#I remember reading in Rwanda

[suswous]

Looking both at current events and historical conflicts, it really seems like it’s human instinct to collectively blame an entire group of people from wrongs committed on their behalf or by other people from that group.

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒 ❞

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x princess of zamunda!reader

summary: after many years, your father has left you to sort your love life out before you have to rule the kingdom. what you didn’t expect was to find love within your father’s favourite sport.

warnings: outfit links, smau, just read 🤭 (sorry for any typos!)

saint’s team radio 🎀: listen, i love ‘coming to america’ just as much as lewis and this being a 3 am thought made me too excited to write it. enjoy it, love ya! 🫵🏽💗

tags: @mauvecherie-writes @httpsserene @exotic-iris13 @motheroffae @purplelewlew @arshiyuh @alika-4466 @non-stop-imagines @hopefulromantic1 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @yeea-nah @henneseyhoe @saturnville @greedyjudge2

pls like, comment and reblog!

fc: nomzamo mbatha

-

palaceofzamunda

liked by f1, mercedesamgf1 and 574,356 others

palaceofzamunda Her Majesty Princess Y/n will safely depart from Kigali, Rwanda to Montreal, Canada with the rest of the Royal Family for a motorsport event per the King’s request. We wish them safe travels!

view limited comments

f1 very excited to host the royal family this weekend!

user i hope they will treat our glorious family well as the royalty they are

user princess y/n is so gorgeous

user so glad she gets to be our next queen

user sky sports and f1 have announced their arrival and have hyped it up so much…there’s levels to this kinda thing

user craziest thing is that they never say anything about prince harry or the prince of monaco whenever they’re there 😭

user i wonder which team the king supports

user fun fact our king loves ferrari but his fav drivers are 1644 and ofc other older drivers as well

user he’s just like the rest of us fr 😝

mercedesamgf1 extremely honoured to be hosting the Royal Family of Zamunda in our garage!

user i would risk it all for Princess Y/n

user it would be iconic if Princess Y/n gets together with a driver

user girl wdym, isn’t she married?

user no she isn’t, homegirl is extremely dedicated to her work as a humanitarian and as a country, we’d be surprised if she was romantically involved with anyone 😭

user what a woman

-

“Father, were the rose bearers necessary for the trip?” You huffed out, watching as rose petals were being tossed out on the tarmac before your father stepped out on the jet’s stairs.

“You know it is tradition, my child. Now, have you gathered everything before we leave this plane?” Your dad answered, waiting for you, your mother, and your sisters to exit the plane after him.

Holding onto your carry-on, the Canadian air breezed past you as you descended from the plane’s steps and gave the media a polite wave, wanting to get to the comfort of the hotel already. Given the warmest welcome from the airport staff, you and your family safely made your way to the official cars and drove to the Four Seasons.

Upon arrival, another warm welcome was given along with a bunch of staff issued to you at your every call and you did not want to say no as they kindly offered.

Laying down on the incredibly soft bed, you appreciated the aesthetics of your suite and took photos that you knew you couldn’t share with the public due to safety reasons so that just ruined the mood so to bring it up again, you called your royal advisor/childhood friend just to update her on your journey.

“And let me guess, the media was all over you guys.” Ama chuckled through the phone. “When aren’t they ever. A lot of them were from Baba’s thing we’re going to.” You said, rolling your eyes as you recalled the flashing lights from your landing.

“Oh, the formula thing. You’ll be fine, Y/n, just remember to interact with other human beings and don’t bring up work.” Ama spoke, squinting her eyes at you. “Don’t you have faith in me? I’ll be as chilled as I can be.” You said.

“Y/n my dear, should I remind you how you ran away from that one rapper because he wanted to take you out on a date?” She laughed in between her sentences and you wanted to scream in embarrassment. “Ama please, let’s not speak on that, it was enough to scar me for days.”

Holding her hands up, Ama spoke again. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. Look Y/n, I have to go now and I promise i won’t speak on it again.” She laughed once again and you just shook your head at her.

“Bye Ama, say hi to everyone back home for me.” You sighed out.

“Byeee! Don’t forget, listen to sexyy red before you go. She’ll give you confidence.” Ama winked then dropped the call.

Feeling your hunger slowly come back, you ultimately decided to drag your two younger sisters to get dinner with you. You knew the next day was going to be incredibly long so you wanted to do everything early to prepare yourself.

-

You made no effort to research a single thing about the sport that you were going to watch.

Your father had sent staff to hand deliver your passes to each of you, there were only two and had specified that it was from Mercedes. Luckily, they went very well with your outfit choice for qualifying that day.

As for your journey to the track, a clearly nervous Mercedes employee was assigned to you along with all the other members of your family having their own guide. Her first thought was to compliment you and you couldn’t have thanked her enough, with you starting to like the experience.

Sitting in the car was not awkward at all, you had asked several questions about the sport and what exactly was happening so that you would not be confused in the garage. A tour would be put in place before qualifying for your family then you’ll get to meet the drivers however most of the fun stuff will happen on Sunday.

“Tell me, is my skirt too short? I made a bold move with this outfit today.” You asked, the younger girl already shaking her head in disagreement.

“It’s a very cute outfit, Your Majesty. It’s quite unsuspecting unless you’re going to wear a sash.” Maddy joked. “Oh no, we stopped that practice three years ago. Another thing, you don’t have to call me that. Y/n is just fine.” You smiled and you could see her sigh out of relief.

The conversation had went on until you arrived to the paddock gates and quite the crowd had gathered and obviously they had to be for the drivers and other important f1 personnel. Maddy had informed you that you and your family would enter through a much more private entrance to avoid crowds.

As soon as the door was opened, you could hear the loud atmosphere of the track. From fans to the cars, it was buzzing and that had you looking forward to the rest of your trip. Following close behind, you could spot your parents and sisters walking slightly ahead of you and they were admiring the beauty of the scenes behind the sport.

However, the weather did not accommodate your outfit all with goosebumps rising on your skin so quickly. “We’ve got some hoodies in the hospitality.” Maddy reassured with a smile.

After a warm welcome upon arriving at the hospitality and the overly excited team principal had showed you around, you finally received the hoodie and completely unaware of the ‘44’ etched into the material but at least you were now warm.

Your father was at his happiest, over-explaining everything to your curious sisters and your mom was in deep conversations with the barista who was from Zamunda. The paddock club was lively with different people wearing colourful merchandise of their favourite teams and only then did you realize you hadn't seen any driver or their face even though they were planted everywhere.

Before you could pull out your phone to research, Khosi, the youngest, ran up to you whilst laughing. "I made a joke to Baba that you'd find someone here and the face he made was priceless." She wheezed out, plopping down on the couch you were sitting on and lightly smiled at her antics.

Looking over at your father, he couldn’t be more excited, his smile growing larger and larger as the Merc personnel continued speaking. “Toto will be here soon with the drivers and a few photographers from Mercedes. We’ll then head to the garage and pit lane for a tour.”

Without a moment to spare, several people entered the space including photographers, the very eager team principal and what you would assume were the drivers. The taller one walked in with his hands clasped together with a large smile on his face, his style could be described as preppy.

The next driver, however, his presence could be felt with just a step in the doorway. The first thing you noticed about him was his confidence followed by his outfit, a black tracksuit with simple red lines around specific areas. After being mesmerised by each detail about him, you got to his eyes which locked in with yours.

A shiver ran down your spine as the both of you maintained eye contact with each other, a slight smile on his face whilst chewing on some gum and you truly could’ve melted on the spot. “George, Lewis. Meet the royal family of Zamunda. King Akeem and his family have been long time followers of Formula One and we’ve had the honour of hosting them in our team.” Toto expressed, quite literally unable to stand still.

Introductions began and butterflies were flying around your stomach the closer you got to him. You could tell that he was your father’s favourite driver as he spoke for quite a while and even made a few jokes but you couldn’t hear anything, not when the man in the designer tracksuit was staring you down.

“Your Majesty, i’m Lewis. It’s lovely to meet you.” He finally introduced himself to you as you were the last of your family to greet everyone. You held out your hand to him and he gladly accepted it and you prayed that he wouldn’t feel the warmth of your palms. “Likewise,” You cleared your throat. “Y/n is just fine.”

The sound of your name falling from his lips felt like heaven, pronouncing it correctly on the first try just added to the attraction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/n.” He spoke lowly and you could barely keep yourself together in your head. You wanted to find more words to say to him, anything, but your chance fell short as the eager team principal pulled you out of your head to introduce the next driver to you.

The next few minutes were brutal. Your family stood opposite the faces of the team and you could feel his eyes glued to you, unmoving.

In typical Zamundan fashion, it’s in your father’s blood to brag about how great his country is and all its beauty. “And onto my eldest daughter, she’s quite the superstar. All her humanitarian work has brought eyes onto Zamunda. Y/n, aren’t you working on the STEM school project? She’s also a professor!” The King spoke with pride in his voice, making you want to hide in a corner.

A humble but nervous chuckle left your lips. “It was just a week of me teaching lectures, Baba.” Your words made the whole room laugh but his smile was the brightest. “But yes, the STEM project is still in its early days but a lot of students are interested which makes me happy.” You concluded with a small smile.

Lewis looked impressed. Wait. Since when did you care what anyone thought of your hard work? Especially a man that you knew would be a major distraction to the single lifestyle you’ve lived all these years. You had much to focus on and becoming Queen of Zamunda was at the top of your list.

But why not let loose a little? ‘Live a little’ as your sisters often say whenever you come back home exhausted.

