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whump-a-la-mode · 4 years ago

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It’s blue again with a prompt for u: villain gets captured and tortured by hero and escapes, extremely drugged, and shows up on the doorstep of supervillain (who they are absolutely terrified of) because they have nowhere else to go

🥺🥺🥺 This is such a cute prompt. I hope I did it justice! Thank you fren blue!

CW//Injuries, implied past strangulation, hypothermia, drugging

When one is busy, it is terribly easy to forget, and calling Supervillain anything but busy would be either an understatement, or, perhaps, an insult.

Such was the case when one was the most powerful villain in Metropolis after all. They'd long since given up any semblance of free time. And, yet, as of recent, they had managed to have their schedule even more full than usual.

If there was one thing Supervillain didn't like, it was prison. If there was another, it was the fact that the city's heroes had spent the last few weeks carrying out an all-out war against those who opposed them. Their goal was ludicrous, and yet, at the same time, very, very clear.

Their target? Every villain in the city. Each and every one, taken into captivity. Within the past few weeks, nearly everyone that they kept contact with had scattered like rats into the city floorboards.

But Supervillain was not so cowardly. Not so quick to break and flee. No, that was what kept them at the top of the pecking order. The situation didn't matter-- they weren't leaving their lair. And, so far, they'd fended off the many attacks that had pounded against their walls.

So far.

Regardless of method, unlike their opponents, the city's villains were smart. They knew how to disappear when they had to.

When they had enough warning.

With just how chaotic the last few weeks had been, they had nearly forgotten just how the whole situation had began. The only warning sign that any of them had had-- The fall of a friend.

Well, maybe not a friend. But an ally, surely.

Villain. They had all been too busy. They'd forgotten young Villain, plucked from their home in a siege, broadcasted for all the world to see. It was a tragedy, but sometimes, people died. That was how the world worked.

People died.

They didn't show up on the doorsteps of the most powerful villain in the city, curled into the fetal position, moving only to inhale the tiniest, the shallowest of breaths. They weren't supposed to do that, at the very least.

And, yet, here Villain lay. Against the odds.

When Supervillain had heard the knocking, the weak, almost whimpering of flesh on wood, they had assumed the worst. The next attack. The next attempt to break into their lair. And, yet, their surveillance systems had reported nothing of the like, and a quick sweep by their henchmen had confirmed that there were no heroes laying in wait nearby.

It wasn't a trap. At the very least, if it was a trap, it wasn't obvious.

If it had been a trap, they could have at least cleaned up their bait a little better. That was their first thought when they at last felt confident enough to open the door. What in the world was one supposed to do in this situation? At the moment, their reaction was, more or less, 'staring in shock.' While perhaps not being the most helpful, to them, it seemed the most natural.

Closing the door wasn't an option. They knew that.

Supervillain didn't take pity, not on anyone. There was a reason they were feared-- they weren't known for their mercy. But, leaving a fellow villain like this... It was something that was just wrong. Evil as they were, villains still had morals. They took good care of their hostages. They released children, the elderly and the sick. They kept their own henchmen in good health and spirits.

And...

And they didn't leave fellow villains on their doorsteps, half dead.

Biting the inside of their cheek out of nerves alone, they leaned down, picking up the shivering burden. The cold struck them in an instant-- a terrible, shivering cold. The kind that was reserved only for those with powers that related to ice and snow.

But Villain- No, Villain was a pyrokinetic. A firebender. And they always ran hot.

Not frigid. With a hiss, Supervillain spoke a few words into their earpiece, before disconnecting it. Ordering their henchmen to keep watch, while they dealt with something very, very important.

They laid the pyrokinetic upon a couch-- having holed up in their living area-- and examined them in the better light.

Their eyes were closed, as was their mouth, except for the slightest parting of blue-hued lips to inhale the tiniest of gasps.

Moving downwards, their neck, skin pulled taut and pale to the point of nigh-translucence, was marked pointedly with a series of angry, red lines. They seemed to wrap all the way around. Some were broader, while some were fine, delicate, nearly sharp enough to draw blood.

