DEFECTOR.001
MAY 2015
$000.00
Mass incarceration, public debt, climate change, ecological disasters, infotainment disguised as news, genocide, religious wars, discrimination, human rights violations, killer police, corporate greed, austerity, decaying infrastructure, celebrity worship, Online friends, corruption, useless bureaucracy, union busting, lack of community, reality TV, objectification of women, political dynasties, failing democracies and the idea that we must consume in order to forget about reality.
In politics, a defector is a person who gives up allegiance to one state in exchange for allegiance to another, by way of abandonment.
This zine is meant to help bridge those states and incite protest among young people. The only dream worth fighting for anymore is world revolution.
open your eyes...
levis’s denim ad, 2014
Police brutality in America goes much deeper than the dirty surface of street cops. It goes beyond law enforcement, beyond racial discrimination, and beyond violence... Our entire system is fundamentally fucked – founded by the elite for the elite. The leaders of history have a reputation for exploiting, accusing, enslaving, and killing minorities to get more land, money, or status. Our entire way of thinking is incorrect. The problems start here, and where they end is up to us.
NOJUSTICE
NOJUSTICE
“I represent a threat” I represent a threat to the richest of the rich The ignorant billionaire that has to go and bitch When decent folks starving livin off o’ food stamps They don’t give an inch to socialistic raps and rants And so we gotta take what the richest won’t give Be the robin hoods of real life so we can live Live without the richest dominating, they resent us They own the politicians that pretend to represent us I represent a threat because the scale snapped in two The one percenters got forty percent of all the loot You never been broke? Then you don’t know what it’s like To have to fight for every piece of chicken that you bite But Warren Buffett is a real man though He never gave his children all his mother-fuckin’ dough 34 billion given all to fight disease A pinnacle of hope in the financial tide of sleaze I represent a threat to capital proclivity We are at present socialist it’s just to what degree I believe the poverty line--- shouldn’t exist And the only reason that it does is selfishness 99 percent isn’t affected by my stance I just wanna tax the richest one-percenter’s ass Cuz they got nearly forty percent of the US wealth You know what that would do for all of our financial health? Yeah, And they would STILL be rich beyond reason and rhyme Is it really fair that they keep every single dime? Freedom shouldn’t mean aristocrats have the right To choose to give nothing to our family’s plight And if you don’t consider your fellow countrymen family Maybe you should reconsider what it means to be happily Part of the United States of America yo
We send broke 18 year olds to fight and die for your freedom bro So take a look inside your heart and your wallet yo And ask yourself if you really deserve all of that cheddar yo When you could easily alleviate suffering, Wake-up! For you it would barely change anything. Revolutions come when the scales break down When the privileged rich motherfuckers run the whole damn town. If we don’t try to fix it now, mark my words, blood will spill. Blood will run the rivers, Yes it will. I don’t like it, but it’s true When balance breaks, that’s how we do. — lyrics by IQwality
What Is The Gaza Blockade? “This is for all those people who do not really know and understand what a Gaza blockade is. Imagine you live in a very small town that is very densely populated and you are not free to come and go as you please, as a result are cut off from friends and family. From one side you are caged in by a huge wall and on the other side you have the sea of which the waters you do not control and are blocked off by navel ships. Even the border to Egypt is closed making it impossible for Palestinians to leave. You are prohibited from trading with anyone outside and there is hardly any work available in town. You are also not permitted to farm or fish which means you are left with little or no source of income making it impossible for you to make ends meet. If you think that is not bad enough then what about your food supply being controlled by someone else who keeps track of how many calories you need in order to just stay alive.