“Is that so? Lewis here has his own foundation for kids in STEM, specifically for motorsport!” The tall team principal smiled and it took everything in you to look into the man’s eyes as you felt them on you.

“I could tell you more about it if you’d like.” Lewis spoke in a calm, low voice. You wanted to walk closer so that you could hear his words travel through you, wanting to listen to every word he had to say to you, every action he wanted to do to y-

Taking a breath and putting a soft smile on your face, you nodded. “I’d like that, thank you.” Talks of hot laps and tours started flying around but you couldn’t hear a word that was said. What was wrong with you? All this man had done was look into your eyes and you felt like you could melt. Lewis clearly used this gentlemanly charm to persuade everyone around him, including your father.

Watching him converse with your family had unleashed a new swarm of butterflies in your stomach, something you hadn’t truly felt in a long time. You had been with one or two people casually but none had ever satisfied you, only caring about your status as Princess. However, you had a gut feeling about something but you didn’t want to dwell on it yet.

“Shall we go for the tour now?” Toto’s voice boomed around the room with a clap of his hands.

-

Feeling a nudge on your arm, you turn to look at your mom as your attention was on the screens around the garage. “Are you going to bring him to Zamunda?” Your mother teased with a smile. Your eyebrows furrowed before you realised who she was referring to.

“Mother, I’d rather not talk about that now. Let’s just enjoy where we are now.” You put your hand on your mom’s then turned to look at the screen.

“He’d make a lovely prince. It’s okay to separate yourself from work, you know? I want you to live a little, my angel.” She continued, enveloping both her hands around yours.

You opened your mouth to speak but she beat you to it. “Don’t worry about your father. He’d be ecstatic if you brought this one home. You still have a lot of time left, Y/n.”

Knowing your mother was right, you breathed in and refocused your attention to qualifying. Lewis seemed to be doing well, even his driving looked attractive to you. Okay, calm it down girl.

After quali, the Mercedes hospitality was buzzing even though the skies were ever gray. Munching on a piece of cake, you offered a smile to those who would walk past and gawk at you. It was evident that F1 had made quite the big deal about your family merely attending a race weekend but you never expected this attention much on you.

A camera crew stayed outside and continuously took pictures of you sitting by your lonesome and you hoped for something to distract you from the feeling of being watched. Surprisingly, the crew began walking away after looking behind you for a split second and the cologne that suddenly surrounded you made it very clear who did it.

“Sorry if they were bothering you, your highness.” Lewis spoke, eventually standing in front of you yet not taking a seat across. Chuckling a bit, you looked up at him. “I thought we spoke about the title, Lewis.”

“Yes we did but I can’t let the media know you like that, only I’ve received the honour.” He smiled and there were the butterflies again. “If you’d like to sit down, you may.” You offered with the sweetest smile. Taking your offer, he never took his eyes off you.

It was quiet as he observed you. “What?” Looking like a deer in headlights, you placed your spoon down. “You’re a powerhouse. I’ve seen you represent your country and how much love you have for it. It’s admirable.”

You were taken aback. You hadn’t received such compliments from someone you were interested in. “Well, now I feel terrible because I’ve got no clue about your sport.” You spoke, covering your mouth with your floating hand.

“That’s okay, Princess.” All he did was say those words and you felt like a puddle all over again. “You’re doing that thing with your eyes again.” You pointed out, wondering if he could see right through your demeanour.

“What thing are my eyes doing, Y/n?”

“…I’d rather not say it in public.”

Lewis’ smirk widened as you said that. He thought it would be a challenge to try make a move on you as you seemed reserved unlike the rest of your family. “Why not? I’m quite curious to hear your thoughts.” He smiled, adjusting his arms to rest on the table.

“Not in your team’s hospitality suite.” You quickly replied, your eyes darting everywhere but him.

“Y/n.” Lewis just said your name and just like that, your thoughts became improper. Locking eyes with him, you knew that he was teasing you, something that you were never able to experience others.

“We can speak about our foundations over dinner!” You quickly suggested, barely registering what just came out of your mouth. “Dinner sounds perfect however that was supposed to be my line.” He joked and you couldn’t help but laugh.

-

Everything felt chaotic. You had returned to the hotel from the race which was extremely exhilarating and he had gotten a relatively high position which made you proud.

As you were leaving your seat in the garage a few hours ago, Lewis had approached you knowing very well that the cameras were watching the exchange between the two of you. “I forgot to mention how gorgeous you looked earlier.” He said as he was standing relatively close to you.

“Lewis! You can’t say that, the cameras are watching.” You whisper yelled, looking at the cameras pointed at the scene before them. All he did was laugh and turn on his heel before turning his head to you. “I’ll see you at 7 pm , your highness.” He winked and just like that, he was gone.

And that whole memory ran through your mind as you paced up and down your hotel room. You were all ready for the dinner but you were feeling something…different. It was normal for you to have dinners but this one had a certain tension hanging over it. You smoothed out your dress with your hands as you paced.

Another thing that drove you crazy was that you had no clue of what exactly was happening. You always knew the time, setting and guests of everything you did but now you were completely out of the loop but you had trust in him, as insane as it sounds.

The knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts and you took a breath before turning the doorknob to reveal Lewis standing there with a bouquet of flowers you couldn’t recognise but your heart grew at the sight of them. Your eyes glided over him as you looked at his outfit, a white cardigan with black slacks and designer chunky shoes. He smiled and you almost fell to your knees just looking at him more relaxed and sexy.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Y/n.” He complimented, his own eyes moving all over your body. He couldn’t help but admire your beauty as you stood before him. You were the embodiment of a princess and you never failed to exude such energy as you did.

“Uh, would you like to come in? I just have to get my heels.” You spoke as you opened the door a little wider. The room smelt of a scent he couldn’t quite grasp but he definitely labelled it as an aphrodisiac because Lewis began feeling his hands getting hot. He made his way to the couch right by the large window as you closed the door.

You stood in the middle of the room with your fingers pinching your lip in nervousness. The tension could be cut with a knife with the way he was watching you. “Um so, how’d you plan this?” You asked, finally looking at Lewis but you noticed his eyes were slightly lower.

“Your sisters are quite the wingwomen.” He spoke, adjusting his body to sit comfortably.

“Right, right……”

A beat passed before he leaned forward. “Princess, is everything okay?”

“Do you think we could skip dinner? I never usually do this but I don’t think I can go another moment.” You blurted out, too afraid to see his reaction to your raunchy suggestion.

Another moment of silence passed and you felt defeated. You felt like you’d gone on too strong and that’s not what you envisioned at all.

“Y/n.” He called and you picked your head up to look up.

“C’mere.”

saint’s notes: you thought I was going to give you smut???? no 🤭 hope you enjoyed though! 🫶🏽

[obsessioncollector]

Hi friends! Inspired by @librarycards I wanted to make a post celebrating Women in Translation Month! Anglophone readers generally pay embarrassingly little attention to works in other languages, and that's even more true when it comes to literature by women, so I will jump at any chance to promote my faves 🥰 Here are some recs from 9 different languages! Also, I wrote this on my phone, so apologies for any typos or errors!

1. Trieste by Daša Drndić, trans. Ellen Elias-Bursać (Croatian): An all-time favorite. Much of Drndić's work interrogates the legacy of atrocities in Europe, particularly eastern Europe. Trieste is a haunting contemplative novel centered on an elderly Italian Jewish woman whose family converted to Catholicism during the Mussolini era and were complicit in the fascist violence surrounding them in order to protect themselves.

2. Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur (Korean): A collection of short stories that are difficult to classify by genre–speculative fiction in the broadest sense. The first story is about a monster in a woman's toilet, which sounds impossible to pull off in a serious, thought-provoking manner, but Chung does so easily—these are the kind of stories that are hard to explain the brilliance of secondhand.

3. Sweet Days of Discipline by Fleur Jaeggy, trans. Tim Parks (Italian; Jaeggy is Swiss): Another all time favorite! The cold, sterile homoerotic girls' boarding school novella of your dreams.

4. Toddler-Hunting and Other Stories by Taeko Kono, trans. Lucy North (Japanese): I think I read this in one sitting. Incredibly unsettling—these stories will stay with you. They often focus on the unspoken psychosexual fantasies underscoring mundane daily life.

5. The Complete Stories by Clarice Lispector, trans. Katrina Dodson (Brazilian Portuguese): I think Lispector is the best known writer here, so she might not need much of an introduction. But what a legend! And this collection is so diverse—it's fascinating to see the evolution of Lispector's work.

6. Our Lady of the Nile by Scholastique Mukasonga, trans. Melanie L. Mauthner (French; Mukasonga is Rwandan): Give her the Nobel! Mukasonga's books, at least the ones available in English, are generally quite short but so impactful. Our Lady of the Nile is a collection of interrelated short stories set at a Catholic girls' boarding school in Rwanda in the years before the Rwandan genocide. These stories are fascinating on many levels, but perhaps the most haunting element is seeing how ethnic hatred intensifies over time—none of these girls would consider themselves particularly hateful or prejudiced, but they easily justify atrocities in the end.

7. Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 by Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. Yvette Siegert (Spanish; Pizarnik was Argentinian): Does anyone remember when my url was @/pizarnikpdf... probably not but worth mentioning to emphasize how much I love her <3 Reading Pizarnik is so revelatory for me; she articulates things I didn't even realize I felt until I read her words.

8. Flight and Metamorphosis: Poems by Nelly Sachs, trans. Joshua Weiner (German): Sachs actually won the Nobel in the 1960s, so it's surprising that she's not better known in the Anglosphere. Her poems are cryptic and surreal, yet deeply evocative. Worth mentioning that this volume is bilingual, so you can read the original German too if you're interested.

