Slingshotis an independent radical newspaper published in Berkeley since 1988.
Is this what fascism feels like? To most of us in the US, fascism has always been confined to the realms of hyperbole and history. But hyperbole seems stale and history seems just around the corner. There is no living memory of our institutions being so drastically reworked to concentrate power through fear, but here, now, this is happening.
Life is never going to get back to normal. When systems collapse, it’s scary. We’ve had to rely on this rotting system our whole lives, but mostly it limits us. Fuck / consume / conform / comply. The artificial scarcity, hierarchies and brutality of industrialism, colonialism, patriarchy and capitalism are so exhausting that it’s hard to imagine a world organized around enriching our lives — not just one about money and stuff. But it’s time for it to go. Then we can reconstruct a new world out of the ashes that’s better than the one we’ve known.
We’ve never waited for the state to save us, and it won’t now. For years we’ve built decentralized networks of support and resistance in the cracks and gutters between state and capitalism. With those cracks growing, shifting, yawning open, there is a lot more building to be done in the days ahead if we are to reduce the harm to our neighbors, loved ones, and friends. The amount of work ahead can look overwhelming, but when work is play, well… Just look how much new room we have to play in!
It is humbling to be part of the diverse communities not only surviving but thriving — organizing, creating, loving, making meaning. Living fully with empathy, compassion, rage and defiance.
Slingshot tries not to focus too much on specific events, because by the time you get the paper, it’s been weeks since we wrote it. We don’t know all the details but our response is clear: Care. Let’s care for each other, care for ourselves, and do it together. Let’s get shit done.
Slingshot is our love letter to the future, to a world that’s hurting. We love you and we believe in you. Let these dark days eventually be strange memories of the past. This is no time to wallow in despair or turn off and check out. Doing so will just make whatever’s going wrong even worse later.
Those of us who make Slingshot are not immune from feeling down as we witness authoritarianism on the march. But a funny thing happened when we started working on this issue. Our mood lifted to be amongst comrades trying to do something rather than just feeling helpless. Who knows what will break the tyrants’ backs? As humans, we can’t control the world. But we can decide what we’re going to do with our lives. And our choices determine how we feel. If you’re feeling afraid, plugging into your local revolt may be the best way to regain your sense of optimism, agency, calm and even joy.
We don’t know if this Slingshot issue will help you but it sure helped us chase the autocracy blues away.
These articles are written, edited, and published by a very loose collaborative of people, with open meetings and little structure. No two slingshots are published by the same group. Many of us disagree with aspects of articles we publish.
Slingshot is always looking for volunteer distributors. If you can hand out papers to your friends or put a few copies into your local cafe, library, truck stop, laundromat, school or whatever, we can send you copies for free. We’re trying to reach people who’ve never stumbled across the underground press before rather than just singing to the choir. We’re also always seeking new writers, artists and editors. Even if you aren’t an essayist, illustrator or whistleblower, you may know someone who is. If you send an article, please be open to its editing.
Thanks to the people who made this: Antonio, Bevicka-Esther, eggplant, Elke, Emily, Gina, Harlin/Hayley, Hazel, Henry, Jack, Jake, Jesse, Korvin, Lola, Matteo, muscle palace, Robin, Sanguine, Sean, Shuchi, Sirkka, Stuart, Sylvia & all the authors and artists!
Slingshot Article Submission Info
We’re not going to set a deadline for the next issue. We encourage you to submit articles for the next Slingshot anytime you want. We’ll make another issue when we feel like we’re ready. Please check the Slingshot website, IndyBay, instagram and facebook for deadline info. We also have an internal email list that will announce the next deadline so please contact us if you want to be added to the list.
Volume 1, Number 142, Circulation 33,000
Printed February 28, 2025
Slingshot Newspaper
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The morning was gray and rain-soaked, one of those shivery January days meant for staying in bed. But for the thirty of us crammed into a small tenth-floor room of the Gaylord Hotel in D.C., the atmosphere was almost unbearably warm and stuffy, yet electric with anticipation. We talked in hushed voices to avoid being overheard by anyone outside. I caught up with friends from previous Climate Defiance demonstrations, introducing them to my mom, who was joining us for the first time. Organizers stepped in and out, negotiating a web of encrypted group-chats, rushing to maneuver all the pieces into place. We were the main Yellow team, on standby; outside the hotel, the Green team was setting up their picket signs for the rally; and in another room, overlooking the vast atrium, a third group was preparing the banner drop.
Evan, a Climate Defiance organizer and the action lead, gave a quick speech before we deployed, reminding us why we were here. “We’re making sure they can’t get away with it,” he said. We whispered a few practice chants and songs together, then all filed out into the corridor, packing into the elevator like a clown car. Once everyone was in place down in the lobby, we linked arms and began shouting “OFF FOSSIL FUELS, DEMS” at the top of our lungs, marching between the tables and garden installations, getting shoved back by security guards. A massive fifty-foot banner unfurled from a seventh-floor balcony, looking out over the restaurants and milling guests. In trademark Climate Defiance blue, black, and white, it declared: OIL $$$ OUT OF THE DNC.
That weekend, the Gaylord Hotel had the honor of hosting the Party Chair election of the Democratic National Committee. Hundreds of delegates from across the country were getting ready to cast their votes — and we were not going to let them ignore us. The night before, activists with Climate Defiance and the Sunrise Movement had repeatedly interrupted a televised debate, successfully getting all the chair candidates to commit to taking no fossil fuel donations. We were showing up again to drive home the message, demanding a clean break between Democratic leadership and the fossil fuel companies that collectively pour billions of dollars into our elections, directly influencing races and undermining policy.
For decades, people in power have told activists to be patient and polite, to work within the system, to play by the rules. But now, as global warming records are shattered every year and unprecedented natural disasters destroy communities around the world, groups like Climate Defiance are becoming more widespread and prominent. Founded in 2023 by young organizers deeply frustrated by consistent governmental inaction and corruption, they argue that patience doesn’t cut it when your city is on fire or washed away by mudslides. Politeness starts to seem like willful ignorance. Climate Defiance’s strategy, on the other hand, is all about direct non-violent confrontation. They get on stage and shut down oil or gas events, interrupt galas honoring billionaire executives, and challenge politicians bought out by fossil fuel money. “Name & Shame” organizing is flashy, funny, loud, and unapologetically disruptive. It’s successful, too, landing Climate Defiance a huge media presence, one-on-one meetings with senior officials, and often high-profile resignations or major concessions — as at the DNC.
But for me, it’s about more than all that. Nonviolent direct action, or NVDA, is how I remain hopeful for the country and the world. It’s what keeps me grounded and determined. I grew up in central Maryland, on a small family farm. When I think of home, I think of the land: our fields and forest, our sheep grazing on the hillside. That connection to nature first became political for me when I was fourteen. In the winter of 2020, I helped one of my best friends start a local county hub of the Sunrise Movement, a national youth-led climate nonprofit. We had no idea what we were doing — it was almost all trial and error. But those first experiences of organizing were a revelation for me. I fell in love with the tenacious engagement that activism demands.
It’s not an easy time to be an optimist. My generation has never known a time before weekly mass shootings, before mainstream political violence and disinformation, before ever-more-cataclysmic climate disasters. Our political system makes it hard for anyone — especially students — to feel heard. The easiest thing by far is to disengage, to look away. But direct action offers a radical alternative to that apathy. It insists that our individual actions matter, not in an abstract sense, but in tangible and immediate terms. Instead of unplugging, we demand to be heard. Instead of sinking into despair or giving up, we shine brighter.
