#The Great Indian Murder

[batsplat]

In fact Open is a mandatory book for vr46 boys :)

ohhhhhh thank you!! that is SUCH impressive archiving, I'm always in awe of how much material you've amassed. and very based of them, big W for italian motorcycle racing. it's a great book!! I love that they've read it! there's a lot of sports autobiographies that take care never to stray from the generic when telling their stories... but this one has so much character that even knowing other professional athletes have read it makes me want to quiz them about what they thought

seeing as I've been given an opportunity to proselytise about this book, here is how it opens:

it's a book about having a deeply complicated relationship with the thing you've been forced to dedicate your whole life to, about being in constant pain and asking yourself if it's really worth it, about never having been given the time and space to develop properly into your own person... about hating tennis and never quite being able to walk away from it. the misery of winning and the refusal to countenance losing. the burden of having the whole world narrativise your career and your life, denying you the chance to do so for yourself, of being constantly judged and being constantly found inadequate. about rivalries!! having your whole career ending up being inadvertently defined by One Guy who you just don't really understand and who you can never escape

what agassi does is put words to a lot of the underlying narratives and themes of sports that other athletes also come into contact with in one way or another but are far less capable of articulating. you'll be hard-pressed to find another book that captures the humanity of sports so well, its twisted appeal and why it's so compelling

like,, idk there's so much going on in that book that when I find out another athlete has read it, I do want to basically go through it with them chapter by chapter (obviously I have a full set of notes and a highlighting system with one colour dedicated just to the sampras rivalry, so I'm well prepared for this task). it's cool that they've read it! good healthy interest in sports narrativisation on their part. in this post I brought up one of my favourite excerpts from the book when discussing the vale/casey rivalry -

- and idk, this kind of thing is just so fun and interesting you kinda want to go around and get everyone's thoughts on it. also obviously on a personal level,, enjoy the motogp guys, adore agassi and that whole era of tennis, so it's a fun crossover for me specifically. yay

btw, a new interview with agassi was published in the nyt a few days ago that I'd defo recommend to anyone with even just a passing interest in the sport (once you scroll past the bits about the worst event in tennis). starts with the line “as far apart as you are on a tennis court, you can actually feel the other one very intimately". even when he's delving more into the nuts and bolts of the sport, he just kinda gets how to explain it in a way that taps into the fundamental narrative appeal of what you're watching

oh yeah that's the good stuff

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"BODY OF CARR?" Vancouver Sun. May 29, 1934. Page 1 & 2. ---- CORPSE REPORTED FLOATING 40 MILES BELOW MERRITT ---- Provincial police under Staff Sergeant W. J. Service are investigating a report from Spence's Bridge, 40 miles from Merritt, that a body was seen floating down the Thompson River.

The report came last night from a man named Harry Tait, but whether it is the body of Provincial Police Constable Percy Carr, murdered on Wednesday night with Indian Department Constable Frank H. Gisborne. had not been determined this morning.

Developments in the case up to this morning were:

The departure last night for Victoria of Inspector J. F. C. B. Vance of the Vancouver Police Bureau of Science, to confer with Colonel J. H. McMullin, commissioner of the British Columbia police, on certain aspects of the case. It is understood that Vance, who returned from Merritt on Sunday with more than 60 exhibits, went to Victoria at McMullin's request.

Continuance of the hunt in the woods of the Nicola district for two Indians wanted in connection with the murders.

The surrender of Alex. George, brother of Enes and Richardson George and Joseph George, Enos and Richardson are in jail in Kamloops awaiting preliminary hearing on a murder charge. Joseph is in hospital at Merritt, suffering from a fractured skull alleged to have been received the night of the slayings. George is being held as a witness. Alex.

Presentation to Commissioner McMullin by Staff Sergeant Roger Peachey, provincial fingerprint expert, of a full report on the case yesterday afternoon following his return from Merritt. It is understood that Peachey's report will lead possibly to a new line of investigation being pursued, and it was for this reason that Inspector Vance was called to Victoria.

Retention of J. R. Nicholson, Vancouver barrister, as counsel for the attorney general to prosecute the murder cases,

PILE OF EXHIBITS Meanwhile the pile of exhibits remain in Vance's laboratory on the top floor of Vancouver police headquarters building. They include a smear of blood from the body of Indian Constable Gisborne, one of the clubs allegedly used in the killings, axes from the Canford Indian reserve, the blood-drenched floor mat in Gisborne's car, and the clothing of the accused men. Vance has not yet had an opportunity to submit these exhibits to more than a cursory examination.

The Provincial Police in Victoria have now officially admitted that "certain admissions" were made by the accused men. The value of these admissions as testimony is doubtful, authorities consider, and it is for this reason that so much importance is being attached to the physical evidence.

VANCE CONFERS WITH VICTORIA AUTHORITIES VICTORIA, May 29. - Inspector J. F. B. Vance arrived here this morning to report the results of his investigations at Merritt into the double police murder.

With Col. J. H. McMullen, Commissioner of the B. C. Police, he went into conference with Attorney General Gordon Sloan immediately on arrival for the purpose, it is understood, of discussing the wisdom of making additional tests.

Decision on whether Inspector Vance is to return to the scene of the crime will be announced in the course of the day.

[aashiqui-aashiqui]

by the way when i say other cricketers i mostly mean the english players and no offence but i do not get what people see in them…like i know theres english people on here who obviously are gonna post about their own team but like i refuse to believe those players are that interesting

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 8 April 2013, former Conservative prime minister Margaret Thatcher died. Street parties broke out across the UK, particularly in working class areas and in former mining communities which were ravaged by her policies. Her legacy is best remembered for her destruction of the British workers' movement, after the defeat of the miners' strike of 1984-85. This enabled the drastic increase of economic inequality and unemployment in the 1980s. Her government also slashed social housing, helping to create the situation today where it is unavailable for most people, and private property prices are mostly unaffordable for the young. Thatcher also complained that children were "being cheated of a sound start in life" by being taught that "they have an inalienable right to be gay", so she introduced the vicious section 28 law prohibiting teaching of homosexuality as acceptable. Abroad, Thatcher was a powerful advocate for racism, advising the Australian foreign minister to beware of Asians, else his country would "end up like Fiji, where the Indian migrants have taken over". She hosted apartheid South Africa's head of state, while denouncing the African National Congress as a "typical terrorist organisation". Chilean dictator general Augusto Pinochet, responsible for the rape, murder and torture of tens of thousands of people, was a close personal friend. Back in Britain, she protected numerous politicians accused of paedophilia including Sir Peter Hayman, and MPs Peter Morrison and Cyril Smith. She also lobbied for her friend, serial child abuser Jimmy Savile, to be knighted despite being warned about his behaviour. Margaret Thatcher was eventually forced to step down after the defeat of her hated poll tax by a mass non-payment campaign. Pictured: Jimmy Savile welcoming Thatcher to hell, reportedly. Learn more about the great miners' strike of 1984-5 in our podcast series: https://workingclasshistory.com/tag/1984-5-miners-strike/ https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=605239344982618&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[desi-girll]

last night's Women Reclaim The Night: The Night Is Ours midnight protest march... turns out my father actually wasn't against me going out late, it was just that i made assumptions without asking. but anyways, me, mom, dad, and 8-10 of our neighbours went to the Garia More protest site. the turnout here was pretty great so imagine the turnout at the other, more popular sites.

anyways, we went with a candle each, and placed it in front of a poster, as the pic shows. i really hope Abhaya gets the justice she deserves and her soul rests in peace.

but people, let's not forget that the fight isn't over yet! the culprits, and by that i mean the real culprits haven't been punished yet, and are still under political protection. FORDA had called off the nationwide strike after meeting with Union Health Minister, and we all know what that means. everything is corrupted right now, and nothing can be trusted. but we as citizens should do our part in getting justice.

today, 15th Aug 2024, is the indian independence day. but do you think we're really independent yet? is independence only for men? are women supposed to stay at home, be blind to all the corruptions and illegal things happening, and just stay quiet? why is it still not safe for women to go out at night? why is it that we women have to suffer always, whether be it a nursery child or a doctor or an aged person? as Alakh Pandey said recently Girls can't go out late at night not because they are scared of other girls. Boys are what scares them. So the whole problem is not you, it's us (males). The fact that you all are not safe late at night because of us should be our (males) responsibility.

the day women can walk on the streets at any time of the day without being catcalled, stared at in creepy way, being raped, sexually assaulted, having acid thrown over their faces, be subjected to domestic violence, marital rape, tortured, murdered, etc etc etc, that will be the day india will become truly independent. but not before that. not today.

