Newsletter of the Living Dead

The Bum Diary has been rather busy.

A fair share of our bi-coastal staff graduated from college in the past month. That has not slowed us down from finding new stories to share. Entering the world in uncertain times is scary, but hey at least the job market is stable.

A new chapter in the Bum Diary has begun.

Even with the sleep deprived chaos of our college graduation season, our staff has been cooking up some steaming hot pieces in multiple story formats. We can’t wait to share them with you all real soon. Speaking of, subscribe to our YouTube channel!

SCHOOOOOOOOOOOL IS OUT FOR THE SUMMER!

And what’s a better way to spend the summer than sharing stories with the world?

Around The Fur

For the first Bum Diary story, our staff writers & photographers Chris, Dalton, & Johnathan voyaged into the underground world of furry rave culture.

A crowd of furries in their natural habitat ↓

They didn’t read Zootopia fan fiction or sign into your secret Discord account to get all the goods. They went to Animal Jamz 2––the furriest, horniest electronic dance party out there so you can finally learn about furries without having to go on incognito mode.

Why do some fur suits cost more than a used-car? Do you really need a fursuit to be a furry? How much molly can fit in one synthetic paw? Why are a lot of furries STEM majors? And why does the furry fandom operate like a caste system?

“Tails shook, bodies bumped, heads fell off. I noticed that in a rare moment, I didn’t care at all about whether or not people were looking at me while I danced; I couldn’t deduce whether this had been a symptom of the anonymity of the partygoers, or the fact I didn’t see many blinking, human eyes that night…” - C.B.

Get ready to read Chris’ killer intersectional investigation on a queer subculture’s survival, a terrific piece best served with the viewing of our first ever mini-doc: a home documentary jam-packed with exclusive footage and interviews with our two-legged friends.

Watch the video here, and don’t forget to subscribe!

Diners, Drive-ins, and Dharma

Still tuned? Great.

Our second upcoming story highlights a day where staff members Ben, Gio, and I drove down to visit the BAPS Swaminarayan Akshardham Hindu temple in Robbinsville, New Jersey this past spring. Not only does the campus serve as the largest in the entire Western Hemisphere, but it also proudly ranks as the second-largest Hindu temple in the world.

Gio and I approaching the BAPS Swaminarayan Akshardham Hindu temple ↓

Why is the world’s second largest Hindu Temple off Exit 10 of the New Jersey Turnpike? Who built it? Who actually visits it? When do you draw the line between religious-based volunteerism and scandalous labor exploitation? And do we have to pay for the parking lot?

It’s been a lot of fun working on this piece. Writing about a different religion than your own really expanded my idea of what it means to follow a faith, especially as a citizen in the U.S. But, I mean, we are talking about religion. I get it. Religions are historically fucked up. Really fucked up. The Pope used to lead wars and commit genocides, not preach about the next Chicago White Sox season.

However, there’s got to be some legitimate reason as to why so many older generations keep their relationships with their faiths on such a high pedestal. I like to think it is more than that comforting belief of something bigger than us controlling our universe. Older generations are so hard-core about religion because the they grew up in an extremely less connected world.

Religion fosters community. Especially in the country where you got immigrants coming in from all over the world bringing in their religions from all over the world––of course so many different faiths fight to survive and thrive here.

It’s so beautiful that you can have a Hindu mandir, Jewish temple, Catholic cathedral, and Baptist church all exist on the same street. It’s even more beautiful when there’s a Jersey Mikes and Jiffy Lube smacked somewhere in between there.

Designing and carving Hindu ideologies into the buildings’ stone transforms their religious thoughts into an integral component of the structure. Thickening the layers between the building’s purpose, labor, and tragedy, the mere fact the brand new campus existed as the second largest in the whole world felt like a phenomena to someone so used to living around Bible Belt churches.

Max Van Hosen’s Oldest Religion, Newest Jersey

Sometimes I wonder if religions around the world are going to be practiced as much just a few generations down the line because of technology’s effortless access to online communities. I just hope that our push towards all digital backfires in the long run. But that could make everyone religious again real quick…whatever. I just miss when I could cover my bedroom wall again with physical tickets from movie theaters, sports games, and indie concerts. Eat shit Ticketmaster.

Anyways, both a video and written piece about the BAPS temple campus will be dropping real soon.

Radical Redneck Revolt

I’m going to be writing a lot this summer, and this newsletter will be one of the creative outlets where I get to churn my thick thoughts into buttery words. So I’ll be playing around with this newsletter a bit. Definetly more than a bit. Buckle the hell up kiddos.

I think it would be entertaining, dare I say thought provoking, but really just plain old fun to write a weekly section that covers a historical event that’s relevant today more than we thought. Specifically U.S. history for now––there’s too many things happening right here, right now, that perfectly highlight this country’s cyclical nature. A big part of that is the result of poor and underfunded education in this country. Man, what a weird coincidence!

Educational history in this country has been twisted and fabricated for centuries for personal gain. I fucking hate that. I hate how much truth has been buried under the dirt. And I hate how this misinformation is why so many citizens blindly believe this country’s actions 24/7.

That brings us to this week’s topic: rednecks.