My work with Sunrise in high school led me to more direct demonstrations, where I learned about Climate Defiance and found an intergenerational community of passionate and experienced organizers. When I was sixteen, I joined a blockade of former-Senator Joe Manchin’s coal plant in West Virginia. Last December, as a college freshman, I was arrested for the first time, along with twelve others from Climate Defiance, demanding the Department of Energy cancel six pending natural gas permits.
And in January, I was at the DNC election with my organizer friends and my mother, all of us getting pushed around and screamed at by security guards until they finally forced us out into the frigid rain. It was an exhausting, exhilarating day. Once again, the action yielded results. When Minnesota Democratic leader Ken Martin gave his acceptance speech as National Party Chair the next day, he pivoted to echo Climate Defiance’s message: “Are we on the side of the ultra-wealthy billionaire, the oil and gas polluter? Or are we on the side of the American working family, the immigrant, the students?” Of course, those words are cheap; activists will have to keep up the pressure and hold the DNC accountable to its promises. But it’s striking how much influence even a few people can exert, if we’re willing to break the rules and make ourselves heard.
Climate Defiance, the Sunrise Movement, and other disruptive groups have a critical role in this moment of division and chaos. By challenging the status quo and operating outside the political mainstream, they can appeal to people across the partisan spectrum, especially those dissatisfied with traditional politics. As natural disasters become more frequent and severe, the potential for a diverse, class-driven climate movement becomes more and more real. But to achieve that social, economic, and environmental justice requires far more than email petitions or permitted marches. It takes sustained and strategic nonviolent action. It takes all of us.
Find your people. Make some noise. Don’t let anyone take your hope away, as painful and difficult as it will be. In the end, I think that’s all any of us can do. When I get tired now, I remember that rainy morning in the Gaylord Hotel, chanting and singing, demanding change. That burning fire of defiance. We’re still here, radiant — and we aren’t going anywhere.
By Andee Amplified – Somewhere between Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas
Yet again, Texas politics are being played out on a national scale. I have lived through this before and will do it again. By living I do not just mean existing. I found my power and my voice, and I made it my life mission to thrive and not just survive.
The goal of their game is to overwhelm and minimize our existence. I have long ago opted out of this game altogether. My survival strategy? Joy and authenticity. These two simple but key actions are crucial in your survival and thrival. (Did I just create a new word? I think so.) I found in the face of adversity, nothing pisses off oppressors more than feeling and enjoying yourself right now as you are. I can’t explain nor do I understand it, but I do not have to. It requires me to apply compassion and logical thinking to people who lack those skills. I do not have the mental or emotional bandwidth to do so. I digress. In the context we are speaking of my joy and authenticity, I feel it is important to note what my existence looks like in general. I am a Neurodiverse, Brown, Queer, Femme centered, Gender Non-conforming gift from the universe. Their attempts to politicize almost every aspect of my existence have been returned to them sealed within a flaming glass bottle.
Navigating my world has become a dance. As I thrive prioritizing my joy and authenticity within my Nonbinary Queer Femme Brown body, I have to move with intention and awareness. At the forefront, I prioritize my safety, rest, peace, and joy. I trust my gut and instinct above all because if you cannot trust yourself, who then can you trust? Identifying and setting your intentions for thriving and existing is key in all this. Acting and moving within these intentions ensures I am doing my part to stay here for the long run. So what does living my authentic joyful self look like? Here are just a few examples.
1.) Wear the fucking dress. Do not wait for an excuse or occasion. I woke up, that’s the occasion. I do not exist for the pleasure or approval of others. I wear what brings me joy.
2.) Do the damn thing. This year I am committed to start podcasting. In the past, I have created and distributed my art (paintings, drawings, doodles, and whatnot). I also made a resource guide to community resources. The last one was rather simple and very healing as it connected me and my communities to vital resources available during these times of dumpster fire realness.
3.) Authenticity is my guide. If I cannot show up fully and unapologetically, I have no business being there. This ranges from physical spaces to relationships. I do not have the mental or emotional capacity to water down myself for your comfort.
4.) Find or create community. In overwhelming, shaming, and minimizing our existence, oppressors work to break us down in our lives and communities. It is important to find your people. Shit, when I committed to be true to myself, I didn’t need to find community as they found me.
5.) Rest and prioritize peace. You receive no prize or trophy for burning yourself out. It is counterproductive to wear myself down, as it makes the oppressor’s job easier. There are days when I do not leave the bed or apartment. I do not answer the phone or messages. I will chaotically meme share.
6.) Stay informed and aware of reality. While joy and authenticity is an act of resistance, it is not an excuse for me to disconnect from reality. I operate within my ability, my means, and my capacity to give a shit. I stay informed but not overwhelmed and select key issues to focus on. I cannot do everything nor care for everything, however I cannot do nothing.
7.) Create space for all emotional states of being. Every aspect of my emotions deserves space, not just joy (though the emphasis is heavy on joy). I make sure I let sadness, happiness, fear, anger, disgust, and surprise have the attention they deserve. However, they chose to manifest and express.
These are only a few suggestions and parameters I operate within. For me, it is about mobilization but being fully aware of my energy budget. Boundaries are important and a necessity. Please note that these are just some insights into how I chose to live and operate. One size does not fit all nor do I claim my way is the right way to be joyfully and authentically you. What matters is that you show up. So to everyone who made it this far in my ramblings, I love you and you got this. We are now a community and I welcome you. All of you. Fully, unapologetically, authentically you.
At times like these as mainstream institutions fall in line like dominos and people stare into screens feeling overwhelmed, bleak and powerless, the underground and a broad-based popular uprising is the last guardrail left — this is our moment!
Authoritarians can seize control of governments, corporations, universities, the non-profit industrial complex and mainstream media, but they can’t control the leaderless rabble. Autocratic power isn’t infinite — their power depends on convincing everyone it is. Bullies pretend to be strong and tough, but ultimately they’re weak and scared. As the screws tighten, we’re all faced with a choice: stay silent to try to avoid retribution, or rise up before it gets even worse and we have nothing left to lose.
Retreating into isolation, depression and fear — tuning out the news, withdrawing into personal life, indulging cynicism and denial — only makes you feel worse, more afraid, more immobilized. A spiritual and psychological race to the bottom.
Despots take the power people give them. Each act of anticipatory obedience further decreases liberty and consolidates their control. Only solidarity and collective defiance can stop tyranny.
To build solidarity, we need to start with the basics — building and strengthening day-to-day interpersonal relationships with those around us based on trust, cooperation and sharing. We’re out of practice spending time face-to-face, which is crucial to authentic connections. Fuck smartphone communication and connection. We need to throw more parties, drop by after work, hang out, invite folks to dinner, strike up conversations with strangers, go out more often. From personal relationships comes complex overlapping webs of community — leaderless, grassroots and vast.
And yet community isn’t enough. Even with community it’s easy to flounder about — submerged under a flood of simultaneous atrocities and distractions.
To converge, we need to start being for something rather than just being against whatever our oppressors try. Solely being a resistance allows our enemies to ambush us at our weak points rather than allowing us to attack on our own terms. Defending the status quo and its institutions is a demoralizing dead end when our lives have grown worse and worse under the existing order. We demand something new and better.
To articulate a positive vision, we need to emphasize values and a way of being that is heartfelt and simple. A 15 point program of single issues and demands won’t bring us together.
