- Joined
- Jul 27, 2017
Fighting Fascism gives you all sorts of social immunities. Imagine the clickbait headlines that would follow any legal action taken against Antifa by the Philly Flyers.
ANTIFA / Antifascist Action / Antifaschistische Aktion - The anti-fascist gang with fascist tendencies
- Thread starter Loxiozzz
- Start date
Varg Did Nothing Wrong
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2016
Imagine trying to sue a loosely cooperating group of people with no obvious central leadership, no real hierarchy, and no official list of members.
What would you even sue them for? "We don't like that you drew a picture of our gay mascot on your poster"?
Come on.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
If people are selling merch with your mascot on it, and you don't defend it, you can lose the trademark entirely.
I'm pretty sure the people who own sports teams don't want that and couldn't care less if a bunch of pants-shitting autistic terrorist wannabes don't like it.
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2017
Keyword here is selling. What would happen if these anarkiddies and commies just make the gear themselves or give them away to supporters for free?
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
There's still tarnishment for associating the brand with terrorism and criminal activity.
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2017
The question will be is if assocation with Antifa is inherently criminal. As @Dynastia explained so cogently, it's not necessarily criminal. Plenty of Antifa are out there flying the black flag aren't out trying to injure people. Being decentralized is Antifa's biggest advantage as nobody can take the blame for the actions of the criminally-minded people among them.
Do you have any idea what the Flyers could sue for? Who would they sue?
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
Lanham Act violations, and whoever is manufacturing/selling/using their mark while being criminals.
- Joined
- Nov 17, 2017
My apologies if this has been posted (I haven't been through the whole thread yet)
Dramatic take from a protester/ hero who describes himself as a proud mom of 3 antifa supersoliders. A bit of a read but the smugness level is pretty good. Funny look into the mind of one of these guys if you're bored
https://theoutline.com/post/2837/protest-fatigue-syndrome
The lines that gave me a chuckle (there's a lot). It's like he lives in an alternate timeline where Nazis have taken over and him and his friends are the last hope.
Dramatic take from a protester/ hero who describes himself as a proud mom of 3 antifa supersoliders. A bit of a read but the smugness level is pretty good. Funny look into the mind of one of these guys if you're bored
https://theoutline.com/post/2837/protest-fatigue-syndrome
Protest fatigue syndrome
What to do when activism burns you out.
Shutterstock
Peter MoskowitzJAN—02—2018 01:20PM EST
We had no clue how big of a deal the “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville would be until the night before. As two friends and I drove down from Philadelphia on that mid-August weekend, we realized that Twitter was blowing up with information about a pre-march “torch rally” organized by dozens of neo-Nazi and “alt-right” groups on the University of Virginia campus. We pulled into our hotel a few minutes outside of the city to see that nearly every car in the parking lot was a police cruiser called from all over Virginia to protect the event. We settled in and had some drinks, and I realized many participating in the rally — cops, Nazis, us — were in the same hotel: if I knocked on a wall on one side of our room I’d likely wake a cop, and if I knocked on the other I’d likely wake a Nazi.
The next day was fun until it wasn’t. The Neo-Nazis had taken over a small park in the center of the city and kept lighting off smoke bombs and throwing bottles into the air. In front of them was a line of right-wing militia types holding semi-automatic weapons, in front of them a singing and praying group of peaceful religious protesters led by Cornel West, and then there were the throngs of counter-protesters. It felt dangerous, but contained. It was exciting.
I was there to report, but the neo-Nazis were so despicable, so ugly, so vile, that it was hard not to cheer for the counter-protesters as they came in waves, holding their various banners — Industrial Workers of the World, Democratic Socialists of America, Black Lives Matter — sometimes announcing themselves with drums as they marched toward central area where the Nazis had gathered. Between the drums and the smoke bombs and the tear gas, it felt like we were playing war, and the hundreds of semi-automatic weapons held by the far-right made it clear real violence could occur at any time.