[crepesuzette2023]

Ivan Vaughan writes about John and Paul

This is just a relatively brief excerpt from Ivan Vaughan's book, which, for the most part, focuses on his life with Parkinson's disease. (From what I can tell so far, it's absolutely fascinating: far more than 'simply' a memoir, it's a reflection on illness, the mind-body connection, science, psychotropic drugs, patients' autonomy...and much more.)

But since this blog is climbing the drainpipe to the John & Paul business, and there's been some recent discussion of Mark Lewisohn's claim that John was such a bad boy Ivan's mother sent her son to a different grammar school to separate the two, I thought the following might be interesting.

And the ending of this chapter also gives some context to Paul's reaction to John's murder—another topic about which ML has interesting opinions.

This isn't to pile on ML, but more...as words from someone who was there.

(CC: @mythserene, @anotherkindofmindpod) I met John when I was three or four years old. One wet morning there was a knock at the front door. My mother opened it, and looking down, found a boy a bit older than me, smiling, but preoccupied with the effort of remembering what he had been rehearsed to say.

‘I believe a little boy lives here. I wondered if you might like to come out and play.’ He stood there in the porch, rain pouring down behind him, with a pair of slippers under his arm.

‘Come on in. What’s your name? You live round the corner don’t you?’

Next day I went around to the house where he lived with his aunt and uncle. We played with Dinky cars. I was surprised by his generosity and willingness to share his toys; he was happy even for me to take some of them home. When his Uncle George came home with some sweets John readily shared them. There was an immediate bond between us. He was older, read books, and his great intelligence and experience were apparent. I accepted his leadership but I was determined to preserve my independence. From the warm security of Aunt Mimi’s control, John accepted me into his life.

John was a member of his local library and immersed himself in books so that by the age of five he was already a fluent reader. I was still in the infant school when he started at Dovedale Road Primary School, but we played together after school and weekends. There were numerous parks, a golf course, and fields full of tangled growth and trees — just right for playing cowboys and Indians. In one barren area with large lumps of hard earth we played football and cricket. We spent hours digging all tracks to race our Dinky cars. Our most exciting game, though, was ‘fires’. We would go to a large area of waste ground and simply set fire to the straw and watch the place. I have never understood why nobody stopped us.

John’s gang comprised, besides himself, Pete Shotton, Nigel Wally and me. I was the youngest and was constantly having to prove my worth. I feel privileged to be John’s friend since he was nearly two years older. He protected me against Timmy Tarbuck and his gang on the rare occasions when I made the mistake of confronting one of them.

John and I went to different grammar schools, but I used to hear about the chaos and riots that seem to be a daily feature of his schooling. I’d rather lost touch with him when I went to university, and did not see him again until sometime after I was married. Then one day, as I was playing with my little boy Jus on the steps of our house in London, white Rolls Royce turned into the road. John jumped out followed by a woman I have not met before.

‘Hello, Ivy! This is Yoko.’ (…)

My attachment to both John and Paul ran deep and occasionally I would go to great lengths in order to see them at a moment’s notice. Maybe Paul saw our continuing friendship as a way of maintaining simple values he held dear. Jan liked Paul, though she did not see much of John. She was not the least bit mesmerized by their fame. She enjoyed eating at expensive restaurants in sampling London’s nightlife, into which Paul took us from time to time. But, should the effort to come to great, she was willing to let the relationship fade.

A month after telephoning John in New York [with the news of the Parkinson’s diagnosis; their first conversation in years], a heavy parcel was delivered. It was not until I was reading the titles of the books it contained that I realized they had been sent by John and Yoko. There was one by Arthur Janov, author of the Primal Scream, and one entitled Mind Magic. How to Get Well had on the fly-leaf a message from John that read ‘to start looking’, and The Snow Leopard had a note saying ‘to relax’. This last book gave me the greatest pleasure and I frequently re-read passages from it. Its author, Peter Matthiesen, lost his son through illness and journeyed in Nepal and in Inner Dolpo on a completely pointless journey to catch sight of a snow leopard. The peace he found travels across to the reader from each page.

John’s accompanying letter urged me, in punning language, to keep my spirits high and strongly suggested that it was up to me whether I sank or swam. I must not lose faith in myself.

Ten weeks later he was shot dead. Paul and I did not contact each other about it; in fact, we never brought it up in conversation. I hardly reacted outwardly at all. The day after John’s death, however, a colleague said that he supposed I was very upset at what it happened. I heard myself say: ‘I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know that I feel much at all’. As soon as he had gone, I instinctively made my way to a room where I knew I could be alone, and I wept profusely.

-- from Ivan-Living with Parkinson's Disease by Ivan Vaughan. 1986.

[queerism1969]

Atrocity created by CAPITALISM

Irish Famine (1845-1852)

Indian Famines during British colonial rule (Various, 18th-20th centuries)

Indigenous Genocide (Ongoing since colonization)

Slavery (16th-19th centuries)

Indonesian Genocide (1965-1966)

Pinochet Dictatorship (1973-1990)

Argentina Dictatorship (1976-1983)

Brazilian Dictatorship (1964-1985)

Pakistan Incident (Bangladesh Genocide, 1971)

The Gilded Age (Late 19th century)

The Great Depression (1929-1939)

Operation Condor (1960s-1980s)

Banana Wars (Early 20th century)

Batista Dictatorship (1952-1959)

Guantanamo Bay (Ongoing since 2002)

Vietnam War (1955-1975)

My Lai Massacre (1968)

Sinchon Massacre (Korean War, 1950-1953)

Kent State Massacre (1970)

Patriot Act (2001)

Red Summer (1919)

Jim Crow (Late 19th-20th centuries)

MK Ultra (1950s-1970s)

1985 MOVE bombing (1985)

1921 Battle of Blair Mountain (1921)

Malayan Emergency (1948-1960)

Mau Mau Rebellion (1952-1960)

Covert war in Yemen (Ongoing)

Stanley Meyer incident (1998)

Genocide in Turkey (Armenian Genocide and others, WWI era)

Congolese Genocide (Late 19th-20th centuries)

Greek Civil War (1946-1949)

Invasion of Cyprus by Turkey (1974)

Washita River Massacre (1868)

Minamata Disaster (1950s-1960s)

Bhopal Disaster (1984)

Kentler Project (1960s-2003)

Thomas Midgley Jr. and leaded gasoline (Early 20th century)

Forced labor in private US prisons (Ongoing)

Collateral murder in Iraq (2010)

Julian Assange and leaks (Ongoing)

US drone strikes (Ongoing)

US sanctions (Ongoing)

US support for dictatorships (Ongoing)

Korean War and civilian casualties (Korean War, 1950-1953)

Nazi funding and collaboration (WWII era)

Hitler and "Judeo-Bolshevism" (WWII era)

[whencyclopedia]

Edward England

Edward England was an Irish pirate who operated in the Caribbean, the Eastern Atlantic, and the Indian Ocean between 1717 and 1720 during the Golden Age of Piracy (1690-1730). Captain England’s successful but brief pirate career came to an end when he was marooned by his crew on the island of Mauritius in 1720.

Early Career

Captain England has his own chapter in the celebrated pirate’s who’s who, A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, compiled in the 1720s. The book was credited to a Captain Charles Johnson on its title page, but this is perhaps a pseudonym of Daniel Defoe (although scholars are still debating the issue, and Charles Johnson may have been a real, if entirely unknown pirate expert). As with many other pirates, the General History is an invaluable source on England’s career, even if there are fictional additions to the factual information laboriously garnered from such sources as court records, official documents, and letters of the period.

Edward England’s real name was possibly Jasper Seager (or Seegar). Like many pirates of the period, England was obliged to join a pirate crew after the ship on which he was serving was captured. England had been an officer on a Jamaican sloop when it was taken by Christopher Winter, who was based at the pirate haven of New Providence in the Bahamas. The General History gives the following not unfavourable assessment of England’s character:

England was one of those men, who seemed to have such a share of reason, as should have taught him better things. He had a great deal of good nature, and did not want for courage; he was not avaricious, and always averse to the ill usage prisoners received: he would have been contented with moderate plunder, and less mischievous pranks could his companions have been brought to the same temper, but he was generally over-ruled. (114)

Following the successful attacks on pirates in their haven at New Providence (now Nassau) by Woodes Rogers, Governor of the Bahamas from 1717, England sailed across the Atlantic to continue his piracy elsewhere. Several merchant ships were captured in the Azores, Cape Verde Islands, and off the coast of West Africa.

