Gabriel Azevedo / gabrielavacado / cyberstalin / voidsuicide - Brazilian Communist FtM, credit to Nora Reed for discovery

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hood LOLCOW said:
https://kiwifarms.net/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fscontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net%2Fv%2Ft1.0-9%2F11075137_1420949841552062_2385563246854306695_n.jpg%3Foh%3De50d6fa717c5a04763db32ee2a6c521c%26oe%3D57D042D1&hash=6dd6d1c684aae3981d84a5170f598666
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Is this what ADF thinks he looks like? Needs more tattoos and shaved head but still.
 
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Tango down.

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You did it, Nora!

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So far I don't think I saw any comments on her blog entries, so I am posting this one, since it's not too long and deals with a bit more personal nature. The rest tend to be thinkpieces.

http://cyberstalin.blogspot.com.br/2015/12/marxist-reaffirmations.html (http://archive.is/NjtJW)
Marxist reaffirmations

Last night, the United Kingdom voted in favor of going to war against Syria, a country ravished by violent, sectarian geopolitical forces well before the supposed civil war began. I will not cover the politics of war, nor will I go into how things got to this point.

This will be personal. I speak not as CYBERSTALIN, the Marxist blogger, but as Gabriel, the very real human being behind this blog.

As I sit at my work desk at the university library I work at, I can feel my heart squeeze with dread. I have memories of 2003.

I am thirteen. The United States has just started the first aerial assaults against Iraq, bombing the capital. I watch the news coverage on NBC, my face so close to the big, bulky television set in our small living room that my nose is nearly pressed against the glass. I don't hear the words of the reporter. Instead, I see bright white flashes against a green-tinged skyline--bombs falling on Baghdad, the first in the latest Iraq War. I am too young to have a sense of deja vu about the whole ordeal. Rather, I am terrified, my first real understanding of what war in the New Millennium looked like.

If this was a war then where was the other side? Why is no one fighting back? But I don't have these thoughts just then--they come later, when I can finally piece together my childish understanding of the situation.

My mother watches from the kitchen. For once, she doesn't scold me for being so close to the TV, or for any other reason. "You know," she says in Brazilian Portuguese, startling me out of my trance-like state, "my mother used to say that movies that did badly were called 'bombs.'" I don't respond, and not because of my usual reservations about speaking For some reason she laughs but there's no humor in it.

I am confused by this until I realize what she's trying to do. She's trying to comfort me. She's scared too.

I have the sudden feeling that the bombs are going to start falling out of the sky and onto our home on the outskirts of Newark, New Jersey. I remember just two years prior the Twin Towers collapsing, clearly visible from our home on the second story. The fantastic, magical skyline, the picturesque image of the American Dream that had lured a Brazilian woman and her child to an unknown country had been violently destroyed. The space where the towers stood bled into the sky for six months after the attacks. Black dust had become dark grey, which had then become lighter and lighter. Until December 2001, the clouds had remained, clearly visible, marring the once perfect skyline.

The American Dream had ended.

I feel a familiar panic rising in my throat. My mother sits on the couch and I join her. Usually she is cold, unwilling to put her arms around me or embrace me for any reason, certainly not at the ripe age of thirteen. But today, I hug my bony knees, shivering, and she holds me close.

It's 2015 again. As I sit here thousands of miles away from Newark, New Jersey, somewhere in the state of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, I can't help but think back to that night. I don't remember my mother holding me before that night nor since, but I remember the perpetual fear and dread I had aquired since 9/11 persisting well into adulthood.

Since 2003 I have gone to anti war rallies, argued against NATO interventions, immersed myself in Marxist thought and, as an adult, I felt that fear and dread transform into resentment and hatred towards capitalism and white supremacy. Usually this anger gets me through the day and today it is very apparent why that is.

I feel powerless, hopeless, mourning the loss of civilian life and the deaths of innocent Syrians. Their mothers' embraces will not be able to protect them from their own fear and dread. They won't be able to protect their children from glass and concrete, and if they survive, they won't be able to protect them from hunger and homelessness. The bombs will kill children, women, men. Innocents.