Strangulation marks.

If their body showed anything, it was that either whoever had kept them captive had had no intent for them to escape, or had simply not cared in what condition their bait was found. They were draped in a cotton top and trousers that were only thick enough to maintain their modesty, but not nearly enough to maintain the slightest fiber of warmth. Sprouting from sleeves and neckholes, bruises of both a deep blue and a sickly purple bloomed, formed into shapes did not so much as attempt to hide that they had been sourced from hands or bats.

It was only when Supervillain's scan reached their feet that they found definitive proof of escape. A single foot, the left, had been torn nearly to shreds, as though it had been chewed by a wild beast. The biting circle of a metal restraint could be seen marked into mangled skin, from where it had once sat upon the ankles, to where it had been slid all the way down, without care for bodily destruction.

Villain had escaped. Villain had escaped, and they had come to see... Supervillain? It didn't make sense.

But, with all the others in hiding...

They were their last hope.

It was with an almost superhuman speed that the supervillain contacted their medical staff, stating to arrive as soon as possible, that any traffic tickets would be paid off.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes to their arrival. Could Villain make it that long? They were so, so cold.

Supervillain was just about the furthest thing on the planet from a doctor, but they were also rather far from being an idiot. No human was meant to be this cold, especially one whose body was designed for the production of flame.

They took a decorative fleece, draped over a nearly ottoman, and held it nervously before their chest. What were they supposed to do?

Villain was too cold. Supervillain wasn't going to let them die!

They pulled the blanket about their back, wrapping it around their front, covering as much skin as they could manage. They expected a reaction, a shout, or- Or something.

But, their newfound, injured ward did little but blearily open their eyes. Behind them, there was nothing.

"Are you okay?" Supervillain spoke to a brick wall. "What happened? What did they do to you?"

A heavy blink, and their eyelids drifted back closed. What was wrong with them?

"Villain!" They snapped, raising their voice loud enough to scare away any wildlife in a one mile radius. "Look at me! Wake up!"

Their tone took on that of what they used during interrogations. Anything to wake their ice-cold ally up.

Their eyes once more opened, focusing ever so slightly. They opened their mouth, gaping momentarily like a fish, before once more closing their jaw.

This wasn't exhaustion, Supervillain realized with a start. This was drugs. Heavy sedation. Nigh-paralysis. That was all that could be seen in their gaze- exhaustion and fear.

What were they afraid of?

"My henchmen have cleared the perimeter." They spoke as though someone in such a state could understand words of such a length. "You're safe."

It did nothing. With a shaking hand, Supervillain reached a hand forward, placing it upon their shoulder.

That elicited a reaction. A whimper.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay."

In their eyes, something shifted.

"Whoever did this to you..." Public enemy number one, the most dangerous person at Metropolis, the terror of every child growled. "I'm going to make them suffer."

When Supervillain's medical staff arrived, it was to the sight of their terrifying boss, coaxing soup through the lips of someone who was identified as a threat to national security.

#villain whumpee #supervillain caretaker #whumpblr #whump blog #whump comunity #whump scenario #hero x villain #hero villain whump #whumper #caretaker #whumpee

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mercurygray · 4 years ago

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So, I Hear You Liked: 1917

More World War One Films

I was very excited about 1917 when it first came out because it almost perfectly coincided with the 100th anniversary of the First World War, a conflict that I love to read about, write about, and watch movies about. This period is my JAM, and there's such a lot of good content for when you're done with Sam Mendes's film.

Obviously there are a lot of movies and TV shows out there - this is just a selection that I enjoyed, and wish more people knew about.

Note: Everyone enjoys a show or movie for different reasons. These shows are on this list because of the time period they depict, not because of the quality of their writing, the accuracy of their history or the political nature of their content. Where I’m able to, I’ve mentioned if a book is available if you’d like to read more.

I'd like to start the list with a movie that isn't a fiction piece at all - Peter Jackson's They Shall Not Grow Old (2019) is a beautifully produced film that allows the soldiers and archival images themselves, lovingly retimed and tinted into living color, to tell their own story. It is a must watch for anyone interested in the period.