What we’re for isn’t misery or blaming shit on vulnerable people or dividing the world up between who is really human, who is really American, who matters and who doesn’t matter. It isn’t about having power, wealth, speed, efficiency, spaceships, computers, mansions, shopping malls, the finest clothes or any of that shit.
Uniting around fairness, tolerance, pleasure and delight can counteract oligarchy. Not because life is always lovely but because it isn’t, but it should be. We need a reclaimed people’s populism that blames billionaires, landlords and bosses for our problems.
These values are normal and reasonable — trying to make yourself a king who celebrates cruelty is creepy and bizarre. How about we ridicule, pity and laugh at these fools, not fear them? Let’s figure out outlandish ways to do so in public with high visibility, with our friends and neighbors, at work — all the time so everyone can see — spreading contempt that can help reverse dread and panic. These bozos don’t have a coherent world view except that they should have all the power. And by the way, nature bats last — climate change doesn’t care who believes in it.
We need to try new things, communicate what we learn to others and pay attention to what others try that is working. We are a network like an ecosystem. In an ecosystem different creatures fill different roles, but they complement each other and they relate to each other so the sum is greater than the parts. Rather than infighting and thinking we have a monopoly on the best strategy, let’s be humble, tolerant and loving of other rebels who are trying different things. None of us has to do it all ourselves. It’s not all about going to fucking boring meetings, but it’s not all about going to fun parties either. We need both. (Okay, the meetings shouldn’t be so stifling. We should serve yummy food and make them social events.)
There’s no way to build a free world without taking personal risks because we can’t unite broadly with others only in a secret, security-culture-based fashion. Looking at the terrible trends that feel ascendant, radicals have to look in the mirror about the ways we’ve grown so timid — not to make ourselves feel bad but to figure out how to do better. Thirty years ago, we demanded total system change and revolution — sure, doing so may have been unrealistic. But more recently, talented communities shoot too low — mostly pouring energy into local reformist feel-good projects. Let’s demand the world we want and need — fundamentally reorganized without artificial scarcity and arbitrary hierarchy — where everyone is free to develop their full potential as they see fit and where we understand ourselves as part of nature.
Mutual aid means collaborative sharing of resources and services — not charity efforts directed at the poor that end up emphasizing class divisions and dynamics. I love the idea that we begin to disconnect from the collapsing economic system by sharing what we have while simultaneously meeting more of our own needs accepting what others are sharing — from each according to ability, to each according to their needs.
We can best push back when we create a world worth living in — that heals toxic masculinity and all its rotten offshoots. In all this, I want to build up my tenderness, my emotional vulnerability and my ability to stay present, not wallow in fear. The repressed, hard, unfeeling version of masculinity has got to go. Otherwise, we’re just going to replace one form of dystopia with another.
Even feeling grief can be good because it means we’re feeling. But I’m not interested in a world full of grief. What I want is wonder and awe. And love. You can call me a Berkeley hippie but it really does all come back to love, which is the glue that can hold us together and which corporations and computers can never steal, commercialize or even understand.
Courts, Congress and other institutions will not save us. We have to stop waiting and hoping and take matters into our own hands. Uprisings and general strikes come out of the blue with no warning like earthquakes. History is full of rebellions that defeated seemingly all-powerful tyrants. They weren’t organized by leaders or groups but arose spontaneously from the collective consciousness.
Millions of people are struggling with tough emotions and choices — “do I keep my head down to protect my career and my family?” If you want to protect the people, places and ways of life you love, you need to gather the courage to fight. If we stay silent hoping to avoid danger, it’s just going to make the next terrible thing worse and more likely.
Let’s act together with ferocious love for ourselves, those around us and the earth.
Esteemed reader: you’re in so deep now! Perhaps you’re a diehard zine fanatic. Perhaps you’re even a publisher yourself. But perhaps you just picked up this copy of Slingshot because it was free at that one rad bookstore or coffee shop or food coop near you, and you’re still not sure what exactly this big scribbly beauty even is! Regardless, we adore your attention. But also we challenge you: go farther! Read another beautiful / scribbly / lefty / independent publication before the next slingshot finds its way to your hands. Smash the institutions of your own habits! Read new things so you can think new things! Explore! Explore! Explore! And if your explorations lead you (yes, you!) to scribble, paste, and copy a zine of your own, send it our way for review! We’ve documented some of our recent encounters below, as a place for you to start.
Fluke 21: The Colossus Compendium $5+postage
PO box 1547 Phoenix, AZ. 85001
Three interview pieces on underground artist Buzz Burr to commemorate his passing. People who dig train culture, installation art and weirdos from rural areas will find nourishment. Some of the info works better for those already in the know. The pages drip with emotion and love….maybe wear a bib while consuming?? (egg)
Ouch! Vol. 3
By Ouch! Collective ouchcollective.com Emerging in a tumultuous time to be queer, Ouch! Vol. 3 weaves together the voices of queer, trans, and nonbinary poets and writers from around the world, alongside surreal and sometimes erotic imagery, engaging with themes of grief, joy, and transformation, asking “what it means to move forward in life when it feels like everything is collapsing.” And perhaps more importantly, “What kind of world could we live in without joy and creativity?” The printing is gorgeous, full color and glossy, guiding the reader to new landscapes, offering a written and visual aesthetic that captures the terrifying uncertainty of staying alive in a world that says it doesn’t want you. And yet, here we are. In the words of BEE LB (they/them) whose work appears on p. 4, “the sun melts like butter across the golden haze of field / and my boots kick up dust, dirt // take me far from home.” (H-Cat)
The Wax Paper – Vol 4, No. 14 12 (14×2) Folded pages – $7 thewaxpaper.com
These pages are 14″ x 22″ folded, so it’s a true broadsheet format. (For reference, Slingshot is 11″ x 18″ folded.) I rarely discuss the packaging at this level but Wax Paper is so large it actually changes the way you have to read it. I had to fold it into quadrants, something I haven’t done since I read the Village Voice on the A-train in New York. That was way back before they went all digital in 2017. It returned to print in 2021 as a quarterly, but today I think I’d rather read Wax Paper. The experience of reading in quadrants is that of folding, unfolding, rotating, flipping, and refolding — one handed if you’re strap-hanging. Imagine that while trying to follow the narrative of a story whose bits and pieces are hidden in different sections of the newspaper. But it was very immersive: Continued next page. But Wax Paper is no ordinary newspaper. Despite their homage to Studs Terkel, the content is primarily what I’d call “high lit”, but well varied. The art was alternately colorful, strange and grotesque. I liked that too. I never know what to say about poetry but I did chase Jordan Jame’s prose across 6 separate pages. Someone shot Kris Kristofferson and I needed to know how that story ended. No spoilers. (Jose)
I briefly met Ms. Sackett at a zinefest and I was immediately taken by the art in this one. Each page contains one or more small individual paintings on prepared corrugated cardboard. The edges are rough, and each one has a partially visible gesso layer below a thin base layer of pink and peach paint that looks like it was put on with a dented roller. The irregularities in color and material provide a continuity of style and presence you rarely see in hand drawn, fully analog comics. Her drawing style reminds me of James Kochalka. So thanks for the opportunity to name check him. We haven’t talked in years.
