I grew up in a Jersey suburb just outside of NYC. Although we could see NYC, our town couldn’t have been more different. Almost entirely made up of white, working class, Republican and Catholic. I am from both a white and working class family. I grew up in a post hippie liberal household with an atheist father and non-Christian spiritual mother.
Our street was around the block from one of the largest cultureLESS centers in America, the Garden State Plaza Mall. About a stone throws away from our street was an exit ramp from a very busy interstate highway and another stone throw would get you into the next town. At a very young age I recognized our police department pulling over people of color right onto our street at an extremely high rate right for a town that historically has very little people of color in it.
When I was about 11 years old my older brothers started taking me to punk rock shows. Although they were into the pop-punk scene of lookout records, I instantly gravitated towards anything nyhc, bad brains, dc hardcore, boysetsfire and Fifteen. This mixed with the discovery of Public Enemy, the Fugees and Tupac, I was able to comprehend what I had grown up observing.
I’ve been pushing back against authority ever since.
I grew up in a pit village, I was 11 during the UK miners strike in 84 and used to see all the men going down to the picket lines and the scab bus going through the village picking those up who went back to work.
Relatives explained to me why they were striking, why trade unions were important, why solidarity mattered and most importantly about the class system and specifically how it’s used to keep the working class down.
A few years later the music of Billy Bragg and Public Enemy opened doors to other avenues of struggle and oppression.
My dad passed unexpectedly in a motorcycle accident in August. He was both parents to my sisters and I - a kind, hardworking man that would give the shirt right off his back to help someone in need. He was a small business owner with a well known following, creating a lot of close relationships over the span of about 14 years. And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, a pillar of our small town was gone.
What my sisters and I are dealing with now is asinine. Instead of having time to grieve, I had to go back to work just weeks after the accident because my job offers no grievance pay or PTO. I had blown through my meager savings in just those two weeks. The businesses my dad had built so proudly for over a decade had to be closed until the estate was settled. A process that our lawyer said would take only a few weeks has taken well over two months - paperwork got sent back because they needed proof that our brother (who died in utero) did not have any children.
We finally have been delegated as executors of his estate, which now means we get the pleasure and honor of paying all of our deceased fathers debt. $70,000 in small business taxes/loans over the years, $1,800/month in rent for one business location, a mortgage that is a couple months past due, hospital bills from the accident, funeral expenses, and so much more. And because the vultures are owed all this money we are at risk of losing our childhood home, as well as the businesses that he spent so long tirelessly building up to make sure we had something stable long after he was gone. Because the vultures are swarming us we have been robbed of our time to grieve. Especially since we recently learned that we HAVE to keep the estate open at least 7 months to allow the vultures to collect. We will not have closure for at least 7 months. We have been robbed of peace of mind in addition to a lifetime with the man who meant the most to us. But the thing that bothers me most is that we’ve been robbed of the ability to provide my father with the headstone he deserves. The IRS gets their money before my father gets a headstone. The mortgage company gets their money before my father gets a headstone. The landlord gets his money before my father gets a headstone.
I thought I was radicalized before but this has pushed me over the edge I was teetering on. An accident, a greedy society, and knowing my father won’t get a headstone until every single penny is paid off. Meanwhile corporate execs and the Mango Messiah pay next to nothing in taxes, their children will have no worries when they pass and they will have beautiful burial sites when their time comes. Fuck them all.
I grew up in a Jersey suburb just outside of NYC. Although we could see NYC, our town couldn’t have been more different. Almost entirely made up of white, working class, Republican and Catholic. I am from both a white and working class family. I grew up in a post hippie liberal household with an atheist father and non-Christian spiritual mother.
Our street was around the block from one of the largest cultureLESS centers in America, the Garden State Plaza Mall. About a stone throws away from our street was an exit ramp from a very busy interstate highway and another stone throw would get you into the next town. At a very young age I recognized our police department pulling over people of color right onto our street at an extremely high rate right for a town that historically has very little people of color in it.
When I was about 11 years old my older brothers started taking me to punk rock shows. Although they were into the pop-punk scene of lookout records, I instantly gravitated towards anything nyhc, bad brains, dc hardcore, boysetsfire and Fifteen. This mixed with the discovery of Public Enemy, the Fugees and Tupac, I was able to comprehend what I had grown up observing.
I’ve been pushing back against authority ever since.
I grew up in a pit village, I was 11 during the UK miners strike in 84 and used to see all the men going down to the picket lines and the scab bus going through the village picking those up who went back to work.
Relatives explained to me why they were striking, why trade unions were important, why solidarity mattered and most importantly about the class system and specifically how it’s used to keep the working class down.
A few years later the music of Billy Bragg and Public Enemy opened doors to other avenues of struggle and oppression.
My dad passed unexpectedly in a motorcycle accident in August. He was both parents to my sisters and I - a kind, hardworking man that would give the shirt right off his back to help someone in need. He was a small business owner with a well known following, creating a lot of close relationships over the span of about 14 years. And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, a pillar of our small town was gone.
What my sisters and I are dealing with now is asinine. Instead of having time to grieve, I had to go back to work just weeks after the accident because my job offers no grievance pay or PTO. I had blown through my meager savings in just those two weeks. The businesses my dad had built so proudly for over a decade had to be closed until the estate was settled. A process that our lawyer said would take only a few weeks has taken well over two months - paperwork got sent back because they needed proof that our brother (who died in utero) did not have any children.
We finally have been delegated as executors of his estate, which now means we get the pleasure and honor of paying all of our deceased fathers debt. $70,000 in small business taxes/loans over the years, $1,800/month in rent for one business location, a mortgage that is a couple months past due, hospital bills from the accident, funeral expenses, and so much more. And because the vultures are owed all this money we are at risk of losing our childhood home, as well as the businesses that he spent so long tirelessly building up to make sure we had something stable long after he was gone. Because the vultures are swarming us we have been robbed of our time to grieve. Especially since we recently learned that we HAVE to keep the estate open at least 7 months to allow the vultures to collect. We will not have closure for at least 7 months. We have been robbed of peace of mind in addition to a lifetime with the man who meant the most to us. But the thing that bothers me most is that we’ve been robbed of the ability to provide my father with the headstone he deserves. The IRS gets their money before my father gets a headstone. The mortgage company gets their money before my father gets a headstone. The landlord gets his money before my father gets a headstone.
I thought I was radicalized before but this has pushed me over the edge I was teetering on. An accident, a greedy society, and knowing my father won’t get a headstone until every single penny is paid off. Meanwhile corporate execs and the Mango Messiah pay next to nothing in taxes, their children will have no worries when they pass and they will have beautiful burial sites when their time comes. Fuck them all.
I was radicalized by common sense and an early realization that the status quo only works for the rich and privileged.
lemme know if you need any help