In 1718, England himself obliged an otherwise honest man to turn pirate when he captured the Welshman Howell Davis who had been chief mate on a slave ship, the Cadogan of Bristol. The captain of the Cadogan was murdered, and Davis was given command of the slaver despite refusing to formally sign England’s ship’s articles and become a part of his pirate crew. Impressed with Davis’ courage, England allowed him to sail off. Davis ended up in Barbados where he was captured. Davis managed to escape prison, and he continued a pirate career on both sides of the Atlantic, a spree that ended with his death on Principe Island in 1719.

England was, for a time, an associate of the most successful of all pirates in the so-called Golden Age, Bartholomew Roberts (aka 'Black Bart' Roberts, c. 1682-1722). In the relatively small world of pirates, Roberts had taken over the crew of Howell Davis after the latter’s death. Roberts and England operated off the coast of Guinea, West Africa. England operated two ships: his own sloop and another prize renamed Victory. Command of the latter was given to John Taylor and together they raided the western coast of India and took more prize ships. When required, provisions were taken on board at the pirate base on Madagascar.

Continue reading...

[petermorwood]

I COULD MURDER A CURRY... Well, at least commit a certain amount of violence on one.

In other words, I wanted something curry-ish the other day without taking much trouble over it, so I threw this together from what was in the cupboard, fridge and freezer.

(There was rather less than I expected. That's been fixed.)

When I discovered we had no lamb or chicken it ended up as unintended vegetarian, and can as easily become vegan; just leave out the ghee. If my result is anything to go by, all variations will taste great.

NB #1, there's no salt; the preserved lemon has plenty.

NB #2, metric measurements are correct, Imperial are approximate, but this whole recipe was pretty vague from start to finish, so wing it.

That's what I did. For instance, preserved lemon is Moroccan not Indian, yet it worked just fine.

Lemon and lime lentil curry

Ingredients

1 tablespoon ghee or coconut oil (I used a 50-50 combination)

2 onions peeled and chopped fine

2 tablespoon hot curry powder

1 tablespoon mild curry powder (or 1 hot / 2 mild if preferred)

6 cloves of garlic peeled and chopped fine

2 400g / 14oz tins chopped tomatoes in juice

1 400g / 14oz tin kidney beans, drained and rinsed

250 g / 1 cup red lentils

250 g / 1 cup each of red, green, and yellow peppers, sliced and coarsely chopped (optional; we had them in the freezer)

2 heaped tablespoons lime pickle, chopped fine (hot or mild as preferred; Patak brand is good. I used home-made hot)

2 heaped tablespoons preserved lemon, chopped fine (again, I used home-made) *

1 tablespoon garam masala

* If you can't source preserved lemons, use the zest and juice of at least one fresh lemon (two might be better). If you've only got bottled lemon juice, add 125ml / 1/2 cup of it when the tomatoes go in.

Method

Heat your preferred cooking fat in a pan (a wok is even better), add the chopped onions, and cook until soft and translucent. If desired, cook until starting to brown (this may take up to 45 minutes).

Push the onions to one side, allow the fat to flow into the centre of the pan, add the dry spices, combine well with the fat and cook for about five minutes.

Add the garlic and cook for a further five minutes.

Add the kidney beans and lentils to this mixture, stir well, add the peppers, lime pickle and preserved lemon, and stir again.

Add the chopped tomatoes, and one tomato-tin full of water. (Also add the lemon juice (and zest), if that's what you're using instead of preserved lemons.)

Stir well, turn the heat right down, cover, and simmer for about 30 to 45 minutes. (This is where I'd have added 2 cubed chicken breasts, if I'd had them).

Check occasionally to ensure nothing is sticking, adding a little water if required. Taste during this process, and adjust the seasoning. (Which means, if you're using fresh lemon or bottled lemon juice, this is when to add some salt.)

When the lentils are done (I like them a little al dente), sprinkle on 1 tablespoon garam masala, stir it in then serve.

Accompany with Basmati rice, or chapatis (flour tortillas / wraps will do just fine), or naan bread, or any combination of these. I did a mix of 1/3 brown Basmati / 2/3 white Basmati.

@dduane pointed out that what with the carbs, protein, dietary fibre etc., this is also quite healthy. That's an unexpected bonus for something I just thought was no trouble to make, tasted good...

And didn't involve committing even a minor felony, though a slice of apple tort to follow would have been nice... :->

[too-antigonish]

The Great S7 Rewrite

An attempt at summarizing the rocky ground on which we some of us stand following this rather epic post yesterday: Prophetic words from Morse in Oracle?

People had so many interesting things to say that I though it would be nice to keep this discussion public for now.

On the most basic level, Season 7 has two overarching storylines: 

Opera Storyline: The one with Morse, Violetta, Ludo,  and the mysterious accidental deaths

Towpath Murders: The one with Morse and Thursday fighting mainly over whether or not Carl Sturgis did it.

Then you have the episodic murders for each episode: 

Oracle: The math TV program, Dept. of Latent Potential, women’s lib conference, and  misogynist professors in Oracle

Raga: The Indian restaurant, restaurant critic, gay wrestlers, racist poker game organizing politicians in Raga

Zenana: The coming together of the opera storyline and the towpath murder storyline in Zenana.

If, theoretically, you wanted a do-over for S7, what would you need to consider? Below are some of the issues raised in discussion yesterday:

Bone of Contention #1: Opera Rules

S7 may or may not have been asking us to view its world according to “opera rules.” If it wasn’t, then the storylines were just outrageous. If it was, then they didn’t do an adequate job of either:

Signaling that we needed to see this world through that filter

Making the story robust enough that you didn’t *need* to see the opera references to “get” the storylines. (As Durian pointed out: Ride works even if you don’t realize that it’s Gatsby, but S7 doesn’t work if you don’t realize it’s opera. It doesn’t stand on its own.)

I think actual S7 tried to signal that we were in Opera World (#1) by: 

Using theatrical techniques (voiceovers, mise en scene/ tableaux, etc.) to signal that we were in opera world (i.e. heightened reality)

Using opera tropes

Using role reversal with the characters. I think that’s a big reason why the season feels so unsettling overall. Normally Morse is the one doggedly pursuing a hunch based on an obscure clue. This time it’s Thursday. Normally it is Thursday finding out that Morse didn’t check someone’s alibi. This time it’s Morse. Normally Morse and Thursday are calling the shots at the crime scene. This time DeBryn and Strange are having to put them in their place like squabbling children. Etc., etc.

Things in the show are “out of place” as well. (e.g. Thursday is at the early morning crime scene in Oracle instead of Morse. Morse is in Venice instead of Oxford.)

So the questions about Opera Rules are:

Do you keep the idea of Opera Rules for S7?

If you keep Opera Rules, how do you do a better job of signaling them?

If you keep Opera Rules, how do you make the story strong enough that people who don’t understand opera rules will know what’s happening? 

Do you just out-and-out tell people about Opera Rules?

Bone of Contention #2: Ludo and Violetta?

I have yet to hear from anyone who really likes Ludo and Violetta. If someone reading this does, I’d be fascinated to hear why. To say that I find them off-putting is being kind. Why is Morse attracted to two such unpleasant people? And not only attracted, but taken in by both of them? Normally Morse is attracted to girl-next-door types (Monica, Joan). Normally Morse has no time for snobs who name-drop and talk about themselves non-stop (Oxford Don stereotype). 

For me the disconnect lies not in the fact that he could be taken in. I think Astrid and Fanfic are very right about both Morse’s lack of wisdom when it comes to friendship and love, and well as his “secret” desire to have friends who perhaps share more of his interests. The leap I can’t make is that it would happen with these two specific people. Even taking into account that Morse is behaving “the opposite” of his usual way, I can’t see him being attracted to either of these two personalities. 

In the end, like Astrid, I like the *idea* of the Ludo and Violetta storyline but found the way it was played out too incongruous. So what to do? It seems like you can either retool Ludo and Violetta or replace them entirely. Which you choose I think depends on how you want to remake the story and how loyal you are to canon.

My first instinct is to replace them. I find both of them so repugnant, but I do find myself returning repeatedly to an idea that I had when I first watched Oracle, which was that Violetta might actually be more directly based on the Violetta from La Traviata.

She would be a woman from the “other side of the tracks” so-to-speak, but genuinely in love with Morse. You could also use Traviata’s bit where Violetta’s “betrayal” of Alfredo is actually self-sacrifice, etc. I’m not sure about Ludo, but it would definitely need to be someone that Morse would *actually* want to befriend and not someone as obvious as Ludo.

So the questions about Ludo and Violetta are:

Do you keep Ludo and Violetta?

If you keep them, how do you retool them? 

If you throw them out, what do you replace them with? 

Either way (new or retooled), how do you make Morse’s attraction to them believable?

