. A part of this is generational – even Liam Payne, the most generic man alive, has his hands done – and a part of it is social media enabling anyone who looks or sounds cool to reach an audience. But the way Soundcloud rap looks is both accessible and representative of more than just labels – it’s the brand of an entire generation.

It’s not unlike what happened with grunge and heroin in the 90s. It was grunge’s shapeless androgyny that inspired Marc Jacobs’ 992 collection for Perry Ellis, which saw Naomi Campbell, Kristen McMenamy and Nadja Auermann layered in silk shirts mimicking flannel, chiffon dresses made to look like polyester, and beanies that cost $175. It tanked at the time. New York Magazine proclaimed “Grunge: 1992-1993, R.I.P.” and Jacobs lost his job. But today the collection is heralded as revolutionary, with Vogue contributing editor Lynn Yaeger crediting it as “an early example of taking fashion directly from the streets”. You can’t browse anywhere from Beyond Retro to UNIF without finding yourself knee-deep in oversized cardigans, flannel shirts, slips dresses and babydoll tees.

It wasn’t just grunge’s timeless anti-fashion that ended up on the racks though – its nihilism did, too. A year later, in 1993, Calvin Klein rolled out their first campaign with Kate Moss, magazines filled up with sloe-eyed models smoking in vests, and by the end of the decade the whole thing created such a moral panic that Bill Clinton had to go on the telly criticising the “heroin chic” for glamorizing drug use. Needless to say, grunge music didn’t “cause” this. The apathy and self-loathing that characterised 90s youth culture combined with the increased popularity of heroin (which had lost some of its stigma once people started snorting it in the wake of the AIDS crisis) informed not just the way the decade sounded, but the way it looked. Arguably, a similar thing is happening now with Gen Z and Xanax.

We like to arrange things neatly into patterns to lend the world some semblance of order. Perhaps the welcoming of Soundcloud rappers with open arms says more about transformations of attitude within the fashion industry more than anything else, but realistically the details are interchangeable. We’ve seen exactly the same relationship play out before between southern hip-hop and lean, which is still ongoing and has defined the careers of Lil Wayne, Future, A$AP Rocky and, before that, DJ Screw. Involving a younger generation of artists and a “newer” drug, Soundcloud rap culture is, in many ways, a “Lil” version of that.

Ultimately though if it wasn’t Soundcloud, it would be another platform. If it wasn’t rap, it would be another genre. And if it wasn’t Xanax, it would be some other drug. As it stands, though, Xanax is a significant part of of youth culture and increasingly youth culture is shaping the mainstream rather than the other way around. In the aftermath of Lil Peep’s death, the tide is starting to turn on Xanax among other Soundcloud rappers. But you can buy a Xanax ball chain necklace on etsy for £50.

@emmaggarland

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

Marvel’s Black Superheroes Speak to Our Double-Edged Political Moment

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It’s been twenty years since Blade, the 1998 Wesley Snipes film. We would not see a different black Marvel character with superhero abilities appear on film until War Machine, also known as James “Rhodey” Rhodes (Don Cheadle), appeared in Iron Man 2. In the cinematic Marvel universe black characters were initially sparse but now, with the likes of Storm, Luke Cage, Black Panther and Valkyrie, the politics of race and representation have seen them portray some of the franchise’s most groundbreaking and intimately personal heroes.

When Thor hit the screens in 2011 much of the praise was on the charming and endearing presence of one of the Chrises—a superhero with long blonde hair, icy blue eyes, imposing height and as a titular character, the one charged with protecting, defending and rescuing the kingdom of Asgard. But it is Heimdall (played by Idris Elba) who showed himself to be the most steadfast and heroic. In Norse mythology Heimdall was also a God, raised by nine mothers who are said to have been from the seas. He had the gift of knowledge and foresight; the one believed to “illuminate the world.”

Heimdall foresaw the mischief of Loki, saw the impending Ragnarok and was loyal to his country and not to the whims of whomever sat on the throne. In the words of Okoye, Heimdall did not simply serve his country, he saved it when even its Kings were unable.

Elba as a Norse god who can see into the future has an ability that ironically has been honed by real-life civil rights heroes, particularly the visionary James Baldwin. In 1962, Baldwin wrote, “Letters from a Region In My Mind,” where he talked about the experiences of his adolescent past, and how they were shaped [along with those of other American-born blacks] by the complicated dynamics of blackness, Christianity and white power. Baldwin knew God to be white then, and foresaw him to be white now, illuminating the facade of white Christian principles. “The principles were Blindness, Loneliness, and Terror, the first principle necessarily and actively cultivated in order to deny the two others,” he wrote. “I would love to believe that the principles were Faith, Hope, and Charity, but this is clearly not so for most Christians, or for what we call the Christian world.”