"Redneck" ↓

Growing up in Arkansas, I always heard the name ‘redneck’ as a half-demeaning, half-self-deprecating joke towards white Southerners. I’d hear friends use it to describe the typical conservative. But I also had friends who would use the term to make fun of themselves after they’d be sunburnt from being outside all day.

I always assumed the nickname referred to the red peeling neck of a white person in the South who was outside in a field all day. I assumed the derogatory use of it probably had some classist roots.

In the modern day, the term “redneck” is primarily used to describe a poor, working-class white Southerner. Since everything associated with personal identity has been dramatically polarized since 2016, I feel like it is safe to say that the term redneck contemporarily includes the connotation of being a political reactionary aka bigoted jackass.

You hear someone shout, “redneck!” and picture a Trump lovin’ republican that backs anything blue unless it’s someone’s hair color. The republican. The conservative. The traditionalist.

Sidebar: I hate the title ‘traditionalist’ the most out of all of em. You don’t care about the past, you’re just afraid of change. You reaaally think the world would be better if it was still the 1960s? You know how many serial killers that decade gave us?

Anyways, the original redneck was quite the opposite from your average traditionalist.

CHOO CHOO. It’s the locomotive-lovin’ 1880s.

Coal mining companies move into West Virginia (coal heaven) and start setting up company towns: entire towns fully owned by private corporations. From your neighborhood block to the grocery store to public services, these towns are where miners work and live with their immigrant families off of company contracts because they simply have no other choice. Miners pay with their company-printed currency to the company-owned stores in the company towns.

Company town Blair Mountain, West Virginia in the late 1800s ↓

BOOM! It’s now the early 1900s. Coal is the talk of the town. Not just in West Virginia, but everywhere. It powers steam engines, houses, industrial factories, streetcars. All those revolutionary industrial things.

But the coal company that puts the coal on your coal table only coals about one damn thing: the coal market. Who woulda thought.

But you and your country-road pals are still getting pretend-pay for working 12 hours shifts in a dirty coal mine. You can only buy your family’s food from the hollow corporate grocery store with monopoly-money, and, oh yeah, you’re also working in the worst work environment. As in, an extremely dangerous environment. Dynamite exploding everywhere, limbs getting blown off, fires in the wrong holes––just atrocious hell.

Coal miners wearing flares to navigate through their dark and dirty work environment ↓

The coal miners’ work conditions were so dangerous that they had a higher fatality rate than the American soldiers who fought in World War 1.

World War 1? The war that decided blimps, swords, horses, bombs, planes, pigeon carriers, and mustard gas were all equal game?

So anyways, you and your country-road pals are starting to die at work. Actually, they’re probably not your country road pals. These were immigrants from all over the world who didn’t speak the same language or share culture with you.

Immigrant coal miners in West Virginia. ↓

So your entire family’s survival depends on a private corporation that only cares about the coal market, a fossil fuel product that’s totally going to be around forever. So you do the best thing you can do under a corporation ruining your life thanks to biblical levels of greed: unionize.

These miner unions weren’t messing around. This was only 100 years ago, but I think I should remind that this was the age of when we invented labor unions. Picture this:

We’re back in the late 1880s. The Gilded Age. Mr. Burns, the owner of a local Pennsylvanian steel mill that employs most of the town, lowers his employees’ wage and benefits for his own personal gain. The employees complain and reform a union. But then the local Mr. Burns hires a bunch of scabs, making even more money like the greedy bastard he is. The employees are jobless, but that won’t stop their kids from being hungry.

Now what? Do the employees who probably won’t see their 30th birthday give up? Do they kickstart a viral GoFundMe? No…

That’s when the steel mill employees break through Mr. Burns’ gated driveway, kick down his expensive ass front door, and beat him to death in front of his family. Gravity Falls did a fun episode about this.

So…we’re in that era of workers joining arms together for a greater cause. This still was only about 100 years ago. Electricity was found in one out of ten houses, at best. The hip youth were into this cool new trend called brutally dying from polio. A bunch of white religious freaks (OG Protestants and Mormons) convinced the U.S. government to prohibit alcohol. The chocolate chip cookie hadn’t been invented yet. This was only about 100 years ago.

The faces that brought you the 9-5 ↓

I got a bit off topic. So, the miners unionized. They demanded better pay, safer work conditions, and the right to trade (not use only pretend corporate money). Do you know what the mining companies did? Not only did they refuse to meet the demands of the miners, but they also hired a bunch of Baldwin-Felts agents.

Baldwin-Felts agents were members of a private detective agency. That might sound like some cool premise for a noir film, but they were really just private militaries that companies would hire to send in troops (“agents”) to scare the shit out of civilians and protect the company’s interest. In this case, coal companies hired private detectives and law enforcement agents to make sure the unions weren’t slowing down business operations.

A buggie transporting a group of Baldwin-Felts agents ↓

So from 1912 to the early 1920s, there was an increase of violent attacks that the agents committed amongst the miners. It went from intimidation to harassment to spying on townsfolk to killing them. Agents began gunning down women and children in the muddy streets. The more unions would throw strikes, the more agents were sent in to handle the situation.