The plot chronicles her 90 day trial of an unnamed SSRI. It’s not a clinical trial, so it’s not about dosage and blood levels. There are no tales of dizziness, blurred vision and constipation. There were no horrific side effects, at least not that she shared. It’s just the context for 90 days of her life: cats, cookies, Metro cards, weather, positive affirmations and various social interactions. I’ve known a lot of people who have tried SSRIs. It’s not for everyone but it seems to have done Maddie some good. I wish her well. (Jose)
Most of this issue is built around an interview with Danny Noonan’s friend Nicole and an array of “ugly” vegetable pictures. What makes a vegetable ugly and why do we as Americans have such idealized versions of vegetables? It’s a rhetorical question. The evils of marketing are pervasive and wholly responsible. Or are they? Do we have some preference for the symmetry and the golden ratio built into our idea of beauty? Noonan explores the topic both in word and deed. This issue has more pictures than usual — all vegetable portraiture of course. They’re bulbus, asymmetrical, splotchy, russeted, cracked, wrinkled and occasionally anthropomorphic.
Some years ago I worked at a farmers market. The ugly vegetables were hard to sell. People wanted to touch them, look at them and even take pictures of them but nobody bought them. They just handled them until they were dented and bruised. So I took them home: the potato with ears, the wrinkly tomato, and those leggy carrots. If you were wondering, they do all taste the same as their more regular counterparts. Like us, on the inside they are more alike than not. (Jose)
I do appreciate a silly zine once in a while. Life can’t all be introspection and coping mechanisms. Rebecca just likes Soda. I met her briefly at a zine fair and her first question was “What’s your favorite soda?” All I could tell her was that I haven’t drank any soda in over a decade. Most of it is cloyingly sweet and tastes entirely unlike food — even less so than candy. If you read the bottle you find a list of ingredients which always starts with water and usually ends with phosphoric acid. Everything in between reads more like a solvent than a beverage. How the hell did we get acclimated to drinking this?
I drink tea, black tea with nothing — no sugar, no honey, no milk. I prefer the darkest, most cloudy and bitter tea I can find: Irish breakfast, Assam, Yorkshire etc. It’s the means to my highly caffeinated ends. But Rebecca finds joy in her fizzy sugar water. Neither of us is an aesthete. But she and her zine remain bubbly and delightful. (Jose)
Have you ever looked deep into the abyss and seen the very eye of true madness? This zine goes way beyond the freakiness of the old Zap Comix. Everything is intensely psychedelic and dense with imagery. Cody Rapp a.k.a. Jared Cody Wolf isn’t limited to a particular media. He mixes drawings with collage, and colored pencil with pen and ink or acrylic all in screaming technicolor.
It’s stylish; simultaneously H.R. Giger and S. Clay Wilson but just as weird as Victor Moscoso, and Rick Griffin. I studied each page carefully. It’s difficult to catch every image, and every broken line of text; in multiple languages no less. Slowly it dawned on me. There are dicks everywhere. Not in a pornographic way (not all the time anyway) more of a Daniel Johnson way. But what I realized I was seeing (other than dicks) were homages to other art, artists and music.
The only thing lacking here is a narrative voice. Where Moscoso managed to tell stories Cody manages very little continuity from page to page other than dicks, guns, spacemen and random references to Mithra. TLDR: It’s really trippy man! jamhotradiofm.com/why-i-create-jared-cody-wolf
Before you google “healing modality” let me tell you that curanderismo is a Latin American shamanistic healing tradition. (Calm yourself, this isn’t about ethnobotany.) This zine dives right into the violent crimes of Hernando Cortés in his conquest and colonization of Mexico. It explains very directly the function of spiritual activism and its goals of collective liberation. I think it’s the first zine I’ve ever read that includes a religious invocation on the topic of radicalism. These are deep waters.
After defining terms it dives right into the tale of a lone curandera living on Suavie Island. But that was just a paragraph, a teaser. The next page is entirely devoted to rites and rituals. Maybe that’s unfair of me to want more anthropology, but I really wanted to hear more about individual curanderas. I didn’t get that, but I did get a good reading list should I want to pursue further learning, and I think I do. (Jose)
A flyer came in the mail, a man in a tiger mask surrounded by a mesmerizing swirl. At the bottom was a QR code that read “scan me.” It looked more like a warning than an invitation, but nonetheless here I am with a zine that defies categorization.
It opens with a short biography of rockabilly hero Pat Capocci. Pat could time travel back to 1955 and play the same Fender Telecaster and blend right in. But this isn’t a rockabilly zine. On the whole, it sweats pure randomness. There are doodles, scratch and sniff pics that I’m afraid to sniff, and an interview with a random hat embroiderer.
Then it got weirder. Someone’s cat writes a column. An Orangutan threatens us in Español. Two rogue accordionists wrestle. I think I saw a Chupacabras. Then there is that brief news break: “Scientists Discover Gaping Hole in Uranus.” On the whole, it reads like it was written on a dare. (Jose)
I got an email from Food Fortunata, and then two issues of Ear Of Corn came in the mail. Food Fortunata is the godfather of tardcore; a genre with a mixed reputation even in the punk community. But he’s in Encyclopedia Metallum and I’m not. So I have to envy Dave Schall in all his strange and subversive glory. The most remarkable thing about Ear of Corn is that since its inception in 1989 it’s largely kept the same formula. That’s over thirty five years, fifty seven issues, and tens of thousands of words and it’s never drifted off course. That’s despite the fact that Ear of Corn is not even Food’s solo project. This time around credited contributors are Duncan, Tex, and Francois; be they real or be they imagined. Just as others did twenty years ago, they wrote poetry, prose, reviews and interviews.
Just like in issue #1 there is still punk poetry here, but now it’s about PFAS. There are fewer interviews but there are also fewer G.G. Allin’s in the world. There’s a smattering of zine and book reviews but the meat and potatoes in these two issues are album reviews. These are also very short; almost like haiku. They include everything from Devo box sets to obscure punk bands beneath the radar (and possibly contempt) of Razorcake. As an underground icon, Food has access to things you can’t imagine, and probably shouldn’t. But Ear of Corn remains both highly influential and highly readable, which keeps me coming back. (Jose)
There’s something to be said in this era of disposable digital journalism for longform media. When you read a record review today it usually can fit on a matchbook. When you watch a video it’s 30 seconds long. Copy This Cassette! bucks the trend and goes long. After two pages of introduction the opening article is a 12 page interview with Joshua James Anderson from AntiquatedFuture. That’s followed by 6 pages of interview Q&A with Marc Masters, the author of the book High Bias. D. Blake Werts is no novice. He formerly ran the zine Copy This! which goes back to 2014 and was heavy on the interviews. That solid journalistic foundation makes this zine …is to cassette culture what Creem magazine was to rock n’ roll. It makes sense. LPs were only up to about 50 minutes long. The humble cassette was up to 120. Good mixtapes make for long attention spans.
Speaking of long, the other half of the 56 pages was entirely filled with cassette reviews. It opened with the comment that “you won’t find much punk/scream/metal here.” Sure enough, the most distorted guitar in the lyrics was from The Silver Doors. Sure, D. Blake Wertshas is a little bit of a grumpy old man when it comes to young fellas screaming their guts out into an SM58. But he comes by it naturally, and as he says “Razorcake already does a superb job… ” (Jose)
Murder and Mayhem looks like the kind of zine you used to find on the sidewalk after a big punk show. We’ve all found one. It had sneaker prints on the cover and was all crumpled, gritty and smelled funky. I don’t think Trey Ballz minds that. I sort of imagine him to be a little crumpled and gritty.