If you still think it’s not that bad then how about being bombarded indiscriminately every 2 to 3 years and even between those years getting the occasional bombarding. These are the very inhumane circumstances that the Palestinians are forced to live under and expected to not even complain, much less retaliate. Which nation or people in the world would accept being made to live like this against their free will? Just half an hour from Gaza you have people in Israeli towns and cities that are enjoying life on the beaches, going to the malls, and leisure time, a complete contrast to the life that the Palestinians are subjected to. Now you ask yourself people what would you do if you were forced to live under these harsh circumstances.???” - @momo33me
— banksy, 2012
- Adeeb Abu-Rahma in “5 Broken Cameras” (2011)
“The Warlord” In the beach four kids are playing, not aware the end is nigh, in the beach four kids are running as the first bomb drops nearby. Four innocent lives are taken, in the name of a sacred land, four families are now broken, no one lends a helping hand. Stones against the bullets, stones against the tanks, innocent corpses filling caskets, innocent corpses in the riverbanks. Aladdin became Jaffar, Snow White became the witch, the hare now eats the jaguar, a logger is killed by the beech. You escaped the gas chamber, only to sit on the other side, you’re now the executioner, perpetrator of this genocide. Once you’ve destroyed all the beauty, of the land you want to own, you’ll be the landlord of a cemetery, full of graves without tombstones. — Joel Amat Guell
[Black]
[White]
[Gay]
[Straight]
[Religious]
[athiest]
[You]
Downtown Chicago is home to over 30,000 security cameras, all of which are linked together in a “federalized” network. Virtually every area of the public space is within lens-shot. These super-cameras can automatically identify and track anyone on the street, as well as magnify small details and objects from far away. Every intersection you cross, every time you board the ‘L’, your face is literally being archived. The paths you take to work, the alleys you piss in.. Every move is recorded. There is no such thing as privacy anymore. Cameras are installed for ‘public safety’ and ‘crime solving,’ but conveniently help the government keep tabs on society like some kind of experiment. Today, private and commercial cameras have been an extension of government surveillance, because their footage can be seized, often in secret, in the name of ‘fighting terror.’
“I DON’T THINK THERE IS ANOTHER CITY IN THE U.S. THAT HAS AN EXTENSIVE AND INTEGRATED CAMERA NETWORK AS CHICAGO HAS. — Michael Chertoff, former U.S. Homeland Security Secretary
“Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimeters inside your skull. ” — George Orwell, 1984
camover CAMOVER is a game (sort of), that was created by a bunch of street activists from Berlin. The point of CAMOVER is simple: identify every CCTV camera in an area, and disable them one by one. Black paint, rocks, sticks, ropes, or sheer force should do the trick. Gather a group of friends, conceal your identities, and see who can get the biggest pile going.
Leo Selvaggio
Leo Selvaggio
“People have been hiding from surveillance since the beginning of networked cameras. Unfortunately wearing a ski mask in public makes you a pretty easy target. Its fairly easy to track on camera, and even if the camera doesn't see you, EVERYONE else will. "Why is that dude wearing a ski mask?" Etc, etc. In response, URME Surveillance has developed a state of the art identity replacement tech in the Personal Surveillance Identity Prosthetic. The basic gist is that rather than hide from cameras, simply give them a face other than your own to track without drawing attention to yourself in a crowd. In other words, when your out in the world doing whatever you are doing, all your actions, which are being recorded are documented as the actions of someone other than yourself, freeing you from any threat of surveillance.�
ISICK ’M OF JUST
DOING
IT.
Shopping for Ethics You eat McDonald’s, even though you know it isn’t real meat, diary, or produce.
Kidult
Try to explain why you still wear Nike’s, even though you know they were made by children?
You shop at Urban Outfitters, despite the reoccurring racist, sexist, insensitive, or exploitive headlines. You drink Starbucks, even though you recognize the invasion, on the streets and in the ecosystem. You drink Coca-Cola, despite knowing its chemical properties on metal.
Shamis McGillin
Well, all you really need is water anyway.
? ve i n
[Mass-manufactured mundanity]
elie l ly b a e r yo u t do Wh a
Watchmen, DC
…Clearly, obsolescence occurs with or without “planning.” With respect to things, obsolescence occurs under three conditions. It occurs when a product literally deteriorates to the point at which it can no longer fulfill its functions — bearings burn out, fabrics tear, pipes rust. Assuming the same functions still need to be performed for the consumer, the failure of a product to perform these functions marks the point at which its replacement is required. This is obsolescence due to functional failure.
Obsolescence also occurs when some new product arrives on the scene to perform these functions more effectively than the old product could, The new antibiotics do a more effective job of curing infection than the old. The new computers are infinitely faster and cheaper to operate than the antique models of the early 1960’s. This is obsolescence due to substantive technological advance.
