Ep 379 Iran, What to Resist and WCF Educate and Economize

Episode 379 of RevolutionZ starts with some discussion of the savaging of the Iranian people before returning to our sequence of chapter excerpts from the forthcoming book, The Wind Cries Freedom to discuss experiences of education and economy in the participatory revolutionary struggles of the next American revolution. 

Trump represses and depots; bellows and bombs. Are we doomed to chase every new outrage, or can we build a unified movement that outlasts headlines and outmaneuvers chaos? 

Are we whacking moles, one by one, with us divided up like the moles are? With us atomized? Or are we united so as to collectively thrash the whole field of moles all together? One big struggle? Can we go from war talk and whiplash politics to a grounded strategy that links antiwar action, racial and gender justice, economic equity, anti-fascism, and environmental preservation into one big movement of movements to actually compound strength rather than splinter it?

From that foray into foreign affairs made local, we present the 24th chapter of Miguel Guevara's oral history project. This time, he questions Bertrand Jagger, Bridget Knight, and Julius Rocker about education and then also economy. The interviewees and Miguel together discuss how universities trained obedience and optimized for fractured attentions were pushed toward a new mandate—curiosity, context, and courage. Communities opened public schools at night, turned libraries into festivals, and made classrooms into commons. Student strikes didn’t just shut campuses down; they reopened them as shared spaces where teachers and students co-chaired sessions, set aims, and demanded preparation for balanced jobs that reject classist pipelines.

Workplaces followed suit. Early co-ops that initially kept managerial habits learned that full irreversible transformation needs balanced jobs and self-managed decision-making. The critical breakthrough came when shops federated workers’ councils, shared methods, provided mutual insurance, and spread solidarity across industries. Public services moved first, but hospitals, manufacturing, and large firms of diverse kinds developed cracks where new norms—solidarity, equity, transparency, diversity, ecological standards and especially self-management—took root.

Throughout their interviews the interviewees describe their thoughts and feelings regarding on-going struggles and events. We hear about a long march through the economy to spread new remuneration norms and work roles inside firms and then to reorient allocation writ larger. Instead of markets that pit workers against consumers, and one another, we hear how councils began to plan together around need, capacity, and impact. Participatory budgeting simultaneously began to spread these habits in cities to turn policies into a public craft. 

The result, the interviewees explain, was a transitional landscape where two economies coexist:ed one clinging to ownership, profits, power, and spectacle, the other winning trust by delivering dignity, competence, equity, and shared voice. The discussions also address independent media, transforming institutions from the inside, and building new ones from scratch always with eyes on relentless outreach to ensure that the new can grow without being captured or bent out of shape by the old not yet entirely replaced.

If building schools as commons and reconstructing jobs to only produce effectively but also ensure self management sounds like a future worth winning, perhaps hit follow and share this episode with fellow students, neighbors, friends, and/or workmates.