9. Frontier by Can Xue, trans. Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping (Chinese): Can Xue is another difficult-to-classify writer in terms of genre. Her short stories are often very abstract and can be puzzling at first. I think Frontier is a great place to start with her because these stories are interconnected, which makes them a bit more accessible.

[camillasgirl]

The Queen's speech at The Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition 2023

Ladies and gentlemen, it is a huge pleasure to welcome you to Buckingham Palace today to congratulate and thank all of you who have been part of this year’s Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition - and to celebrate the Competition’s 140th birthday.

Remarkably, the QCEC is the world’s oldest international writing competition for schools. For 14 decades, it has given young people the opportunity to express themselves on the issues that matter most, bringing communities across the Commonwealth closer together.

The Competition, as Gyles [Brandreth] has told us, was launched during the reign of Queen Victoria: herself a published author and a passionate lover of literature. We know from her diaries and letters that she was particularly fond of the works of many authors, including Jane Austen, Lord Tennyson, Charles Dickens, Charlotte Bronte and Lewis Carroll. Legend has it that, having admired “Alice in Wonderland”, the Queen wrote to Lewis Carroll to request first editions of any of his other books. By return of post she received a copy of his “Syllabus of Plane Algebraic Geometry”. Probably not what she was after!!

But back to the authors in this room! Well done to each and every one of you – you are quite brilliant and I have, as ever, enormously enjoyed reading your entries. Always remember that you are in impressive company - past entrants to this Competition have gone on to become teachers, doctors, lawyers, novelists, journalists and even, in one case, a Prime Minister! I shall be following all your achievements and adventures with the greatest possible interest.

The QCEC has a wonderful history. Yet this year’s topic, “A Youth-Powered Commonwealth”, reminds us that your future will be even better, as the next generation takes up the baton of using the written word to promote and unite our worldwide family.

In the last decade alone, more than 140,000 young people have entered the Competition. On my travels, I have been lucky enough to meet entrants in Ghana, St Vincent and the Grenadines, New Zealand, the Gambia, Malaysia, Rwanda, the United Kingdom and, earlier this month, Kenya. In a library in central Nairobi two weeks ago, I was delighted to be reunited with the 2021 Senior Winner, Kayla Bosire, whom I had last seen two years ago at the Awards Ceremony here at Buckingham Palace. In her winning essay, she wrote a strikingly beautiful paragraph that has stayed with me since, as it underlines the value of our Commonwealth and that of the QCEC:

“The Commonwealth, among other associations, had one goal: peace and security. And when they tossed their differences aside and joined hands - when they looked past one’s beliefs or the colour of their skin - they achieved it. Together. They advanced and progressed together”.

So, ladies and gentlemen, let us advance and progress together towards the next 140 years of the amazing Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition! 

[revolutionaryshoe]

I used to wonder, when I was younger, how people could let such terrible things happen. I remember at school they showed us pictures of the piles and piles of bodies, sprawling stick limbs in the death camps in Germany and Poland and Cambodia and Rwanda and. They said to us: we let this happen. You must not.

Ah, I thought, how could I? How could anyone?

Now I am beginning to see.

Years ago they said: if you are not angry you are not paying attention. But oh I am so tired of being angry and more I am afraid.

It is hard to be afraid for so long, and to see that there are those in power and rising up and eating the fear and breathing it and spreading it out. Sleeping on a fort of money to keep them safe and breathing out death and other people's misery and we are all so afraid. Stop the boats and keep the money and how will we afford bread, my partner has a new job now and maybe we'll make the rent and there are people starving and drowning and they are making laws against us; 

It is about keeping children safe they say on the radio. That is what justifies your suffering.

I turn off the radio.

I wish my child would go to school, but she says she is afraid of everything all the time now.

Did you know that a hundred years ago, one child in four, one child in three, in two, would die and now I wonder: how did they do it? With cholera and dysentry and your children dying in your arms, was it not hard to say: " I think even bad men should have a chance to live. I do not want them to suffer as my child has suffered?" 

I think it would be much easier not to care, to say: let them all perish as my sister/child/husband/friends have perished. Is that not justice? O only let the ones I love breath and be easy.

In the news I read about "invasions of migrants" and "keeping women and children safe" and I think about the men far away in queues for bread starving with their money frozen by foreign banks. And I think about moving countries and making plans, and try again to get my child to school.

The news comes on the radio and I turn it off and I think 

I understand now.

And I am afraid.

[dougielombax]

Now!

I’m not Jewish.

But I feel that this is worth saying as someone with an MA in history who has read up extensively about Genocide.

(I’ve read up a lot about the Holocaust, the Armenian genocide, the Sayfo, and the Anfal genocide. For context)

“Never Again” applies to ALL peoples.

Jews, Assyrians, Circassians, Kurds, Palestinians, Tatars, Buryats, Talysh, Papua peoples, Romani people, Amazigh peoples, Armenians, Bosnians, Yazidis, Uyghurs, Rwandans, Tibetans and any and all others.

No ifs, no buts. And so on.

It’s a call to prevent any and all genocides from happening again in the future.

At the very least, it ought to be.

Elie Wiesel said that much. Stating that if it were upheld as a principle (as it ought to be) there would’ve been no genocides in Cambodia, Rwanda, Darfur or Bosnia. He was at least able to recognise that much!

It’s a call for accountability and action to prevent such a thing from happening again. Like I said.

It’s NOT a rallying cry for war-worshipping monsters to demand bloodshed in a perceived need for revenge, even if they themselves have suffered in the past.

Not to say that accountability isn’t unwarranted because it very much is. (Operation Nemesis and the Nuremberg trials (among other things) both spring to mind)

But that doesn’t mean there should be slaughter on a mass scale in return for the past suffering of one’s own people.

Any arrogant bastards what say otherwise have only proven themselves to be LESS than wrong.

I don’t care if this comes across as idealistic.

(Goodness knows I’ve had PLENTY of armchair historians and twats on this site from all over the political spectrum call me an idealistic, naive child (I’m 24!), which I’m not)

It needs to be said.

At the very least.

Do well to remember that.

[blackadamschefter]

I'll try to be brief and avoid rambling as I like to do lol.

So, I was on twitter for something else and then saw in my lil "what's happening" that "Tutsi" was trending and so it got my attention right away and so I clicked it and saw that it was #Kwibuka30. So then it kinda brought alot of thoughts that I've had for about the past week or so rush straight to the front of my brain.

Its #Kwibuka30, and its essentially a day of remembrance of the 1994 Genocide in Rwanda. Its a day that I don't particularly think about often but I think of that year and period as a whole more often. Its kinda two fold where as in the past I didn't know of it (the specific day not the cause) and now that I have actively chosen to learn, read and fully immerse myself in it vs. just listening to convos and stories through my family members. I'm also close to the end of a book "Do Not Disturb" by Michela Wrong that is focused on the murder of a former high ranking RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front) member but for me touches on the subject of the things that contributed to and reaction of the '94 genocide. Other books I finished that also touch on the subject. With that I also am a smarter & more informed just based on who I was around and listening to and I'm older, better educated (more educated??) anyways. I saw all that to get to this bit that made me feel like putting this and these thoughts out (so I can come back to and see).

I was personally affected by the '94 genocide and my family as a whole was affected by it. My life would be completely different if what led to it and it happening never happened. So I feel a certain level of pain/hurt when I think of the number of uncles I never got to meet, or cousins I didn't get to know.. I feel for my mom who lost brothers, uncles, friends & my grandma who lost her kids, siblings, nieces/nephews, etc. So it does that to me and to those who I have no relation with I think of more now than then because no one deserves to lose their life like that esp. innocent people who knew nothing and were taken. Its political and a longstanding thing that folks were gonna get their lick back but damn. Knowing now what I know I think its important to clarify that if this were to ever be seen by a person who.. idk just wants to start something or call me or consider me a génocidaire (genocide denier... in french for a reason) for what I'm about to say.. its actually far from it.

I understand that #Kwibuka30 is more or less reserved for "commemoration of the 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi" I believe its also important that families of innocent Hutus should also be taken into consideration and remembered. Because the bigger play here is fully political in how its handled but its inhumane (to me) to make people feel less than or not be allowed to openly mourn for there own because others who did something so horrific shared the same tribe and that means they don't deserve the same sympathy... fuck that because its not fair. So as I think about my family and everyone who was affected. God Bless to all the lost souls that died, survived and many who feel guilty for being around. I pray for yall & hope you find a second to mourn, celebrate and feel free even if its just for a second.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

This takes me to Gaza & the Palestinian people because it was for them who made me relive things that happened more so when i was younger and knew nothing. I'm glad I was able to get off what I needed in the first part but this was more due to the images I was seeing. I feel for all those impacted by what's happening because at one point that was my reality, and I listen to the people in my family and close friends talk about the periods where we were on the move from refugee camp to refugee camp, walking for ages, just the blur of it all. Its brings you down but my mom and I have convos about it and I see why our bond is so strong and we struggled together to get to where we are. My dad too! Out there put in the frontlines and making it back to check on me or having his men guard where I laid my head in many cases. Owing the chance I got to my uncle who was also in the military like my dad and he & his wife protecting my mom and I and so many stories where God was there for me and mine. Lucky to make it out fr. So I see the images of kids eating, playing, in their parents arms and I feel and get a jolt of emotion that reminds me I was once just like them. So how its imperative to show love, give, pray and what I can to help. Life is unpredictable and my heart goes out to each and everyone impacted by it all.