Trey is basically incoherent but he has good taste in music. He reviews records and then desecrates a grave. He rants and raves. He commits slander, and then visits a nice museum. The ads are for boutique punk labels and clown porn. I don’t even know what to say about clown porn. I’ve never typed those two words in that order before. Clown. Porn. This zine has more racial slurs than I am comfortable with. I imagine Trey is hard to be friends with but I’m glad he exists. (Jose)
This is not a zine, not technically. These are liner notes to the album Counter Arguments, Volume 1, by the artist The (Un)civil Society. Hey but that’s OK though. Plenty of cool bands have put out overgrown liner notes as zines with their albums; Firewater and Mike ill come immediately to mind. (Also the image of a man smoking in a gorilla mask I can’t quite place.)
When hacks like myself write record reviews we infer an artist’s influences. It is certainly true that it’s our opinion, but that’s not an objective truth. Moreover, we are not always in agreement with the artist. But that’s not an objective truth either! Curse you John Locke! All of that is to say, sorry dude, I just don’t hear Raymond Scott, strangely I hear Todd Rundgren. But I’m glad you’re having a good time. That’s what it’s really all about. (Jose)
I briefly debated: is Taco Rat supposed to be one word or two? On the inside cover are two ads: one for Arty with Tapes of Hell, a horror VHS thing and another for The Weird People Show, on WSCA-LP up in Portsmouth, NH. I think that sets the stage more or less. The Whiskey Joe album “Live on the Radio” was recorded on that very program. I should mention there’s a bit of a poop motif here. The main feature is a biography of a man named Barry that painted on toilet seats. The cover reads “In Crapper We Trust.” The back cover is a collage of toilets and a plunger. It’s not full bore coprophilia, but definitely a theme of sorts.
Food Fortunata wrote some of the record reviews which is how this came my way. That’s certainly a seal of approval. I thought this zine was run by Mike Scholarry, but this one is credited to “Patterson.” Perhaps the Scholarry Brothers are too busy running a record label, making music and broadcasting unhinged, gritty country music into the ether. (Jose)
The senseless death of August Golden made it all the way to Rolling Stone magazine. But the write up that the Restless Legs Inquirer gives here is the only coverage you need to read. August was one of the many residents of Nudieland, a DIY venue/squat in Minneapolis, MN. As in the last issue, the images are a series of masterful candids. They capture something rare and fleeting; not punk rock, but the visage of youth itself. None of the photos are labeled, but August is pictured at least three times, four if you count the pile of cut flowers at the end.
This issue starts with a tale about August, and Hippie Greg the landlord. Then Emily died, and Paul died. But they all loved that hopeless city to death. The danger of an open door is that anything can come through it. Its greatest strength is also its greatest vulnerability. I prefer to think they make that choice knowingly. To some degree every home is a safe little bubble separate from the mad world outside. Some beast reached in and took one of the kids, and like a true monstrosity it was random and horrible and there are no goddamn answers.
I’ve never understood why when punks get together they always seem to write pop music. It’s not what’s in my heart, not even now, after all these years. I think the answer is that it’s what’s in their hearts. They’re happy, or at least they are trying to be. (Jose)
Let’s start by pointing out that oakjournal.org and oakjournal.com are very different websites. After that admittedly bad start I conducted my usual research. I quickly found that I recognized a few authors’ names: Sascha Engel, James Morgan, Clare Follmann, and John Zerzan of course.
Oak is a serious glossy magazine mostly focused on anarchist and anti-civ theory. But it’s not purely academic like similar publications. Oak seems to make more room for application over theory. It’s a more interesting area for me personally. Arguing endlessly about Kropotkin’s zeitgeist makes me weary. It’s a pursuit for the young.
The strongest article here was about the Forest Defenders in Atlanta. It opens with a quote from Tortugita “We’re not going to beat them at violence. They’re very, very good at violence. We’re not.” Then to prove him right, the Atlanta PD shot him to death while he had his hands up. Those details are from the article written under the pseudonym, Dandelion. What strikes me most is how much of that article, like some of the others, might legitimately be called journalism. It makes the overall theme much more accessible than dry explorations of thought. Perhaps this is the path forward for sharing these kinds of ideas? People still read right? (Jose)
This zine came in with a bundle of older zines by the enigmatic Lee P. at Sheer Spite. There is nothing more enigmatic than a well-adjusted human being. The oldest of the batch is a reprint of Pals, the Radical Possibilities of Friendship. That came out in 2013, and went through a major revision in 2015. I read them all for context. Buried in the middle is the best writing prompt I’ve seen in years “Thanks for holding my hand when we saw the UFO. I’m sorry about everything that happened after that.” We have a new kitten and this is the only zine in the stack he felt the need to chomp. His bloodlust is insatiable. They are teeny, tiny squeezable little predators. I feel like Lee is someone who would be surprisingly OK with kitten chomps.
The zine goes all in: trauma memes, self-criticism, personal analogies, Arthur Rinmbaud… yes all the way to the bottom with French poets, the cop in your head and SSRIs. Lee pulls no punches and treats the topic as serious as your personal therapist, if your therapist was Hyperbole and a Half. It’s as readable as this topic gets. (Jose)
Node Pajomo $1 – 24 pages
PO Box 2632, Ballingham, WA 98227
This is the final issue of Node Pajomo. In way of explanation, it reads that “it takes too much time, energy, resources and mental space” to continue. I can confirm that reading a stack of zines is a big commitment of time. There are only 200 copies of this issue, and there will not be a reprint. Smoke ’em while you got ’em folks. Always recommended as fuck.
As in previous issues the topics constitute the most random mailbag ever: road trips, found media, fiction, non-fiction, poetry, sad British people, hate, collage, sad collage, sad British collage… every possible permutation is represented in this oversized issue.
In light of that announcement the reviews take on an additional layer of gravitas. His review of Asymmetrical Anti-Media #16 states that “Now that Node is dead this is `The Only Review Zine That Matters” thus naming the work of Jason Rodgers as his heir and successor. The king is dead, long live the king. (Jose)
Zionist nova mob in Israel has pulled yet another “By way of deception you shall engage in war” terror stunt with their false front infiltration of consumer electronic supply chains, secreting high explosives in rechargeable non-removable batteries of consumer pagers and hand held walkie-talkies because Hezbollah wanted to avoid mobile phone communications that can be intercepted and even tracked to a specific device for communication direct via hellfire missile. These devices caused dozens of deaths and thousands of causality’s (permanent blindness, blown off hands, destroyed pelvis’s). Can you hear me now?
By design, modern ‘smartphone’ networks have to track and intercept communications from specific device’s whether they are on or off or they could not function as communication devices.
Booby trapped, or socially engineered exploitation objects have long played a history in state murder. Poison wells, smallpox blankets, exploding cans of food, bomb shiny toys for the children…. The Trojan horse even, were socially engineered item exploits.
With near field communication ‘tap-to-pay / tap-for-ticket’, ‘smartphones’ can track what you buy, where you go, and depending on how dependent you are on it, track your bio-metrics…
With geolocation (that’s how the state claims they grabbed up all those folks around the ‘insurrection’ Jan6 2021), everything (if you use one of these devices) you buy or search for, and who you communicate with is tracked for commodification unless you try to block it and that too is commodifiable data.
What happens to all this data? Used to convince people to buy stuff? Sure! But with all this data humans struggle to make sense of it. Labor saving devices have been built to deal with this problem.