These were the West Virginia coal wars.

The worst event of them all was the Battle of Blair Mountain in Logan County. It ranks as the second largest armed uprising to ever occur in this country, right after the American Civil War. Picture this:

It’s August of 1921. The first World War ended three years ago. The Harlem Renaissance is jazzing all over everyone’s face. Charlie Chaplin’s mustache is just another mustache. Coke is actually coke. The Great Depression is still on its SSRIs.

You and your coal miner buddies are sick and tired of going on strike just so you can afford to stay alive. Then 60 of your coworkers get arrested at their strike in the nearby town of Blair Mountain. The governor of West Virginia arrests them and justifies his cowardice by enforcing martial law. Your immigrant miner pals are done with this oppressive bullshit.

You march towards Blair Mountain as the ultimate form of protest. There’s 10,000 of you and your immigrant miner pals, but here’s the issue: you’re all immigrants. You don’t know your coworkers’ language. Your coworkers came on different boats. Your coworkers came from different cultures.

So how do you signify you’re all fighting for the same team?

You wear bandanas around your necks. Red bandanas.

Another redneck ↓

The first obstacle the miners face on their march is infamous sheriff Don Chafin, the top dog of the area being paid to protect the coal mine owners’ interests. Chafin is known around as the “Czar of Logan” by the miners. By the time you and your oppressed army reach Blair Mountain, Don Chafin stands all high and mighty with his own army of civilian recruits and police waiting to arrest you. It’s a faceoff now.

Night. The miners haven’t entered Blair Mountain yet, knowing they’ll get arrested. So part-time miner and minister John Wilburn leads 70 something miners up Blair mountain for recon. They run into a dawn patrol including three of Chafin’s dipshit deputy sheriffs. One of these assholes is John Gore, Chafin’s right hand man.

John Gore draws his gun on the miners when they mistakenly run into each other. The miners fire back, wounding Gore with a gun shot. John Gore decides to shoot and kill miner Eli Kemp in retaliation. John Wilburn, our pack-leading-minister, avenges his comrade by shooting John Gore in the head.

The Battle of Blair Mountain has begun.

10,000 to 15,000 coal miners fight over 3,000 private agents and law enforcement.

Cops and agents gun down civilian miners with tommy guns and gattling guns.

But the miners––who were fighting with hunting rifles usually used on squirrels––greatly outnumbered the boys-in-blue.

That was when Chafin ordered a U.S. Army bomber to be deployed on the miners. This was only day two of the battle. The bomber dropped two nausea-inducing gas bombs, as well as two bombs filled with gunpowder, nuts, and bolts.

This has been the only time in United States history when our air power has been used against our own American citizens…for now.

U.S. Bomber No. 5 before the Battle of Blair Mountain ↓

The miners shot down the bomber. They continued to fight.

That’s when the National Guard were sent in by totally-awesome-and-easily-remembered U.S. President Warren G. Harding.

The craziest part? The battle lasted only five days. Within those 120 hours, over one million rounds of ammunition were fired.

The miners ended up surrendering to the federal troops because they were rebelling against the local and state governments protecting corporate interests––the feds weren’t. The miners even considered the National Guard pulling up as a victory on its own, for the law was finally returning to the region.

The remains from Bomber No. 5. from the battle ↓

It’s hard picturing trench warfare happening in small town West Virginia. Especially when it’s only 100 years ago.

But it’s also hard picturing the National Guard driving tanks through downtown LA to intimidate American citizens exercising their right to protest regarding federal law enforcement unjustly arresting legal American citizens. Ah shit, that was last week?

For our British readers: The United States of America is an absolute massive cock-up.

I’m not done with redneck though.

Redneck then became a term that private agents and law enforcement used to describe the “radical” labor unions who were fighting for equal rights. These unions that protested for labor rights were then smeared as communist for their ‘anti-capitalist’ measures. So our overworked, underpaid immigrants that sparked the creation of labor unions are now communists because they wanted to be treated as human beings in the country that promised a better, free life.

During my redneck research, I think the communist label part was my favorite curveball. I now know that even a century ago, this country was still full of cowardly assholes who would call anyone and anything communist just to fear monger. Honestly, if you grew up in that miserable era of world history, I feel like communism probably wouldn’t sound that bad after seeing how they treat you with the other economic system that starts with a ‘C’.

I figured redneck had some taboo-y origins. But I never expected a word with current unprogressive undertones to have such a literal meaning that represents historical progress, bloodshed, and sacrifice.

It’s not a coincidence that when you hear “redneck” you imagine some toothless Trump supporter. It’s not a coincidence that when you hear “redneck” you don’t picture of a bunch of brave immigrants marching together, fighting private militaries and crooked cops that are protecting corrupt corporations. It’s definitely not a coincidence this was the first time you heard about the West Virginia coal wars. (And if you knew about them, let me know so I can feel like a dumbass. I really want to know if anyone else knew about this before reading this fun lil tale)

Moral of the story besides that history is written by the victors? Redneck really is just a term used to shit on the poor, white Southern working class. I learned quite a lot, and I hope you did too.

That’s all for this week on Bum Sums. Stay tuned for more stories, and thank you for reading!