#Second republic

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"La vieille Espagne se transformer," Le Petit Journal. October 1, 1933. Page 4. --- Problèmes et conflits du travail. - Propriétés confisquées. - Salaires de misère. --- Voici le troisième et dernier article, d'une série consacrée à l'étude de la situation actuelle en Espagne. Au lendemain de sa révolution, ce pays se trouve en présence de difficultés communes au monde entier, et aussi de difficultés particulières. Nous avons traité des difficultés particulières, tout au moins des principales mouvement autonomiste catalan; question religieuse. Il est intéressant de voir maintenant comment la république s'efforce de résoudre des difficultés économiques créés par la crise.

UN DEMI-MILLION DE CHOMEURS L'Espagne compte environ 450,000 chômeurs, officiellement. Le chiffre réel est forcément plus élevé encore. Mais en outre, le niveau des salaires de ceux qui travaillent est un des plus bas du monde civilisé, de sorte que bien des ménages d'ouvriers vivent dans une situation proche de la misère.

L'homme que l'on a chargé d'améliorer cet état de choses est Don Francisco Largo Caballero, ministre du travail depuis la chute de la mo- narchie. Un homme grisonnant de 64 ans, qui a milité toute sa vie dans les unions ouvrières et aussi dans le parti socialiste. Anti-monarchiste notoire, il s'est aussi, sous l'ancien régime, livré à des manifestations qui lui valurent de brefs séjours en prison. Il y rencontra même Alcala Zamora, aujourd'hui président de la république.

CODE DU TRAVAIL Caballero a fait voter 125 lois. constituant une sorte de code du Travail. Mais la clef de voûte de cet édifice est une loi règlant les rapports entre patrons et employes. Son but est de substituer aux contacts personnels des deux parties les contrats collectifs. Ces contrats ne sau- raient contenir de clauses inférieures aux minima fixés par les lois. Des jurys mixtes, composés de six patrons et six employés, sont constitués dans chaque région pour aplanir les conflits. Et des deux côtés l'on doit s'en remettre à ces jurys. Le gouvernement espagnol tend à prohiber le recours à la grève. En certaines régions, où la situation politique est la plus tendue, la grève est formellement interdite.

Signalons que la loi accorde aussi au personnel un droit de regard sur les comptes de l'entreprise et une participation aux bénéfices. Mais les ouvriers de leur côté sont soumis à certaines obligations de travail effi- cace, de fidélité à leur entreprise, et de discrétion quant aux secrets de celle-ci. Les adversaires les plus résolus de ces lois sont les communistes, ce qui est singulier et intéressant à noter.

Nous avons dit que les salaires sont faibles en Espagne. Il y a il est vrai certaine contre-partie dans le bon marché de la vie. Le salaire moyen d'un ouvrier agricole est de 70 cents à un dollar par jour. Celui d'un ouvrier d'industrie est d'environ $1.50. Les métiers exigeant des ouvriers qualifiés une certaine technique, comme par exemple l'imprimerie paient de $1.70 à $1.80. Les employés de commerce touchent des traitements analogues.'

PROBLEME AGRICOLE Le problème agricole est, lui aussi, très sérieux, et bien différent de celui qui se pose aux Etats-Unis ou au Canada par exemple. Les trois quarts des Espagnols vivent à la campagne. Et des millions d'entre eux sont comme des serfs attachés à la glèbe qu'ils ne possèdent pas. Là encore le chômage sé durement pour chaque poste duvrier agricole, il se présente ving, candidats.

La propriété est peu divisée en Espagne, et de grands propriétaires fonciers possèdent d'immenses étendues de terrain. C'est à cela surtout que s'est attaqué M. Marcelino Dominguo, ministre de l'Agriculture dans le cabinet présidé, et vigoureusement dirigé par M. Azana. On a créé un Institut de réformes agraires. Cet Institut a dressé v'inventaire des propriétés foncières, et l'on a confisqué nombre de res vistes domaines. L'Etat reste propriétaire de ces terres, et les loue à bon compte aux paysans. Quel sera le fruit de cette politique ? On le sauradans quelques années. Si les paysans sont satisfaits, la jeune république sera consolidée. Si au contraire l'ex- périence échoue, les masses paysannes apportant leur soutien aux éléments restés monarchistes, la face des choses pourra changer. Image caption: Voici, au-dessus d'un maigre fleuve, un pont en dos d'âne dans on paysage encerclé de montagnes. Le tout, inondé de soleil, constitue un aspect typique de la campagne espagnole. A gauche un marchand d'habits dans une rue du vieux Madrid.

[destielmemenews]

"A Secret Service agent spotted a rifle barrel sticking out of fence and “engaged” with the suspect, Palm Beach County Sheriff Ric Bradshaw said at a news conference late Sunday afternoon. The gunman was 300 to 500 yards away from Trump, a Secret Service official said. Law enforcement found an AK-47 style rifle, GoPro and backpacks where the suspect was positioned, Bradshaw said."

source 1

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source 3

[izzystizzys]

TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog

“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”

High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”

Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.

Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.

“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”

“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.

High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.

Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”

“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”

“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.

“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.

He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-

Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.

Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.

Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!

And catch him, High General Windu sure did.

“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”

“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”

“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.

Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”

[spursthatjinglejanglejingle]

[crepegosette]

casual enjoyer of those creatures (deranged)

[unfinishedslurs]

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

[theantonian]

Hellenistic period sardonyx cameo portrait of Mark Antony as Alexander the Great. H. 3.7cm. W. 3.5cm.

Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Département des Monnaies, médaille et antiques, Paris.

Photograph: Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

[giolovesyousm]

[stealingpotatoes]

Spork Leia's adventures so how badly hurt was the chancellor and how suspicious is the Jedi high council of the chancellor after a 12-year-old that shouldn't exist attacked him.

palps is fully just dead. leia's an absolute menace with a spork

the council are very suspicious bc when they were inspecting the crime scene they found a file called "my_evil_plan.pdf" and there was a very significant proportion of it dedicated to eviling the clones and turning the jedi into target practice for said clones. which most ppl would consider a tad sus

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Monarchy Never To Return, Declares Spanish Premier,” Toronto Star. December 13, 1932. Page 1. ---- A Dead Cause – Church of England Begins Missionary Work ---- IS OPTIMISTIC --- By PIERRE VAN PAASSEN Madrid, Dec. 2. – So far the Spanish Republic has overcome all attacks from inside, from the reactionary monarchist and clerical elements on the one side and from the revolutionary on the other. Of them the monarchists it can be said definitely that they will never again come back to power. King Alphonos who claims that he is absent for only a short time, until the people call him back, will never hear that call.

[polish-spirit]

Dożynki w Krakowie (1938).

[nibeul]

wanted to make a commando

[id in alt]

[witchofanguish]

I've been saying this for years

[unspuncreature]

obi-wan should’ve been at the club!!!!!

[i-will-always-love-the-jedi]

(Spoiler for Temptation of the Force)

✨just had to sketch one of my favorite scenes✨

I legit died at this scene because it has so MUCH MEANING ok, it’s the song sacrificing herself to strengthen the ocean with the light of a Star and-

…

[rottenteeth1]

they are THE platonic soulmates. im crying all my tears. they're gonna be the death of me