But obsolescence also occurs when the needs of the consumer change, when the functions to be performed by the product are themselves altered. These needs are not simply described as the critics of planned obsolescence sometimes assume. An object, whether a car or a can opener, may be evaluated along many different parameters. A car, for example, is more than a conveyance. It is an expression of the personality of the user, a symbol of status, a source of that pleasure associated with speed, a source of a wide variety of sensory stimuli— tactile, olfactory, visual, etc. This satisfaction a consumer gains from such factors may, depending upon his values, outweigh the satisfaction he might receive from improved gas consumption or pickup power.
The traditional notion that each object has a single easily definable function clashes with all that we know about human psychology, about the role of values in decisionmaking, and with ordinary common sense as well. All products are multifunctional. — Words & images: Eric Kreienbrink
artist unknown
What happens when the protecto r becomes the enemy? When instead of freeing the opp ressed, they oppress the free? When they use violence on the nonviolent? When they protect our rights by taking our rights? When their corruption is covered up by corrupt government officials? When they beat us when we thin k we can’t be beat? Enough is enough. Don’t let the power hungry gain all the power. Don’t let power trips destroy pea ceful trips. Don’t let sadists point weapons at the peaceful weaponless. Don’t let the ageist decide the cred ible age. Don’t let the corrupt nationalist rule the nation. Don’t let the minority decide how to control the majority. We must not give into violent mea ns. Peace and love must succeed. Only then can we be free. — Claire Collins
Colors, 85
$ $
$EX $ELL$ $EX $ELL$ $EX $ELL$ Advertising has effectively grasped every minute of our public lives, telling us what to buy, who to trust, and how to behave. When you see advertisements using sex as a strategy for engagement, do you recognize their ill intentions?
Tampon Run I’ll explain — I had my first period when I was born. My creators gave me chocolate pigtails and a small blue backpack woven of pixels and code, and from those same threads, they created my blood without my knowing. The school bus had just dropped me off and I was at home making a peanut butter & jelly sandwich when blood suddenly splashed in big blocks from out between my legs, trailing like snails out of my white skirt, leaving red tracks crisscrossing down my legs and zig-zagging across the tile floor. I felt such a pain in my side, that I was sure that my creators had decided to off me with my own butter knife. I asked them if I was going to die and if they were going to replace me, but they said that the girls in the 3D world bled monthly and that I’d need to get a white piece of cotton with a string on the end of it, and insert it inside the hole between my legs and take it out when the string turned crimson. They called it a tampon and they told me I’d need to go to the store for some. Red snails of blood slid and stuck to the insides of my legs, crawling into my white sneakers as I ran towards town.
I squeezed my stomach in but they kept falling likes bombs on the bugs on the sidewalk. The black telephone wires stretched towards the store and the blood red sky loomed over me like a massive clot about to break apart. “So we lied,” boomed the voice of my creator. “You don’t really need to go to the grocery store for tampons like humans. You get to play a game with us! Keep running- it will help the pain.” Then someone ran into me and more blood shakily leapt out from underneath my skirt. I found out later it was Harold, a kid from school. I wondered why he didn’t even stop to apologize. Since I’m 2D, I can’t go around him, but now I’m used to the way the bill of his cap cuts my forehead and the way his shoes slam into my shins. I have bruises from him. I have the imprints of his rubber soles on my stomach. I’ve learned to jump over Harold since then, but still, it’s difficult when you are bleeding and you’re weighed down by the blood that fills you. I fantasize about taking his red baseball cap with me and burying it my yard just to say that I could, but my creators say I can’t, and if I disobey them, they’ll replace me. They like to remind me I’m replaceable.
The neighbors say that Harold’s a good boy, an A+ student, but he likes to spit in my face and throw grasshoppers in my hair. I told him once I wouldn’t kiss him and that made him mad. My teacher says he only teases me because he likes me, but why would he push me over and rip my white skirt open like a diaper and pull it up over my head and make fun of the black hair that curls out from underneath the cotton. That’s when I first saw the strangest thing just hanging from the 8-bit telephone pole like it fell out of the brown clotted sky- it was a blue cardboard box. I jumped for it and knocked it off the wire, purple and black bits of my uterus pelting the sidewalk and my sneakers in fat blocky drops, staining the stark white canvas with its paint. I could hear my creators cheers, erupting from the crimson clouds like cracks of thunder. I picked up that brilliant blue box and started running again, thinking of that beautiful porcelain bowl in the grocery store, with droplets of piss along the seat and toilet paper bunched and discarded on the floor since people tend to miss. It seemed appealing. Then Harold rammed into me again. I flew back on the sidewalk, scraping my knees and elbows into numb and patchy pound signs, blood forming like it was fresh out of a cheese grater, running like noodles down my limbs. I thought Harold must have decided to go on another run after dinner. Maybe he didn’t see me. He was running very fast. He was always the fastest runner at my school. All the Harolds at my school are the fastestand they don’t stop for hours until they beat the other Harolds’ records…
But they don’t care about mine.