More than half a century later in the aftermath of two American Christian strongholds converging to elect Donald Trump, who received over 50 percent of the white Catholic vote and 81 percent of the white Evangelical vote, Baldwin’s foresight is damn near prophetic. Writing in 1962 from experiences he endured in 1938, Baldwin was able to foresee the links between white supremacy and the Christian church. He expressed the conundrum created for black souls searching for a higher lover and yet by all instances feeling that this love is white, guided by white principles, and meant to uphold only white lives. How else can you explain the rabid support of Trump by white Evangelicals and the surge of mourning for the recently passed Billy Graham who preached the word as a modern day salesman selling faith, penance, and the promised land as incentives for good behaviour, so long as your behaviour did not inconvenience an American dream built off of Indigenous and black genocide. If Heimdall is the seer guarding the Bifrost, so too was Baldwin guarding the American tenets of Life, Liberty, and The Pursuit of Happiness, which seem to carry less and less weight as the years go by.

I doubt Marvel thought this deeply when they cast a black man to play a God who could see in magnified clarity what others could not, and who always stood on guard even when it was Thor whom Asgardians saw as their true protector. But the social implications are irrefutable and seeing Heimdall frozen by Loki and then fighting to slowly free himself while still able to see the destruction taking place, is an uncomfortable and yet suffocating reality that many black people know well. To be powerless and unable to move or speak, yet still fully aware of the current and impending doom is something so conventional that we have adapted without even realizing it. Trump became president and as white liberals wrote tearful letters of woe, asked for no blame to be placed and did the general most, black people simply exhaled and then went to bed.

We have resigned ourselves to the failures of white liberals, incompetent governance and gun reform opposers who have proven time and time again Baldwin’s belief that, “a civilization is not destroyed by wicked people; it is not necessary that people be wicked but that they be spineless.”

In different political times in America’s fraught history with race, the roles of black people in graphic novels have largely been to assuage white guilt by reinforcing the notion that black people are not deserving of respect or life. In 1940 artist Will Eisner created Ebony White, a black sidekick to detective Denny White from the newspaper comic series The Spirit. The name is obviously meant to be punny with a joke I have never understood, but the character himself was clearly created as a minstrel caricature with his servility and loyalty reminiscent of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom and Margaret Mitchell’s Mammy. A year later Marvel released Young Allies #1 a “multi-racial group of patriotic kids” and amongst their ranks were Bucky Barnes, Knuckles, Tubby, Jeff, and Whitewash Jones. Jones was a black character and in early drawings he is drawn as another caricature; thick pink lips, exaggerated nose and eyes, and the one who delivers comedic relief with his doltish antics and love for watermelon.

Ebony White and Whitewash Jones made their debuts in what is considered to be the Golden Age of comic books, where creators like Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Eisner were basically using cartoon characters to create what was then a radical conversation on blackness in Jim Crow America. A conversation centered on the aftermath of the Second World War and black people returning “home” after being candidates for death, in defense of a country that still reduced their humanity to signs dictating where you could and could not go. Ebony White and Whitewash Jones are characters that unfortunately could fit into any cultural zeitgeist because black people as mere comedic sidekicks to white supremacy is a never-ending trope. I mean Sam Wilson a.k.a. Falcon is great and all but he is also the one known to deliver witty one-liners to offset Cap's consistently serious vibe. He is reliable and qualified with the right amount of heroism, while still making it known that bravery is sometimes overrated. He is also, fittingly enough, hilarious. The typical sidekick traits.

The abundance of white superheroes from the beginning of the comic book era to now, manufactured and upheld the perception that heroism and whiteness went hand in hand no matter the cultural, political and social conflict. The November 5, 1969 trial of Bobby Seale on charges of travelling from San Francisco to Chicago intending to plan a march and a sleep-in (guilty verdict meant five years in prison) resulted in Seale indicting what he called a “racist and fascist administration government with its superman notions and comic book politics.”

“We’re hip to the fact that Superman never saved no black people. You got that?” Seale said to the judge. Superheroes had become another extension of white supremacy, that even Black Panther's appearance in 1966 did not dull the legacy of imperial white saviour attached to comic book heroes. His suit courtesy of vibranium can not be damaged by bullets and that was a profound ability for a black comic book superhero to have during 60s America. At the same time, the actual Black Panthers had taken to patrolling black neighbourhoods while armed, specifically Oakland, California, as a means to deter police violence against black people.