Wings (1927), All Quiet on the Western Front (1930), A Farewell to Arms (1932, 1957), The Dawn Patrol (1938), Sergeant York (1941), and Paths of Glory (1957) are all classics with a couple of Oscars between them, and it's sort of fun to watch how the war gets changed and interpreted as the years pass. (The Dawn Patrol, for instance, might as just as easily be about the RAF in World War 2.)

All Quiet is based on a famous memoir, and A Farewell to Arms on a Hemingway novel; both have several adaptations and they're all a little different. Speaking of iconic novels, Doctor Zhivago (1965) based on the Pasternak novel of the same title, examines life of its protagonist between 1905 and the start of the second World War.

I think one thing historians agree on is that the start of World War One is worth discussing - and that there's a lot of backstory. Fall of Eagles (1974), a 13 part BBC miniseries, details the relationships between the great houses of Europe, starting in the 1860s; it's long but good, and I think might be on YouTube. The Last Czars (2019) takes a dramatized look at the Romanovs and how their reactions to the war lead to their eventual demise.

As far as the war itself, Sarajevo (2014) and 37 Days (2014) both discuss the outbreak of hostilities and the slow roll into actual battle.

The Passing Bells (2014) follows the whole war through the eyes of two soldiers, one German and one British, beginning in peacetime.

Joyeux Noel ( 2005) is a cute story - it takes place early in the war during the Christmas Peace and approaches the event from a multinational perspective.

War Horse (2011) is, of course, a name you'll recognize. Based on the breakout West End play, which is itself based on a YA novel by Michael Morpurgo, the story follows a horse who's requisitioned for cavalry service and the young man who owns him. Private Peaceful (2012) is also based on a Morpurgo novel, but I didn't think it was quite as good as War Horse.

The Wipers Times (2013) is one of my all-time favorites; it's about a short lived trench paper written and produced by soldiers near Ypres, often called Wipers by the average foot soldier. The miniseries, like the paper, is laugh out loud funny in a dark humor way.

My Boy Jack (2007) is another miniseries based on a play, this one about Rudyard Kipling and his son, Jack, who served in the Irish Guards and died at Loos. Kipling later wrote a poem about the death of his son, and helped select the phrase that appears on all commonwealth gravestones of the First World War.

Gallipoli (1981) is stunning in a way only a Peter Weir movie can be; this is a classic and a must-see.

Gallipoli is a big story that's been told and retold a lot. I still haven't seen Deadline Gallipoli (2015) an Australian miniseries about the men who wrote about the battle for the folks back home and were subject to censorship about how bad things really were. For a slightly different perspective, the Turkish director Yesim Sezgin made Çanakkale 1915 in 2012, detailing the Turkish side of the battle. Although most of The Water Diviner (2014) takes place after the war is over, it also covers parts of Gallipoli and while it didn't get great reviews, I enjoy it enough to own it on DVD.

I don't know why all of my favorite WWI films tend to be Australian; Beneath Hill 60 (2010) is another one of my favorites, talking about the 1st Australian Tunneling Company at the Ypres Salient. The War Below (2021) promises to tell a similar story about the Pioneer companies at Messines, responsible for building the huge network of mines there.

Passchendaele (2008) is a Canadian production about the battle of the same name. I'd forgotten I've seen this film, which might not say very much for the story.

Journey's End (2017) is an adaptation of an RC Sheriff play that takes place towards the end of the war in a dugout amongst British officers.

No look at the Great War is complete without a nod to developing military technologies, and this is the war that pioneers the aviation battle for us. I really wish Flyboys (2006) was better than it is, but The Red Baron (2008) makes up for it from the German perspective.

One of the reasons I like reading about the First World War is that everyone is having a revolution. Technology is growing by leaps and bounds, women are fighting for the right to vote, and a lot of colonial possessions are coming into their own, including (but not limited to) Ireland. Rebellion (2016) was a multi-season miniseries that went into the Easter Rising, as well as the role the war played there. Michael Collins (1996) spends more time with the Anglo-Irish war in the 1920s but is still worth watching (or wincing through Julia Roberts' bad accent, you decide.) The Wind that Shakes the Barley covers the same conflict and is excellent.