Idk man.. I had to get that one off my chest and put it somewhere.

[totesarchives]

TREVOR MOORE

The Whitest Kid You Know

As ringleader of The Whitest Kids U’ Know, Trevor Moore spent the last two years working a deliciously twisted flavor of humor into the palate of American comedy. When Hollywood handed him the keys to the big-screen machine this spring, he churned out Miss March—one of the most aggressively bizarre comedies in years. DJ Pangburn visited Los Angeles’s Griffith Observatory with Moore to explore otherworldly phenomena and seek out where the jokes come from.

By DJ Pangburn • Photos by Ray Lego • Styling by Carmel Lobello & Jill Breare

Trevor Moore and I are to meet at the Griffith Observatory in the evening. That’s what I’ve been told. As I walk towards the entrance, I notice a sticker on a sign that reads “Captain Gaylord.” In a place of public science, a bust of James Dean lords over the place. After all, this is Hollywood, and no public place would be complete without Dean’s brooding presence. The smog of Los Angeles is like a rainforest, and I wonder if it’s possible to observe anything in this sky. Pluto is no longer a planet, but the observatory is disregarding this astronomical ruling. Pluto still orbits the Sun out on the front lawn. Griffith J. Griffith was something of a madman, and the land he bequeathed to Los Angeles today still seems to suffer some otherworldly spell.

Trevor arrives wearing a Harley-Davidson jacket. But, as he will tell you, he does not have a bike and this confuses everyone he meets. After determining how much we weigh on each of the planets, we talk briefly about the masterpiece of nonsense that is Pootie Tang, which leads us straight down the absurdist trail to Freddie Got Fingered…

How do such movies make it through the Hollywood machine? Freddie Got Fingered is one of the most amazing feats ever!

[Tom Green] just had complete creative control over the thing. I enjoy watching it. But Pootie Tang—I remember I rented that in college and I watched it and thought, I don’t like that. But then I kept thinking about it the next day and telling people about it. So I watched it again, and it was a completely different movie. The second time I watched I was like, I love this movie.

Would you ever try making something like Freddie Got Fingered?

I don’t know. The critics were after us for the movie we just made [Miss March]—but yeah, if you really believe in it. You want those movies to happen. I’m glad Freddie Got Fingered got made. When it first came out I thought it was retarded. But now I rent it every now and then because it’s fun to watch.

“I dabble in conspiracy theory”

Someone noted, and I agree, that it was a Dada or Surrealist masterpiece, or it’s at least in the tradition of Dada. Let’s talk about the Abraham Lincoln sketch, which is quite inventive. It’s like alternate history, in a way.

We do a lot of that alternate history stuff. It started a tradition we have now about presidents’ assassinations. The first season we had four or five very dark political sketches—we had two Abraham Lincoln sketches, we had another sketch where we say it’s illegal to talk about assassinating a president. It was kind of like a theme. I’m obsessed with the President Kennedy assassination. It’s a hobby of mine. I collect Kennedy memorabilia. I wanted to do this sketch where we say President Johnson is behind it, which, you know, he pretty much was—or a lot of people think he was. We did this sketch where I’m Oswald and Sam [Brown] is Lyndon Johnson and we’re sitting up in the Book Depository Building having this argument. This season we do a sketch about the Ronald Reagan assassination attempt that’s like pop-up video, with those factoids popping up. It’s all this stuff that they don’t talk about. Reagan did some good things, but he’s canonized now—as soon as he died he became this saint and historical figure. He did some good things but he also armed everybody that we’re fighting now. He got us in Rwanda.

“I’m obsessed with the President Kennedy assassination. It’s a hobby of mine.”

He armed the Contras.

He ignored AIDS for a decade and let it become a full-blown epidemic. So during this Reagan sketch, all these effects pop up with these odd facts—like, let’s slow our roll on this patron saint that is Ronald Reagan. But we’re kind of out of people now. [Laughs]

Were there any repercussions to the “It’s Illegal to Talk About Assassinating the President” sketch?

No. I checked it with my lawyer and he didn’t know. I was a little nervous about it, so I called the ACLU and they wouldn’t tell me if I could say it or not. I ended up asking them, “If I got in trouble for this, would you pick up the case?” They said, “Yeah.” But I still took part of it out. I don’t think I would have thought that sketch was as interesting or funny now. Most of the people my age that grew up during the Bush years hated him. He was our Nixon. If I came up with an idea like that during the Obama administration, I would be like, Eh, no, I don’t want to. And it’s not like you can’t make jokes with Obama, but he’s a different guy and there are different connotations.

At this point a most horrific cacophony of dog cries erupts from the hills below. Trevor looks in the direction from which the noise is coming and says, “What is that?” I say, “Holy shit… it could be a cougar, or a snake.” Trevor jumps down from the ledge on which he had perched himself and states unequivocally, “We’ve gotta go look at this.” I’m not quite sure how he intends to get us down to the crying dogs, but I play along, “You really want to go down there?” Trevor nods, “We gotta go down there.” We descend the steps of the observatory and toward the melee down slope. “It’s like flying dogs in a bat swarm,” Trevor says of the noise, and I try to make sense of what flying dogs in a bat swarm might look like. We encounter a couple Armenians smoking cigarettes and Trevor asks their opinion on the matter. One replies, “Wolves.” they smile at us and then look back out to the horizon, smoking ravenously. It’s fairly clear we aren’t going to make any headway into the crying dog matter. So we continue with our interview.

What books or films were influential to your comedic style?

All the Kings Men was always a book I really liked. It’s about backroom politics and how everyone is corrupt. And about how good people who go into politics with the best intentions ultimately become what they hate. But my big influence was always Monty Python. I grew up in a very conservative house and I wasn’t allowed to watch Smurfs, because it had witchcraft and magic in it. I was able to watch Letterman, who was my other big influence. I’d set the VCR, when I was a little kid, to tape Letterman after Carson and I’d watch it when I got home from school the next day. Also, Weird Al. I think he was one of the first people where I realized that he’s a musician, but all he does are funny songs. Lord of the Flies, too. One of the few books I’ve read more than once. In high school I was really into Hunter Thompson. The book I really liked was called Better Than Sex, which really wasn’t one of his better books. It was about the 1992 election. It’s basically about him sitting in his apartment, watching all these different televisions and filing off faxes to people, telling them what they should do. All these people you’d see on TV, he would write a fax to them because he had everybody’s numbers. And because it’s Hunter S. Thompson, everybody writes him back. A lot of the book is just basically him sending off angry faxes to people and then responding.

When Nixon left office, Hunter S. Thompson no longer had the anti-human to attack. We no longer have Bush. For the comedian, how does that affect the work? I know there is never a loss for material, but when the politics have changed—

—Well I don’t think the politics change that much. All the guys behind the scenes are still there.

But when the face of it all isn’t so abrasive and devilish…

That’s when you’re really in trouble. [Laughs] The optimist in me wants to believe it’s different. [The Whitest Kids U Know] performed at benefits to send money to Obama. I was in Grant Park election night. I flew down to the inauguration and I was on the lawn. I was swept up in it, you know. At the same time, I still think it’s the same guys smoking cigars behind the scenes. It’s still the Bilderbergers. It’s still the World Bank.

I read this book called Rule by Secrecy by Jim Marrs. And that’s where I was introduced to all those groups and theories, which came out by way of The Da Vinci Code. Ultimately, it led to aliens.

[Laughs] It usually does. I dabble in conspiracy theory. There’s a lot of it in our show because I’m very interested in it. I don’t believe all of it. But I think there’s truth in a lot of it. The problem with it is that the baby gets thrown out with the bathwater a lot. The CIA killed Kennedy. For me, all the evidence is there, or at least the reason for them to do it is there. The witnesses that died—you watch the Zapruder film, he didn’t get shot from the back. He got hit in the front!

Here’s a fact I can’t reconcile with anything: Oswald goes over to the Soviet Union… and he gets back into the United States? No way. How was he not thrown in a prison the minute he stepped foot on American soil?

Yeah—during the Red Scare. I don’t think that these people who are CIA are eventually not CIA. “Oswald was CIA a while ago, but not when he did that!” [Laughs] “Bin Laden was CIA a while back, but not when he did that!”

And you can’t prove anything because it’s the CIA, they can deny anything.

Yes! It’s the CIA! [Whispers covertly] That’s why we have to talk about this in wide-open spaces like this where there’s no microphone.

I tell him about a book called The Men Who Stare at Goats, which details New Age techniques adopted by highly placed U.S. Army intelligence officials in the seventies and early eighties. Officials who believed they could walk through walls, stare goats to death, achieve Jedi-like mental powers, astral project and remote view, amongst other select things. Moore mentions that he himself has tried to astral project.

Explain how you were going about astral projecting.

I used to work for an Asian television network and I was in charge of documentaries. I had this guy who was very into New Age and kind of out there. He talked about how he astral projected all the time, and he had crystals that protected him from the spirits that tried to get him. I was kind of into it for a while and trying to do it. It never really worked. It got to the point where I also talked to people who said they had done it, and some of the stories I kind of believed. I don’t know if I believe it now, but at the time it scared me a bit. The guy I co-wrote with for years was the voice for those commercials that would go, “SEGA!” And he swears he used to do it. But he went the wrong way and bad stuff happened. I’m not sure I want to go and mess around in that world.