The bombs are "smart", as "smart" as the UK politicians who voted to "go to war" with a country that has not even deployed its army in defense. But how can you defend from an air strike? How can you defend yourself from death raining from above, the resulting explosions, the complete destruction of your homes and your neighbors' homes and your markets and your clinics and your schools and your hospitals? How can you stop the fucking onslaught of death and destruction that is headed directly your way?

These "smart" bombs, they have the names of civilians written on them, the names of people who will no longer be alive in a few short hours, people who none of these UK politicians will ever know. These "smart" bombs don't discriminate between ISIS and civilian, just like these "smart" western politicians. The bombs, the politicians, both equally as "smart." Both as responsible for murder and homelessness and mass migration.

And my own feelings of hatred and resentment melt away, my childhood fears and concerns resurfacing instead. It is difficult to think like a Marxist, analytical, calculating, in times like these.

But, here are my affirmations.

This is why I am a Marxist. For me, it is both 2003 and 2015. My emotions do have a place in Marxism. My love for other human beings, for humanity itself, the thought that we can be a peaceful, united, loving people, that all has a place in Marxism. It is not about being Right, but Love. And that same Love, with a capital L, that drives me towards Marxism, towards an ideology that protects and uplifts billions worldwide. A Love that unites humanity despite, or maybe because of, our differences, unites us as members of the international proletariat, unites us as colonized peoples in the global south and the first world, struggling to break free of our chains of exploitation.

This Love is more important to me than anything else on earth. And while it is an abstract feeling, it can be directly channeled into actions that have very real effects. It can construct entire countries, raise entire peoples, tell them that they have worth and value and the right not just to life but to joy and the best things life has to offer.

I am a Marxist not because I want to write snarky thinkpieces and show off to my friends and intimidate my political enemies. This is not about ego. It is me, in 2015, speaking to the me from 2003, telling him, you have value! You deserve love! And this world may not treat you kindly today, but you and others like you can directly change the world for the better! It has been done before-- the USSR, Cuba, Laos, Vietnam, China, Albania, Romania and the list goes on and on, even if many of these states no longer exist today. But billions have felt the effects of what Love can do, a real, genuine Love that you've always craved and needed, a Love that can uplift and empower the downtrodden--that is Marxism. That is what I want for you, and for everyone.
Today in my heart and soul I feel a deep connection with other human beings, united in our struggle and through that Love. It is a connection I never had growing up. I am a member of the international proletariat, yearning to seize the power that rightfully belongs to us all.

I will not hide my feelings behind irony or snark or sarcasm, nor will I write in a cold and distant manner, as if any loss of life by imperialist forces doesn't shake me to my very core. I don't need to--my intentions and my heart are clear.

My heart is with every Syrian. My heart belongs to every human being in occupied territory, exploited in factories, struggling and homeless on the street, rotting in prisons, pushed to the sides of society. My heart is with the People, and I truly believe that this Love can awaken the class consciousness that lies within every worker, and lead us into a better world.

I dedicate this to the courageous people of Syria.
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I like her message to her past self. I'm sure all the people in the USSR, Cuba, Laos, Vietnam, China, Albania and Romania lived perfect lifes forever with great quality of life for everyone and death, oppression, persecution, starvation stopped happening forever unlike the big bad capitalist countries. Oh, and I am sure they all democratically chose for communism because they are the People! No authoritarism here, comrade. Keep walking.

Also, I am sure all the courageous people of Syria can feel the deep love that Gabriela shares for them. I am sure Abdul with his fake Syrian passport can feel it too.
 
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Hellfire said:
Tango down.

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You did it, Nora!

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slightly off topic but I swear to god that barrier_trio person follows every fucking tranny on twitter and they are quite literally dumber than a sack of rocks. don't know why I was surprised to see them there, but I know they also had a falling out with Nora back in 2015. (archived)

if you and your followers can make Nora look sane then you probably shouldn't be allowed on the internet period.
 
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Ambivalenz said:
Our stalinist avocado was caught in the crossfire of a lone Kiwi sniper in defense of the people of Kekistan. Also cow crossover...

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Trans women who mock trans men for disagreeing with them by bringing up their genitals are cunts worthy of mockery and derision.

Seriously, "bussy?"

EDIT: I forgot this fucker was FtM. That just makes it even more loathsome. The self-hate is strong in this one.
 
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