Transcript

Opening And Framing The Stakes

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Hello, my name is Michael Albert, and I am the host of the podcast that's titled Revolution Z. This episode continues our presentation of a chapter at a time from the forthcoming book The Wind Cries Freedom, an oral history of the next American Revolution. It also continues our pattern of adding to that a brief commentary on events in our own time, our own world. So we start with war, titled Iran What to Resist. After that we will continue with a new chapter of the Wind Cries Freedom titled Educate and Economize. So first some comments bearing on our present situation. You get focused to resist and the target moves. It doesn't just move, it morphs. Should you set aside one focus to pick up another? Or you get focused to resist and the target moves. It doesn't just move, it morphs. Should you hang on to your valid, important current focus and ignore distraction? It is hard to play whack a mole with a morphing mole. Worse, it is self defeating to do so. It is what Trump wants. As he moves chaotically, he wants us to also move chaotically. But the new target, war on Iran, is so grotesque you might say that I must refocus, I must chart a new course, or instead you might say, My old target is so grotesque, I must maintain my focus, I must maintain my course. And then you may add, my head hurts, and I feel so powerless. A simple truth hard to abide is that we need to see the forest, not just the trees. Yet a second simple truth is that we also need to address the trees, not just the forest. What? No Kings offered a possible answer. Focus on the orange one. He is the forest. Stick with that. The whole of it. But that has problems. First, the trees keep growing. Misogynist and racist slurs and violence, executive orders destroying social progress, tariffs taxing the poor, arrests and deportations, fascistically violating rights. Profit seeking growth, trampling ecology, voter suppression, entrenching authoritarianism, wars, killing, killing, killing. The carnage persists. Each mole is too big to be stopped by the subset of us that pick that mole to focus on. Second, if continuing as we are, we do remove Trump, ghost Trump, totally end Trump, we may sensibly celebrate that achievement, but settle for pre Trump business as usual. Back to an awful past, back to the future. So how do we unify to be sufficiently strong against the whole forest, yet also diversify to be strong against the trees? How do we defeat Trump to roll back Trumpian fascism, but also persist beyond Trump to win a new society? These are big questions, which, however, we ought not put off answering until it is too late for our answers to matter. Beyond no kings, what if we do a little of our own morphing? Beyond no kings, how about if our touchstone is no polity punishing people, no economy erasing people, no families fracturing people, no schools stoltifying people, no health care harming people, no countries crushing people. One big movement. And how about that that movement has parts, of course, that focus mainly on Trump's morphing moles, but where each such part emotionally and materially supports all the other parts? Anti ice supports anti tariff, anti tariff supports anti misogyny, anti misogyny supports antisensorship, anti censorship supports anti big pharmaceutical. An anti big pharmaceutical supports anti war and so on. All of them and more form a circular mutual aid relationship, and all of them emphasize the positive not only what they are against, but what they want, not just anti but also pro, one big movement of mutually supportive movements. Might those steps end Trump, advance many entwined agendas, and also continue on beyond all that to keep on pushing to end racism, sexism, authoritarianism, classism, ecological insanity, and war in all its forms? Might to attain one big movement of mutually supportive movements be a convincing answer to the big questions? Might we then unify and then also diversify, consistent with whacking the many moles, removing the mole master, and also producing, instead of pre Trump business as usual, a new world that is both possible and worthy? The above six hundred or so words appears on Zenet as a short article. I wonder something. Do the words have potentially greater impact on an emerging anti war movement than would six hundred or even three thousand words explaining why this war is horrible, won't wind, might expand, and so on? I am asking quite seriously. Do those who might act need analysis over and over or some empathy, some inspiration, even some possible strategic proposals to spur their motion? What do you need from people who write or speak? Do you know the war is immoral, unjust, and barbaric? Or do you need to hear why it is those things over and over again? And do you have some clarity about what you can yourself do and why it can matter? Or would it help to hear thoughts on those matters more often than now typically occurs? Either way, The Wind Cries Freedom, an oral history of a revolution that has yet to happen, but that takes off in a world eerily similar to our own, is very much about attaining an end to fascism and beyond that a new world. And so we now hear from Bertrand Jagger, Bridget Knight, and Julius Rocker answering Miguel Guivera's questions about their experiences with revolutionary participatory societies approach to education and economic renovation. To start, Miguel asks Bert, and this is from his session at his office at Stanford. Universities and schooling more generally were also subject to renovation, weren't they? Yes, and they needed it desperately. By the time RPS was rising, universities had long been factories of obedience, places where wonder went to die. Spout, memorize, and do it again, kill curiosity, clip wings. That was education. And then a new problem bloomed. The students were changing. Their attention flickered