If you can't be bothered to watch all of it, at least watch the last chapter on the modern era and how information about airborne disease that has been available to us since before the turn of the century is still being ignored because no one wants to admit they are wrong.
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"All drugs are drugs" = a surprisingly radical position that will upset people right across the political spectrum
This means:
If you draw a hard line between "drug" and "medicine" based on current legality where you live (or any other criteria) you've gone wrong somewhere,
If you think legality and/or prescription status tells you all you need about a substance's capacity to do massive harm to someone's body, mind or well-being you've gone wrong somewhere,
If you think legality and/or prescription status tells you all you need about a substance's capacity to contribute meaningfully to someone's healing, function or happiness you've gone wrong somewhere,
If you think certain substances should be excluded from informed consent (either withheld or forcibly administered) you've gone wrong somewhere.
One of the most frustrating things I have found about men and womenβs actions, especially in relationships, is that women are always expected to give men the benefit of the doubt, communicate better, and act when men have been poor at communicating.
When women complain that men are not doing their share of the chores itβs always: have you tried communicating that with them? Have you spoken to them about it? Have you given them a list of chores to do? Basically, have you done everything humanly to make it easier for him to do these chores?
I saw another one recently where a woman was complaining that her husband asked her three times when a certain appointment was and she said things like this put the mental load on her and was just draining. Basically every single comment was some variation of telling her she needed to put it in a calendar, saying that he probably has other things on his mind because of work or male-dominated chores (when the oil needs changing, when the grass needs mowing, etc), or basically telling her that he has a job so remembering all of this is hard and she needs to help him. (Or just insulting her.)
Meanwhile, I saw a post where a guy said that his wife always ate his fries when they got fast food so instead of doing anything about it, he hid the fries or ate them before she could get any. The responses? SHE needs to communicate better about what foods she wants in the future. On a different post where a woman was complaining that a man was eating all the snacks she would buy for herself, no matter how much asked him not to and actively hid the snacks, half of the suggestions were that she needed to buy more snacks because he clearly wanted them even if he wasnβt communicating it properly. So women eating menβs food and not asking for their own is poor communication and she needs to communicate better. But men eating womenβs womenβs food and not not asking for their own is poor communication but women should understand that it means he wants the snacks and get them?
Then when men donβt pull their weight in the household itβs: maybe heβs stressed from work. Maybe heβs depressed. Maybe he doesnβt know what needs doing. You, as the woman, need to communicate with him about this.
Donβt even get me started on the fact that people still assume that men are working and paying for everything while women remain at home, despite most households having two working adults.
And when the relationship ultimately breaks down then itβs her fault: SHE shouldβve communicated better. SHE should have expressed her unhappiness. SHE should have done more. Nothing about the fact that she man ignored her and didnβt pull his weight, only about how her actions lead to the end of the marriage. Because men are always owed the benefit of the doubt and women always need to communicate better.
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It was a Tuesday in 1981 when the San Francisco police kicked in the door.
Inside the small apartment, they expected to find a hardened criminal. They expected a drug kingpin. They expected resistance.
Instead, they found a 57-year-old waitress in an apron.
The air in the apartment smelled sweet, thick with chocolate and something earthier. On the kitchen counter, cooling on wire racks, were 54 dozen brownies.
The police officers began bagging the evidence. They confiscated nearly 18 pounds of marijuana. They handcuffed the woman, whose name was Mary Jane Rathbun.
She didn't look scared. She didn't look guilty.
She looked at the officers, smoothed her apron, and reportedly said, "I thought you guys were coming."
She was booked into the county jail. The headlines wrote themselves. A grandmother running a pot bakery. It seemed like a joke to the legal system, a quirky local news story about an older woman behaving badly.
But Mary wasn't baking for fun. And she certainly wasn't baking for profit.
To understand why Mary risked her freedom, you have to understand the silence of the early 1980s.
San Francisco was gripping the edge of a cliff. A mysterious illness was sweeping through the city, specifically targeting young men. Later, the world would know it as AIDS. But in those early days, it was just a death sentence that no one wanted to talk about.
Families were disowning their sons. Landlords were evicting tenants. Even doctors and nurses, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, would sometimes leave food trays outside hospital doors, afraid to breathe the same air as their patients.
