iflewoverthecuckoosnest
Well-known member
If you are a crossover user from anarcho-punk.net, you may have already seen me post this. If so, I apologize, but I want to share Michael's story with as many people as possible. He was a torch of inspiration, and remains so even in death. I meant to post this days ago, but I have been mentally exhausted with the shock of Mike's death. This is the first clear day I've had so far, so I am posting this now.
“This is not only a war against the spread of fascism by ISIS and their supporters in the Turkish government though. The YPG is creating a revolutionary environment in Rojava,” he [Michael] wrote in a social media post in August 2015. “Where liberated communities are not treated as conquered peoples, but are instead empowered, allowed to self govern and be the masters of their own destinies.”
http://www.uniondemocrat.com/localnews/4863638-151/mother-lode-man-killed-in-syria?referrer=bullet2
Dear Michael Israel,
I just found out that you died a few hours ago.
I still remember when you told me that we should hang out because you were leaving soon. Leaving? To where? I knew you well enough to realize that you weren't going on a cruise.
Ever since I met you, you were always giving yourself to people; oppressed people, poor people, sad people, homeless people.
Once, when a drug dealer threatened your roommate, you invited the drug dealer to coffee so you could try to talk things out. You were arrested for civil disobedience at least one time that I know of. You spent every spare moment of your life fighting injustice and working for a better world, and you didn't do it to look cool. I think you did it because you were filled with some kind of light from another world, and sometimes, when you were just sitting there, I would catch glimpses of it beaming out of you.
I mean that you would look at everyone in the room like they were something special, like you were so honored to witness your friends drinking beer and telling dirty jokes in front of the TV. I don't think you ever caught me watching your secret light, and I don't think it ever occurred to you, even once, that you were the special one, not us.
So, after years of witnessing your constant dedication to humanity- and even an injured deer you found in your backyard, once- I knew that you weren't going on some touristy excursion around Europe. Not you.
We were sitting on a bench on a sidewalk in Angel's Camp when you said, "I'm going to Syria to join the Kurds in fighting ISIS."
You said it without a hint of pride. You said it the same way someone would mention that they are going on a camping trip. That light made you brave.
You came back to the States to visit right around this time last year, and I saw you a few, final times, then you returned to Syria. From what you told me, and what I have gathered, you repaired houses that were destroyed by terrorist bombings. I do not know everything else that you did, but I know that you also sang, danced, fought the bad guys, and posed with puppies.
I will never know what, exactly, your final moments were like in the bombing. I'll never know how many lives you touched in aiding the anarchist Kurds as they built their self reliant community. I'll never know, really, what made your soul so powerful, or what secret machinery made your eyes so bright, your crow's feet so wrinkled and deep when you smiled, but I do know this; people like you never truly die.
I love you, Mike.
“This is not only a war against the spread of fascism by ISIS and their supporters in the Turkish government though. The YPG is creating a revolutionary environment in Rojava,” he [Michael] wrote in a social media post in August 2015. “Where liberated communities are not treated as conquered peoples, but are instead empowered, allowed to self govern and be the masters of their own destinies.”
http://www.uniondemocrat.com/localnews/4863638-151/mother-lode-man-killed-in-syria?referrer=bullet2
Dear Michael Israel,
I just found out that you died a few hours ago.
I still remember when you told me that we should hang out because you were leaving soon. Leaving? To where? I knew you well enough to realize that you weren't going on a cruise.
Ever since I met you, you were always giving yourself to people; oppressed people, poor people, sad people, homeless people.
Once, when a drug dealer threatened your roommate, you invited the drug dealer to coffee so you could try to talk things out. You were arrested for civil disobedience at least one time that I know of. You spent every spare moment of your life fighting injustice and working for a better world, and you didn't do it to look cool. I think you did it because you were filled with some kind of light from another world, and sometimes, when you were just sitting there, I would catch glimpses of it beaming out of you.
I mean that you would look at everyone in the room like they were something special, like you were so honored to witness your friends drinking beer and telling dirty jokes in front of the TV. I don't think you ever caught me watching your secret light, and I don't think it ever occurred to you, even once, that you were the special one, not us.
So, after years of witnessing your constant dedication to humanity- and even an injured deer you found in your backyard, once- I knew that you weren't going on some touristy excursion around Europe. Not you.
We were sitting on a bench on a sidewalk in Angel's Camp when you said, "I'm going to Syria to join the Kurds in fighting ISIS."
You said it without a hint of pride. You said it the same way someone would mention that they are going on a camping trip. That light made you brave.
You came back to the States to visit right around this time last year, and I saw you a few, final times, then you returned to Syria. From what you told me, and what I have gathered, you repaired houses that were destroyed by terrorist bombings. I do not know everything else that you did, but I know that you also sang, danced, fought the bad guys, and posed with puppies.
I will never know what, exactly, your final moments were like in the bombing. I'll never know how many lives you touched in aiding the anarchist Kurds as they built their self reliant community. I'll never know, really, what made your soul so powerful, or what secret machinery made your eyes so bright, your crow's feet so wrinkled and deep when you smiled, but I do know this; people like you never truly die.
I love you, Mike.