Charlottesville felt like the start of something big: so many different factions of the right and left were there, they were all deadly serious about their activism, and they were ready to fight. In the early morning hours, the cops did nothing to prevent white supremacists from beating up counter-protesters, but at noon, when the rally was scheduled to actually start, the police announced they were shutting it down. The counter-protesters had done their jobs: they’d disrupted the Nazi rally enough to get it declared an illegal assembly. It was a magical moment, kind of: we took over the streets of Charlottesville to kick the Nazis out of town.
CHARLOTTESVILLE FELT LIKE THE START OF SOMETHING BIG.
That was what made the car driven by James Alex Fields so terrifying. It came at a highpoint, when people were uniting, smiling, dancing, celebrating. That’s the point at which Fields rammed his Dodge into the crowd, killing a protester named Heather Heyer. I saw bodies flying. I saw bones popping out of bodies. I dropped my phone and ran, and when I later recovered it it was cracked and smeared with blood. I sat on a curb smoking a cigarette with my friend as we watched paramedics lift Heyer into an ambulance.
I was temporarily buoyed by the violence and the excitement that day. I felt amped. I vowed to recommit myself to activism. When thousands surrounded a small group of alt-right demonstrators in Boston a week later, I thought everyone else might have felt the same — that we were not going to let Charlottesville terrify us into silence. If anything, we were going to use it as fuel.
A month later, on a plane to San Francisco, I had a panic attack. I thought it was a one-time thing — I’ve had them before — but the next day I woke up in the midst of another attack, unable to breathe. I began to have them daily. Seeing any news about Charlottesville would make me dissociate. Writing about politics, my job, seemed impossible. I could hardly make a piece of toast without shaking.
Going to another protest was out of the question, which turned out to be fine, because there haven’t been many since Charlottesville. It seemed like it wasn’t only me — the entire country was worn out by activism.
I’ve been able to recover thanks to therapy, yoga, and time off from work, privileges many activists cannot afford. That’s all the more reason to question our current protest strategy: being traumatized by activism means those who can afford to recover will be over-represented in activist spaces.
Protesting has a cost, and too often those on its front lines are left behind, left to stew in their trauma alone, essentially discarded as soon as they’re no longer able to put their bodies on the front lines. Subjecting ourselves to this kind of pain is not only immoral, it’s highly ineffective. It’s become clear that there’s little point in expending massive amounts of energy on these large demonstrations, risking trauma, accomplishing little and then doing the same thing all over again the next week.
IT’S BECOME CLEAR THAT THERE’S LITTLE POINT IN EXPENDING MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF ENERGY ON LARGE DEMONSTRATIONS.
Many activists feel similarly. Netta Elzie, one of the leaders of the protests in Ferguson in 2014, had to leave St. Louis completely to deal with her trauma. The last straw was when F.B.I. agents showed up at her grandma’s house seeking information about her organizing Ferguson protests. She feared for her family’s safety, and she felt reminded of the state violence she experienced everywhere she went.
“Like ‘Oh this is where they tear gassed me, oh this is the gas station where so-and-so was killed by police, this is where everyone was arrested,’” she said. “It was becoming suffocating.”
Elzie said she started to feel dehumanized and exhausted. “The toll is sometimes just really overwhelming,” she said. “I can’t focus on it too long, or I’ll get stuck being extremely depressed and hopeless. I’m surprised more of us aren’t in rehab, in treatment, in mental hospitals.”
“People are in despair,” Maria Chappelle-Nadal, a member of the Missouri state senate who was active in the Ferguson protests, told me. “The media is gone. No one is paying attention. And we still have institutional racism. We still have inequalities.”
Candice Nicole, a psychologist and professor at the University of Kentucky who focuses on race-related trauma, said that the toll of fighting on the front lines for racial justice can cause symptoms very similar to PTSD.
“Many activists are working and choosing to act despite continuing to feel fear and face threats,” she said. “That doesn’t allow for a release of that fear… Without outlets to do that, people can start to feel anxious, feel hyper vigilant at all times, have a hard time concentrating, and have other symptoms that come with higher cortisol levels.”
Many activists are changing how they approach activism completely, making sure to focus it more on their mental health than on big, flashy gestures.