Men in their twenties were wasting away in sterile rooms, dying alone.
Mary knew what it felt like to lose a child.
Years earlier, in 1974, her daughter Peggy had been killed in a car accident. Peggy was only 22. The loss had hollowed Mary out, leaving a space in her heart that nothing seemed to fill.
When the judge sentenced Mary for that first arrest, he ordered her to perform 500 hours of community service. He likely thought the manual labor would teach her a lesson.
He sent her to the Shanti Project and San Francisco General Hospital.
It was a mistake that would change American history.
Mary walked into the AIDS wards when others were walking out. She didn't wear a hazmat suit. She didn't hold her breath. She saw rows of young men who looked like ghostsβskeletal, in pain, and terrified.
She saw "her kids."
She began mopping floors and changing sheets. But soon, she noticed something the doctors were missing. The harsh medications the men were taking caused violent nausea. They couldn't eat. They were starving to death as much as they were dying of the virus.
Mary knew a secret about the brownies she had been arrested for.
She knew they settled the stomach. She knew they brought back the appetite. She knew they could help a dying man sleep for a few hours without pain.
So, she made a choice.
She went back to her kitchen. She fired up the oven. She started mixing batter, not to sell, but to save.
Every morning, Mary would bake. She lived on a fixed income, surviving on Social Security checks that barely covered her rent. Yet, she spent nearly every dime on flour, sugar, and butter.
The most expensive ingredientβthe cannabisβwas donated. Local growers heard what she was doing. They began dropping off pounds of product at her door, free of charge.
She packed the brownies into a basket and took the bus to the hospital.
She walked room to room. She sat by the bedsides of men who hadn't seen their own mothers in years. She held their hands. She told them jokes. And she gave them brownies.
"Here, baby," she would say. "Eat this. It'll help."
And it did.
Nurses watched in amazement as patients who hadn't eaten in days began to ask for food. The constant retching stopped. The mood on the ward shifted from despair to a quiet sort of comfort.
Mary Jane Rathbun became "Brownie Mary."
For over a decade, this was her life. She baked roughly 600 brownies a day. She went through 50 pounds of flour a week. She became the mother to a generation of lost boys.
She washed their pajamas. She attended their funerals. She held them while they took their last breaths.
She did this while the government declared a "War on Drugs."
By the early 1990s, the political climate was hostile. Politicians were competing to see who could be "tougher" on crime. Mandatory minimum sentences were locking people away for decades.
In 1992, at the age of 70, Mary was arrested again.
This time, the stakes were lethal. She was charged with felonies. The district attorney looked at her rap sheet and saw a repeat offender. He threatened to send her to prison.
One prosecutor famously whispered to a colleague that he was going to "kick this old lady's ass."
They underestimated who they were dealing with.
They thought they were prosecuting a drug dealer. In reality, they were attacking the most beloved woman in San Francisco.
When the news broke that Brownie Mary was facing prison, the city erupted.
It wasn't just the activists who were angry. It was the doctors. It was the nurses. It was the parents who had watched Mary care for their dying sons when the government did nothing.
Mary turned her trial into a pulpit.
She arrived at court not as a defendant, but as a grandmother standing her ground. The media swarmed her. Reporters asked if she was afraid of prison. They asked if she would stop baking if they let her go.
Mary looked into the cameras, her voice gravelly and firm.
"If the narcs think I'm gonna stop baking brownies for my kids with AIDS," she said, "they can go fuck themselves in Macy's window."
The quote ran in newspapers across the country.
The court didn't stand a chance.
Testimony poured in. Doctors from San Francisco General Hospital wrote letters explaining that Maryβs brownies were medically necessary. Patients testified that she was an angel of mercy.
The charges were dropped.
Mary walked out of the courthouse a free woman. But she didn't go home to rest. She realized that her personal victory wasn't enough. As long as the law was broken, her "kids" were still in danger.
She needed to change the law.
August 25 was declared "Brownie Mary Day" by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. It was a nice gesture, but Mary wanted policy, not plaques.