Either way (new or retooled), do you use existing opera tropes/storylines as a basis for their story?

Bone of Contention #3: Towpath Storyline

It seems that there is pretty much universal agreement on keeping the Towpath Murders as a storyline. Also, there is pretty much unanimous approval for the idea of an earlier and more prominent role for Dorothea in the case. Durian points out that this could also have the side effect of reducing some of the tension between Morse and Thursday. 

Disagreement arises over two main elements:

Too many things going on in the storyline

How the conflict between Thursday and Morse is handled.

I’m in agreement on both of these things. In terms of the number of things going on in the storyline you have the whole is it or isn’t it a serial killer, the ESP angle, the flasher thing, the copycat killer, all of the animal imagery and later wolf imagery, the blood drinking, and much, much more. It could work if it all tied together coherently, but it doesn’t—at least for me. It feels like I can sort of see what they were going for, but that they definitely didn’t get there. There needs to be a unifying theme.

With the conflict between Thursday and Morse, my problem is not so much that they have the conflict, but that it comes seemingly out of nowhere. We jump from the reconciliation of Degüello to the petty arguments of Oracle with nothing in-between to explain the change. It’s not that I didn’t find the conflict between these two characters interesting or believable. It’s simply that there was nothing to explain it. Yes, you can say that Morse was becoming more of his own man, but that doesn’t seem adequate to me.

So the questions about the Towpath Storyline are: 

What elements would you throw out and what would you keep?

What would make a good unifying theme for the Towpath case?

What is the source of the conflict between Morse and Thursday? What sets it off?

How do we have Ms. Frazil on the case sooner rather than later?

How does Dorothea diminish tension between Thursday and Morse. 

Of the arguments between Morse and Thursday, what would you keep and what would you throw out?

Bone of Contention #3: The Episodic Storylines

I find it pretty telling that except for one brief mention, no one has strong feelings about the episodic mystery in Oracle. It definitely had less substance that the one in Raga, in part because it had to leave room for the establishment of the two big overarching stories. Personally, I found the sexism angle (the Women’s Lib Conference and Prof. Blish beating out the others for the spot on the tv show) more compelling than the ESP studies angle.

Durian mentioned that Raga, like the Towpath Murders, has way too much going on (Indian restaurant, Oberon Prince and his ex-wife, the gay wrestlers, the racist poker game, the return of the evil beautician, two stabbed teenagers, etc.) Fanfic raised the interesting idea of making the conflict in Raga more of a family conflict, using the political situation with East and West Pakistan (Bangladesh) as a focus.

So the questions about the Episodic Storylines are: 

What elements would you throw out of Oracle and what would you keep?

What elements of Oracle would you change entirely?

What elements would you throw out of Raga and what would you keep?

What elements of Raga would you change entirely? (e.g. changing to internal family conflict)

OK. I'd love to hear thoughts on all of this!

[fuckyeahhistorycrushes]

Submission: Silas Soule (1838-1865). He was an abolitionist and a member of the Immortal Ten (a militant abolitionist group) with John Brown, but originally worked on the Underground Railroad. He also helped other abolitionists escape from jail, and was actually the guy who gave the Immortal Ten their name! (Cue 'fish fear me, women love me' but its confederates instead of fish and me instead of women)

Later he joined the army, and proved his bravery at the Battle of Glorieta Pass. His commander at Glorieta Pass was called John Chivington, and he was known as the 'fighting parson' due to his religious extremism (tw: discussion of genocide from now on. I try to avoid the details, but yeah. Bad shit happens). Chivington was ordered to kill Native Americans, and he did so gladly. This culminated in the Sand Creek Massacre, considered one of the worst atrocities ever committed by the US army. Silas refused to participate in the massacre, ordered his men to not fire, and even tried to rescue some of the Native Americans. Afterwards he wrote to his previous commander detailing the massacre, and Chivington left the army in disgrace. If it wasn't for Silas, nobody might have found out about Sand Creek. Silas was shot dead one night, presumably in retaliation for speaking out against injustice. His murderers escaped punishment.

So he's a personal hero of mine. Since I first learnt about the Indian Wars in school, I've always respected his moral strength and determination to tell the truth. As far as I'm concerned, he's gorgeous as well. Apparently he was super friendly too, and had a great sense of humour! What a guy! Probably one of my longest standing crushes XD. I never shut up about him, as proved by the length of this ask, which could have been summarised as 'he's cute and also not racist'.

Oh, and a plaque was installed where he died, and people still leave flowers at his grace (he's buried in Denver, and its a dream of mine to visit his grave) <3

-

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

8. Sponsored by the Devil

Cooper Howard × Fem!Reader / The Ghoul × Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch @themadhattersqueen @one-of-thewalkingdead

AN: Not crazy about this chapter, BUT there is smut at the end so...

I sit at the bar watching the TV. A newscaster babbles on, “As all nations race to secure uranium and control the future of energy, a shortage has emerged, turning even allies into potential competitors. Will energy prices surge this winter and will it lead to an expanded war?” I chuckle softly with the shake of my head, finishing my drink. I see the familiar figure of my old friend. My old friend who sounds like he’s gotten caught up in the communist bullshit. “Sorry you couldn't make it to the party the other night, Charlie,” he looks at me with a blank face. “Guess you had one of your meetings, huh? One of your Communist meetings?” He sighs, taking the seat next to me, “Come on, man.”

“We watched people die together up north fighting against all that horseshit.” He shrugs, “Yeah, and for what?” I scoffed, “What do you mean, for what? For the American dream. We're actors. We make movies, Charlie.”

“Yeah, the American dream has me getting shot in the ass by you all day.” I roll my eyes at his excuse. “You got five acres in Tarzana. I think you're doing all right.” He shakes his head, “It doesn't matter, Coop. Vault-Tec's the fucking devil, man.” I weigh in. “Vault Tech is a shifty company. I’ll give you that. My ex-wife works there. She’s a lot of things, but the devil? Come on now.” “Do you know what "fiduciary responsibility" means?” “Fiduciary responsibility? No, I have no fucking idea. I play a cowboy for a living.”

Charlie goes on, “Okay. So, the U.S. government has outsourced the survival of the human race to Vault-Tec. Vault-Tec is a private corporation that has a fiduciary responsibility to make money for its investors. And how does it make money? By selling vaults.” “That's called capitalism, Charlie.” He continued digging, “But they can't sell vaults if these peace negotiations go through. So Vault-Tec has a fiduciary responsibility to make sure that it doesn't work out.” I can’t even wrap my head around his speech. “Yeah. How are they gonna do that?” He falls flat, “I don't know. You remember that movie we did with Johnny Morton… you were the sheriff and I was some generic Indian?” I disagree, “Come on, man, don't say that. Tall hand Mudlake could talk to horses. You played him with grace and with dignity. It was a great role for you.”

“Morton played a rancher who owned half of Missouri. And what happens when the cattle ranchers have more power than the sheriff?” “The whole town burns down.” “Right. Vault-Tec is a trillion-dollar company that owns half of everything. And after ten years of war, the U.S. government is broker than a joke. The cattle ranchers are in charge, Coop.” I wave at his words again, “Come on, man, you sound like you're in a cult.” He fires back, “And you're sitting here defending a system that's ready to set the world on fire, Cooper. Maybe you're the one in the cult.”

I look away with the roll of my eye. He slides a card on the bar. “Look. You should come to a meeting. You should learn the truth about where your ex-wife works, and what they plan on doing with their employees. For (y/n)‘s sake.” With one final smile, my friend leaves the bar. Leaving me confused and a knot rolling in my chest.

Why the fuck would (y/n) be or any danger with Vault Tech? I stare at the card and begin to dive down a hole I’d rather not be sober for. I raise my hand, gesturing to the bartender, “Bartender, can I get one more?”

~

I caved and went to attend Charlie’s meeting. It was a basic conspiracy for weak-minded individuals. She sits at the front, coffee in hand. “These soldiers that we're fighting abroad, their families, we have more in common with them than we do with the people here in power, the real enemy.” I shake my head, “That's about all the horseshit I can take.” I stand, place my hat back on my head, and make my way to the exit.

“Mr. Howard?” I stop as she addresses me. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said.” I raise my eyebrows at her, “I said that um… this is about all the horseshit I can take.” She smirks, “I didn't realize that America's favorite gunslinger was so sensitive.” She earns soft laughter from her followers. “I have my principles, Miss Williams, that's all.” I try to leave once more but she begins the conversation again, “Uh-huh. And those principles of yours… how much did Vault-Tec pay to take them off your hands?”