Dom Chatterjee, a 30-year-old activist, got the idea to start Rest for Resistance, a website and Facebook community for trans and queer people of color, when they realized that they couldn’t engage with most forms of protest due to their anxiety issues.
“Public protests are not sustainable as an ongoing culture,” they said. “The front lines of activism, both online and in person, are full of people of color fighting for our pain to be recognized. And since we're already in a position where our pain is being disregarded and support is being denied to us, it's that much easier to develop PTSD or other trauma.”
The idea that activists need to be cared for to sustain themselves is not new: bell hooks and Audre Lorde, among many others, have been arguing that self-care is a necessary political act for decades. But the kind of integral, holistic movement Lorde and hooks argued for still doesn’t exist: activist communities tend to leave everyone on their own when it comes to figure out how to take care of themselves.
Protests could be more effective and less traumatizing if there were networks to assist people afterwards, and more ways for people of all abilities to get involved (Chatterjee pointed to a pamphlet called “26 Ways to Be in the Struggle Beyond the Streets” as a good place to start). Until that happens, activists are doomed to keep burning themselves out.
A few weeks ago, I attended a meeting in a church basement in Philadelphia run by the Philly Tenants Union, a group that organizes around housing rights and anti-gentrification work. I hadn’t been to one of their meetings in a year, and the crowd, which was diverse in race, age and gender, was three times bigger this time around, about 100 people had shown up.
They were there to share stories about eviction and gentrification, and about the push for a Just Cause law, which would force landlords to register any evictions with the city and give a reason for evicting tenants. Awards were handed out to a few long-time members for being with the organization for so long. There was cheering and crying. It felt hopeful. It felt restorative. It felt sustainable, like it signaled a possible new direction for activism: people organizing quietly, without much media attention, getting to know their neighbors, and building power over years.
David Thompson, the chair of the Philly Socialists, agrees that this kind of low and slow activism is the way forward. Philly Socialists has doubled its membership in the last year (it still only has few hundred paying members, but many more attend its meetings). They’ve launched community gardening campaigns, socialist student groups at Philadelphia's main universities (the University of Pennsylvania, Drexel, and Temple), and they’ve begun offering ESL classes for immigrants. And most impressively, they’ve helped train groups in about a dozen other cities to do similar work, with the hopes of building a national movement.
WHAT WE NEED IS PEOPLE ORGANIZING QUIETLY, WITHOUT MUCH MEDIA ATTENTION, GETTING TO KNOW THEIR NEIGHBORS, AND BUILDING POWER OVER YEARS.
The main problem, according to Thompson, is a historical amnesia: We remember the big protests and we forget all the groundwork it took to get there. That groundwork is equally if not more important for change.
“We get told this really strange story about how change has occurred historically,” Thompson said. “Like in Vietnam, or the Civil Rights Movement, these bad things happened, and gradually more and more people woke up to this because of these heroic people in the streets, and eventually these protests scared people into change. We don’t get the story of the institution-building. We don’t get told about the communists in the 1920s and 30s building the base of the Civil Rights movement. We don’t get told about all the institution and community building and leadership development that happened before the cultural ripples that we hear so much about like the protest songs, the hippies, the famous speeches.”
“Protest is a tactic, not a strategy. It’s not a plan for how to actually change things,” he said.
The alternative is less dramatic, and less immediately gratifying than protest, but also much more sustainable: it involves building a base, connecting people to each other, and developing them into leaders regardless of who is president. In short, it requires everyday work, not sporadic bursts of energy.
“We’re built for the low ebb,” Thompson said. “We’re built to keep active after protests die down, and after Trump is president. And we’re not looking to change things in weeks or months. Our current timeline to build our movement is 40 years.”
That’s the kind of work I’ve tried to focus on since Charlottesville: things that feel sustainable not only for the movement, but for myself. I’m currently helping start a book club within Philly Socialists. That work gives me a lot less adrenaline, it doesn’t make as good Tweets and Instagram posts as large protests do., It’s not going to make the news, but it feels good, and I know I can keep doing it.