like broken neon. Their minds trained by screens, pings and flashes, could not stay still. I would lecture, and they would sit with glowing devices in their laps, phones, tablets, laptops, scrolling, tapping, clicking. Email, music, texts, images, ten seconds here, ten seconds there. Serious thought requires stillness, but stillness had become unbearable. Students didn't mean harm, they were not to blame. They were bent by a world that had taught them never to linger, never to dive deep, only to skim, to touch, to flee. So we teachers adapted. We broke our thoughts into bite sized nuggets. We trimmed our lectures to fit the rhythm of the scroll. But the more we adapted, the more we confirmed the problem. We weren't solving it, we were feeding it. Miguel asks, it must have been incredibly frustrating. It was literally infuriating and depressing, a storm without rain, a classroom of flickering lights, none steady. People are born ignorant, no doubt, just as birds are born flightless. But stupidity? That is manufactured, it is engineered, it is sold and bought and taught, and our schools, our gadgets, our culture, they all played their part. They wilted our wing wings. To see curiosity die in young eyes day after day was to feel pummeled by ghosts of what could have been. It was not easy to keep the rage from boiling over. Not easy to not to shout. You are killing the very thing that makes you human. But I knew it wasn't entirely their fault. They were born into a maze with mirrors instead of doors. Their choices had already been chosen. Still, sometimes I let the words out. I'd say to them You text, email, watch videos, listen to music, and browse. You click, click, click, you shift your focus so habitually that you avoid serious sustained attention. You aren't multitaskers, you are flitters. Why are you even here? Why am I even here? If I nugetize content to try to reach you, it will only add to the electronic doodad dynamic of your flitting from thing to thing. We are of course all born ignorant, but you are making yourselves stupid by your faulty choices. You could be better. I saw it at home too. Holiday gatherings once meant laughter and yes, TV on in the background. But also debate, dialogue, and curiosity. Questions flew around the room like birds. Why is the world the way it is? What can we do about it? What do you think? But later, near RPS's berth, the room was quiet, except for the soft buzz of screens. Kids on couches with phones, tablets, laptops, and TV. No eye contact, no sustained thought. Even the things that still sparked their interest. They couldn't focus on those for long either. Proud of their ignorance, that was the strangest thing. Party and play, shop till you drop. From Facebook to TikTok to TV to God knows where. Don't study, don't ask, don't think. Let a tweet guide you. Let an influencer define your truth. They wear nice clothes, don't they? And then AI. Don't get me started on AI. What did the kids learn? Too often they learned how to bully or how to avoid being bullied. Parents weren't as glued to screens, but many were lost too, chasing celebrity gossip, living through mass culture. Influencers were saints. Memes were scripture, and adults caught the virus too. Ideas became burdens, news became background noise, something to laugh at, to scream about, but not to understand. Turn it off, shrug, maybe retweet a hashtag. That was the extent of our rebellion. Trump made it all worse. He danced in the shallows and dragged millions with him. A tweet instead of a policy, a tantrum instead of a truth. And then there was Musk, another priest of the shallow, another prophet of the self. Looking back, the birth of RPS feels miraculous. But it wasn't born from nowhere. I think the turning began with the fires of twenty twenty. Black Lives Matter rising in the middle of a pandemic, masks on, fists raised, truth shouted through tear gas. That was courage. That was history refusing to die. I'm sorry for the rant, but really what else was there to do but rant when you watch the world sink into shallowness? Sometimes a scream is the only honest sentence left. Miguel asks, I felt it too. I well remember, and I likely succumbed to it, to some degree also. But what about schooling? Okay, returning to schooling. This digital drift only made worse what was already rotten. Schools weren't designed to free minds, they were designed to package students like products. They passed along some skills, yes, but mostly they trained people to sit still and obey, to punch in, to punch out, to follow orders, to become replaceable. They taught racism, sexism, elitism, not in the textbooks, maybe, but in structure. eighty percent were trained to fill the lower slots, to endure boredom, to accept commands. The other twenty percent were groomed to give the commands, to conceive, plan, manage, supervise, to keep the wheels turning, and the rest of us spinning. So to change schooling was to change everything. Some of us built new schools from scratch, neighborhood classrooms, group homeschooling, and summer programs that taught not only facts but freedom. Some even founded whole new universities. Others fought from within, like nurses in hospitals, teachers, especially public school teachers and grad students, had reached their breaking point, alienated, angry, awake. They started to strike. They linked arms with their communities. They demanded more than raises, they demanded transformation. They wanted to teach students who could think, who could lead, who could listen, and who could and would question. But for that to happen, society itself had to want these kinds of students. That's the truth. You can't have liberating education in a society that fears liberation. From the start, RPS knew this. It wasn't just about classrooms, it was about the whole damn country. We wanted schools that graduated citizens who would refuse submission. We wanted teachers who would light