“Well, this is America. Everybody has a sponsor, and, uh, I'm not ashamed to earn a living.” She bickers back, “Vault-Tec is the largest company in America. There's a lot of money in selling the end of the world.” I couldn’t take her words. I fire back to her, “Well, I'm sure there's a lot of money in selling a political ideology that ends in breadlines.”

As the crowd gets upset, Charlie stands and backs away with me, “Okay, uh, sorry, this was a mistake. We'll be leaving.” Miss Williams shakes her head, coming to stand. “Oh, no, I'm-I'm quite glad you brought Mr. Howard today. You see, it happens that I know your wife… or Ex-wife. And perhaps a side of her you don't.”

I walk out and she follows close on my heels, catching up by my side. “How do you know my ex-wife?” “My research company was acquired by her division. We were developing this kind of technology that's… difficult to monetize. Cold fusion. Infinite energy. Several projects were advancing. Synthetic creations. That's what I was on the verge of achieving when Vault-Tec swept in and bought up every company I'd ever worked for.” I stare at her with no hesitation, “Every one of them? So, what are you, a millionaire communist?”

“Hypocrisy is like violence in your movies. If you only let the bad guys use it, the bad guys win.” “Yeah? I, uh, I got a little showbiz secret for you. A good bad guy doesn't see themselves as the bad guy.”

She pushes more, “America has been locked in a resource war for over a decade. Vault-Tec bought the means to end that war, the same war you fought in, so they could put it on the shelf. All because it didn't fit into their business model. I want your help in getting it back.” She passes a small device into my palm. I roll the small object in my fingers, “What is it?” “It's a listening device.”

I nod, disbelief running through my mind. “A listening device. You… you want me to spy on them?” I chuckled softly, passing it back, “Good luck with the revolution.” She shakes her head, “You can keep it. As a token.” She sighs, “I'm not a communist, Mr. Howard. That's just a dirty word they use to describe people who aren't insane.” I meet her with silence. She speaks once more in a hushed voice, stepping closer, “I understand you have a fond relationship with Ms. (L/n). If I were you, I’d be keeping her at a distance from Vault Tech. They have plans for her.” I clenched my jaw, “what the hell are you on about?” She taps the small listening device before turning on her heel and returning to her meeting.

~

I sit on the couch bouncing my knee, paranoid, thinking the worst of what could happen to (y/n). They could kidnap her. Keep her trapped in one of those damn vaults. They could kill her!

To add to the stress, we were about to set Janey down and talk to her. I roll the divine in my pocket overthinking the worst. My nerves got the best of me, and I gave up, going to the pip-boy on the counter. The divide pairs within seconds. Just in time for Barb to walk out and retrieve the bulky oversized wrist technology. She straps it onto her wrist before looking at me, eyebrows raised. “Are you ready?” I nod, “Yeah. I'll be out there in just a minute.”

She nods and exits the house. I watch as she sits down with Janey. I place the listening divide in my ear, clearly hearing Barb and Janey from outside. Roosevelt whines causing me to shake my head. There was no logical reason to believe anything those conspiracy theorists had to say. “You're right, Roosevelt,” I tuck the small device into my pocket, “What are you thinking?”

Janey has to be the smartest, and most intelligent little girl in the world. I had been very honest in explaining how her mother and I just didn’t feel the same and how we were going to be living away from each other. She knew something had been off for months. She had no issue expressing her feelings and opinions on the scheduling. “As long as daddy and (y/n) can take me for ice cream every other Friday!” I smile at Janey, while Barb does not. She simply ignores it.

~

The sun rose on Saturday morning, kissing the land of California. I stand on the back patio with a cup of coffee just taking in the beauty. It had been a month to the day since Cooper and I started dating. Life was good. I was happy. He was here more days out of the week than not. I couldn’t think of a better day than today to tell him the news.

The sliding glass door catches my attention. Cooper walks out, coffee in hand and a smile on his face. He wraps an around around me, nuzzling into my neck. “Good morning.” It’s such a perfect paradise with him at this moment. “Good morning, love.” I lean back into him, rubbing my fingertips up his arm, tracing each speck and freckle. “I have a surprise for you.” He looks down, trying to find a hint within my soul. “What type of surprise?” I turn around in his hold, now facing him. “A good one. I think you’ll be pleased with it.” He trails a finger down the front of my chest, dipping into my robe, brushing my concealed skin. “Wouldn’t happen to be you would it?” I shake my head, moving out of his grasp before I get caught up. “Nope. Get dressed Mr. Howard because we are going on a little adventure.”

We both get ready and exit my house. I get into the driver's seat before he can argue. "So where are we going?" I smirk at him as I begin to drive to the secret location. "You'll see."

We pass the line in Bakersfield and Cooper looks at me, even more confusion in his eyes. 30 more minutes down the line we pull up to a gate. I flip the keypad and enter the entrance code. The large gate slides open and I drive up the start of a long gravel driveway. Cooper looks at the surroundings in awe. The lush land filled with vegetation, and life. "6 acres on each side. There's a big barn in the back. I figured Sugarfoot could have his own space." Cooper sits silently as we pull up to the large cabin. I park the car and turn off the engine. I exit with a smile. "Are you coming?"

Cooper gets out of the vehicle, mouth gaping as he tries to make sense of the situation. "What did… Is this…" I grab his hand, intertwining our fingers. "It's ours." I pull the keys from my pocket and dangle them in front of his face. "How did you do this?" I waved my hand at him, "It was nothing. Heather and her boyfriend are sold in California. I offered them my house at an amazing rate, and I was able to get this place up here."

I squeeze his hands with a nervous smile. "I knew this was a risk. A huge one, but I know we had talked about it before, and it was just the perfect opportunity. It just… felt right." Cooper finally breaks into a smile, he hoists me up into his arms. I laugh in surprise, "What in the world are you doing?" He smiles charmingly down at me. "Well, I'm carrying you through the threshold of our new home, sweetheart." Nothing could be better than this moment. He passes through the doorway, the warmth of the cabin enveloping us in its glow.

"What you say we… break in a few rooms? See if the acoustics are good for that angelic voice of yours. I want you to sing for me, honey. Just the way you know I like." He kisses up my neck mumbling into my skin. Room by room Cooper drew orgasm from me. Each one is stronger than the last.

He carries me from the kitchen counter to the long hallway, posting me up on the wall, fucking into me with long thrusts. I moan out loudly the sound carrying through the halls. Cooper smirks, biting his lip as he hears my echoed pants bouncing off the walls.

''That's my girl,'' Cooper rumbled out, pressing his fingers into my cheeks, forcing me to glue my eyes on him. I summoned every ounce of strength I had to begin lifting my hips away from him. I couldn't take anymore, and he knew it. The pressure eased as his girth slowly withdrew from the depths of my sensitive walls. He pushes me into the wall further, deepening his thrusts.

I mewled involuntarily to his sudden way to keep me still. ''I don't think I can-'' I managed to blurt out, despite the trembling rushing through my entire body as his strong hands held me firmly in place.

''Of course, you can, sweetheart.'' He cooed through a strained groan. The stretch of his length was just right, so satisfying that made me want to writhe and squirm on top of him, to lose myself in the rawness of the moment. The friction of our bodies, the sound of our combined breaths, the intoxicating scent of cigarettes and expensive perfume hanging heavy in the air.

''Cooper,'' I cried out from the immense fullness of his length, unable to contain the bliss as every nerve in my body was set on fire. One of his hands traced a path up the curve of my side, his touch sending electric tingles through my skin, each movement leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

He exits my heat, earning a whine from me. He moves us to lie on the sofa. He guided me to sit on his lap, lining his length up again. He kisses up my spine. He lifted one hand from my hip, a tender touch that trailed the expanse of my body until it reached my face and cupped my cheek to tilt my head downwards, coaxing me to meet his gaze.

Cooper leaned close, his breath warm against my ear, "Show me what a good cowgirl you can be." He murmured, the boom of his voice low and primal. As soon as he spoke those words, my hips jerked into action. I leaned back against his chest, grinding down on him, rising and falling on his cock like a bitch in heat.

''That's right, sweetheart,'' Cooper strained,  breathless mumbling reverberated through the warm cabin. He slipped a hand from my hips and with ease, he directed his attention to the most sensitive bud of nerves.

His touch met the tender flesh, I gasped at the sensation, the smooth pad of his finger gliding over the bundle of my clit. Cooper groaned from behind, ''You just keep riding me like that," He helped put motion into my movement. I was a mess, sobs escaped as the pleasure ripped through me.

I surrendered myself completely to him once more, needing nothing but him. Always him. Mustering up all the strength in my legs, I bounced on him even harder than before. My walls tightened around Coooper's length, and my climax finally burst. The waves crash causing me to see stars.