You might not make it back! [Laughs]

Right, yeah! I was also doing a documentary-comedy show. I did a pilot for the Asian network. We’d take a topic and make sketches about it, but then also look into it, investigate it. We were doing alien abductions, and we got interviews with people who had been abducted by aliens. These were people abducted by aliens in famous cases. The most absurd alien abduction on American soil—I got an interview with that woman. By the end of that interview I was like, I don’t think alien abductions are real. Then there’s neurolingustic programming…

Which is?

Ever heard of The Game? That book where guys go around hitting on girls?

Yes, the book by Neil Strauss.

That is a lot of neurologistic programming, in those methods. It was a big fad in the seventies. All the books are out of print, though. But it’s a fascinating, weird, almost dark art.

It’s a bit like hypnosis, really.

Yeah, and people who know how to use it can almost apply it to anything. It’s pretty amazing.

Arianna Huffington may have studied neurolinguistic programming—she’s known to be quite hypnotic.

I’m not sure if it’s a skill or if it’s something you’re born with, but if you can get it down, it basically seems like being a Jedi. [Laughs]

According to The Men Who Stare at Goats, within the army there’s three levels of awareness, and level three is “Jedi Master.” These men are fuckin’ crazy!

I’m going to find it.

We joked about our conversation being overheard by the CIA or some other cloak and dagger operation, and how we’d both end up in an interrogation room and neither of us would be surprised to see each other. And with that we departed the observatory—me back to my apartment and Trevor, well, perhaps he went in pursuit of the flying dogs in a bat swarm. ⇼

__________

This article appeared in Issue 19 of Death+Taxes, published on April 8, 2009. Death+Taxes (2008-2010) is a defunct music and men's lifestyle print magazine; it relaunched as a website in 2010 and was eventually acquired by SpinMedia in 2014, where it remains a culture and politics vertical of Spin.

Text and spread screenshots taken from Issuu.

[penrose42]

Real talk this is fucking insane. I know it goes without saying at this point but goddamn does our education system need an overhaul and academic dishonesty is just the tip of the fucking iceberg. The sad thing is is that people, not just kids, will put in the effort to do things that they like and find interesting. Our brains are hard wired to close in on subjects that we genuinely have interest in and we will do things regarding those subjects and utilize that knowledge fullheartedly. To say that some if not most subjects in academia can be full on dropped should not be news to some, because let's be honest with ourselves most courses offer knowledge that only applies to specific career goals.

Math courses past basic algebra have no real world application for most people unless you want to be an engineer or go into the sciences.

Literature offers nothing outside to writers and critics. If anything forcing kids to read will make them adults who resent reading instead of inspiring people to actually read. I know media literacy isn't the best but I can tell you that making me read Hamlet has done very little outside of making me chuckle at that Adventure Time episode after reading it 10 years ago.

Now I will concede that subjects like history and the basic sciences are absolutely a necessity, and I don't feel like I need to justify that standpoint, especially anatomy because goddamn the gross ignorance shown towards human anatomy online is just appalling. However our approach to these subjects (history in particular for US students) needs serious review and revision.

The amount of times we went over just US history in public school is fucking insane. I'm willing to bet most people in the US didn't know that the Portuguese Navy was the most powerful military force in the world for a good majority of human history, or that the British Empire were the largest drug traffickers in the world, or Hell even the East India Trade Company was legitimately a thing. Seriously we need to get our head out of our own asses with History because fuck me you can only go over the same shit so many times.

(Not to say that we, at least in my school district, didn't go over some world history, but most of it was in regards to WWII. We also went over the Rwanda conflict for... reasons? in middle school but for the life of me I can't recall why? Not to say that it wasn't an important topic but genuinely why did we go over just Rwanda? Was it a BHM thing? I also remember talking about Nelson Mandela, so was it just BHM?)

Of course most US history courses end around the 60's because why update the curriculum with recent history like how Nixon fucked us over economically. And some wonder why we vote celebrities into office even though it was a demonstrably bad idea.

Now I know that the same argument for math can be made for science but I'm going to argue tooth and nail that a basic understanding of science is way the fuck more important than any understanding of math for the average person. A layman's comprehension of anatomy will always trump a full understanding of quadratics and I would love to hear any and all opposition.

TL:DR Our education system, at least in the US, is fucked and we need to work our asses on that. Now.

[nerdby]

With everything happening in Israel and cause October is banned book month I wanted to recommend that you guys check out the book All The Rivers by Dorit Rabinyan. All The Rivers is the English translation of an Israeli novel called Borderlife that has -- as far as I know -- been banned in Israel.

The book is about two expats, Liat and Hilmi living in New York City. Liat is an Israeli translator studying to finish her degree and Hilmi is a Palestinian artist living in Brooklyn on a visa. The two of them fall for each other after a chance encounter and thus begins a story of tragic, star crossed lovers in the same vein of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet. The story is deeply political and the characters are infuriating, but it begs us to question the notions of patriotism, political propaganda, and ethnocentrism.

Ethnocentrism is the hatred of a group of people because of religious or cultural reasons, regardless of their race. Liat and Hilmi's story is an example of that. Real world examples include tragedies like the Hotel Rwanda incident in South Africa or the Japanese dictator Hirohito Tojo's attempted colonization and genocide against citizens of China and much of Asia in World War II or the cultural genocide against the Irish carried out by the British during the potato famine. There are stories of things like this happening all over the world, all throughout history.

It's important that we read these things so that we can develop a greater sense of empathy for people different from ourselves. You can read more about the book and the author's story here.

[arcticdementor]

So recent events reminded me of a discussion in an online forum I remember reading many years ago (yes, there I go again), essentially debating whether the West's post-WWII moral commitment is to oppose genocide as a whole, or to oppose particular genocide attempts.

A little less vaguely, it began with one person arguing that the West's woefully insufficient level of intervention in Rwanda constituted a failure to live up to our post-WWII "never again" ideals. The other replied that they didn't see how, as the Rwandan genocide and "never again" have nothing at all to do with each other.

Well, the first person incredulously asked just how one could come to that position. The second seemed confused how it wasn't obvious — there weren't any Jews being targeted in Rwanda, hence the West had no duty or reason to try stopping the genocide.

[absolutelyterrifichonestly]

For anyone who doesn't live in the UK, this is what's happening today - the Tories have announced their illegal migration bill, meaning that those who enter the country illegally will be dealt with severely. By illegally, they are including those brought here as slaves. The human beings who arrive here in the backs of trucks will not be helped by the UK government. Because they came here illegally.

Read that again. Think it over.

Slaves will be detained. SLAVES WILL BE DETAINED.

Because they didn't arrive in the correct way. Because they don't have the paperwork.

After being detained, they will be "sent to a safe country". That country is currently Rwanda.

I don't recognise my country. I can't remember the last time I did. I'm terrified. I'm so tired.

"Stop the boats", they say. Like it's a fucking invasion. Like we're under attack. From what? By who?

The only way we're being attacked is by continuously voting in literal fucking fascists who get absolutely furious when you compare their rhetoric to Nazi Germany. How dare we, they say. How dare we do such a thing? It's for our safety, they say. The UK needs to be protected.

I would rather be overrun with these "small boats" than turn away fleeing human beings. We have more than enough room. It's our morals that are lacking.

Fuck the fascist enabling Tory scum who are willingly doing this to our country. Shame on you all.

[ncutigatwafans]

Ncuti Gatwa made the top of The List Hot 100 - a list celebrating the 100 most important cultural contributors in Scotland in 2022

The article reads: You may know him as the gregarious Eric Effiong in Netflix's 'Sex Education' or perhaps as the next incarnation of the legendary Time Lord, but Ncuti Gatwa is aslo a proud Scot, with his performing roots deeply embedded in Edinburgh, Glasgow and Fife.

'My Dad was studying at Edinburgh University so I grew up in Black Avenue, which was like accommodation for international families because we had just come from Rwanda.' But it was a move to Fife at the age of 14 that started Gatwa's love affair with performing. 'My drama teacher at Dunfermline High School was like, you really. need to consider going to the Royal Conservatoire. And she gave me David Tennant's Hamlet and said "watch this. This is an actor." I was like "oh my God".' What, then, could more full circle than him stepping into his shoes at the next Doctor Who? 

In September, the BBC broke the news that Gatwa would be taking on this iconic role, making him the first ever Black actor (and fourth Scot) to do so in the shows' 59-year history. 'I've known since about February so it's been tricky keeping this under wraps: I have a very big mouth!' he said on the red carpet folowing the announcement. 'But it's a true honour. This role is an insitution. It means a lot to so many people, including myself. It makes everyone feel seen as well.'

Reflecting on the casting process, Gatwa recalls 'prepping for the role of the Doctor and watching all the episodes again and watching Russell T Davies and David [Tennant]'s work. I was overcome with the need to get the job! I was like "I want to work with Russel". His writing is so clever. I just feel very honoured that he saw something in me that he likes. He's going to take me to the universe, around the stars and galaxies.'

Gatwa may be over the moon now, but the road to get here was rough. While relentlessly attending auditions in London, Gatwa found hmself homeless for several months before one booking would change his life forever. 'It was turbulent, you know? But I feel so grateful that Sex Education came into my life.' A month after its release in 2019, the first season had been streamed over 40 million times, shooting its stars to international fame overnight. 'In this streaming age, a show drops across 150 countries in a second so it took a long time to figure out what the hell was going on in my life. I'd be in Tesco and someone would ask for a selfie and I'd have no idea why!' 

Three seasons in, he still has a lot of love for Sex Education and Eric, a character he's lifted with side-splitting one-liners such as 'you detty pig'. But how does he find returning to Moordale High? 'Playing a teenager, especially as a 30-year-old man, is getting trickier as the days go on, let me tell you,' he cackles. 'But it's lovely to return to that cast. They are like my children.' 