She teamed up with fellow activist Dennis Peron. Together, they opened the San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Clubβthe first public dispensary in the United States. It was a safe haven where patients could get their medicine without fear of arrest.
But Mary wanted more. She wanted the state of California to acknowledge the truth.
She campaigned for Proposition 215. She traveled the state, despite her failing health. She spoke in her simple, direct way. She didn't talk about liberties or economics. She talked about compassion. She talked about pain.
She forced voters to look at the issue through the eyes of a grandmother.
In 1996, Proposition 215 passed. California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana.
It was a domino effect. Because one woman refused to let her "kids" suffer, the public perception of cannabis shifted. The Economist later noted that Mary was single-handedly responsible for changing the national conversation.
She never got rich.
She had always joked that if legalization ever happened, she would sell her recipe to Betty Crocker and buy a Victorian house for her patients to live in.
She never sold the recipe. She never bought the house.
Mary Jane Rathbun died in 1999, at the age of 77. She passed away in a nursing home, poor in money but rich in legacy.
Today, over 30 states have legalized medical marijuana. Millions of people use it to manage pain, seizures, and nausea.
Most of them have never heard of Mary.
They don't know that their legal prescription exists because a waitress in San Francisco decided that the law was wrong and her heart was right.
They don't know about the 600 brownies a day.
They don't know about the thousands of hospital visits.
Mary didn't set out to be a hero. She told the Chicago Tribune years before she died, "I didn't go into this thinking I would be a hero."
She was just a mother who had lost her daughter, trying to help boys who had lost their way.
She proved that authority doesn't always equal morality.
She proved that sometimes, the most patriotic thing a citizen can do is break a bad law.
Every August, a few people in San Francisco still celebrate Brownie Mary Day. But her true memorial isn't a date on a calendar.
It is found in every oncology ward where a patient finds relief. It is found in every dispensary door that opens without fear.
It is found in the simple, quiet courage of anyone who sees suffering and refuses to look away.
Mary taught us that you don't need a law degree to change the world. You don't need millions of dollars. You don't need political office.
Sometimes, all you need is a mixing bowl, an oven, and enough love to tell the world to get out of your way.
Sources: New York Times Obituary (1999), "Brownie Mary" Rathbun. San Francisco Chronicle Archives (1992, 1996). History.com, "The History of Medical Marijuana." Weird Everything, FB december 12, 2025
I'd be only too happy to do that. I was suspicious to start, too. It seemed a bit on the nose to have the weed brownie grandma named "Mary Jane," but also, that's a very common combination in a certain place and time, so I thought it was worth the extra effort.
What I did was find sources that made the claim (in this case, that a woman named Mary Jane was a medicinal marijuana activist in California, USA in the 1980s and 90s.) I checked the dates to get some certainty those sources aren't AI slop, then checked that the sources are generally reliable.
Then I followed useful details about the place and time, and other people involved, to explore it more fully.
The first thing I did was search for "Brownie Mary" and see if that turned anything up at all. It turned up a LOT of results. Predictably, some of them were recipes, but not all of them.
Next up, I checked sources and dates. Wikipedia can be dodgy for academic use, but their policy on LLM-generated input is very clear: they don't want slop. I started by reading that page and then went on to read others.
The Atlas Obscura article is from 2018. I found another one from SFWeekly from 2017.
Both of those are decent sources - Atlas Obscura gets a High factual reporting rate from MediaBiasFactCheck, and while MBFC doesn't have a rating for SFWeekly, the verbiage in that article is very close to what GastroObscura has. (Also to what the post itself has, right down to the choice of pull quote.)
Now, we can stop there and feel pretty confident that articles published before the wide availability of LLMs are not, in fact, LLM generated.
...or we can go deeper, and run this all the way back to source.
I spotted references to a Chicago Tribune imterview of Mary Jane Rathbun, published in 1993.
My search string of "Chicago Tribune 1993 Mary Jane Rathbun" hit it in the top 3 results. That article includes some fun new details: she wore a cannabis leaf shaped pendant to her trial!
She also objected to being portrayed as a cuddly grandma up against The Man, so I must retract my flippant tags, above.
The evidence now strongly points to Brownie Mary being a real woman who really went to court for giving AIDS patients weed brownies. But can we get closer? I've now seen several mentions of a 1980 attempt at convicting her too.