Some of the latest are the so called ‘artificial intelligence’ (AI) labor saving for the folks that want to sell you more stuff, that is, and maybe even propagate their socially engineered propaganda exploit agenda…
Some of the AI programs that the Zionist entity are using in their mass slaughter on Gaza and Lebanon are named ‘Lavender’ and ‘where’s daddy’. These programs integrate demographics, including mobile device data, into an AI targeting assassination machine which goals are mass slaughter and genocide of anybody that stands in the way of said Zionist entity.
The vast majority of Americans – 97% – now own a cellphone of some kind. Nine-in-ten own a smartphone. More than eight-in-ten Americans get news from digital devices.
GO SLINGSHOT!!
So the next time you’re checking out the mobile device that looks so good as a bump on that cute persons butt, think, “it probably wont blow their ass off with 4 grams of PETN” (yet). But its blowing out their minds as you gape!
A little over ten years ago, on April 1, 2014, activists fighting for housing and equality, part of the “Heart of the City” collective, staged a protest in San Francisco’s Mission District. Wearing bright blue, yellow, and red costumes, they blocked a private bus provided by Google to transport its workers at 24th and Valencia Streets, bringing it to a stop.
The “G-Muni Dancers” performed acrobatic moves and bounced bright exercise balls in a playful but defiant routine in front of the blocked shuttle. This action made national headlines. Sara Shortt, director of the Housing Rights Committee, said, “This is a fun way to show how private companies are using public land for free while pushing people out of their neighborhoods.”
Meanwhile, in Oakland, protests were more intense. People smashed bus windows, slashed tires, and one protester even vomited on a Yahoo bus windshield. These were clear signs of the rising anger in communities being displaced by the tech industry.
In her paper Infrastructural Activism: Google Bus Blockades, Affective Politics, and Environmental Gentrification in San Francisco, Manissa M. Maharawal describes Infrastructural Activism as the disruption of systems like transportation to drive political change. The tech bus blockades in San Francisco exemplified this concept by making the normally hidden and unacknowledged presence of tech-specific transportation networks starkly visible.
These private buses, designed to blend into the city and operate quietly, transported high-paid tech workers to their Silicon Valley offices while bypassing the broader community. By blocking them, protesters not only disrupted the daily routine of these buses but also raised public awareness of their impact, prompting a deeper examination of whether such services should even be allowed to operate.
What was once presented as a neutral, harmless service — just a bus shuttling employees to work — was exposed as a symbol of privilege and exclusion. The protests made visible the ways in which access to infrastructure shapes urban space, determining who gets to remain in the city and who is forced out. They revealed how seemingly invisible systems distribute power and resources, redrawing the boundaries of belonging and exclusion.
But despite the determined efforts of groups like Heart of the City, the tide of evictions and displacement continued. And today, much of the activism against tech and gentrification has quieted down, swept away by the forces it sought to counter.
Why do bus blockades and anti-tech protests from a decade ago still resonate today? Is there a distinction between capitalism and tech — or is Big Tech’s immense power simply a new face of capitalism’s familiar brutality?
The answer lies in recognizing what sets the tech industry apart. Rising rents and rampant urban displacement are visible symptoms of a deeper sickness. What distinguishes Big Tech from traditional forms of capitalist exploitation is its unprecedented capacity to consolidate power at a global scale, concentrating it into the hands of a select few.
Tech doesn’t merely accumulate wealth — it reshapes society in its own image, actively replacing people with machines, stripping human presence and emotion from the world and substituting it with profit-driven algorithms.
This is more than an economic shift; it’s a social and cultural one. With its reach, technology exerts control not just through the workplace but through the threads of our everyday lives. Its tools of surveillance and data extraction amplify existing inequalities. Unlike traditional forms of capitalism that still left space for human relationships and community, the tech-driven model aims to erase the human element entirely. It intrudes into our daily interactions, shaping how we communicate, what we consume, and even how we understand ourselves.
Tech companies are creating a world where everything is judged by profit, data, and efficiency, and anything that can’t be tracked, turned into numbers, or sold is pushed out. That’s why fighting Big Tech isn’t just one part of resisting capitalism — it’s at the heart of it.
Of course, it wasn’t Tech that invented displacement or gentrification. It didn’t create capitalism or billionaires. Attacks on the working class have been happening for generations, no matter which industry holds power.
If it wasn’t Tech, wouldn’t another industry have caused the same damage? The real question is: how do we fight capitalism itself? How do we push back against displacement and restore security for the working class?
In 2024, Tech is capitalism. It has outgrown its role as just another industry and become the new blueprint for how power operates. The empty buildings and hollowed-out neighborhoods aren’t accidents—they’re a feature of how Big Tech’s presence reshapes the world around it.
Big Tech’s staggering wealth isn’t just contained within its own companies — it spills over, transforming the entire regional economy. That concentration of capital creates a gravitational pull, attracting speculators of all kinds: real estate developers, legal firms, private equity, and venture capitalists.
Once Tech sets up shop in a community, an entire ecosystem of profiteers descends, eager to cash in on the rising property values and economic activity that follow. This speculative frenzy turns cities into gold mines for developers, pushing up rents and driving out long-time residents, small businesses, and working-class families.
The rise of AI, championed as progress by tech leaders and hyped by mainstream media, is celebrated as a major leap forward. But underneath all the hype is a capitalist’s dream come true: more automation, cheaper labor, and the power to dismantle the idea of secure employment entirely.
Take Google, for example. Its products, touted as digital tools of convenience and connectivity, have become instruments of control and surveillance. The Israeli military reportedly uses Google Photos’ facial recognition technology as part of its mass surveillance system targeting Palestinians in Gaza. Since 2021, Google Cloud has been building infrastructure for the Israeli government under the controversial Project Nimbus, one of the largest technology projects in Israel’s history. And just this past March, the Israeli Ministry of Defense signed a new contract with Google, seeking “consulting assistance” to expand its Cloud access and allow “multiple units” to leverage automation technologies for military use.
What separates a tech company like Google from a traditional “defense” contractor at this point? Or take Apple, with its omnipresent “Apple Pay.” When a tech company facilitates more financial transactions than some national banks, what’s the difference between Silicon Valley and Wall Street? Meanwhile, social media giants like Meta act as global media empires, curating narratives and influencing elections.
Across the supply chain, these companies are exploiting land and labor, mistreating factory workers, and sourcing conflict minerals with little regard for human rights. Social media platforms have turned a profit by amplifying hate speech and sowing division.
Toxic e-waste from discarded electronics is piling up across the globe, leaching into soil and water, with tech companies showing minimal accountability. The common thread is clear: Big Tech isn’t just producing products. It’s driving the very crises it claims to solve, fueling a cycle of extraction, exploitation, and expansion that knows no boundaries.
We need to confront a fundamental truth: technology — whether it’s facial recognition software, AI, or social media algorithms — isn’t neutral. These tools are being wielded not to “connect the world” but to control, surveil, and exploit it.
If we’re serious about challenging capitalism, that means setting our sights on Big Tech itself. And for activists in the Bay Area, this isn’t just a theoretical position — it’s a strategic imperative. We’re uniquely positioned to disrupt their operations and infrastructure in ways that activists in other regions simply cannot.
But how do we actually do it? The power of these corporations is expanding by the day — through their influence on policy, policing, increased surveillance, and our deepening dependency on their products, even within activist spaces. What does effective disruption look like in practice?