What to do when activism burns you out.
Shutterstock
Peter MoskowitzJAN—02—2018 01:20PM EST
We had no clue how big of a deal the “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville would be until the night before. As two friends and I drove down from Philadelphia on that mid-August weekend, we realized that Twitter was blowing up with information about a pre-march “torch rally” organized by dozens of neo-Nazi and “alt-right” groups on the University of Virginia campus. We pulled into our hotel a few minutes outside of the city to see that nearly every car in the parking lot was a police cruiser called from all over Virginia to protect the event. We settled in and had some drinks, and I realized many participating in the rally — cops, Nazis, us — were in the same hotel: if I knocked on a wall on one side of our room I’d likely wake a cop, and if I knocked on the other I’d likely wake a Nazi.
The next day was fun until it wasn’t. The Neo-Nazis had taken over a small park in the center of the city and kept lighting off smoke bombs and throwing bottles into the air. In front of them was a line of right-wing militia types holding semi-automatic weapons, in front of them a singing and praying group of peaceful religious protesters led by Cornel West, and then there were the throngs of counter-protesters. It felt dangerous, but contained. It was exciting.
I was there to report, but the neo-Nazis were so despicable, so ugly, so vile, that it was hard not to cheer for the counter-protesters as they came in waves, holding their various banners — Industrial Workers of the World, Democratic Socialists of America, Black Lives Matter — sometimes announcing themselves with drums as they marched toward central area where the Nazis had gathered. Between the drums and the smoke bombs and the tear gas, it felt like we were playing war, and the hundreds of semi-automatic weapons held by the far-right made it clear real violence could occur at any time.
Charlottesville felt like the start of something big: so many different factions of the right and left were there, they were all deadly serious about their activism, and they were ready to fight. In the early morning hours, the cops did nothing to prevent white supremacists from beating up counter-protesters, but at noon, when the rally was scheduled to actually start, the police announced they were shutting it down. The counter-protesters had done their jobs: they’d disrupted the Nazi rally enough to get it declared an illegal assembly. It was a magical moment, kind of: we took over the streets of Charlottesville to kick the Nazis out of town.
CHARLOTTESVILLE FELT LIKE THE START OF SOMETHING BIG.
That was what made the car driven by James Alex Fields so terrifying. It came at a highpoint, when people were uniting, smiling, dancing, celebrating. That’s the point at which Fields rammed his Dodge into the crowd, killing a protester named Heather Heyer. I saw bodies flying. I saw bones popping out of bodies. I dropped my phone and ran, and when I later recovered it it was cracked and smeared with blood. I sat on a curb smoking a cigarette with my friend as we watched paramedics lift Heyer into an ambulance.
I was temporarily buoyed by the violence and the excitement that day. I felt amped. I vowed to recommit myself to activism. When thousands surrounded a small group of alt-right demonstrators in Boston a week later, I thought everyone else might have felt the same — that we were not going to let Charlottesville terrify us into silence. If anything, we were going to use it as fuel.
A month later, on a plane to San Francisco, I had a panic attack. I thought it was a one-time thing — I’ve had them before — but the next day I woke up in the midst of another attack, unable to breathe. I began to have them daily. Seeing any news about Charlottesville would make me dissociate. Writing about politics, my job, seemed impossible. I could hardly make a piece of toast without shaking.
Going to another protest was out of the question, which turned out to be fine, because there haven’t been many since Charlottesville. It seemed like it wasn’t only me — the entire country was worn out by activism.
I’ve been able to recover thanks to therapy, yoga, and time off from work, privileges many activists cannot afford. That’s all the more reason to question our current protest strategy: being traumatized by activism means those who can afford to recover will be over-represented in activist spaces.
Protesting has a cost, and too often those on its front lines are left behind, left to stew in their trauma alone, essentially discarded as soon as they’re no longer able to put their bodies on the front lines. Subjecting ourselves to this kind of pain is not only immoral, it’s highly ineffective. It’s become clear that there’s little point in expending massive amounts of energy on these large demonstrations, risking trauma, accomplishing little and then doing the same thing all over again the next week.
