El Comité de Huelga de docentes en Madrid se encierra en Santa Hortensia exigiendo que la consejera Mercedes Zarzalejo se siente a negociar.
En la entrada somos muchas apoyando la acción. Por la educación pública. Por nuestros derechos.
Vaya, resulta que el video del marido de una víctima del tren de Toledo, ha arremetido contra el sistema capitalista que nos devora, las prisas son muertos.
Pero Antena 3 ha cortado cuando ha nombrado la empresa de su mujer que estaba haciendo el trabajo de tres personas.
Viajes El Corte Inglés.
No quieren que sepas su nombre.
Difunde.
Los mismos que hoy se echan las manos a la cabeza y van pidiendo dimisiones por los problemas de los trenes son los que se blindaron por completo cuando la tragedia les tocó a ellos.
Por si a alguien se le ha olvidado: el 24 de julio de 2013, el Alvia se estrelló en Santiago de Compostela y dejó 80 muertos y más de 140 heridos.
¿Y qué hizo el PP en ese momento?
• Feijóo en Galicia:
El hoy líder nacional, entonces presidente de la Xunta, usó su mayoría absoluta para tumbar todas las comisiones de investigación en el Parlamento gallego, ignorando por completo a los familiares de las víctimas.
• Rajoy en Madrid:
En el Congreso hicieron exactamente lo mismo. El PP echó el cerrojo para proteger al Gobierno y evitar que ningún político tuviera que dar la cara ante los diputados.
• Ana Pastor no dimitió: La ministra de Fomento de la época ni se planteó dejar el cargo. Es más, las propias asociaciones de víctimas la señalaron años después por presionar en Europa para intentar ocultar los informes que dejaban en evidencia la seguridad ferroviaria española.
Hay que tener mucha hipocresía para venir ahora a dar lecciones de responsabilidad y exigir unos ceses que ellos mismos negaron a ochenta familias. Se ve que las dimisiones y las explicaciones solo hacen falta cuando los muertos no caen bajo su mandato.👇
The Nazi guards never heard the baby crying inside her toolbox. If they had, 2,500 children would have died.
In 1942, a 32-year-old Polish social worker named Irena Sendler walked into the Warsaw Ghetto carrying a simple toolbox. She had a permit to check for typhus outbreaks. The guards waved her through. Hidden beneath the wrenches and rags was a six-month-old baby. She walked past armed soldiers and handed the child to a Polish family waiting outside the walls. The next morning she walked back in and did it again.
For three years Irena smuggled approximately 2,500 Jewish children out of the Warsaw Ghetto. She hid infants in toolboxes, sedated children and smuggled them in coffins, concealed them in ambulances under stretchers, and used sewer pipes. Every child received a new Polish name. Irena recorded everything—real names, new names, locations—on tissue paper sealed in glass jars and buried in a friend’s garden.
By October 1943 the Gestapo caught her. They tortured her, broke both her legs and both her feet, and beat her unconscious. She gave them nothing. After months they sentenced her to death. The night before her execution, the underground bribed a guard. He led her out and recorded her as “executed.”
She went immediately back to work and continued until the war ended. When the war ended she dug up the jars and spent months trying to reunite children with families. Most parents had died in the camps.
For decades almost no one knew about her. Then in 1999 four teenage girls in Kansas found a brief mention of a woman who had saved 2,500 children. They researched and wrote a play. At age 89 Irena Sendler became famous. She was honored by Pope John Paul II and nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. She died in 2008 at age 98.
One estimate suggests those 2,500 rescued children produced approximately 6,000 descendants. She was a social worker with a permit and a toolbox. She walked into hell every day for three years and walked out carrying children. The Nazis broke her legs. They couldn’t break her will.
@annherol@maitealtemporda@elcasocat Jo no sóc docent, però als lavabos per posar un exemple, els nens van sense profes ni monitors, no es pot controlar-ho tot tot el temps
In 1984, a twenty-five-year-old woman stood in a hospital hallway in Arkansas and watched a group of nurses draw straws to decide who would have to enter a patient's room. A red biohazard bag hung from the door handle. Inside was a young man suffering from AIDS. He had been reduced to eighty pounds and was dying in terrible pain, whispering the same word over and over again: “Mama.”