The centennial of the war meant that in addition to talking about the war, people were also interested in talking about the Armenian Genocide. The Promise (2016) and The Ottoman Lieutenant (2017) came out around the same time and two different looks at the situation in Armenia.

This is a war of poets and writers, of whom we have already mentioned a few. Hedd Wynn ( 1992) which is almost entirely in Welsh, and tells the story of Ellis Evans, a Welsh language poet who was killed on the first day of the Battle of Passchendaele. I think Ioan Gruffudd has read some of his poetry online somewhere, it's very pretty. A Bear Named Winnie (2004) follows the life of the bear who'd become the inspiration for Winnie the Pooh. Tolkien (2019) expands a little on the author's early life and his service during the war. Benediction (2021) will tell the story of Siegfried Sassoon and his time at Craiglockhart Hospital. Craiglockhart is also represented in Regeneration (1997) based on a novel by Pat Barker.

Anzac Girls (2014) is probably my favorite mini-series in the history of EVER; it follows the lives of a group of Australian and New Zealand nurses from hospital duty in Egypt to the lines of the Western Front. I love this series not only because it portrays women (ALWAYS a plus) but gives a sense of the scope of the many theatres of the war that most movies don't. It's based on a book by Peter Rees, which is similarly excellent.

On a similar note, The Crimson Field (2014) explores the lives of members of a Voluntary Aid Detachment, or VADs, lady volunteers without formal nursing training who were sent to help with menial work in hospitals. It only ran for a season but had a lot of potential. Testament of Youth (2014) is based on the celebrated memoirs of Vera Brittain, who served as a VAD for part of the war and lead her to become a dedicated pacifist.

Also, while we're on the subject of women, though these aren't war movies specifically, I feel like the additional color to the early 20th century female experience offered by Suffragette (2015) and Iron-Jawed Angels (2004) is worth the time.

As a general rule, Americans don't talk about World War One, and we sure don't make movies about it, either. The Lost Battalion (2001) tells the story of Major Charles Whittlesey and the 9 companies of the 77th Infantry division who were trapped behind enemy lines during the battle of the Meuse Argonne.

I should add that this list is curtailed a little bit by what's available for broadcast or stream on American television, so it's missing a lot of dramas in other languages. The Road to Calvary (2017) was a Russian drama based on the novels of Alexei Tolstoy. Kurt Seyit ve Şura (2014) is based on a novel and follows a love story between a Crimean officer (a Muslim) and the Russian woman he loves. The show is primarily in Turkish, and Kıvanç Tatlıtuğ, who plays the lead, is *very* attractive.

Finally, although it might seem silly to mention them, Upstairs Downstairs (1971-1975 ) Downton Abbey (2010-2015) and Peaky Blinders (2013-present) are worth a mention and a watch. All of them are large ensemble TV shows that take place over a much longer period than just the Great War, but the characters in each are shaped tremendously by the war.

#so i hear you liked #preaching the period drama gospel i am #world war one #period drama #period drama trash #1917

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southeastasianhistories · 4 years ago

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Southeast Asia’s role in World War I is all but lost to history. There was no major invasion of the region by a hostile power, like Japan in World War II. None of the Central Powers – an alliance of Germany, Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire – had colonial territory in the region, except on the periphery. German New Guinea quickly fell to the Allies after the outbreak of war in July 1914.

Yet the First World War, which ended 100 years ago this month, proved a decisive event for Southeast Asia. For the first time, it severely tested the relationship between the colonial authorities of Britain, France and the Netherlands (neutral in the war) and their colonial subjects in Southeast Asia, for whom sacrifice in the conflict was to be a rallying cry for more civil rights. The burgeoning nationalist movements throughout the region swelled with veterans returning home from democratic and industrial nations, while others, with considerable consequences in later decades, brought home interests in the radical politics at the time, not least communism.

