Get Revolution No. 18, voice of the Revolutionary Internationalist Youth!

For copies send US$1 to: Mundial Publications, Box 3321 Church Street Station, New York, NY 10008, USA.

In this issue:

• Why We Need a Socialist Revolution
• "Africa Starved of Vaccines": An Imperialist Crime
• How Cuba's Heroic "Wasp Network" Stung U.S.-Backed Counterrevolutionaries
• Bernie Sanders and AOC Peddle Biden's Bitter Brew
• In Memory of Joe Johnson (1948-2021)
• Remembering Lil Joe
• On Rejecting Anarchism and Joining RIY: Radicalized by George Floyd Protests
• Response to "Left Voice" Supporters: Real Reds Don't Bow to Anti-Communist Bans
• Forum on "Women, Class Struggle and Revolution"
• Wash Supply Worker: "We Face Mistreatment and Discrimination"
• Black Women Face Capitalism's Triple Pandemic
• Bangladesh, Mexico, NYC: Women Workers in Struggle
• CUNY Faculty and Staff Union Protests for Safe Reopening
• A Review of Trotsky in New York 1917: "Bronx Man Leads Russian Revolution"

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Package of articles now online from the forthcoming Marxism & Education bulletin:

• Mobilize to Fight Racist “Anti-CRT” Gag Laws!
• Revolutionary Integrationism vs. “Critical Race Theory”
• The 1776 Report: Whitewashing U.S. History
• The 1619 Project: Misidentifying the Roots of Racism

I'm hardly ever at a loss for words, but I think the nature of standing on this Reddit soapbox is giving me a bit of stage fright—especially concerning the precariousness of my situation. I am a 29 year old guy who has jousted a lifetime with a varying degree of mental diversity, and I've reached my wit's end. I'm on the brink of homelessness, and I have no earthly idea what the hell I'm going to do.

Clinically speaking, I suffer from Bipolar II depression, Adult ADHD, and OCD, though I've only been diagnosed for a year or less.

I'm a bright, clever, and creative person who has a big heart and love for people, but for whatever reason I have never adjusted to the society we've been brought up in. Globally speaking, I don't think I am a failure, but I have, statistically, failed at nearly everything I've put my name on.

I grew up in a home teeming with religious zealotry and was always expected to be something different than who ever I was. As bright as I may have been I did poorly in school, steadily declining from about 4th grade onward, and was chalked up to being lazy and dilatory despite performing well on exams and above average in writing portfolios. Eventually, I wound up dropping out of high school. I went on to continue my teenage trend of falling in and out of low wage job after low wage job rarely lasting a month at any given one. Despite getting into university, the story repeated itself. I once failed an entire class for not turning in a single essay though finally writing the final one which set the curve for the class.

You can take the word failure and call it high school, McDonald's, call centers, 75 other jobs, college, relationships, but its meaning doesn't change—there's an old adage about calling roses by their name.

Initially I wanted to to be a great artist, when I was 12 I wanted to be a filmmaker, at 20 it was simply writing, a couple years ago I dicked around with making puppets, either way for my entire life I've wanted to be a storyteller, a writer, an artist, but I've been in perpetual warfare with words those dreams were shot down with, "why don't you do something you can get you a job in," or being in rural Kentucky, "why don't you just do what the other boys are doing." These arguments have become my internal dialogue, and I can't have them any longer, because this depression is consuming me. It's eating me alive.

Now after years of fighting a losing battle, I surrender, but I don't want to crawl into a whole and die. And as suicidal as I've been, I don't want to die at all, but I can't go on living like this. In the past five months I've been employed less than 30 days as a result of this depression. I'm about to be served an eviction, and while I could go lay at mama or granny's houses, I refuse to do that, because I can't fight this system any longer. I'm not going back to rural Kentucky where you have to feed that pig with dollar bills. I'm not good at earning dollar bills.

I'm good at laughing, and loving, and entertaining, being a servant, making others happy and jubilant, helping, nurturing, drawing, painting, inking, writing, telling stories, being goofy, being passionate, working for something besides a god damn paycheck.

Amid my recent apathetic state, I've fantasized about reclusive living, scrounging for a donut out of a garbage can to ease my hunger pangs, hiding from society because I can't hack it or I don't belong in it, but I'm not a recluse—I don't do well being alone. I can hack it, I do belong, and I want to live.

If any of you know of any communities that need a set of hands, a heart, and an interesting mind, to say the least, looking for someplace to live and be alive.

Best wishes.