Among these co-stars is Emma Mackey who will appear alongside Gatwa in Greta Gerwig's upcoming Barbie. 'I remember the casting director telling me "Greta's seen your tape and she really likes it". Well, that wasn't good enough', he deadpans. 'No stone must be left unturned! So I did about tne other takes and like "SEND THEM ALL TO GRETA!" His tenacity paid off and he now describes Gerwig as 'a creative kindred spirit'. 

Gatwa finds himself on the brink of A-list stardom, his strong grasp of what's important shows grace and conviction. 'It's just about learning to be really grateful,' he insists. 'And also to take the work seriously but not yourself seriously. It's an amazing job that we get to do but it is just a job. I'm slowly learning how to take it in my stride.'

[reasoningdaily]

The Rift Valley tells the entire human story from the start | Aeon Essays

We are restless even in death. Entombed in stone, our most distant ancestors still travel along Earth’s subterranean passageways. One of them, a man in his 20s, began his journey around 230,000 years ago after collapsing into marshland on the lush edge of a river delta feeding a vast lake in East Africa’s Rift Valley. He became the earth in which he lay as nutrients leached from his body and his bone mineralised into fossil. Buried in the sediment of the Rift, he moved as the earth moved: gradually, inexorably.

Millions of years before he died, tectonic processes began pushing the Rift Valley up and apart, like a mighty inhalation inflating the ribcage of the African continent. The force of it peeled apart a 4,000-mile fissure in Earth’s crust. As geological movements continued, and the rift grew, the land became pallbearer, lifting and carrying our ancestor away to Omo-Kibish in southern Ethiopia where, in 1967, a team of Kenyan archaeologists led by Richard Leakey disinterred his shattered remains from an eroding rock bank.

Lifted from the ground, the man became the earliest anatomically modern human, and the start of a new branch – Homo sapiens – on the tangled family tree of humanity that first sprouted 4 million years ago. Unearthed, he emerged into the same air and the same sunlight, the same crested larks greeting the same rising sun, the same swifts darting through the same acacia trees. But it was a different world, too: the nearby lake had retreated hundreds of miles, the delta had long since narrowed to a river, the spreading wetland had become parched scrub. His partial skull, named Omo 1, now resides in a recessed display case at Kenya’s national museum in Nairobi, near the edge of that immense fault line.

I don’t remember exactly when I first learned about the Rift Valley. I recall knowing almost nothing of it when I opened an atlas one day and saw, spread across two colourful pages, a large topographical map of the African continent. Toward the eastern edge of the landmass, a line of mountains, valleys and lakes – the products of the Rift – drew my eye and drove my imagination, more surely than either the yellow expanse of the Sahara or the green immensity of the Congo. Rainforests and deserts appeared uncomplicated, placid swathes of land in comparison with the fragmenting, shattering fissures of the Rift.

On a map, you can trace the valley’s path from the tropical coastal lowlands of Mozambique to the Red Sea shores of the Arabian Peninsula. It heads due north, up the length of Lake Malawi, before splitting. The western branch takes a left turn, carving a scythe-shaped crescent of deep lake-filled valleys – Tanganyika, Kivu, Edward – that form natural borders between the Democratic Republic of Congo and a succession of eastern neighbours: Tanzania, Burundi, Rwanda, Uganda. But the western branch peters out, becoming the broad shallow valley of the White Nile before dissipating in the Sudd, a vast swamp in South Sudan.

The eastern branch is more determined in its northward march. A hanging valley between steep ridges, it runs through the centre of Tanzania, weaving its way across Kenya and into Ethiopia where, in the northern Afar region, it splits again at what geologists call a ‘triple junction’, the point where three tectonic plates meet or, in this case, bid farewell. The Nubian and Somalian plates are pulling apart and both are pulling away from the Arabian plate to their north, deepening and widening the Rift Valley as they unzip the African continent. Here in the Rift, our origins and that of the land are uniquely entwined. Understanding this connection demands more than a bird’s-eye view of the continent.

The Rift Valley is the only place where human history can be seen in its entirety

Looking out across a landscape such as East Africa’s Rift Valley reveals a view of beauty and scale. But this way of seeing, however breath-taking, will only ever be a snapshot of the present, a static moment in time. Another way of looking comes from tipping your perspective 90 degrees, from the horizontal plane to the vertical axis, a shift from space to time, from geography to stratigraphy, which allows us to see the Rift in all its dizzying, vertiginous complexity. Here, among seemingly unending geological strata, we can gaze into what the natural philosopher John Playfair called ‘the abyss of time’, a description he made after he, James Hall and James Hutton in 1788 observed layered geological aeons in the rocky outcrops of Scotland’s Siccar Point – a revelation that would eventually lead Hutton to become the founder of modern geology. In the Rift Valley, this vertical, tilted way of seeing is all the more powerful because the story of the Rift is the story of all of us, our past, our present, and our future. It’s a landscape that offers a diachronous view of humanity that is essential to make sense of the Anthropocene, the putative geological epoch in which humans are understood to be a planetary force with Promethean powers of world-making and transformation.

The Rift Valley humbles us. It punctures the transcendent grandiosity of human exceptionalism by returning us to a specific time and a particular place: to the birth of our species. Here, we are confronted with a kind of homecoming as we discern our origins among rock, bones and dust. The Rift Valley is the only place where human history can be seen in its entirety, the only place we have perpetually inhabited, from our first faltering bipedal steps to the present day, when the planetary impacts of climatic changes and population growth can be keenly felt in the equatorial heat, in drought and floods, and in the chaotic urbanisation of fast-growing nations. The Rift is one of many frontiers in the climate crisis where we can witness a tangling of causes and effects.

But locating ourselves here, within Earth’s processes, and understanding ourselves as part of them, is more than just a way of seeing. It is a way of challenging the kind of short-term, atemporal, election-cycle thinking that is failing to deliver us from the climate and biodiversity crises. It allows us to conceive of our current moment not as an endpoint but as the culmination of millions of years of prior events, the fleeting staging point for what will come next, and echo for millennia to come. We exist on a continuum: a sliver in a sediment core bored out of the earth, a plot point in an unfolding narrative, of which we are both author and character. It brings the impact of what we do now into focus, allowing facts about atmospheric carbon or sea level rises to resolve as our present responsibilities.

The Rift is a place, but ‘rift’ is also a word. It’s a noun for splits in things or relationships, a geological term for the result of a process in which Earth shifts, and it’s a verb apt to describe our current connection to the planet: alienation, separation, breakdown. The Rift offers us another way of thinking.

That we come from the earth and return to it is not a burial metaphor but a fact. Geological processes create particular landforms that generate particular environments and support particular kinds of life. In a literal sense, the earth made us. The hominin fossils scattered through the Rift Valley are anthropological evidence but also confronting artefacts. Made of rock not bone, they are familiar yet unexpected, turning up in strange places, emerging from the dirt weirdly heavy, as if burdened with the physical weight of time. They are caught up in our ‘origin stories and endgames’, writes the geographer Kathryn Yusoff, as simultaneous manifestations of mortality and immortality. They embody both the vanishing brevity of an individual life and the near-eternity of a mineralised ‘geologic life’, once – as the philosopher Manuel DeLanda puts it in A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History (1997) – bodies and bones cross ‘the threshold back into the world of rocks’. There is fear in this, but hope too, because we can neither measure, contend with, nor understand the Anthropocene without embedding ourselves in different timescales and grounding ourselves in the earth. Hominin fossils are a path to both.

The rain, wind and tectonics summon long-buried bones, skulls and teeth from the earth

Those species that cannot adapt, die. Humans, it turns out – fortunately for us, less so for the planet – are expert adapters. We had to be, because the Rift Valley in which we were born is a complex, fragmented, shifting place, so diverse in habitats that it seems to contain the world. It is as varied as it is immense, so broad that on all but the clearest of days its edges are lost in haze. From high on its eastern shoulder, successive hills descend thousands of feet to the plains below, like ridges of shoreward ocean swell. Here, the valley floor is hard-baked dirt, the hot air summoning dust devils to dance among whistling thorns, camphor and silver-leafed myrrh. Dormant volcanoes puncture the land, their ragged, uneven craters stark against the sky. Fissures snake across the earth. Valley basins are filled with vast lakes, or dried out and clogged with sand and sediment. An ice-capped mountain stands sentinel, its razor ridges of black basalt rearing out of cloud forest. Elsewhere, patches of woodland cluster on sky islands, or carpet hills and plateaus. In some of the world’s least hospitable lands, the rain, wind and tectonics summon long-buried bones, skulls and teeth from the earth. This is restless territory, a landscape of tumult and movement, and the birthplace of us all.

My forays into this territory over the past dozen years have only scratched at the surface of its immense variety. I have travelled to blistering basalt hillsides, damp old-growth forests, ancient volcanoes with razor rims, smoking geothermal vents, hardened fields of lava, eroding sandstone landscapes that spill fossils, lakes with water that is salty and warm, desert dunes with dizzying escarpments, gently wooded savannah, and rivers as clear as gin. Here, you can travel through ecosystems and landscapes, but also through time

I used to live beside the Rift. For many years, my Nairobi home was 30 kilometres from the clenched knuckles of the Valley’s Ngong Hills, which slope downwards to meet a broad, flat ridge. Here, the road out of the city makes a sharp turn to the right, pitching over the escarpment’s edge before weaving its way, thousands of feet downwards over dozens of kilometres, through patchy pasture and whistling thorns. The weather is always unsettled here and, at 6,500 feet can be cold even on the clearest and brightest of days.