So I brushed off the blood running down my limbs and pressed on. “You’re getting a hang of it,” one of my creators yelled. “Time to step things up a notch.” On the horizon, I saw all of the Harolds running toward me in their red shoes. I threw my tampons at them but they just kicked them back or crushed them into the cracks on the sidewalk. I tried jumping them but they knocked me down and reached into my bra and kicked me with their running shoes. They left me there, and I bled until the sky turned black, and someone yelled GAME OVER out of their car window at me, then my creators started the game again and I was virtualized back at my house and they gave me the control to jump, but I never seemed to get any closer to the grocery store. Since then, my creators have brushed my hair out and given me a smirk. I’m not on the screen of their mother’s PC anymore - I’m a popular app in IOS now and all the teenagers have me dancing around like a swollen tick on their phones as a form of entertainment, and all of the news people in the 3D world want to hear about me and my video game, and my creators keep refilling my blood pixels and someone keeps shouting GAME OVER and I wonder what the neighbors will think about Harold when I finally beat his record, when I finally get to the grocery store and he can’t knock me down anymore. — Cailey Nelson
“Because when I was 13 years old I was sent home for my tank top straps being a little to thin, but a boy could wear a shirt saying “cool story babe, go make me a sandwich"and not be looked at twice. Because when I was 17 I told a guy "no” and the next day the word “tease” was spray painted on my locker. Because when I was 18 and just wanted to be friends, I was a bitch. Because I feel the need to say"I have a boyfriend" instead of “no” because guys respect other men more than they will ever respect me.
Because the song Blurred Lines exists. Because the word “no” means no. No matter how you fucking spin it. Because a girl was drugged and raped with a beer bottle, and the boys who did it are out on bail. Because I owe you nothing. Because pepper spray is a gift I receive yearly. Because I am asked “if I have a boyfriend” more than I am about my mental health. Because my clothes say more about me then my mouth does.
Because society screams “don’t get raped” instead of “don’t rape.”
Because the wage gap exists.
Because I’m scared to walk home alone after 10 pm.
Because the saying “not all men are like that” is used way too often. ENOUGH ARE.
Because being beautiful is the most important thing I’ll ever do. Because when I’m wearing my favourite shirt I’m “asking for it.”
Because I feel the need to say "I’m not a feminist but …….” Because I’m writing this fucking piece” —
Via tumblr/ unknown
Sherrae Rucker
From birth, regulated by the male gaze, In a systematic discrimination on par with racism. Conditioned by patriarchy to believe we’re inferior, Brainwashed in choice of clothing: less is more, Taught that red lips and smoky eyes make us beautiful. We are your trophies and play-toys, Ready to fulfill you at the drop of a dime, Inevitable slaves to your sex drive.
— Claire Collins
Woman Womyn
Well it all comes down to the bedroom, Thinking a higher power made you the dominant sex, Because you are the fornicator and not the fornicate. Therefore reasoning that you can pay us less, That we’ll chain ourselves to a life in your home, Instinctively taking your last name, ridding ourselves of all personality, Painfully birthing child after child to stroke your ego, So we can all tip-toe around you: the one, the only. Well you can’t love and lust for us while cheapening us, If you want a woman, treat her better than men. Make amends for thousands of years of degradation. Let her live a life exploring her readily available intellectual capacities, Living how she pleases, handling her body how she pleases. Man would plainly not exist without the woman’s body. Stop ignoring the elephant in society, Free the woman.