With each clench, I felt him twitch from inside. I lean back as he says, "Stay inside, Cooper." He sucked in a breath, biting into the skin of my shoulder. His thrusts are relentless as he pursues his release. All it took was a few more thrusts, and his body was convulsing beneath me, his movements seeming almost otherworldly while he emptied himself inside my cunt.

He lurched forward, dragging me close to his bare chest. He slowly rolled us over, his cock slipped free. I sighed heavily, but satiated and nestled into him. "Home sweet fucking home." Cooper leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. ''I say we broke in every fuckin inch of this place, sweetheart."

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"SCIENCE Trailing SLAYERS," Vancouver Sun. May 28, 1934. Page 1 & 3. ---- INDIAN FINDS GISBORNE'S BODY ---- MANHUNT FOR TWO SUSPECTS ---- VICTORIA, May 28. - Col. J. H. McMullen, Commissioner of Provincial Police, announced this morning that certain admissions missions had been made to provincial police officers by two of the Indians held for the murders of Provincial Constable Percy Carr and Indian Department Constable Frank Gisborne, near the Canford Indian Reservation on Wednesday evening last. --- By BOB BOUCHETTE The trained mind of a modern criminologist is today pitted against the cunning of an ancient race in efforts to solve the murder of Provincial Police Constable Percy Carr and Indian Department Constable Prank H. Gisborne,

Gisborne's battered body was found in the Nicola River 16 miles below Merritt on Saturday afternoon. Carr's body has not yet been found.

Two men - the brothers Enos and Richardson George-residents of the Canford Indian reserve, are formally charged with the killing, and a third brother. Joseph George lies in hospital at Merritt in critical condition.

Police allege that Joseph George. who is suffering from a fractured skull, received his injury at the hands of Carr, battling desperately against heavy odds for his life, last Wednesday night. Joseph is so badly hurt that police deem him not fit to plead to any charge.

TWO OTHERS SOUGHT Two other Indians are still sought In connection with the crime. This morning Inspector J. F. C. B. Vance of the Vancouver Police Bureau of Science began a series of scientific tests which the police hope will definitely link the George brothers with the murder.

Vance, accompanied by Inspector Forbes Cruickshank of the Provincial Police, returned last night from Merritt with a large box of exhibits. These include the clothing worn by the accused, clubs used in battering of Carr and Gisborne to death, blood samples taken from Gisborne's car, bits of earth, some vegetation, Gisborne's handcuffs and scores of other articles.

While Vance went on with his work citizens of Merritt nervously awaited developments. It is felt that the double murder was the result of a conspiracy which had its underlying excuse in the enmity of Indians to wards officers of the law.

"This affair is not ended yet," one person close to the situation told me. His suggestion was that another was marked for death.

All this talk is rooted in the fact that for years the Indians have resented official activity against against them in regard to liquor drinking. Gisborne was an officer who enforced the law to the letter, and much of the natural racial animosity of the red man for the white was centred against him.

White people of Merritt have no hesitation in criticising the moiety system in vogue with respect to the arrest of Indians for liquor offences.

The practice now is that the arresting officer obtains half the fine upon conviction of the prisoner. This, the people of Merritt say, merely gives the Indians an opportunity for accusing the Indian Department constables of "pulling" members of their race a means of revenue.

With the discovery of Gisborne's body four miles below the Canford reserve the case became more a matter for scientific investigation than police work.

Provincial Inspector John Shirras has several witnesses to the slaying. Two of them are being held, and it is alleged that the accused themselves have made statements.

But whether these statements, or any alleged confession, will stand the test of examination in court is doubtful matter, authorities believe.

The physical evidence to be produced by Vance will be the crown's main bulwark, it is stated.

WHAT SCIENCE WILL TELL This is what the scientists will endeavor to show:

Last Wednesday night Carr and Gisborne went to the Canford reserve, 12 miles from Merritt, to arrest Enos George on a charge of stabbing his wife.

The Indians knew the police officers were coming.

At the Indian "rancherie" Gisborne parked his car inside a gateway, then he called at one house and Carr called at another. As Carr knocked at one door he was set upon by the slayers, who beat him over the head with clubs. Unarmed and partly dazed he ran for the automobile.

Meanwhile Gisborne was in another his house, emerging in time to see his brother officer fall under a hail of blows at the gateway.

GISBORNE HAD GUN Gisborne was in the habit of carrying a gun, but whether he had it with him on the night of the murder has not been established. In any case investigators are fairly certain that no shot was fired. What at first appeared to be a bullet hole in the windshield of the car was caused otherwise, it has been determined.

With Carr hors de combat the murderers attacked Gisborne. He scrambled into the driver's seat of the car and drove through the gate and several hundred feet down the "rancherie" road. The killers had jumped on the running board and beat Gisborne repeatedly with their clubs. He died at the wheel, and the car veered into the ditch and stopped.

Examination of Gisborne's body showed that he had been battered so cruelly that there was not a drop of blood left within him when the corpse was discovered on Saturday.

HORSE DRAGGED CAR With both officers killed the killers piled their bodies into the back of the car. They were unable to drive the machine, so they hitched a horse to it and hauled the car more than a mile to the point on the Merritt-Spence's Bridge highway, where it was found.

Police have as one of the exhibits a length of rope which they claim is part of the one used in the hauling operation.

There is scientific support for all this, the police claim.

A smear of grass on the clothing of the accused is significant, it was disclosed. It was compared to grass on the bank where the car was found.

Other factors are horse's hoof marks on the road from the "rancherie" to the highway and spots of blood at intervals along the same road.

The finding of Gisborne's body came shortly after the attorney general had announced the offer of a reward of $500 for the dis- covery of either one or both of the corpses. It was noticed floating near the bank by "Big Frank," an Indian, and was hauled from the water by Joe Fraser and Jack Hamilton, two of the patrollers.

Search for Carr's body produced no results.

ACCUSED REMANDED Enos and Richardson George were arraigned before Magistrate A. G. Freeze in Merritt on Saturday evening, were remanded eight days, and on Sunday morning were removed to Kamloops jail.

The body of Contsable Gisborne was viewed today by a coroner's jury and was released for burial. The inquest under Dr. A. S. Gillis was adjourned until June 5 on the request of Staff Sergt. W. J. Service, Provincial police.

CONSTABLE CARR REFUSED WIFE'S SUGGESTION OF GUN --- Special to The Vancouver Sun MERRITT, B, C., May 28. - A tragic, human interest detail came to light, Saturday night, when it was learned that Constable table Carr, upon leaving home for the trip to Canford which cost him his life, was reminded by his wife that he had overlooked taking his service revolver and she handed him this weapon, complete with a supply of ammunition.

Constable Carr took the weapon and hung it on the telephone with the remark that he was going unarmed as it was very much more. satisfactory to do business with the Indians when they knew that you were unarmed and unafraid.

The coroner's jury was picked Saturday and with Coroner A. P. Gillis proceeded about the business of an inquest into the fate of Constable Gisborne, at an early hour today. An adjournment of their deliberations was granted in order to allow for burial.

Great praise for the work of Inspector Shirras is being voiced throughout the community. His untiring efforts and friendly co-operation with all has earned for him in Merritt an enviable reputation, and the results which have been produced within such a short time of the brutal double murder are held nothing short of miraculous.

Public resentment which flared to fever pitch with the finding of the battered body of Constable Gisborne has now abated to some extent and mutterings of a lynching party, prevalent on Saturday night, are no longer heard. The heavy police guard at the local bastille is in no small way responsible for the dying down of these mutterings.

GISBORNE FUNERAL WEDNESDAY AT KAMLOOPS KAMLOOPS. B.C., May 28-Funeral services for Indian Constable Francis Hartley Gisborne will be held here from the Anglican Church, Wednesday afternoon at 2 o'clock, conducted by Masonic Lodge No. 10 of which he was a member. Interment will be in Pleasant Street.

Image caption:

SCENES OF TRAGIC INDIAN CRIME (Upper photo) The blood-spattered automobile in which Provincial Constable Percy Carr and Indian Constable Frank Gisborne drove to a rendezvous with violent death is shown as it lay on the bank a few feet below the Merritt-Spences Bridge highway. It had been pushed over the bank but instead of plunging to the river crashed into a tree.(Centre) An Indian resident of the Canford Reserve "rancherie" stares stolidly at the spot where Carr was murdered. Indian dwellings are in the background.