One particularly chilly bend in the road has been given the name ‘Corner Baridi’, cold corner. Occasionally, I would sit here, on scrubby grass by the crumbling edge of a ribbon of old tarmac, and look westwards across a transect of the Rift Valley as young herders wandered past, bells jangling at their goats’ necks. The view was always spectacular, never tired: a giant’s staircase of descending bluffs, steep, rocky and wooded, volcanic peaks and ridges, the sheen of Lake Magadi, a smudge of smoke above Ol Doinyo Lengai’s active caldera, the mirrored surface of Lake Natron, the undulating expanse of the valley floor.

And the feeling the scene conjured was always the same: awe, and nostalgia, in its original sense of a longing for home, a knowledge rooted in bone not books. This is where Homo sapiens are from. This is fundamental terrane, where all our stories begin. Sitting, I would picture the landscape as a time-lapse film, changing over millions of years with spectral life drifting across its shifting surface like smoke.

Humankind was forged in the tectonic crucible of the Rift Valley. The physical and cognitive advances that led to Homo sapiens were driven by changes of topography and climate right here, as Earth tipped on its axis and its surface roiled with volcanism, creating a complex, fragmented environment that demanded a creative, problem-solving creature.

Much of what we know of human evolution in the Rift Valley builds on the fossil finds and theoretical thinking of Richard Leakey, the renowned Kenyan palaeoanthropologist. Over the years I lived in Nairobi, we met and talked on various occasions and, one day in 2021, I visited him at his home, a few miles from Corner Baridi.

Millennia from now, the Rift Valley will have torn the landmass apart and become the floor of a new sea

It was a damp, chilly morning and, when I arrived, Leakey was finishing some toast with jam. Halved red grapefruit and a pot of stovetop espresso coffee sat on the Lazy Susan, a clutch bag stuffed with pills and tubes of Deep Heat and arthritis gel lay on the table among the breakfast debris, a walking stick hung from the doorknob behind him, and from the cuffs of his safari shorts extended two metal prosthetic legs, ending in a pair of brown leather shoes.

Afterwards, I drove out to the spot where Leakey envisioned his museum being built: a dramatic basalt outcropping amid knee-high grass and claw-branched acacias, perched at the end of a ridge, the land falling precipitously away on three sides. It felt like an immense pulpit or perhaps, given Leakey’s paternal, didactic style, atheist beliefs, and academic rigour, a lectern.

A little way north of Leakey’s home, beyond Corner Baridi, a new railway tunnel burrows through the Ngong Hills to the foot of the escarpment where there is a town of low-slung concrete, and unfinished roofs punctured by reinforced steel bars. For most hours of most days, lorries rumble by, nose to tail, belching smoke and leaking oil. They ferry goods back and forth across the valley plains. The new railway will do the same, moving more stuff, more quickly. The railway, like the road, is indifferent to its surroundings, its berms, bridges, cuttings and tunnels defy topography, mock geography.

Running perpendicular to these transport arteries, pylons stride across the landscape, bringing electricity in high voltage lines from a wind farm in the far north to a new relay station at the foot of a dormant volcano. The promise of all this infrastructure increases the land’s value and, where once there were open plains, now there are fences, For Sale signs, and quarter-acre plots sold in their hundreds. Occasionally, geology intervenes, as it did early one March morning in 2018 when Eliud Njoroge Mbugua’s home disappeared.

It began with a feathering crack scurrying across his cement floor, which widened as the hours passed. Then the crack became a fissure, and eventually split his cinderblock shack apart, hauling its tin-roofed remnants into the depths. Close by, the highway was also torn in two. The next day, journalists launched drones into the sky capturing footage that revealed a lightning-bolt crack in the earth stretching hundreds of metres across the flat valley floor. Breathless news reports followed, mangling the science and making out that an apocalyptic splitting of the African continent was underway. They were half-right.

Ten thousand millennia from now, the Rift Valley will have torn the landmass apart and become the floor of a new sea. Where the reports were wrong, however, was in failing to recognise that Mbugua’s home had fallen victim to old tectonics, not new ones: heavy rains had washed away the compacted sediment on which his home had been built, revealing a fault line hidden below the surface. Sometimes, the changes here can point us forward in time, toward our endings. But more often, they point backwards.

Just a few years earlier, when I first moved to Nairobi, the railway line and pylons did not exist. Such is the velocity of change that, a generation ago, the nearby hardscrabble truck stop town of Mai Mahiu also did not exist. If we go four generations back, there were neither trucks nor the roads to carry them, neither fence posts nor brick homes. The land may look empty in this imagined past, but is not: pastoralist herders graze their cows, moving in search of grass and water for their cattle, sharing the valley with herds of elephant, giraffe and antelope, and the lions that stalk them.

Thousands of years earlier still, and the herders are gone, too. Their forebears are more than 1,000 miles to the northwest, grazing their herds on pastures that will become the Sahara as temperatures rise in the millennia following the end of the ice age, the great northern glaciers retreat and humidity falls, parching the African land. Instead, the valley is home to hunter-gatherers and fishermen who tread the land with a lighter foot.

Go further. At the dawn of the Holocene – the warm interglacial period that began 12,000 years ago and may be coming to a close – the Rift is different, filled with forests of cedar, yellowwood and olive, sedge in the understory. The temperature is cooler, the climate wetter. Dispersed communities of human hunter-gatherers, semi-nomads, live together, surviving on berries, grasses and meat, cooking with fire, hunting with sharpened stone. Others of us have already left during the preceding 40,000 years, moving north up the Rift to colonise what will come to be called the Middle East, Europe, Asia, the Americas.

As geology remakes the land, climate makes its power felt too, swinging between humidity and aridity

Some 200,000 years ago, the Rift is inhabited by the earliest creature that is undoubtedly us: the first Homo sapiens, like our ancestor found in Ethiopia. Scrubbed and dressed, he would not turn heads on the streets of modern-day Nairobi, London or New York. At this time, our ancestors are here, and only here: in the Rift.

Two million years ago, we are not alone. There are at least two species of our Homo genus sharing the Rift with the more ape-like, thicker-skulled and less dexterous members of the hominin family: Australopithecus and Paranthropus. A million years earlier, a small, ape-like Australopithecus (whom archaeologists will one day name ‘Lucy’) lopes about on two legs through a mid-Pliocene world that is even less recognisable, full of megafauna, forests and vast lakes.

Further still – rewinding into the deep time of geology and tectonics, through the Pliocene and Miocene – there is nothing we could call ‘us’ anymore. The landscape has shifted and changed. As geology remakes the land, climate makes its power felt too, swinging between humidity and aridity. Earth wobbles on its axis and spins through its orbit, bringing millennia-long periods of oscillation between wetness and dryness. The acute climate sensitivity of the equatorial valley means basin lakes become deserts, and salt pans fill with water.

On higher ground, trees and grasses engage in an endless waltz, ceding and gaining ground, as atmospheric carbon levels rise and fall, favouring one family of plant, then the other. Eventually, the Rift Valley itself is gone, closing up as Earth’s crust slumps back towards sea level and the magma beneath calms and subsides. A continent-spanning tropical forest, exuberant in its humidity, covers Africa from coast to coast. High in the branches of an immense tree sits a small ape, the common ancestor of human and chimpanzee before tectonics, celestial mechanics and climate conspire to draw us apart, beginning the long, slow process of splitting, separating, fissuring, that leads to today, tens of millions of years later, but perhaps at the same latitude and longitude of that immense tree: a degree and a half south, 36.5 degrees west, on a patch of scrubby grass at the edge of the Rift.

[heartandmusic]

dramaturgs are literally an oppressed minority i just remembered this one time a director sought me out to do a play about marie antoinette because they knew i speak french and then while i was putting my material together, the stage manager sent out a google doc of the french words in the play with links to auto generated text to speech youtube pronunciation videos and then this other time i did a play set in rwanda and halfway through rehearsals the assistant director passed out a glossary they wrote of the french words, an idea which i also had and which i had included in the actor packet i handed out at the first table read lmfaooooooo

[schraubd]

The Debate Link: Origins

This blog is called The Debate Link.

That's no accident.

I started this blog when I was eighteen, just after graduation, when debate was the activity that most defined my high school experience. It was something I did nearly every weekend for four years, travelling all across the country. I was nationally-ranked. I won tournaments at both the local and national level. I wasn't just a "debater". I was, if I do say so myself, a pretty elite debater.

This blog was in many ways a continuation of that experience, and an attempt to fill its void. Its initial tagline was "The arguments, made by and for the debating public." In fact, here's my very first post, from way back in 2004:

Hey everyone! My name is David, and I am an ex-debater from Bethesda MD. My 4 years of debate has given me a healthy appreciation of the issues that concern America, and a desire to share some of the better arguments on some those issues I've come accross during those years. So hopefully, whenever I come up with a good idea (or stumble across someone else's), I'll post it on here.

See you soon,

David

(How adorable was I? Seriously.)

It is impossible to overstate the degree to which high school debate was formative in my life. It taught me how to think. It taught me how to write. It generated friendships that persist to this day. It even, indirectly, made me realize I wanted to be a law professor. There are few facets of David Schraub 2023 that are not in some way traceable to David Schraub, high school debater.

High school debate is having a moment in the news, prompted by this article by James Fishback chronicling an alleged takeover of the events by the radical left. I want to comment on his piece and his allegations, as well as on some commentary given by Kristen Soltis Anderson, who I knew and competed against in my generation of debate.