The articles have mentioned Sonoma County and a nonprofit called the Shanti Project, so let's hook onto that and see what we get.
Searching for "Mary Jane Rathbun Sonoma County 1980" gets me an article from a law firm; that mentions the prosecuting attorney by name, and points to a book: Lust for Justice: The Radical Life & Law of J. Tony Serra, by Paulette Frankl. It even has an excerpt!
We can run the book down too, just for fun (now we have a primary source.) My favorite used book site has a copy for $1. Amazon gives a view of the back cover, too:
...wow. I should see if my library has that!
The excerpt on the site has a mention of a candelight vigil held for her death in 1999. It took some hunting past things I'd already read and a bunch of shops giving written tributes, but I found a news report about that, too.
There's a lot of information out there, and it's worth digging into. Otherwise it's altogether too easy to think something real and worth knowing is just another bit of slop.
Lesbians, everything you do to share your experience matters. Even if it's just a little bit. Your song about lesbian experience matters, your poetry about lesbian experience matters, your book about lesbian experience matters, your text about lesbian experience matters, your video about lesbian experience matters, your posts on social medias about lesbian experience matters. Even your little fanfiction with a lesbian main character matters.
In this world, lesbians are silenced. We never hear about our experience, see it talked about or represented. Everything you have to say about what it's like to be a lesbian matters. And it's incredibly meaningful for the young lesbians reading it or listening to it.
So go on, make this post about the crush you have on this girl or this long text about what it felt growing up as a female homosexual. Make this joke about lesbian sex, write this song, make this video. Even if you find it silly or useless. It matters.
This photograph, taken in 1948, shows a man in a suit and tie weeping in front of a news camera.
His name was George Gillette.
Those tears were not tears of fear.
Those were tears shed out of helplessness and the inability to do anything about it.
He was the leader of the Mandan, Arikala, and Hidatsa tribes, and that day he was being forced to sign an agreement with the U.S. government to hand over his ancestral lands.
The purpose was to build a dam on the Missouri River.
That signature meant that over 600 square kilometers of land homes, schools, churches, fertile fieldsβwould all be permanently submerged underwater.
Gillette understood.
"What I'm selling isn't just land,
it's the very memory of my people."
But he had no choice.
If he had refused to sign, the tribe wouldn't have received any compensation whatsoever.
His tear-stained face remains one of the most powerful records, symbolizing the wounded dignity experienced by Native Americans.
This historic photo captures not just a moment, but an abuse that has lasted centuries on native tribes across the Americas.
Indigenous culture and history exist outside of capitalism and Western norms, making us extremely vulnerable to abuse by the systems and governments that serve everyone else.
To the capitalist machine, we are expendable.
Before 1492, it's been estimated that nearly 100 million people lived and thrived in the Americas [citation], accounting for about 20% of the global population.
Twenty. Fucking. Percent.
Today, Indigenous Americans account for less than 0.01% of the global population.
Europeans brought us plague and infighting, established themselves as superior, and began centuries of abuse and mistreatment toward indigenous populations across the Americas. It still persists today.
But we also persist. We are still here.
Indigenous existence is resistance.
I've had to fight my own government back home since I was a kid. I can give you first-hand retellings of the dangers I've had to face when defending our ancestral land. The police and government barely care about us, only moving against criminal/illegal activity when it's safe enough for them or looks good on a headline.
My duty as Wari is to protect my people, our land, and all those who rely on it. I am a keeper of ancestral knowledge and traditions. I am a leader of my people, just as Mr. Gillette, and I am fighting hard to make sure that history doesn't repeat itself for us.
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βThis post might cost me some followers but I finally need to speak out about my experience.For the past few years I identified as a transgender man. Until I realised that my transition was nothing else than a coping mechanism and I understood that, to me, identifying with gender means to identify with toxic stereotypes. Meanwhile, I neither identify as a woman, nor as a man, nor as any other gender. I am biologically female and that is all I need in order to be a woman.
Detransition doesnβt mean that I simply live as a cis woman again or that Iβve never been trans. It means that I choose to deal with my gender dysphoria in a different way and that I am now healing from the negative experiences that I made as a woman in our society.