Arguably, the most interesting response to the declaration of war was made by Siam, as Thailand was then known. As the only Southeast Asian nation not colonised by a European power, Siam, under the absolute monarch King Vajiravudh, decided to go to war against the Central Powers in 1917, sending its own troops to fight in Europe. The Siamese Expeditionary Force of more than 1,000 troops arrived in the French port of Marseilles in July 1918. It was led by Major-General Phraya Phya Bhijai Janriddhi, who had received military training in France before the war. At first, the Thai troops were employed by the Allies as rear-guard labour detachments, taking part in the Second Battle of the Marne in August that year. The following month, they saw their first frontline action. They took part in several offences, including the occupation of the German Rhineland. In the end, 19 Thais had lost their lives – none from battle.

King Vajiravudh’s decision to go to war was calculated. Gambling on Allied victory, he believed Siam’s participation would earn it the respect of Britain and France. He was correct. Although it was independent, neighbouring colonisers (the British in Burma and the French in Cambodia) had slowly whittled away Siam’s territory in the preceding decades, with large tracts of land returned to Cambodia in the late 19th century. After WWI, though, Siam’s territory didn’t budge. Equally important, Siam took part in the 1919 Versailles Peace Conference and was a founding member of the League of Nations, a clear indication that Western powers now saw it as a legitimate force on the international stage and in Southeast Asia.

The rulers of independent Siam might have wanted respect and power, but the thoughts of ordinary people from the rest of colonised Southeast Asia are little known. Few first-hand accounts exist for historians. Quite probably, however, many did not want to be thrust unquestionably into the greatest fratricide the world had yet seen, and some no doubt hoped the colonial empires would be destroyed by the whole endeavour. Yet some nationalists, especially those of higher rank who weren’t expected to fight, saw the war effort as a means of gaining more political rights for themselves under the colonial system.

The war, for example, provided the Vietnamese with “an unexpected opportunity to test France’s ability to live up to vaunted self-representations of invincibility”, as Philippe Peycam wrote in 2012’s The Birth of Vietnamese Political Journalism: Saigon, 1916-1930. The prominent Vietnamese nationalist Phan Chu Trinh, who had spent years in jail before the war for his activism and was imprisoned for six months in 1914 on wrongful charges of colluding with the Germans, played a considerable role in recruiting Vietnamese men for the war. Another noted nationalist, Duong Van Giao, published a history of the Vietnamese war effort, 1925’s L’Indochine pendant la guerre de 1914–1918. Because of Vietnam’s sacrifice, he called on the French colonials to adopt a “native policy”: not quite outright independence but radical reform of civil rights for the Vietnamese. It was a similar sentiment as expressed in Claims of the Annamite People, an influential tract cowritten in France in 1919 by a young activist who later became known as Ho Chi Minh, who had spent most of the war working in a London hotel under the famous chef Auguste Escoffier.

As a French colony, Vietnam was expected to provide troops for the war effort, but there were differing views among colonial officers as to what role they should play. Lieutenant-Colonel Théophile Pennequin was a hardliner but also a keen reformer. Before the outbreak of war, Pennequin requested that he be allowed to form a competent military unit that was termed by some as an armée jaune (yellow army), similar to the force noire (black force) popularised by General Charles Mangin in France’s West African colonies. For Pennequin, a national native army would allow Vietnamese to gain “positions of command and provide the French with loyal partners with whom they could build a new and, eventually, independent Indochinese state,” wrote historian Christopher Goscha in 2017’s The Penguin History of Modern Vietnam.

But Pennequin’s designs were rejected by Paris and, instead, most Vietnamese recruits were sent to Europe to work in factories or as supply hands. Yet some did fight. One estimate contends that out of 100,000 Vietnamese conscripts sent to the war in Europe, roughly 12,000 lost their lives. A battalion of Tonkinese Rifles, an elite corps formed in the 1880s, saw action on the Western Front near Verdun. Do Huu Vi, a celebrated pilot from an elite family, became a national hero after his plane was shot down over France.