fires, not stamp them out. So our battle was twofold, inside schools and also across society. We marched for policy change, we protested budget cuts, we demanded new curricula, additional hires, new equipment, and new everything. And through it all, we kept repeating a new world needs new minds, and new minds need space to grow. Trump understood this too. He didn't want thinkers, he wanted parrots. So he and his psychophants did the opposite of what we tried. They slashed budgets, censored books, filled classrooms with fear and shame. They wanted children trained to obey, not to dream. In their own twisted way, they taught us something. They reminded us that education is never neutral. It's always a weapon. The only question is who wields it and for what end? Miguel asks, where is it all led? Changes are still unfolding as they always must, but some of the great victories have already taken root like trees breaking through concrete. One such victory was the rising tide of community and parental involvement and learning, not just as an idea, but as a living breathing practice. You remember, don't you, the call to open schools at night to the people? It wasn't just a demand shouted into the wind. It became a movement with feet and hands and voices. Schools became meeting places, places to dance, debate, learn, and heal. The occupations happened at night, under fluorescent lights and with makeshift chalkboards. We asked at first politely for permission, but then we realized why ask? The buildings are ours. The dreams that built them were ours. So we walked in and we stayed. The police would come, they would shout, escort, and push. But then we would return. Again and again it happened, until one day they didn't just stop pushing, they started sitting. And soon some of them were even teaching, in uniform, yes, but also in transformation. Some began to understand the weight of what they had been defending, and the light of what they could now support. We shrank class sizes like you'd prune a tree that had grown wild. We grew the number of teachers like rain after a long drought. We began to believe again that education could be about unlocking the joy of discovery, that a classroom could be a place where minds danced, not marched. But this wasn't easy. Old habits die hard. Some teachers were afraid, not because they were bad people, but because they were good at the old ways, and the old ways were awarded repetition, not renewal. Change threatened them, but it came anyway. The question became should we hammer facts into students' heads like nails into wood, or should we offer stories, questions, challenges, and trust that comprehension and critical thought would take root? And it did take root. Students began to read not just textbook, but texts that bled. They asked not just for facts, but for context. They brought their questions and their lives into classrooms, and didn't leave them at the door like muddy shoes. Schools became gardens, libraries became festivals, teachers became companions, walls stopped echoing fear. They started humming with curiosity. Miguel asks, What do you think was the turning point after which you felt that you were no longer battling against the odds, but the odds were now on your side? There were many moments, but some shone like fireflies you never forget. The first occupation of a public school in Denver was one. The people gathered, not to protest, not to create. They filled the rooms with plans and purpose. They asked, what do we want to do here tonight? And then they did it. And you could feel it in your skin. This was something permanent. This wouldn't vanish. Another spark came even earlier, when RPS began offering alternative online curricula, curricula that didn't lie, that didn't sanitize, that didn't erase. In Boston and San Francisco, students came to class armed with inconvenient truths. They had read Howard Zinn and Eduardo Galliano, not just about them. They had watched what had been hidden. They came not to sit but to speak, and their presence changed the teachers too. We began to teach like people who believe in our students. And then NYU. The students there called a strike. They shut down the campus, and then, gloriously, they opened it again, but this time as a free zone. For a week, then two, students and faculty met together, not as superior and subordinates, but as co dreamers. The students prepared, they chaired sessions, and they laid out visions like maps. One speech still rings in my ear. A young woman stood and said, We don't want idle discussion. During our strike we will chair sessions, we will present our own ideas, we will convince the faculty of new aims and create a new sense of community. Attend our social events, attend our classes. We demand that our schooling prepares us for balanced jobs. We reject classist separatism. We reject arrogance and profit making. We want solidarity and self management. We require renovation of the faculty, the curriculum, and of the old town gown interface. This strike will end when our campus is reborn. Commit to student faculty power, reject administrative power. Democracy is coming to NYU. I had tears in my eyes, real ones, the kind that come not from sadness but from recognition. Our students were now our teachers, and they were right. We needed them more than they needed us. All of this, you see, wasn't just about universities. It mirrored what was happening in public schools, in neighborhoods, in families. Communities asked for programs, for space, for support. And they got it. We flipped the script. Education was no longer about keeping a system running, it was about helping a new one be born. And perhaps most astonishing, even most beautiful, were the students in elite institutions and the schools that then still tended to produce rulers and bosses. Those students stood up and said, We want solidarity, not supremacy. We want humility, not hierarchy. That's when you