IT’S BECOME CLEAR THAT THERE’S LITTLE POINT IN EXPENDING MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF ENERGY ON LARGE DEMONSTRATIONS.
Many activists feel similarly. Netta Elzie, one of the leaders of the protests in Ferguson in 2014, had to leave St. Louis completely to deal with her trauma. The last straw was when F.B.I. agents showed up at her grandma’s house seeking information about her organizing Ferguson protests. She feared for her family’s safety, and she felt reminded of the state violence she experienced everywhere she went.
“Like ‘Oh this is where they tear gassed me, oh this is the gas station where so-and-so was killed by police, this is where everyone was arrested,’” she said. “It was becoming suffocating.”
Elzie said she started to feel dehumanized and exhausted. “The toll is sometimes just really overwhelming,” she said. “I can’t focus on it too long, or I’ll get stuck being extremely depressed and hopeless. I’m surprised more of us aren’t in rehab, in treatment, in mental hospitals.”
“People are in despair,” Maria Chappelle-Nadal, a member of the Missouri state senate who was active in the Ferguson protests, told me. “The media is gone. No one is paying attention. And we still have institutional racism. We still have inequalities.”
Candice Nicole, a psychologist and professor at the University of Kentucky who focuses on race-related trauma, said that the toll of fighting on the front lines for racial justice can cause symptoms very similar to PTSD.
“Many activists are working and choosing to act despite continuing to feel fear and face threats,” she said. “That doesn’t allow for a release of that fear… Without outlets to do that, people can start to feel anxious, feel hyper vigilant at all times, have a hard time concentrating, and have other symptoms that come with higher cortisol levels.”
Many activists are changing how they approach activism completely, making sure to focus it more on their mental health than on big, flashy gestures.
Dom Chatterjee, a 30-year-old activist, got the idea to start Rest for Resistance, a website and Facebook community for trans and queer people of color, when they realized that they couldn’t engage with most forms of protest due to their anxiety issues.
“Public protests are not sustainable as an ongoing culture,” they said. “The front lines of activism, both online and in person, are full of people of color fighting for our pain to be recognized. And since we're already in a position where our pain is being disregarded and support is being denied to us, it's that much easier to develop PTSD or other trauma.”
The idea that activists need to be cared for to sustain themselves is not new: bell hooks and Audre Lorde, among many others, have been arguing that self-care is a necessary political act for decades. But the kind of integral, holistic movement Lorde and hooks argued for still doesn’t exist: activist communities tend to leave everyone on their own when it comes to figure out how to take care of themselves.
Protests could be more effective and less traumatizing if there were networks to assist people afterwards, and more ways for people of all abilities to get involved (Chatterjee pointed to a pamphlet called “26 Ways to Be in the Struggle Beyond the Streets” as a good place to start). Until that happens, activists are doomed to keep burning themselves out.
A few weeks ago, I attended a meeting in a church basement in Philadelphia run by the Philly Tenants Union, a group that organizes around housing rights and anti-gentrification work. I hadn’t been to one of their meetings in a year, and the crowd, which was diverse in race, age and gender, was three times bigger this time around, about 100 people had shown up.
They were there to share stories about eviction and gentrification, and about the push for a Just Cause law, which would force landlords to register any evictions with the city and give a reason for evicting tenants. Awards were handed out to a few long-time members for being with the organization for so long. There was cheering and crying. It felt hopeful. It felt restorative. It felt sustainable, like it signaled a possible new direction for activism: people organizing quietly, without much media attention, getting to know their neighbors, and building power over years.
David Thompson, the chair of the Philly Socialists, agrees that this kind of low and slow activism is the way forward. Philly Socialists has doubled its membership in the last year (it still only has few hundred paying members, but many more attend its meetings). They’ve launched community gardening campaigns, socialist student groups at Philadelphia's main universities (the University of Pennsylvania, Drexel, and Temple), and they’ve begun offering ESL classes for immigrants. And most impressively, they’ve helped train groups in about a dozen other cities to do similar work, with the hopes of building a national movement.