To genuinely dismantle this capitalist-tech nexus, we can’t act as isolated individuals. We’re facing some of the wealthiest, most resourceful, and most entrenched institutions on the planet. Yet, paradoxically, that power is also their weakness. Capitalism is fundamentally unstable and brittle. The environmental, social, and spiritual costs of this system are felt by nearly everyone — the 99% — even if we may not articulate it in those exact terms. The question isn’t whether there will be a breaking point, but when and where it will occur.
The truth is, revolutions rarely ignite from a single, explosive moment. More often, they’re set off by a chain reaction — a series of small, localized actions that ripple outward, creating cracks in the system until it eventually collapses under its own weight. What will be the tipping point? It’s hard to say. But perhaps, it will begin where tech’s influence is most concentrated and visible — right here, in the Bay Area.
So, how do we move forward? The key is to employ guerrilla tactics that can ignite larger movements and build working-class solidarity. Small, targeted actions aren’t just about disruption — they’re about amplifying the voices of activists and communities worldwide, proving that resistance is still possible, even in the stronghold of the tech empire.
Our goal is to set off a ripple effect of defiance — but we have to be strategic. One wrong move, and getting caught in the so-called “justice” system can derail a campaign, draining resources and momentum.. That’s why nimble, precise actions are essential. They keep us out of trouble while still pushing the fight forward.
The point is to inspire. Blocking tech buses or staging creative protests won’t dismantle the system overnight, but these acts send out ripples — gestures of defiance that challenge the supposedly invincible status quo and show that resistance is alive. Think back to the G-Muni dancers a decade ago, who used art and music to disrupt business as usual.
We need that same energy: small sparks that, multiplied, can set larger fires. These seemingly minor actions lay the groundwork for something bigger — a network of resistance that chips away at the foundations of the empire, piece by piece.
These corporations aren’t just faceless entities—they’re our neighbors. That proximity gives us a chance to disrupt not only their image but also their infrastructure and operations, shifting the balance in ways activists elsewhere can’t.
But before we move forward, we need to ask: How do we distinguish between tech workers — who are often exploited themselves — and the broader corporate structures they serve? It’s too easy to blame the “techies” behind computer screens and feel morally superior, but that’s a distraction from the deeper realities of capitalism.
Like workers in any industry, most tech employees are part of the broader working class. Many are trapped by debt — student loans, skyrocketing rents, or familial obligations — that funneled them into tech just as people get pushed into any job. And, like millions of others, they’re just there for one thing our broken system dangles as bait: healthcare.
Our focus in direct actions should be clear: target the corporations, not the workers. Getting tangled in petty confrontations with employees clinging to a precarious stability is counterproductive. We need to disrupt the flow of capital, expose corporate complicity in perpetuating inequality, and challenge the structures of multinational power.
It’s also crucial to recognize that some tech workers themselves have taken bold political stands. When Google employees staged a global walkout over sexual harassment policies or Amazon workers went on strike demanding better conditions, they put their jobs — and often their livelihoods — on the line. And when some organized in solidarity with Gaza or fought to curb AI’s surveillance power, they risked professional backlash and reputational damage in a cutthroat industry.
Techies may seem more privileged than factory or fast-food workers, but privilege isn’t the same as power. Many can’t unionize due to aggressive anti-labor tactics, and those who try face the same union-busting strategies that crush organizing efforts across industries.
Ultimately, one of our goals should be to educate, agitate, and inspire tech workers to join the resistance — preferably from within. They deserve the benefit of the doubt.
So, with all of this in mind, what does resistance to Big Tech in the Bay Area actually look like? Collective action and mutual aid must be at the heart of our strategy. We need to organize within our communities and activist circles, raise awareness about tech’s exploitative practices, build networks of support, and engage in direct actions that disrupt Big Tech’s operations.
This means thinking creatively and strategically — focusing on actions that interfere with their business models, target key points of infrastructure, and draw attention to the very structures that perpetuate economic inequality and environmental harm.
Think in terms of Infrastructural Activism: not just protest, but interference. We have to get inside the machine and jam it, whether by disrupting the bus shuttles, delaying tech-sponsored events, or generally making the Bay Area an inhospitable environment for business as usual. Each of these actions can send a powerful message that reverberates beyond local borders — one that shakes the foundations of an economy built on greed and corporate control, with tech sitting at the top.
We’ve seen positive results from direct action. Some notable acts of resistance include:
January 2018: Buses carrying Apple employees to Cupertino were attacked, possibly with pellet guns. Some windows were shattered. The incidents happened during morning and evening commutes on Highway 280, forcing Apple to reroute its buses, extending commutes by 30 to 45 minutes. A Google bus was also targeted. No injuries were reported.
May 2018: housing activists in San Francisco escalated protests against the tech industry by blocking over a dozen buses transporting tech workers to Silicon Valley. Protesters used electric scooters to form a barricade at a busy intersection in the Mission District. Dressed in white hazmat suits, they lit an orange smoke grenade on top of the scooter pile, blocking a Google shuttle bus.
2023: in San Francisco, an activist group called Safe Street Rebel found a simple way to disable driverless cars: placing traffic cones on their hoods. Safe Street Rebel carried out these “coning” protests to disrupt the increasing presence of driverless cars, which they saw as using the city as a testing ground for unproven technology.
February 10, 2024: in San Francisco’s Chinatown, a Waymo robotaxi (owned by Google) was destroyed by a crowd. Seen as a symbol of unchecked tech growth and corporate dominance, the autonomous vehicle was surrounded by dozens of people who smashed its windows, spray-painted graffiti, and set it on fire.
These acts of defiance against tech companies made international news, inspiring people around the world. The message was clear: the people of the Bay Area won’t stand by as these corporations harm their communities and the planet.
Sometimes, I wonder if we’ve lost the fight already. But then I think about the protests, the moments of resistance, and I remember: hope isn’t about winning—it’s about refusing to surrender. How do we continue to push back in ways that build momentum instead of burning us out? Consider these points:
Small disruptions matter: Even seemingly minor actions can have a cumulative impact, especially when they disrupt daily operations. Tech bus routes are public and should not be allowed to pass through our communities unchallenged. Coordinated protests, road blockages, or symbolic demonstrations along these routes can disrupt business as usual and serve as a visible reminder that the industry’s grip on the region is not uncontested.
Engage tech workers thoughtfully: Many tech employees, while contributing to the machinery of harm, may not be fully aware of the damage their work enables. However, like police, even if some individuals are decent, they work within a system of systemic harm and therefore are accountable. Hold them accountable, but do so with the possibility of dialogue and remain open to genuine conversations.
Leverage insider knowledge: If you’re a tech worker who sees the harm firsthand or know someone who does, use your access to expose these companies’ unethical practices. Whistleblowing, leaking sensitive documents, or even subtly highlighting internal contradictions can sow discord and make it harder for companies to maintain their manicured public image. Every revelation disrupts their carefully managed narrative and chips away at their power.
If you have hacking skills or strong tech knowledge: Use them to sabotage, undermine, or repurpose Big Tech products — and teach others to do the same.
For everyone else: stop supporting their products — yes, it’s possible.
Build alliances with other movements: The fight against tech is connected to the fight against climate change, racial injustice, economic inequality, and more. Collaborate with other groups to build a stronger front.
Stay united and refuse to normalize Tech power: Keep reminding your community that the fight continues — spread the word, start conversations, and keep the resistance alive.
Take action at whatever level aligns with your comfort and risk: Take action at whatever level fits your comfort and risk: Sometimes a message scrawled in chalk can speak as loudly as spray paint—impact is all about context. A water balloon can be as effective as one filled with paint, and deflating a tire can disrupt just as much as slashing it. What matters is that every act, no matter how small, contributes to the larger struggle.