Despite overt racism by some French nationals and trade unions’ concerns that they were bringing down wages, many of the Vietnamese put to work in munitions factories found it a revelatory experience. Some started relationships with Frenchwomen, unsurprising since other workers in wartime factories were mostly women. Others joined social clubs and reading groups. After the war, wrote Goscha, “a hundred thousand Vietnamese veterans returned to Indochina hoping to start a new life. Some wanted French citizenship; most expected good jobs and upward social mobility. Several hoped to modernise Vietnam along Western lines, despite the barbarity they had just witnessed in Europe.”

It was a similar story for the Philippines, then a United States colony. It declared war on Germany in April 1917, the same time Washington did. At first, the colonial government requested the drafting of 15,000 Filipinos for service, but more than 25,000 enlisted. These troops formed the Philippine National Guard, a militia that was later absorbed into the American military. Most of the recruits, though, would not leave the Philippines during the war. Those who did travelled as part of the American Expeditionary Forces. In June 1918, the first Filipino died in action at the Battle of Château-Thierry, in France: Tomas Mateo Claudio, a former contract labourer on a sugar plantation in Hawaii who had enlisted in the US.

It is not known exactly how many Southeast Asians died during the First World War. Of those active in the European theatre, the number is estimated to be more than 20,000, mostly conscripts from the French colonies. It was a small figure compared to the number of Southeast Asians who perished during the Second World War. And, unlike in that war, there wasn’t a great arena of warfare in Southeast Asia during the First since none of the Central Powers nations had any imperial control in the region.

But Germany did have influence in China and possessed leased territory in Kiautschou Bay, near present-day Jiaozhou. It was invaded by Japanese forces after 1915, and China would later declare war on Germany in August 1917. But in October 1914, the German East Asia Squadron still had its base in the concession – it was from there that a lone light cruiser, the SMS Emden, slipped into Penang Harbour, part of what was then British Malaya. Disguised as a British vessel, the German cruiser launched a surprise attack on a Russian ship and then sank a French destroyer that had given chase. The sole attack on Malaya during the war killed 100 and wounded thousands more.

After the attack, the Emden is thought to have docked in a port in the Dutch East Indies, present-day Indonesia, raising British suspicions that the Dutch weren’t as neutral as they had claimed. Neutrality, moreover, didn’t mean the colony went unscathed. The Dutch East Indies was home to a sizeable German population that worked to “coordinate and finance covert operations designed to undermine British colonial rule and economic interests in Southeast Asia,” as historian Heather Streets-Salter wrote in 2017’s World War One in Southeast Asia: Colonialism and Anticolonialism in an Era of Global Conflict.

The Emden was finally stopped by an Australian cruiser that ran it ashore in Singapore. The surviving crew of the German vessel were interned there, then a part of British Malaya. Also stationed in Singapore was the Indian Army’s Fifth Light Infantry, which unsuccessfully mutinied in January 1915 after they learned they might be sent to fight in Turkey against fellow Muslims (though they were eventually sent to Hong Kong instead). The 309 interned Germans from the Emden joined in the mutiny, which left dead eight British and three Malay soldiers, as well as a dozen Singapore civilians.

A much forgotten history of World War I was a Turco-German plot to promote jihad (holy war) in parts of the Muslim world colonised by the Allies, including Malaya. Using the Dutch East Indies as a base, supporters of the Central Powers produced “pan-Islamic, anti-British propaganda” that was sent to Muslim-majority British Malaya, and also to India. One of the architects of this plan, Max von Oppenheim, wrote in a position paper in 1914: “In the battle against England… Islam will become one of our most important weapons.” The Ottoman Sultan, Mehmed V, issued a fatwa against the Allies in November of that year. In British Malaya, the authorities doubled down on censorship by closing many Malay-language newspapers, some of which were considered supportive of the Ottoman Empire.