WHAT WE NEED IS PEOPLE ORGANIZING QUIETLY, WITHOUT MUCH MEDIA ATTENTION, GETTING TO KNOW THEIR NEIGHBORS, AND BUILDING POWER OVER YEARS.
The main problem, according to Thompson, is a historical amnesia: We remember the big protests and we forget all the groundwork it took to get there. That groundwork is equally if not more important for change.
“We get told this really strange story about how change has occurred historically,” Thompson said. “Like in Vietnam, or the Civil Rights Movement, these bad things happened, and gradually more and more people woke up to this because of these heroic people in the streets, and eventually these protests scared people into change. We don’t get the story of the institution-building. We don’t get told about the communists in the 1920s and 30s building the base of the Civil Rights movement. We don’t get told about all the institution and community building and leadership development that happened before the cultural ripples that we hear so much about like the protest songs, the hippies, the famous speeches.”
“Protest is a tactic, not a strategy. It’s not a plan for how to actually change things,” he said.
The alternative is less dramatic, and less immediately gratifying than protest, but also much more sustainable: it involves building a base, connecting people to each other, and developing them into leaders regardless of who is president. In short, it requires everyday work, not sporadic bursts of energy.
“We’re built for the low ebb,” Thompson said. “We’re built to keep active after protests die down, and after Trump is president. And we’re not looking to change things in weeks or months. Our current timeline to build our movement is 40 years.”
That’s the kind of work I’ve tried to focus on since Charlottesville: things that feel sustainable not only for the movement, but for myself. I’m currently helping start a book club within Philly Socialists. That work gives me a lot less adrenaline, it doesn’t make as good Tweets and Instagram posts as large protests do., It’s not going to make the news, but it feels good, and I know I can keep doing it.
The lines that gave me a chuckle (there's a lot). It's like he lives in an alternate timeline where Nazis have taken over and him and his friends are the last hope.
if I knocked on a wall on one side of our room I’d likely wake a cop, and if I knocked on the other I’d likely wake a Nazi
The Neo-Nazis had taken over a small park in the center of the city
I was there to report, but the neo-Nazis were so despicable, so ugly, so vile
Between the drums and the smoke bombs and the tear gas, it felt like we were playing war
In the early morning hours, the cops did nothing to prevent white supremacists from beating up counter-protesters
I saw bones popping out of bodies. I dropped my phone and ran, and when I later recovered it it was cracked and smeared with blood
I thought it was a one-time thing — I’ve had them before
It seemed like it wasn’t only me — the entire country was worn out by activism. I’ve been able to recover thanks to therapy, yoga, and time off from work, privileges many activists cannot afford.
Protesting has a cost, and too often those on its front lines are left behind, left to stew in their trauma alone, essentially discarded as soon as they’re no longer able to put their bodies on the front lines. Subjecting ourselves to this kind of pain is not only immoral, it’s highly ineffective. It’s become clear that there’s little point in expending massive amounts of energy on these large demonstrations, risking trauma, accomplishing little and then doing the same thing all over again the next week.
"I’m surprised more of us aren’t in rehab, in treatment, in mental hospitals.”
...the toll of fighting on the front lines for racial justice can cause symptoms very similar to PTSD.
"Our current timeline to build our movement is 40 years.”
The Neo-Nazis had taken over a small park in the center of the city
I was there to report, but the neo-Nazis were so despicable, so ugly, so vile
Between the drums and the smoke bombs and the tear gas, it felt like we were playing war
In the early morning hours, the cops did nothing to prevent white supremacists from beating up counter-protesters
I saw bones popping out of bodies. I dropped my phone and ran, and when I later recovered it it was cracked and smeared with blood
I thought it was a one-time thing — I’ve had them before
It seemed like it wasn’t only me — the entire country was worn out by activism. I’ve been able to recover thanks to therapy, yoga, and time off from work, privileges many activists cannot afford.