Adbusters, 117
Lucky peach, 06
Lucky peach, 06
Alison Bauer
Lucky peach, 06
“Veganism is so much more than a consumer activity and boycott. It is a moral philosophy, an ethical ideology, a completely different perception of non human animals as sentient, autonomous beings and a lifestyle that extends far beyond what we are willing to put our money towards.” — Tumblr/vegan-because-fuck-you
Another Day Every morning in elementary school, I was instructed to recite the pledge of allegiance. Over and over again, every single day. Students regurgitating the words out: One Nation under God; Indivisible with liberty and justice for all. Things felt so united and indivisible when we were trading Chips Ahoy for gummy bears at the long lunch tables. Now, as I grow older, the words seem to mean even less. Another day, another name of a black teenager unarmed and shot over ten times by a police officer. Another day, another name of a woman raped, left with advice on how to avoid it next time instead of consolation and comfort. Another day, another name of a man shot because he was walking in the wrong neighborhood with the wrong color on his shirt. Another day, another name of a gay man defiled and belittled for kissing his boyfriend in a local park. Another day, another name of a homeless woman begging for leftovers from city walkers who won’t dare to look her in her hopeful eyes.
Another day, another name becomes just like the words we mindlessly spit out each morning before class. We hear it, we say it out loud, and then we forget about it. Some say “separation is natural” But our country is not like salad dressing, or a smoothie, or juice. But more an ongoing epidemic Of divisions in class, race, gender, sexuality, body type; In which there is no valid cure. Racism is a disease. Patriarchy is a virus. Violence is a hideous infection. The most beautiful paintings merge different colors, shapes, sizes, and textures together. Yet we still paint our world in black and white, Male and female, Gay and straight. Fat and skinny. But I suppose it would be impossible For a country to unanimously agree upon the beauty of one painting. There will always be people who don’t get it; don’t like it; won’t accept it. And so, We remain, One nation Under God. Indivisible and ever so divided, with liberty and justice… for some. — Grace Kinter
DOES TRUE FREEDOM EVEN EXIST? Upon birth, you get a slap on the ass and assigned your first registration number. After your parents choose your name, they’ll apply for your social security number too. From there, you’ll need a checking account, a driver’s license, a passport, a credit card, student loans, a ‘smart’ phone, facebook... So is this my identity? Do these things have anything to do with who I am? These things are shackles, keeping me enslaved in a system I don’t believe in. Freedom comes with strings attached. My life is taxed. My future is planned. My identity is owned. But not by me... Well I’m done pretending to fit in. This is an identity immolation. A sacrifice, to find my true self - my true identity. Which can never be put in numbers, never be stolen, and never be printed onto paper.
tom of the ocean, Deep sea diving at the bot rveling the corals, scraping the sand and ma king for that one loo avoiding the sharks and lost treasure. te’s pira a be thought that may I would come up You will drown down here. for air if I were you. empty. Your oxygen tank is almost Did you take a breathe? Good. So, we shall continue. — Brandon Lee Vear
Eric Kreienbrink
and place that you A grave look at the space e where the gray might call your conscienc nted with rainbows walls of your mind are pai ir sentences. the out g by the inmates livin
Coffee grows in 84 countries
and it didn’t just walk there.
Empire Coffee
the future of coffee lies in its past
www.empireroasters.coffee
“If you realize that all things change, there is nothing you will try to hold on to. If you are not afraid of dying, there is nothing you cannot achieve.” — Tao Te Ching
Colors, 85
Query: Worshipped soldiers kill.
Injected killers rot.
American hypocrisy. Perplexed? — Claire Collins
Eric Kreienbrink
AdBusters, 117
The planet is dying; we are the cancer.
Can we also be the cure?
Eric Kreienbrink
PLEASE RECYCLE
Defector : a free zine meant to spread awareness and incite protest.
curated by Entropy Threads art direction: Nick Marchese design: Eric Kreienbrink photography: Shamis McGillin editor: Haley Cieslak submissions: Brandon Lee Vear, IQwality, Cailey Nelson, Claire Collins, Kevin Pementel, Leo Selvaggio, Alison Bauer, and Grace Kinter
published by Entropy Threads with the help of Art + Activism at Columbia College Chicago. magazine photocopies courtesy: Adbusters, COLORS, LuckyPeach, and National Geographic, and LIFE. email: entropythreads@gmail.com web: view this zine online at: entropythreads.com/defector001
All words and images sourced from student submissions, photocopied news/magazine articles, and online via tumblr and youtube. All rights belong to their respective owners. Unless otherwise credited to an artist, writer or source where it previously appeared, all content created by Nick Marchese and Entropy Threads. If copyright info is incorrect, please contact us so proper credit can be assigned.
DEFECTOR.001
MAY 2015
$000.00