Reduce risk when necessary: Sometimes smaller, coordinated actions spread across different locations can have as much, if not more, impact than one large, dramatic protest. Consistent, low-risk efforts can be just as powerful over time.
Think outside the box: Simple approaches can be highly effective. For example, use legal loopholes to disrupt tech. A group of five people can block a tech bus by continually crossing a crosswalk at a stop sign. Just keep turning around and crossing again. Pedestrians have the right of way!
Art also plays a key role in this fight. We need to see art in our neighborhoods, supporting the fight. And let’s remember, resistance isn’t just about confrontation — it can be joyful too. Shout out to all the activists who mix joy with defiance, showing us that another world is possible. Fighting capitalist power structures should be fun!
We also need to challenge the idea that this tech-dominated system is unchangeable. We can imagine and create alternatives — communities that prioritize people over profit, and sustainability over endless growth. The battle against Big Tech in the Bay Area can set an example, but we need to act now.
Whether you’re in the Bay Area by choice or circumstance, living in the global center of Big Tech comes with a unique responsibility. It’s critical to recognize the broader, global stakes — but also to understand how these seemingly distant issues are directly linked to the local power structures that fuel and sustain them.
In 2024, Big Tech isn’t just part of capitalism — it is capitalism. These corporations, with their immense reach and influence, have become adversaries of humanity and the planet, driving environmental destruction, social inequality, and authoritarian control.
Living in the heart of the tech industry means we’re uniquely positioned to fight back in ways that resonate far beyond this region. Many of Big Tech’s headquarters, transport lines, and facilities sit right in front of us, hiding in plain sight, just waiting to be fucked with. By disrupting their local operations, we send a message of defiance that ripples across the globe. Each act of resistance brings us one step closer to the world we imagine.
Disenfrachisement has permeated the psyche of citizens on the border between the US and Mexico as a result of over a century of outside interests that have never lived here enacting policy that has denied residents knowledge about their history and culture. El Paso, Texas, also known as La Frontera, is uniquely situated in many ways. One of a few American cities on a national and state border, it is landlocked in the Chiuanuan Desert. Since the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo that ended the war between the US and Mexico, it is not just as an annexed region, but a conquered territory. While Spain exercised hegemony on the native peoples here from California to most of South America, it was during James K. Polk’s presidency that we saw Manifest Destiny truly take shape. Manifest Destiny encouraged the United States to declare war on Mexico in 1846 and ultimately sieze Mexico City in 1848.
I grew up here in La Frontera — the Borderlands. It’s about an hour to 2 hours in any direction to get to the nearest town, with El Paso being the only major city for miles. It’s about 16 hours from the west coast and another 14 hours from the gulf coast and just about 4 hours south of Albuquerque, New Mexico. We’re relatively isolated out here, and if you weren’t looking for it, you’d miss the fact that Juarez, Mexico is the city’s conjoined twin, with a militarized and literal line in the sand forcibly separating the two sisters.
A thick, metal fence crowned with barbed wire stands tall on the northern bank of the Rio Grande. You can see colorful neighborhoods and people going about their day in Juarez, so close as neighbors, yet so far apart. My hometown of the Borderlands is land-rich but cash-poor and susceptible to outside financial interests. Dialect, history, culture, and family is shared here. The current United States’ and Texas’ hegemonic division imposed upon the area divides people from themselves and their home.
In grade schools I saw little to no emphasis on the culture or heritage of the Frontera and there were heavy reminders about the state of Texas having jurisdiction over our educational institutions. The educational system emphasized East Texas cities like Houston, Austin, Dallas, and San Antonio that are 12-14 hours away by car.
While in school, my favorite subject was, is, and always has been history. We can learn a lot about where we were, where we are, and where we’re going. I think that it’s amazingly fascinating, and no other subject excites me more than the general topic of history does. The older I get, the more excited I get with the idea of being able to contribute to the human narrative of experience.
There were odd disparities in the sociocultural perspective of my history classes. The lessons they taught focused on US History, World History, and Texas History (which focused solely on East Texas). They focused on the colonial era all the way up to Reconstruction and promptly ended there. World history focused on ancient societies like Mesopotamia and Ancient Egypt. There were only small and brief references to the Maya, Inca, and Aztec societies. It felt as though the world revolved around the US experience and its position in the wider world with heavy ethnocentric ideologies.
I wish I had learned more about La Frontera and 20th century history. It’s so juicy with information, but that knowledge seemed so far out of reach. To this day I find it extremely frustrating that all the history that I’d learned up to graduating high school was so limiting. The pedagogy of the classes repeated and reiterated the same information year after year, and it made the world feel so small. I wondered “why do they skip everything else, and what are they keeping from us? What do they know that we don’t, and what do they stand to benefit from our lack of information?” These are the questions that keep me up at night and drive me to learn more.
Knowledge is power. Life experience, curiosity, interest, and circumstance motivate learning and engagement. This is how I learn and engage with the world around me. This methodology has served me well in my academics and within my life outside of school, but the wider world is more or less unforgiving when it comes to learning. I consider myself to have a balance of book-smarts and street-smarts. I didn’t grow up street-smart, but being sheltered allowed me to become book-smart. Delaying my education and living in the Bay Area for the last 10 years allowed me to become wiser and to work on expanding my “street” skills. It gets easier, and honestly, I never stop learning.
I’m an intellectual first and foremost, and a growing scholar second. I’ve always let my curiosity drive me, even outside of academics. An intellectual, in my opinion, is someone that never stops learning. A scholar is someone that shares what they learn (in a more direct sense, presents research and navigates the academic system in which to do so). I’m beginning my career as a scholar and it’s right where I need to be. Modes of teaching differ from an academic context/environment vs. real-world education ie. “trial by fire”. School offers a lot more theory and demonstration and evidence. Real-world education is tangible, immediate, hands-on, and “do or die”. However, one of the greatest lessons I learned is to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. This lesson was taught to me in an academic setting and I began to apply it in my daily life. Through trial and error, I got to master going outside of my comfort zone. I began to explore the world with greater and greater confidence, and I began to lean into the inevitable awkward situations that challenged me to be better.
As a problem solver, and looking back on my educational history, I’m appalled at what school boards and state and federal legislators deem acceptable pedagogy in grade schools. Disenfranchisement leads to acceptance of the status quo and no change in the curriculum. Information has been kept from people about who they are and where they live. This is the problem that I experienced growing up in grade school.
My solution and my mission is to make the pedagogy of local history and information more readily available in grade schools across La Frontera. If you don’t feel connected to where you live, you’re more likely to consider it as worthless and let outside powers and influences, like policymakers and real estate companies that have no idea what it’s like to live on La Frontera make decisions about what happens to the land and people there.
My grandmother was also born and raised in the borderlands and her journey and work as an educator inspires me. Her experience with language discrimination in school in the 1950’s drove her to teach people about her culture. She retired from her dream job as a middle school teacher at a Spanish-immersion school in Ohio. I hope to inspire more teachers to do the work she did in Ohio for schools in the borderlands.
I am thankful that I was not disciplined nor shamed for speaking Spanish in my Texas grade school. If I’d had easier access to knowledge of my cultural heritage, I would’ve found that my family roots are deep in La Frontera and I’d like to think I would’ve been active in my community as a result. There’s nowhere else like it, and treating it like a dirty secret and commercializing the land hurts rather than helps the community that lives in the Borderlands.