There are few reasons to read Fishback's account with grains of salt, beyond the obvious fact that he is at the helm of an insurgent competitor to the established National Speech and Debate Association (formerly known as the National Forensics League) and so has a vested incentive in undermining it.

First, whenever I read accounts like this about craziness allegedly afflicting student-centered activities, I always ask myself "what are the students saying?" Do the actual students involved share the perception that high school debate is rotting from the inside out? Or is their view that these accounts are misleading, exaggerated, and not reflective of what's actually happening on the ground? I certainly remember from my student days how frequent it was that I'd read breathless accounts about "what was going on" at my school or in my club or on my campus that bore zero relationship to what I actually saw. Once I was no longer a student, I still tried to remember that experience -- how many times have the "adults" parachuted in to "solve" problems at schools or on campus in cases where the actual putative victims have been screaming "you are not helping!" The older I get, the harder it will be to remember that instinct, but for the moment I can still rage against the dying of the light. And to that end, it is notable that Fishback's post contains very little in the way of contemporary student commentary or support indicating that they share his view about either the gravity or ubiquity of the problems he identifies -- a failure which makes me profoundly skeptical of whether he's accurately describing the underlying reality.

Second, I also remember to beware of apocryphal anecdotes. I doubt there has ever been a generation of debaters that didn't have stories about the lurid, ridiculous, extreme-performative arguments that supposedly were winning rounds left and right. In my generation, I distinctly recall a story circulating about a debater who simply wrote "Rwanda. Rwanda. Rwanda." on the board over and over again in their first speech (on any topic) as some sort of commentary on the moral intolerability of engaging in regular debate in the face of genocide. Trading the story across the lunch table, that debater cleaned up at elite tournaments. In retrospect, I can't say I ever recall actually seeing a round that was anything like that -- and I both witnessed and participated in many elite-level debate rounds. Stories are stories.

All of that said, I can't fully accuse Fishback of nutpicking. The "Marxist-Leninist-Maoist" judge that opens his story was a collegiate debate champ, and so can't be dismissed as a complete non-entity. For recent graduates who are looking back on their competition-days, it is very, very easy to miss "having the ball in your hands"; to think on the arguments you would have made now that you're (slightly) older and (arguably) wiser, and live out that saudade for being a competitor by turning the act of judging into "what would I have argued." It's easy, but it's not good, and it takes the event away from the people who are actually competing in it. There's no such thing, in my view, as a debate where only one side is allowed to show up, and judges who functionally make that demand are toxic to the enterprise.

At the same time, the problem in debate of bad judges is an eternal one. And I have sympathy for the NSDA here, because it's actually a really difficult problem to regulate. It's unfeasible for the NSDA at a national level to actually police the judging styles and capacities of hundreds if not thousands of judges at tournaments across the country (which is one reason why the norm has shifted to disclosure -- we can't control if your judge is good, but you can at least know what their paradigm is). And for obvious reasons, the NSDA does not want to open the door to ad hoc challenges of particular judging decisions on general claims of "unfairness" -- that way lies anarchy (particularly when you're dealing with debaters, who always can come up with reasons why their losses are unfair!). In reality, much like Supreme Court ethics rules, there's probably not much that the NSDA can do other than vaguely promote norms of fairness and hope for the best.

Indeed, in many ways the problem with debate judges is not so different than the problem with Article III judges. There's little that's more frustrating than the sense that the judge in front of you has rigid ideological commitments that will prevent them from fairly assessing your arguments no matter what you do. That frustration is multiplied by the fact that, if they do act in that abusive fashion, there's little in the way of recourse -- we can't get rid of bad, biased Article III judges and, practically speaking, we can't get rid of bad, biased debate judges. The same mechanisms that ensure an independent judiciary and facilitate the orderly administration of justice by not allowing every unpopular decision to be second-guessed also provide a near-impenetrable suit of armor for hacks and incompetents alike if they do manage to get through the door. That is, to reiterate, insanely frustrating. But there's no straightforward resolution to it.

The reality is that the political demographics of both the most common participants in debate (publicly-engaged 14-18 year olds) and the most common judges of those debates (publicly-engaged 18-24 year olds) means that debate will almost inevitably slant to the left. Again, that's not something that can easily be fixed short of manually changing people's political opinions. We hold our opinions because we're persuaded by them; so it's inevitable that the arguments we tend to find persuasive are more likely to be the one's resonant with our opinions. That tendency can be checked, but it probably can't be overcome entirely. 

But to some extent, the focus on "liberal" versus "conservative" ideas in high school debate to my mind reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of what debate is -- and overlooks one of its most valuable features. 

It's natural for an outsider to think that high school debate, insofar as it touches on politically salient issues, naturally divides itself into contemporary liberal and conservative divides. If the topic is a resolution on, say, foreign aid, one participant will lay out roughly what you might hear on the subject from a Democratic Senator, the other, from a Republican House member. But, at least when I was competing, this was rarely what happened. Debate tackled issues from a multitude of different perspectives and angles that rarely, if ever, neatly tracked contemporary partisan divisions. Despite the seeming binary imposed by pro/con, affirmative/negative, the lived reality of debate transcended these narrow divisions.

And this is a good thing. The purpose of debate is not to give competitors a working understanding of and fluency in what arguments are currently circulating in the halls of Congress. Debaters are not there to parrot the arguments that one most commonly hears on CNN or Fox News. The purpose of debate is to give competitors the tools to think creatively about their own arguments, to try to make those arguments as strong as possible, and to assess and defend them against any range of potential responses. It is perhaps a sad commentary on politics that a focus on strong arguments means that the resulting product will typically have little bearing on the actual contemporary disputes over liberal versus conservative politics. But that's how it goes. Moreover, it is entirely possible to have a productive, valuable debate round where both competitors basically accept liberal, or conservative, or Marxist priors and then argue "what's the best way of doing X from within that framework?" That sort of debate also teaches people how to critically assess and defend positions, just as effectively as debate rounds that more expressly cut across classic ideological paradigms. It is far too narrow, and constrains the vision of young debaters, to try to limit them to thinking purely within the well-worn grooves of American party politics.

And that brings me, in conclusion, to some of Kristen's comments. Kristen admits that, in contrast to Fishback's presentation, it does not seem like (in her recent experience) conservative ideas have been locked out of high school debate. And even when it comes to the specific conservative bugaboo of the day -- DEI initiatives -- much of the content the NSDA is promoting is entirely reasonable and salutary. Kristen remembers judges criticizing her and other female competitors for their "shrill" or "squeaky" voices; I remember a major tournament official repeatedly and openly -- as in, when making public announcements of awards -- engaging in homophobic taunting of one of my friends (he would repeatedly mispronounce the name of the student -- who was a regular top-tier competitor and absolutely known to the organizer -- so one of the syllables in his name was spoken as "gay", when the syllable in question was pronounced "guy"). If those sorts of practices are being arrested, it's all for the better.

But Kristen is concerned about some of the things that are listed as potential examples of DEI-related debate topics (inside the NSDA website's section on inclusivity). To be clear, it seems evident that the NSDA is suggesting that tournaments include some of these topics as part of the tournament's overall package, not to exclusively draw from them. But within this subcategory, Kristen thinks that the questions possess a liberal slant -- a problem even if (as is naturally the case in a debate context) people will inevitably be encouraged to take both "pro" and "con" positions.

Reading these topics, I understand why they're thought to be coded as liberal. At the same time, for at least a good quotient of them, it makes me sad that they are coded as liberal. Consider the question "Why are there so few startups founders who identify as women in the United States?" On the one hand, I get why this question seems to be "liberal". On the other hand, why is this question coded as liberal? Can it really be the case that conservatives don't have thoughts on this matter -- or at least thoughts they're not embarassed to share? When did conservatives decide that the only thought a conservative is permitted to think on this sort of question is "don't ask it"?

The students who answer this sort of question are not, overwhelmingly, thinking in terms of "how do I slot this in to a liberal or conservative ideological frame." They're going to be thinking practically about what sorts of factors or conditions lead to disproportionately fewer women founding startups. The reason why this codes as liberal, though, is that the very act of thinking through a question like that with any degree of seriousness (i.e., not just smirking "it's because women are for making babies!") has been coded as something that only liberals do. That, to my mind, is tragic -- but that's not a DEI problem or a NSDA problem, that's a conservative problem. Conservatives absolutely should have thoughts on why there are relatively few women founding startups. They also should have thoughts on questions like "How can the federal government do more to promote Latino/a/x entrepreneurship?" and "How can the US government increase participation rates of gender minorities in STEM fields?" These are important social problems which all of us should be tackling. Perhaps those thoughts will be radically different than what liberals have to say. Perhaps they'll be surprisingly resonant (think about cross-ideological coalitions forming around YIMBY zoning reform, or relaxing occupational licensing requirements). But to the extent that even trying to work through "how can we increase the representation of underrepresented minorities" is viewed as an inherently liberal endeavor; well, I think that's a tragedy.

More broadly: the point, again, of high school debate is not to give teenagers the opportunity to parrot the shibboleths of Democratic or Republican talking heads, and so high school debate does not fail when it forces a student to develop thoughts on a question that Democratic or Republican talking heads don't have thoughts on. So ultimately, I think it's a mistake -- and not reflective of high school debate as I remember it -- to ask whether or not students are presenting "liberal" or "conservative" views on a given question. Overwhelmingly, that entire framework is a projection by adults; it is not the approach taken by the competitors, nor should it be. Institutionally-speaking, debate should be about prompting students to think about interesting questions. The answers we get rarely will fully map on to contemporary political factions -- and that's a very good thing.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/mA1eZrO