knew the soul of society was shifting. Women and people of color pushed even further. Their activism had always been there, focused on the daily indignities and microaggressions. But now the lens widened, curriculum, faculty, funding, and most of all the sacred wall between the school and the city, the town and gown divide was torn down. Universities became public commons. The truth is, education was once a fortress for the old order. But we turned it into a bridge to the new. Elites long ago had learned the danger of education that threat that liberated. After the rebellions of the sixties and early seventies, they whispered to each other in boardrooms, too many students coming out thinking for themselves. We can't have that again. And so they defunded, censored, and standardized. They tried to strangle thinking at the root. And it worked for a while. We got graduates grateful just to be exploited, schools that graded conformity, degrees that came with debt but not dignity. And then came RPS. We didn't just reverse the tide, we made new rivers. We said let all children grow toward the sun, not the assembly line. We said teach them to wonder not to obey. And so they did. Miguel asks, Julius, from his session at his home in Iowa City. I know the school progress was fastest, but where do we stand regarding new workplaces? I don't know the full count. Before RPS I read that there were maybe three hundred worker co ops doing well in the US. Could have been more. Could have been less. What I do know is that most weren't built in the RPS way. Some were better than the usual corporate grind. More influence for workers, better pay spread. But they still had managers running the show. They didn't split up work in a new way. They didn't know what to do about the market breathing down their necks. That part hurt them. It shaped what workers aimed for and what they settled for. When RPS got going, it made sense that co-ops responded first. No owners to fight. Nonprofits were similar in some ways. Both had at least the language of democracy, though not often the reality. But still, they were only halfway there. Getting the rest of the way meant more than words. It meant real self management. It meant reworking how jobs were done. It meant seeing the market for what it was and figuring out how to operate as much as possible outside its worst dictates on the road to replacing it. So we had three roads forward. One, take co-ops and push them further. Two, organize inside regular firms for real change. Three, build new places from the ground up RPS from day one. How fast that all happened depended on something important. Did folks in a given place believe they had something worth spreading? Would they fight for their own gains and help others do the same? I remember early on going to Columbus, Ohio, visiting a firm there. A few workers gave me a tour. The place had been going under. The owners were done and wanted to sell. The workers thought they could save it. They took it over. It could have turned into one of those soft co-ops, a little better, but not changed at the core. But a few of the more class conscious workers had different plans. Most of the old managers bailed. They didn't think the place would survive could survive without owners. That helped. The workers stayed, and they went deeper. They made it something new. Sometimes they fixed wages, held votes, but left the old job divisions and market chase untouched. That usually meant the familiar class fight played out inside, coordinators above, workers below. Other times the overhaul went deeper, balanced jobs, real self managed decision making. In those cases the fight was different, not worker versus manager. It was worker versus habit, worker versus the old system pressing in from the outside. But what stood out to me on the trip wasn't just the structure, it was something else. Talking to the workers was good. You could feel the energy. They were proud, and they should have been. But then I asked them, what about your friends? What about your families? Folks who were still grinding it out in the usual kind of job. What do they think of what you've built here? Are they interested in doing it too? And then came a shock. The workers, proud of what they built, sure of the worth of it, said almost none of them talked about it with folks outside, not with friends, not with family. They said other people might do the same, but only if their own workplace hit bottom. Only if the boss pulled out and left them with nothing but the choice to take over or walk the street. I asked if they'd give it up, this thing they'd made for a regular job again, a corporate gig. No voice, no new kind of work, but more money. Even a lot more. They all said the same. Don't be ridiculous. Sure money matters. You've got to eat, you've got to pay rent, but that's not life. Fulfillment, pride, justice, we wouldn't sacrifice those for a bigger paycheck. So I said, if it means so much, why not talk to your friends, your brothers, sisters, cousins? Let them know. Let them try it too. Even if their company's doing fine, don't wait for a collapse, don't wait for a crisis. And again, they just shrugged. They said people wouldn't listen. People don't change until they're desperate. I didn't get it then, I'm still not sure I get it now. Maybe it was kind of left over hopelessness. Not for themselves, they had hope, but for everyone else. Maybe it was just not wanting to fight with family. Or maybe they believed what they said, that as long as capitalism offers wages, folks wouldn't seek more, wouldn't want more. I don't know. But I knew this. If that attitude stuck, each success would stay locked up, bottled in, with no chain reaction. No spread, no movement, just some islands of good in an unchanged sea. RPS saw that too. We knew we had to break that silence. Co-ops that changed, firms that were fighting, new shops just getting started. They all had