As it stands black people are still disproportionately affected by gun violence as a result of state brutality and yet this is also the time of Luke Cage, a black superhero whose skin cannot be pierced by lead. To be a black man who can repel bullets is a painful paradox and the first time I watched a bullet propel from Luke Cage’s chest I almost threw up. A visceral reaction to a scene that was not badly acted, but just too damn close to home and the painful what-ifs that come about when you hear a story like that of Stephon Clarke who was shot and killed last week in Sacramento, California. Fifty years after both Democrats and Republicans enacted the Mulford Act in California as a response to Black Panther members carrying firearms, that remains the only compromise both parties have agreed on when it comes to gun control. Policemen fired 20 shots into Clarke, a 22-year-old black father of two, while he was standing in his grandmother's front yard. Apparently his cell phone was mistaken for a gun. Twitter user @terruuu wrote, “Black skin is not made of steel. You don't need 20 bullets. That's not "fear", that's rage. School shooters, church shooters, concert shooters, cinema shooters and fedex bombers are scary. Not a young father in his grandmother's backyard with a cell phone.” The racial implications of a black man being immune to bullets have been widely lauded but they are also one of the most painful distortions of reality onscreen and I have yet to decide if its heroic, painful or a combination of both to see such a depiction.

With Avengers: Infinity War premiering in April, it would be remiss to not point out the fact that we have yet to see a Marvel film where Storm is portrayed in a manner that "bravely" side steps colorism and gives credence to her African roots. The orixa Yemanja (West African goddess) is the protector of woman and one with water, the moon, ancient wisdom and healing, making Storm a culturally significant symbol for young black girls who grew up wearing blue and white to carry favour with Yemanja. Storm as seen through the eyes of Marvel and Hollywood has been distilled into a black character possessing of abilities but lacking the context that would have heightened her cultural relevance and representation for people who see her not as a fantastical mutant but an ancestral and very real legacy.

In 1962 Baldwin wrote, “The tendency has really been, insofar as this was possible, to dismiss white people as the slightly mad victims of their own brainwashing. One watched the lives they led. One could not be fooled about that; one watched the things they did and the excuses that they gave themselves, and if a white man was really in trouble, deep trouble, it was to the Negro’s door that he came.” In the wake of Roy Moore’s defeat in Alabama, black woman were applauded for not electing a pedophile while white men and women flocked with ease towards such disaster. As black men and women came out for Hillary Clinton whose ‘super heroic’ traits were shoved down our throats by white liberals, white men and women came out in droves for Donald Trump. And as Stormy Daniels made her 60 Minutes debut white men and women will undoubtedly remain loyal to their elected leader while black people once again foresee imminent disaster.

Black people are superheroes everyday in ways that make Heimdall, Storm, Black Panther, Luke Cage, Falcon, Rhodey, Blade and Valkyrie a necessary escape. Because where they can fight imperialism, injustice, anti-blackness and live to see another day, our real-life heroes have no such luck. And so when we watch them flex their powers and emerge victorious, sometimes it feels like the rest of us black humans can do it too.

Follow Tari on Twitter.

McDonald's Called the Cops After Giving a Guy the Wrong Order

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On March 22, at around 8.30 PM, a man named Santo La Rocca ordered two double cheeseburgers, two large chips, nuggets, and a couple of frozen cokes at the Bass Hill McDonald's drive-through in western Sydney. He then paid his money, took the food, and cheerfully drove home.

It was when he got home that he realised he’d received the wrong order.

“My daughter was a bit annoyed because she didn’t get her nuggets but I said just suck it up and we ate it,” Santo told Kate Bastians at the Daily Mail .

Santo claims to be a law-abiding kind of guy. He says he paid cash for the meal, which was worth around $17, and definitely had no idea that he’d just taken someone else’s Maccas.

“I couldn’t be bothered to take it back because how many times do they stuff up your order when you go through the drive through?”

But later that night, at about 10:30 PM, two police officers showed up at Santo’s house, wanting to know why’d he’d stolen someone else's food. “They accused me of stealing McDonald’s and I thought it was a joke,” he said. “The (McDonald’s staff) told police I just ordered two frozen Cokes but I ordered more than that.”

Police confirmed with the Daily Telegraph that they’d attended the house but “will not be taking any formal action.”

And sure, this all sounds fairly batshit crazy, but this story has yet another twist. Because when contacted for comment, a McDonald's spokesman claims that the real reason they called the cops was because Santos filmed their staff on his phone. As the spokesperson said, “Our employees felt intimidated by the person filming them without consent.”