Protesting has a cost, and too often those on its front lines are left behind, left to stew in their trauma alone, essentially discarded as soon as they’re no longer able to put their bodies on the front lines. Subjecting ourselves to this kind of pain is not only immoral, it’s highly ineffective. It’s become clear that there’s little point in expending massive amounts of energy on these large demonstrations, risking trauma, accomplishing little and then doing the same thing all over again the next week.
"I’m surprised more of us aren’t in rehab, in treatment, in mental hospitals.”
...the toll of fighting on the front lines for racial justice can cause symptoms very similar to PTSD.
"Our current timeline to build our movement is 40 years.”
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2016
I just read your highlights, but I'm not aware of any compound fractures at any Antifa clashes.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
These tards are like if people thought Red Dawn was a documentary and they were living it, but with Nazis instead of commies.
Varg Did Nothing Wrong
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2016
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2017
As gratifying as it would be to see Antifa face serious legal consequences for their bullshit, the Philly Flyers successfully suing some Antifa randos using Gritty for extremely questionable purposes could set an extremely dangerous precedent. Are hentai artists next on the chopping block for all their various copyright violations? I can't see this ending well at all.
Hux
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 10, 2018
Along with what everyone is saying in the legal side of things, I don't really imagine a bunch of fat, beer-logged meatheads from Philly are going to be all that pleased to see their team's mascot be appropriated by a bunch of spindly, overly preachy, communist/analchest bugmen that love to talk the talk but never walk the walk when it comes to violence
They've kicked the piss out of people for far lesser reasons
They've kicked the piss out of people for far lesser reasons
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
I don't see much of a precedent from them suing anyone actually using this bullshit to sell merchandise or raise money, any more than there's much of a precedent from Matt Furie shutting down people using Pepe for commercial purposes.
That said, if random dumb frogposters or some antifa idiot with a Gritty sign got sued, I'd think that was very bad.
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2016
Somebody's catching some shit when they report back to training...
Marines Were Attacked, Robbed Near “We the People” Rally in Philly
Marines Were Attacked, Robbed Near “We the People” Rally in Philly
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
They're trained not to attack civilians. It's a pathetic display, but not of discipline.
Not that anyone sensible would complain if they instead sent everyone involved to the hospital.
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2013
If the Flyers somehow sued Antifa and as a consequence destroyed hentai, I’d forsake thirty years of hating them and all they stand for and grab me a Jakub Voracek jersey
Corbin Dallas Multipass
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 20, 2018
OK.... so you guys think Antifa could use Mickey Mouse on their flag, punching a nazi? Or do you think disney would find someone, anyone in the distribution chain to sue?
Are they selling it on a website? OK, we've got a host assisting in copyright infringement. The money's going somewhere right? File a takedown notice, now they know they're selling infringed material. Individually serve randos who appear in public with the image with lawsuits. Along with a public campaign of "Hey these assholes are stealing our mascot".
I mean... pretending copyrights aren't enforceable is an odd position to take...
Are they selling it on a website? OK, we've got a host assisting in copyright infringement. The money's going somewhere right? File a takedown notice, now they know they're selling infringed material. Individually serve randos who appear in public with the image with lawsuits. Along with a public campaign of "Hey these assholes are stealing our mascot".
I mean... pretending copyrights aren't enforceable is an odd position to take...
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
Disney is notorious for seizing on any conceivable excuse to sue someone. They've sued daycares for having Disney-based anything. That is to say, they've literally sued goddamn babies.
Trademarks are different in that you conceivably lose them if you don't aggressively protect them, and in fact, you lose them even if through no fault of your own they become generic. This forces companies to be a lot more aggressive about them than seems to make sense.
It does not, however, obligate even the most conscientious trademark owners go after noncommercial uses.
Varg Did Nothing Wrong
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2016
Up until now nobody said a thing about Antifa selling anything with anything. Good strawman.
>serve randos who appear in public with the image with lawsuits
lmao k, i didn't know this was the cyberpunk dystopian future and DisneyCorp could analyze facial data and have their army of Copyright Drones serve you court papers within 30 seconds of you drawing a Mickey Mouse symbol on your protest sign.