I respect trans peopleβs gender identity, their pronouns, and I respect that there are people who have a different definition of what it means to be a woman or man. And I believe that we donβt have to hate each other just for having a different opinion. I know by first hand how hard it is to be trans but the discrimination I faced back then was nothing compared to the hatred and loss of friends that I experienced after coming out as detrans.
This being said, I am done explaining myself and I am sick of feeling like my opinions are something I need to hide.β
When discussing World War I history, I think people should talk more about the Armenian genocide. For those who arenβt aware, during the years 1915-1917 (roughly) the Ottoman Empire the mass murdered around one million Armenians with death marches to the Syrian Desert and forced the Islamization of others, primarily women and children.
The context of WW1 is very important to have in mind when examining common rhetoric that attempts to deny the Armenian Genocide ever happening.
"It wasn't genocide, they were relocating Armenian populations to get them out of harm's way during the war." Then how do you justify such a devastating death count? And if that were true, why round up and kill the intellectuals, thinkers, politicians, lawyers, doctors, religious men of the Armenians before anyone was ever marched to the Der Zor desert?
To be clear, there were massacres and attacks on the Armenian population already happening before 1915. It's just that a war of such global scale was a convenient distraction from this final strike on Armenians in the Ottoman Empire, and continues to be just that.
An indigenous nation with a long history of statehood, wars for independence, a movement for unification with Eastern Armenia (occupied by Russian empire), had a real chance of liberating itself from the colonisers. The ottomans never managed to assimilate Armenians into their coloniser society: my people maintained their religion, language and historical memory. The ideology of the Ottoman leadership whether led by a sultan, young Turks party or Kemal, was the same: annihilation of indigenous nations and their history for the purpose of complete appropriation of their land. Modern Turkey lives by the same principle as its predecessors did during and after WW1 - this is another reason to remember that era and recognise the Armenian Genocide.
Also, in a thread about this, I found an excellent response from one of the women involved in the passing of this law -- which isn't just a ban btw; it includes education and prevention measures, as well as support for survivors -- to a commenter asking about why the law is "discriminatory" because the advocacy group didn't also focus on boys:
"If you mean to include male genital mutilation/male circumcision, here is what I will tell you: This law was made through the advocacy, storytelling, and courage of survivors of FGM/C. Equality Now works *with survivors* as a collective for survivor support. Even the UN mandate that this law pushes forward was done through the work of *survivors* raising awareness and speaking their truth. And it was not easy. This has been a fight for *decades*. It predates me, it predates my mother, it predates my grandmother.
I would stand with survivors of MGM/C and assist them in their advocacy just as readily as I stand with FGM/C survivors *like myself.* Especially if MGM/C survivors were willing to stand with and speak alongside FGM/C survivors instead of turning a victory for survivors into a contest about discrimination and misandry.
This law is not discriminatory. This law does not say MGM/C is allowed in lieu of FGM/C, it does not force MGM/C upon the people of Colombia. It is not the law that would be used to bar MGM/C β that would be a different mandate, a different call for education, a different call for training.
I would encourage MGM/C survivors interested in making a change in their local laws and policies to reach out to the advocacy groups that have been working tirelessly on ending FGM/C. Ask them how they brought people together. How they supported survivors trying to tell their stories. Ask them what advocacy steps *they took* and ask them for help instead of sitting back and expecting someone else to tell your story for you. Because the only way change gets made the way *you* want it to get made is if you make yourself part of that change."
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I would love some perspective from other radfems on how to cope with no shaving, no makeup, comfortable clothes etc when you're not just a little unattractive, but overall ugly by society's standards.
I wasn't dealt a good hand when I was born. Chronic diseases has taken a rampant toll on my body. The meds I take blow up my face, swells up my legs and causes blotchy, red spots all over. I've got a mangled scar on my leg from a car accident. I keep my head shaved since I can't deal with hiding the bald spots anymore, and I've got loose skin from years of emotional eating coupled with thyroid issues that I luckily have under control. No amount of weightlifting is gonna make the flabby skin go away, however, that's just my body now. A round face, no jawline, flabby skin and a mangled leg.