to share what they were learning. Not just live the change, but light it in others. That's when we started pushing for workers' councils, not just in one shop. We built federations, linked groups of councils. They backed each other up, shared lessons, offered support when bosses struck back. They insured each other, they stood together. When that started, everything changed. Back before RPS, there were something like thirty million small businesses in the country. That meant privately owned and less than five hundred employees, and also small revenues compared to their industry's corporate firms. There were maybe twenty thousand firms that had more than five hundred workers, but were still small in the sense of low revenues. That didn't even count the schools, the hospitals, the churches, and the whole patchwork of public services. Now? Now there are maybe five million small businesses that are solidly RPS, and ten million more in the middle of changing. Close, just needing a push. RPS ideas are in the rest too, one way or another. More, three thousand big jobs are RPS already. Five thousand more are deep in the fight. And in the rest, even in the old giants, you'll find campaigns, councils, people who've started to ask hard questions. You'll find cracks in the wall. Public service moved even faster. Schools, hospitals, transit, but industry too. Even the auto plants, even the foundries. What's happening isn't just theory anymore. It's not just hopes and meetings and leaflets. It's work, it's wages, it's councils and schedules and decisions made on factory floors. RPS economics isn't a dream. We are on the ground now and we are moving. The push is ours, the momentum is ours, and we're not going back. Miguel asks, Bridget, from her session near her home in Seattle, Washington, what about arriving at a connections between among all these efforts, and also in particular, new ways to allocate in the economy? We asked how should RPS or fully RPS workplaces relate to one another? How should we overcome the chaos and cruelty of competitive markets with something based on solidarity, deliberation, and mutual respect? We knew if we merely restrain the old system, we prolong our dependence. But if we create new patterns that carry within them the seeds of a fully transformed future, seeds of justice, equality, and participation, we do more than resist. We prepare to win. You see, every great dream begins with a dreamer, but a dream dreamt alone remains a whisper in the dark. A dream dreamt with others, that becomes a reality with a heartbeat. On one level, we demanded restraints on market madness, price controls, minimum wages, ecological regulations, open books, and taxes that challenged obscene wealth. These were defensive acts, but if we made them with vision, they pointed beyond themselves. They whispered of something better. Consider a local case. In a neighborhood, tenants, often in big apartment complexes, began to band together, first to fight injustice, then to build alternatives. Food co ops formed. Bulk buying secured fairer prices, but more importantly, it broke the isolation. It created connection. And then something new emerged, deeper than solidarity through shared buying. Workers and consumers began to negotiate output and distribution not as adversaries in a marketplace, but as partners in building a common good. Sometimes these were the same people, workers by day, tenants by night, but often they were strangers, and they dared to imagine instead of haggling for profit, why not plan together based on need, capacity, and impact? That was revolutionary. At first it was rare, local, tentative, but from these small encounters grew confidence, clarity, and a sense of what a participatory economy might feel like. It was no longer a slogan, it was an experience. And while grassroots economic planning took root, so too did participatory budgeting in towns and cities. People didn't just demand transparency, they demanded a voice. They debated, they decided. Consumer councils and co-ops reached across regions. Worker councils embraced public goals. New habits formed, new values settled in. Even limitations like salary caps or ecological standards carried revolutionary significance. They said this economy belongs to all of us. Miguel asks, so where are we now? Markets still function, ownership still largely resides in private hands. But alongside this brittle shell, a vibrant RPS economy has grown. It is admired, it is trusted, it is where young people want to work, it is where communities feel seen. You might say two economies now exist, one old, tired and gasping, the other young, vital and daring. We are no longer strange rebels on the fringe. We are the future, and the old know it. But yes, opposition remains, fierce, sometimes cruel, but it is like an aging regime that can no longer command loyalty, only compliance, and even that less and less. We don't want their ruin, we want their transformation. We don't gloat at their decline. We extend a hand to those ready to cross over into an economy of dignity and purpose. But building the new beside the old has risks. The old clutches power, it plots, it infiltrates. So we limit its tools, cut its resources, and block its sabotage. That is why RPS puts so much energy into independent media, to free the word. That is why we enter police forces and the military, not to will their force, but to transform their soul. That is why we speak always and everywhere, not to impress ourselves, but to reach others, especially those not yet with us. The real measure of our success is not in how loud we are among ourselves, but in how many we carry forward in our march. We built not for applause, but for victory. The macho posturing of the past had to disappear. But if not macho men and not so macho women, what would be the new man and the new woman? And that said, this is Michael Albert signing off until next time for Revolution Z.