(Lower) Under the felled jack pine are rocks spotted with blood, the tree having been cut cut down down by the murderers in order to conceal traces of their crime. This is about 160 yards from the gateway to the Indian "rancherie." Gisborne was killed here, police state, Provincial Inspector John Shirras, Provincial Inspector Forbes Cruickshank and Inspector J. F. C. B. Vance, of the Vancouver Police Police Bureau of Science, are on the scene seeking traces of physical evidence.

[microtheory]

Concerning Atrocities

– James Peter Warbasse

From ‘Mother Earth: Monthly Magazine Devoted to Social Science and Literature’, July 1915, New York City, published and edited by Emma Goldman

The air is surcharged with atrocities. Incriminations and recriminations are hurled hither and thither by press, post, wire, and wireless. The Germans have been atrocious in Belgium; the Russians in East Prussia; the Austrians, in Servia; and the English — nowhere, because they have not been able to invade the enemies’ country, but in their own country they got themselves into practice upon their own innocent girlhood before they set sail for virgin foreign fields. Atrocities are the order of the day. The crowning atrocity to date seems to be the sinking of the Lusitania.

As one views this holocaust of fire, rapine, plunder, debauchery, and murder, one must be impressed with the observation that the atrocities themselves are less dreadful than their common causes. The distressing fact is that the causes of all of these atrocities existed before the Great War, and perpetrated quite as great atrocities; and, what is still more distressing, they will continue to provoke atrocities after the war is over. The world is making the grievous error of isolating the acts of this war from the rest of social conduct as though it were something unusual, unexpected, cataclysmic, unique. We hear the expressions that this war is “the failure of civilization,” or “the breakdown of Christianity,” or “the debauchery of governments.” How foolish are these expressions. How can that fail which has not succeeded? How can that break down which has not been built up? How can that become debauched which already is debauched and debauching?

There is no new principle nor unique manifestation in the Great War. The atrocities which the Germans have committed in Belgium are no greater than those unspeakable atrocities which the Belgians committed in the Congo. The atrocities which the Germans have committed against the English are incomparably trivial beside the brutalities which the English committed in the Sudan. As to the bestialities of the Russians in Eastern Prussia, Russia out-does them every day in times of peace against her own helpless people. The destruction by Germany of a hundred odd American citizens who were packed around a cargo of ammunition, is less atrocious than the atrocities which the United States perpetrates upon its own peaceful Indians.

The history of every one of these nations is a series of broken treaties and atrocities committed under the protection or by the instigation of government. Not one of these nations, which prates so glibly of the sins of the others, is taking a step to abandon its own atrociousness. They are all committing greater atrocities at home than abroad. The United States officially and by executive fiat went upon its knees with a heart full of hypocrisy, prayed for peace; and then rose from its knees and proceeded with the production of shot and shell, to be employed in killing men, women, and children — all manufactured and exported with the knowledge, co-operation and approval of that same Government which had ordered the prayers for peace. Now that same hypocrisy, which stood calmly by while men, women, and children in Colorado were murdered in the interest of a privileged property-owning class, threatens to sacrifice thousands more of American lives in a world war, as though that might atone for those already lost!

This war is something more than a ruling-class enterprise. It is an expression of the governments which are maintained in the interest of the privileged property-owning class, and which in their brutal zeal for the interests of their pet class have fallen at one another’s throats. Let us not make the mistake of holding German, English, French, Russian, or American human beings guilty. The people in all of these countries are better at heart than they act. The atrocities are more the atrocities of governments than of men and women. It has been government that has instigated and kept alive the militarism that has poisoned the minds of school children and now puts guns in their hands and sends them forth to commit atrocities.

Shooting men is not less of an atrocity than raping women, burning girls in Triangle fires, or drowning people at sea because of the inhuman quest for profits of a transatlantic transportation company. When the truth becomes known it will be discovered that the people who perished with the Lusitania could have been saved but for the ruthless disregard of means for saving lives which would have cost the company some small fraction of its profits.

Deprived of his liberty, coerced into becoming a wheel in a machine, which moves or stops at the word of command from the government above, the soldier and his doings are but the expressions of the State. In Belgium, it appears that the attacks upon non-combatants were instigated from above; they were manifestations of government. The free German, had he not been deprived of his liberties by the state, would prefer to remain at home, till his fields by day, and play with his children after supper.

There is one great atrocity in this wretched business of which we should not lose sight; that is the State. The State exists because there are privileged people, whose privileges would pass from them were they not protected by the powerful machinery of government. A privileged class means a class which enjoys advantages which others do not have; and there can be no class having advantages unless there is another class suffering disadvantages. The several governments, top-heavy with militarism, which they had built up for the protection of their privileged people, have toppled over into the vortex.

This is the historic fate of governments. It threatens to be the fate of the United States. When it becomes the interest of the privileged economic forces of the United States to have war with Mexico, we shall have it. At present our property-privileged class desires the exploitation of the markets of South America, and the natural and human resources of that virgin country. Hence the Monroe doctrine. But the Monroe doctrine is political buncombe, unless backed by a powerful navy. Still in the face of it our Government holds out to the world the hypocrisy that we are a non-belligerent nation. The day approaches when militarism will drag us into war, because the privileged interests require the State and the Monroe doctrine, and militarism is their natural offspring.

Hope lies in the abolition of the twin interests, privilege and the State, and supplanting them with a free society in which human brotherhood and mutual aid shall become the dominant forces.

Concerning Atrocities

-James Peter Warbasse, 1915

[staranghae]

one. -> hate at first sight

warnings. profanity, mentions of murder (but it's lighthearted) wc. 1.6K

It wasn’t even surprising at this point. The sky is blue, the sun rises from the east, and Y/N is late for her 8AM. I mean, it was your fault that despite waking up late, you still stood in line at the campus cafe to get your americano. You justified it by telling yourself you would not understand the material if you didn’t have your caffeine, but the caffeine isn’t of any use if you aren't in class, now is it? Lost in your thoughts, you don’t even notice the 6’2” beanpole walking towards you.

Mingyu was late to class. Mingyu. Kim Mingyu was late to class. He was never late to class, let alone a stupid 8AM. But then again, who can he blame but himself? He was the one who still wanted his coffee despite having woken up late. He’s cursing himself out and walking so fast that he doesn’t even notice when the collision happens

You scream as you feel the icy drink hit you, successfully pulling the guy in front of you out of his thoughts. His eyes widen as he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket, handing it to you with an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that I was late for class and didn’t notice you coming.” He explains sheepishly. You roll your eyes, a sarcastic smirk playing on your lips.

“Even I’m late for class, you don’t see me bulldozing my way through campus, do you?” You retort, clearly angry.

He’s about to say something when he hears you mutter something under your breath

“Pagal log, pata nahi kahan se aa jate hain” (Crazy people, don’t know where they come from) 

He merely smirks before answering you, “Mumbai. Crazy people like me come from Mumbai.”

You look at him incredulously before walking away from him and the entire conversation. In a moment of fury, you turn around and yell back at him, “Even I’m from Mumbai, so FUCK YOU!”

Finally at peace with the encounter, you run off to class, your untouched coffee in Mingyu’s hands.

Mingyu watches you run off to class and can’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. He throws his now empty coffee cup in the trash before drinking yours. As he walks into his building, he realises something.

You are the only other Indian student on campus, and you hate him. Great. Just great.

Also, he never got your name.

The next time you meet the ‘beanpole’, as your friends had dubbed him after listening to your encounter with the man, it’s the same way as before. Except this time, you are the one at fault.

You’re walking to the library while on the phone with your mother, who was per usual, rambling about you getting married so you can take over your father’s ‘empire’ (her words, not yours). You let out an exasperated sigh and are about to tell her that there’s still 5 whole months left for you to graduate when you, quite literally, walk into him. Him as in the ‘beanpole’ from the incident 3 weeks ago. 

In hindsight, it was your fault the collision happened in the first place. But you, in your frustration, yell at him to fucking move and not stand in the way of people who have places to be, unlike himself.

Mingyu had been having a painfully average day until he had gone to the campus cafe to get his daily dose of caffeine. The coffee hadn’t even touched his lips before someone, literally, walked into him, resulting in him spilling his coffee all over his brand new tee. He looked at the person only to realise it was you, the Indian kid from last time. He was about to comment on how you two should really stop pouring coffee on each other when he’s interrupted by you…yelling?

He’s a nice person, really. But when you start yelling at him unprompted for something that was clearly your fault, Mingyu all but loses it. 

“Okay! This ends here! I don’t know who you think you are, but this time, it is YOUR fault. I will admit, last time I was being an idiot but you do not get to yell at me for something YOU did. And anyway, you seem completely fine, I’M the one drenched in coffee, aren’t I?!”

Now, it’s your turn to be dumbstruck by him. You just blink at him a few times before collecting yourself. 