For his part, Santos claims he’d filmed Maccas staff “for a bit of harmless fun” on Snapchat. He also alleges that the police were much more worried about the food switcheroo than the filming.

So, basically, this is one of those stories where everyone has gone totally off script—except for the NSW police, for whom hassling a guy about his Maccas order is pretty standard police work.

@MorgansJulian

This article originally appeared on VICE AU.

The Best Quotes from That Hilarious Joaquin Phoenix-Will Ferrell Interview

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Last month, Interview magazine decided against sending a seasoned interviewer to chat with its April cover star, Joaquin Phoenix, and sent someone who might have a little bit more in common with the actor: comedian Will Ferrell. Sure, both stars have been drawn to vastly different roles, but it turns out that they both hate social media, have played Jesus at one point, and are used to answering derivative interview questions, like "what drew you to this role?"

The entire interview, which dropped last week, is an absolute joy to read. Unlike the fanboy vibe of that Frank Ocean–Timothée Chalamet chat, Interview's Q&A captures two actors well into their careers who don't have a ton of interesting things to say about their lives. Yeah, Phoenix gets to plug a few of his upcoming projects, but the interview really hits on the 43-year-old's self-consciousness about fame, and how great of an interviewer Will Ferrell is.

You should really go read the whole thing for yourself, but we've collected the best exchanges from it here, without context and in no particular order, solely for your enjoyment.

1. "What Is Valentine's Day?"

JOAQUIN PHOENIX: Did you know that it’s Valentine’s Day?

WILL FERRELL: I did. I’m going to a group Valentine’s Day dinner with my wife and four other friends.

PHOENIX: That sounds awful. Can I ask you a question? What is Valentine’s Day?

FERRELL: It’s a holiday, where if you have a loved one, you express love and affection in some way. For kids, they make little cards and they give them to their friends, and then some people just ignore it altogether.

2. First dates

PHOENIX: I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be on a reality show, where you go on a first date, and that’s what this conversation feels like. I feel like I’m trying to do this first date and get to know you, and be natural, and just have a conversation, but I am also aware in the back of my mind that we’re being recorded. I feel like I want to get to know you, but also want to make sure that I look good, and I have my hair right. Did I wear the right jacket? I should’ve worn denim. Is denim cool? I don’t know how to present who I am, and now I feel bad about that.

3. "Horse work"

FERRELL: The few times I’ve done horse work, they’re always like, “Joaquin, you’ll be on Thunderbolt. Will, we’re going to give you Cinnamon here. Cinnamon’s a good old gal. She won’t give you much trouble.”

4. Phoenix on Ferrell's interview style.

PHOENIX: Are you reading off prepared questions and trying to pretend that they’re just popping into your head?

5. Ferrell on Phoenix's personal life.

FERRELL: In your personal life, are you sometimes a little bitch?

PHOENIX: Be more specific.

6. Bananas are somehow like having kids.

PHOENIX: Having bananas around the house is like having kids. I don’t have kids but I have nephews, and I grew up in a big family with a lot of kids, and I have to say that the smell of rotting bananas seemed to permeate the household throughout my entire childhood. [Ferrell laughs] And I feel like, if you wanted to know what it’s like to have kids, you could get a banana and throw it on your bed for a few weeks, then you’d kind of know what you’re going to be dealing with. Because bananas are basically—that’s what toddlers eat, right?

7. Phoenix's work with M. Night Shyamalan.

FERRELL: When you worked with M. Night Shyamalan, did you ever just once call him M. Night Shyamalamadingdong?

PHOENIX: No.

8. Hashtags

FERRELL: Part of me wants to lead a crusade on social media to get rid of social media. #ShutItDown.

PHOENIX: #DefeatItsOwnPurpose.

9. The Superbowl

FERRELL: [laughs] Well, next year I’ll invite you over to watch the Super Bowl.

PHOENIX: You don’t have to.

FERRELL: You don’t even have to watch it.

10. Dogs

PHOENIX: I have a dog, and my girlfriend has a dog.

FERRELL: So there are two. Do they get along?

PHOENIX: They do, and I was actually quite concerned about it because my dog is amazing with people, but sometimes doesn’t do well with other dogs. It was a long process to get them—

FERRELL: To co-exist.

PHOENIX: But now they’re best friends. We were all curled up last night, and it was super sweet.

There you have it. Just two actors talking about the hard-hitting issues. And honestly if Will Ferrell keeps his interviewing up, we all might be out of a job.

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Follow Lauren Messman on Twitter.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.

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