Ruth Coker Burks didn't wait to find out who had drawn the short straw. She turned the handle and walked inside.
She asked the nurses to contact the young man's family, but they told her they had already been calling for six weeks without getting an answer. Ruth took the phone number and decided to try one more time herself. When the man's mother answered, her response was cold and final. She said her son was sinful and that, as far as she was concerned, he was already dead to her. She refused to come.
Ruth hung up the phone and walked back into the room. She sat beside the young man's bed and stayed there. For thirteen hours, she held the hand of a dying stranger, quietly whispering comforting words until he took his final breath.
When his family refused to claim his body, Ruth decided she would bury him herself. She paid for the cremation out of her own pocket, found a chipped cookie jar from a local potter to hold his ashes, and took him to her family's cemetery in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Using posthole diggers meant for building farm fences, she dug the grave with her own hands. When the grave was finished, she said a quiet prayer over the soil.
Word of Ruth's kindness slowly began spreading across the South. People heard about a woman in Arkansas who wasn't afraid. A woman who would sit beside you when you were dying and make sure you were treated with dignity when no one else would claim you.
Over the next decade, Ruth Coker Burks personally cared for more than 1,000 people dying of AIDS. Most were young men who had been abandoned by their families and communities during the height of the crisis. She buried forty of them with her own hands in her family's cemetery. Her young daughter often went with her, carrying a small toy spade while Ruth worked with the heavy posthole diggers.
Many of the people Ruth cared for had lost their jobs, their homes, and almost everything they once had. She scrambled to help them buy medication and food and to keep up with their rent. She needed money to continue, and the local drag queens stepped in to help. Every Saturday night, they hosted shows and pooled their tips so Ruth could keep supporting the people who depended on her.
By the late 1990s, medical treatments had advanced and the immediate crisis had begun to change. Ruth's urgent work slowly became less visible, and over time, her story faded into quiet history. But the forty small graves in Hot Springs remained. They became sacred ground, cared for by a woman who had refused to let people die believing they were unwanted or disposable.
When fear and panic sweep through a society, it can be painfully easy for communities to turn their backs on the people who need help the most. Ruth Coker Burks chose to do the opposite. She walked toward the fear, sat beside those everyone else had abandoned, and made sure that even in death, they were treated like human beings.
@xng23x@soycamarero También puede ser que el precio del cartelito sea por una promoción,con la fecha que termina dicha promoción puesta también en el cartelito,y se les haya pasado de retirarla,entonces quizás no están obligados a cobrar la de menor valor si hay una fecha de hasta cuándo es la promo
Teresa, de 72 años y enferma de cáncer, duerme en un banco de Málaga tras ser desahuciada. Lleva 3 días sin poder conectar su oxigeno. Con una pensión de 900€, solo pide un alquiler justo. Ojalá me muriera aqui. Sí, ojalá, para que el alcalde vea lo que sufre una mujer sin casa.
Me encantan los que justifican el desahucio de Mari Carmen diciendo “yo también quiero vivir en Madrid por 500 euros al mes”. Pues el camino para conseguirlo no es apoyar a los fondos buitres que desahucian personas, mi ciela…
“Pagaven més per disparar a un nen.” El periodista Ezio Gavazzeni ha investigat les caceres humanes durant el setge de Sarajevo. Segons un testimoni anònim, una agència de viatges de Barcelona també hauria organitzat aquests safaris macabres https://t.co/B4uMkaMKoX #MésNit3Cat
@AingeruCab@bryant_fury@soycamarero Hombre! Según la foto,muy pasada no está, pero también depende de qué pieza es, porque hay piezas que aunque estén bastante hechas, son tiernas
El compte @/bigfoot_yeti_oficial a Instagram ha penjat aquest vídeo en castellà per a difondre la història de la Diada Nacional de Catalunya.
Després de veure com de ben explicat està, us el volia compartir per aquí per donar-li encara més difusió.
Tot el món l’hauria de veure.
Si un trabajador medio cobra menos que un jubilado medio que percibe una cotización calculada en base al salario por el que cotizó, los salarios que pagan actualmente son una mierda.
El problema son los salarios, no las pensiones.