“I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have that.” and with that, you leave the cafe.

It’s after you're well out of his line of sight that he realises.

He still didn’t get your name. But come to think of it, he doesn’t even want to know your name at this point. So what if you’re the only Indian kid? He can survive with his current friends just fine. 

The next time the two of you are in each other’s vicinity, it’s a restaurant an hour away from campus. You had booked a booth with your friends for a celebratory dinner on the occasion of finals week ending and Mingyu was there for Eunwoo’s birthday.

“I mean, the awning is meant for people to stand under and drink their coffee, you’re the one that had ‘places to be’ so if anything, you should be apologising to him” your best friend, Jennifer tells you. Karina nods affirmatively, engrossed in whatever she’s doing on her phone. You sigh (albeit, dramatically) before answering her, 

“I thought you guys were my friends, I guess not.”

“We are your friends, which is why we’re telling you to apologise for something that was clearly your fault.”

Karina doesn’t respond to that, which prompts the two of you to look at her, only to find her texting someone with a lovesick stupid grin plastered on her face. Both you and Jennifer sigh in unison when you remember the date.

30th March.

Her boyfriend’s birthday.

You knock on the table to get her attention. 

“Karina! I am going through a crisis here. This is not the time to be texting your birthday boy.”

“And here I am listening to you when I should be with my birthday boy! What more do you want from me, y/n? My soul?!”

Jennifer merely chuckles at your exchange, having gotten used to your catfights. Just another booth over, a very similar conversation was taking place.

Mingyu huffs as he drops his backpack onto one of the seats in the booth. Both Jeongguk and Eunwoo’s classes ended before his, so he was the last one there. 

“You made it! And, you aren’t drenched in coffee!” exclaims Jeongguk. Eunwoo lets out a laugh at the unexpected comment. Mingyu grumbles out something about having ‘fucking idiots for friends’ when Eunwoo’s phones goes off. His face visibly falls when he reads the text. Mingyu and Jeongguk exchange a glance before asking him,

“What happened?”

He sighs sadly before looking at them.

“Karina said she’s going to be late because her friend’s going through something.”

Mingyu immediately lights up with an idea to cheer up his friend. After all, no one should be sad on their birthday.

“How about this? I’ll tell y’all about my week until your girl gets here, cool?”

“Yeah, that seems like a good idea. So, what’d the coffee girl do this week?”

“Don’t even get me started, Woo.”

An hour later, you’re finally done lamenting to your friends about everything that’s happened since the last time you saw them. Karina asks you at least thrice if you’re done so she can finally go to her boyfriend. You and Jennifer look at each other and collectively pass a comment about how much she LOVES her boyfriend and she calls you a ‘pathetic bachelor’ in return.

As she get out of the booth, you and Jennifer follow her out, having finished your cakes and taking your coffee to go. Karina stops abruptly, resulting in you bumping into her back. You’re about to make a snarky remark about how she’s late to her boyfriend’s birthday lunch when you see him.

Mingyu was finally done updating his friends about his week when Eunwoo’s phone lit up with another text, presumably his girlfriend. He smiles as he reads out the text to the two sitting in front of him. 

“Just got done with girls. On my way.” 

Jeongguk says something about her having perfect timing, but Mingyu ignores in favour of gawking at the devil outside his booth. You.

The two of you obviously have issues to work through because the next thing you know, you’re swinging your coffee at him. And at the same time, he grabs his milkshake to throw at you. Time seems to slow down as the two of you realise what you just did. The realisation doesn’t even set in completely before you’re being pulled away by your friends and Mingyu by his.

Yunjin drags you to the restroom to clean you up to some extent. Karina comes in and promptly yells at you. “Do you even know who he is?!”

Meanwhile, in the men’s room, Jeongguk’s giving Mingyu his spare shirt for him to change into as Eunwoo screams at him, “Do you even know who she is?!”

Both Karina and Eunwoo, unbeknownst to them, yell out in unison,

“That person might as well be royalty with how much influence they have. And you just threw your drink on them like it’s NOTHING?!”

Confused, you ask her for his name, 

“His name is Mingyu.”

Puzzled, he asks him for your name,

“Her name is Y/N.”

While he reeks of coffee, he at least got your name. Y/N. ‘It suits you’, he thinks in the far corner of his mind.

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a/n.DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNN. And here we have it folks, the first ever chapter of ABLS! WOOHOO, WE CHEERED. also, ABLS! will be going on an indefinite hiatus so....yeah. heheh.

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staranghae.writing®

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Francis Spufford’s “Cahokia Jazz”

Tomorrow (December 5), I'm at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, NC, with my new solarpunk novel The Lost Cause, which 350.org's Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel: perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

Francis Spufford's Cahokia Jazz is a fucking banger: it's a taut, unguessable whuddunit, painted in ultrablack noir, set in an alternate Jazz Age in a world where indigenous people never ceded most the west to the USA. It's got gorgeously described jazz music, a richly realized modern indigenous society, and a spectacular romance. It's amazing:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Cahokia-Jazz/Francis-Spufford/9781668025451

Cahokia is the capital city of Deseret, a majority Catholic, majority indigenous state at the western frontier of the USA. It swirls with industry, wealth, and racial politics, serving as both a refuge from Jim Crow and a hive of Klan activity. Joe Barrow is new in town, a veteran who survived the trenches of WWI and moved to Cahokia with his army buddy, Phineas Drummond, where they both quickly rose through the police ranks to become detectives.

We meet Joe and Phin on a frigid government building rooftop in the predawn night, attending a grisly murder. Someone has laid out a man across a skylight, cut his throat, split his chest open, and excised his heart. This Aztec-inspired killing points at Cahokian indigenous independence gangs, some of whom embrace an apocryphal tale of being descended from Mesoamerican conquerors in the distant past. That makes this more than a mere ugly killing – it's a political flashpoint.

The Klan insists that Cahokia's system of communal land ownership is a form of communism (Russia never ceded Alaska in this world, so the USSR is now extending tendrils across the Bering Strait). They also insist that Cahokians' reverence for the Sun and the Moon – indigenous royals who have formally ceded power to elected leaders – makes them a threat to democracy. Finally, the Cahokians' fusion of Catholocism with traditional faith makes the spritually suspect. A rooftop blood-sacrifice could cause simmering political tension to boil over, and for ever white oligarch drooling at the thought of enclosing the shared land of Deseret, there are a thousand useful idiots in white hoods.

Joe and Phin now have to solve the murder – before the city explodes. But Phin seems more interested in pinning the case on an Indian – any Indian – than he is on solving the murder. And Joe – an indigenous orphan who has neither the language nor the culture that the Cahokians expect him to have – is reappraising his long habit of deferring to Phin.

This is the setup for a delicious whodunnit with a large helping of what if…? but Spufford doesn't stop there. Joe, you see, is a jazz pianist, and his old bandmates are back in town, and one thing leads to another and before you know it he's sitting in with them at a speakeasy. This gives Spufford a chance to roll out some of the most evocative, delicious descriptions of jazz since Doctorow's Ragtime (no relation):

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/41529/ragtime-by-e-l-doctorow/9780812978186

It's not just the jazz. This is a book that fires on every cylinder: there's brilliant melee (and a major battle set-piece that's stunning), a love storyline, gunplay, and a murder mystery that kept me guessing right to the end. There's fakeouts and comeuppances, bravery and treachery, and above all, a sense of possibility.

Most of what I know about Cahokia – and the giant mounds it left behind near St Louis – I learned from David Graeber and David Wengrow's brilliant work of heterodox history, The Dawn of Everything:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/08/three-freedoms/#anti-fatalism

Graeber and Wengrow's project is to make us reassess the blank spaces in our historical record, the ways of living that we have merely guessed at, based on fragments and suppositions. They point out that these inferences are vastly overdetermined, and that there are many other guesses that fit the facts equally well, or even better. This is a powerful message, one that insists that history – and thus the future – is contingent and up for grabs. We don't have to live the way we do, and we haven't always lived this way. We might live differently in the future.

In evoking a teeming, indigenous metropolis, conjured out of minor historical divergences, Spufford follows Graeber and Wengrow in cracking apart inevitability and letting all the captive possibility flow out. The fact that he does this in a first rate novel makes the accomplishment doubly impressive – and enjoyable.

It's EFF's Power Up Your Donation Week: this week, donations to the Electronic Frontier Foundation are matched 1:1, meaning your money goes twice as far. I've worked with EFF for 22 years now and I have always been - and remain - a major donor, because I've seen firsthand how effective, responsible and brilliant this organization is. Please join me in helping EFF continue its work!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/04/cahokia/#the-sun-and-the-moon