Any officers who choose to participate in a boycott of defending Levi Stadium are proving all the things they hate about Kaepernick’s opinion right. They are proving that there is indeed a limit to who they are willing to protect.
Ithaca College faculty members will vote in a referendum on the issue of confidence in President Tom Rochon.
Activists protest the use of caverns for storage of natural gas and blockade the entrance to the Crestwood plant.
One of the best things Ithaca College can do to fulfill its goal of benefiting others, in specific regards to communities and individuals affected by industry and climate change, is to remove all ties to fossil fuels. That includes divesting our endowment.
While the powers of Reading and Schuyler County have realized that sending the We Are Seneca Lake protesters to jail is costly and only fuels our movement, many in my activist cohort believe that Judge Berry’s hesitance to sentence me runs deeper than that. They joke that he sees me as an incarnation of his own young granddaughter, who, according to Berry, refuses to speak to him when he sends people to jail.
Can you imagine what would happen if our representatives sat down to vote on whether homosexuals are born with their sexuality or if they choose it? Or what if there was a vote deciding that, despite hard numbers clearly demonstrating women are paid less than men for the same work, this was not actually the case?
Tonight I have filled the hiking backpack I got for Christmas to the brim with all the supplies and equipment I will need for a five day, 53 mile journey from my home in Geneva to my second home in Ithaca. After I finish this blog post I will go to bed and try to get a full night’s rest, because tomorrow, for the first time in a while, I will be rising with the sun to walk.
My heart was pounding as I brushed the excess sand off the jar, and it wasn’t because I was risking trespass charges. It was because I knew there was a chance I was risking my life. Once I screwed the lid on, I frantically brushed my gloves off on my pant leg, and then did the best I could to shake the stuff off my pants. A little voice in my head told me that trying to decontaminate myself was futile, that if I had been smart I would have come here equipped with a mask. It could already be in my lungs.
While walking along Route 65 out of Maumee and toward Toledo, a pick-up truck operated by a sleeping driver struck me head on. Unlike the unfortunate Peace Marcher in 1986, I can live to tell the tale.
I sat down beside a bubbling stream near our campsite, dipped my feet into the cool water and wrote Rob a letter. I described to him the beauty of Colorado, the physical challenge of walking 15 to 20 miles each day and the incredible new family I had acquired in the Marchers. I ended the letter by begging him to come out and see it for himself.
In Fort Garland, Colorado, we had a stay day and camped for two nights across the street from the old fort, which is now a museum.
Note: For more pictures, follow me on Twitter (@viridorari) and Instagram (bluegirl3666)
First Day: May 24th
I can’t ever say enough about how incredible my first day was.