When I see photos celebrating women who don't shave or wear makeup they are always thin, naturally beautiful or awesome, cool looking women. It feels like their natural beauty is what allows them to be comfortable.
When women like me allow ourselves to be comfortable we're offensive to society on a whole other level. When so few things about us can be made acceptable to look at it feels as if the few things we can control, like having hairy legs or a bare face, is a deliberate choice made in poor taste.
I don't shave or wear makeup anymore, but I feel like a monster. I try to embrace body neutrality and accept my body for what it can do, but it's hard. It feels as if I "owe" society a shaved leg to make up for its deformity. My choice to not do anything can only at best be seen as "brave", but beyond that most of what I get is pity, a "thank god I don't look like her" type of look. I certainly can't be the only one who struggles here.
Honestly, I went from being someone who constantly worried about what she looked like to the point that it would ruin my ability to enjoy things to someone who doesn't think about what she looks like at all nearly all day every day.
I too am visibly disabled, but even before that I was always "the weird one". I was "breaking the rules" without wanting to or even knowing that I was and people made me miserable because of it. I tried to learn to follow the rules, but everyone still made me miserable! So, if people were going to make me miserable regardless of whether or not I followed the rules, then I was going to break the rules on my terms and be myself and enjoy my life and other people could deal with it.
It was hard, I have suffered a lot because I have chosen time and time again to go against the grain, but I wouldn't take it back. The freedom and autonomy and confidence and authority I have because of it are invaluable. I have only gotten weirder with time and I'm proud of it, I'm proud to be me. I want that for other women too, to be able to be proudly themselves.
That being said, I want to give a little advice for those just getting started. If you're trying to become body neural, avoid thinking about other people's opinions of you, comparing yourself to others, monitoring your appearance, and stop trying to alter yourself (shaving, makeup, etc). Treat these things as bad habits and thought patterns that you are trying to break, because they are:
Pick one thing you can do less
List the good things that will come from changing this habit
Pick something you enjoy to replace your habit with or something you want to reward yourself with when you don't do your habit
Be consistent and hold yourself accountable
Notice any negative thoughts or self-talk
Redirect your thoughts towards the good things that come from changing your habit and the thing your enjoy or are rewarding yourself with
Continue this process until you are consistently not doing your habit, you have fewer negative thoughts, the negative thoughts you do have are easy to catch and redirect, and you feel much more comfortable
Celebrate your accomplishments
Rinse and repeat, doing something less and less until you don't do it at all
Rinse and repeat until you remove all the bad habits you set out to
Example:
Brianna wants to be more body neutral. She has decided that having less judgmental thoughts about her acne would be a good place to start. She writes out how being less judgmental will help her feel more comfortable and confident, how it will save her money because she'll buy less makeup and skincare, how she will get to wear less layers in summer, how she will enjoy being outside and in public more, etc. She's decided that every day that she catches and corrects her judgmental thoughts she'll touch nice things and give herself a massage and eat her favorite chocolate. To hold herself accountable she's told her best friend about her habit change and asked if she'd make sure to check in with Brianna every so often.
On the first day, Brianna catches herself staring in the mirror picking at her acne. She stops and thinks "it isn't healthy for me to pick at myself like that. My skin is part of me and it is working hard to keep me safe and let me enjoy life." She closes her eyes and touches her shirt and focuses on the feeling of it. "My skin lets me do that. Isn't that amazing?! I love my skin. I love me." It feels forced and overly saccharine at first, but she knows with time telling herself things like that will feel normal and earnest.
When Brianna is winding down that night, instead of staring at herself in the mirror and picking at her skin, she warms up some grape seed oil in her hands and rubs it on her face with her eyes closed, focusing on how good it feels. She does this until she feels relaxed and content and then gets a hot wet wash cloth and wipes the oil off. Then she eats a chocolate and watches her favorite TV show. Then she texts her friend "So far so good" and her friend sends back a thumbs up.
Over time, enjoying feeling things and thinking positively about herself become new habits for Brianna that replace her old habits of picking and thinking negatively. Some days are better than others and she has found new things she wants to work on, but Brianna feels proud of her progress and is much more comfortable with herself.