Pan-Islamic propaganda agitating for independence of Malaya was just as attractive to the Muslim-majority subjects of the Dutch East Indies where it was produced. In the preceding decades, these subjects had been demanding more freedoms, even independence, for themselves. This was a serious cause of concern for the Dutch colonialists, but ultimately the real impact of the war on the Dutch East Indies was economic. The Allies’ blockade of European waters, as well as control of Asian waters, made it difficult for Dutch ships to reach the colony for trade purposes.

“The Netherlands Indies was effectively cordoned off by the British Navy,” wrote Kees Van Dijk in 2008’s The Netherlands Indies and the Great War, 1914-1918. As a result, the war caused price increases and severe food shortages in the Dutch East Indies. By the end of 1916, the export industry was practically destroyed. Around that time, social unrest had gained momentum. Rural protesters burned reserve crops, eventually leading to famine in some parts of the colony. Nationalists and a small contingent of socialists began advocating for revolution. By 1918, unrest was so dire that the governor general called a meeting of the nationalist leaders where he made the so-called “November promises” of more political representation and freedom, but these were empty promises.

Economic problems were a constant throughout the region. To help pay for the war effort, the French and British were reduced to raising taxes in their Southeast Asian colonies. The burden fell mainly on the poor. Small wonder it resulted in unprecedented protests. A failed uprising took place in Kelantan, British Malaya, in April 1915. In Cambodia, the so-called 1916 Affair saw tens of thousands of peasants march into Phnom Penh demanding the king reduce taxes. None of these were exact appeals of “no taxation without representation”, but rather the germinal expressions of self-independence that were to become more forceful across the region in the 1930s, and decisive after World War II. Brian Farrell, a professor of military history at the National University of Singapore, has described the impact of the First World War on Southeast Asia as significant yet delayed.

By the close of the war, many of the colonies returned to some form of pre-war normalcy. Yet the colonial governments, indebted and weakened from the conflict, knew that reforms had to be made in Southeast Asia. In Laos, the French-run administration thought the county “secure enough” in October 1920 to introduce the first of a series of political reforms aimed at decentralising power through local appointees, wrote Martin Stuart-Fox in A History of Laos. The British authorities in Malaya also experimented with decentralisation in the 1920s, which involved placing more power in the hands of the provincial sultans. In 1916, the Jones Act was passed in Washington to begin the process of granting the Philippines a “more autonomous government”, including a parliament, which was built upon until full independence in 1946.

War also transformed the role of local elites, who took on more autonomy and power. In Vietnam, the years after 1919 saw the creation of reformist newspapers, written in the increasingly popular Vietnamese script instead of the Roman alphabet, which the French had imposed. In Cambodia and Laos, such forceful nationalism did not arise until the 1930s. Other reformists in the region grew interested in ideologies brought back from the West. The South Seas Communist Party, a pan-Southeast Asian party, was formed in Burma in 1925 before splitting along national lines in 1930. Ho Chi Minh, who spent the war in London, helped create the Communist Party of Indochina that year. Tan Malaka, who had actually tried enlisting to fight with the German army – without success – became an integral part of the communist movement in the Dutch East Indies, later becoming known as something of a father of the independent Republic of Indonesia.

World War I laid bare the unequal “social contract” that colonial authorities had forced their colonial subjects in Southeast Asia to sign. The contract would only become more obviously threadbare by the 1920s, yet it took the next global conflict, which had a far greater impact on the region than the first, for these anti-colonial movements to grab real political power.

#world war i #southeast asia: as a region #1910s #20th century

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mutenized · 5 years ago

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The Choice Bit of Calico (Chapter One)

Ship: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Characters: Thomas Shelby, Billy Kimber, Ada Shelby, Polly Shelby, Finn Shelby, Arthur Shelby, John Shelby, mentions of Freddie Thorne

Warning(s): mentions of blood, war, and violence (obviously), maybe a slow burn?, forbidden romance, inner conflict, heartache, rebellion. Intended smut. In this chapter there is a bit of time skipping; only 3 times I believe.

A/N: Choice Bit of Calico was slang in the 1920s for a desirable woman. The prologue to this series can be found HERE. HAHA two chapters in one sitting AND posting it before the original post dates? WOAAHHH. Also this one’s a long one so buckle up.

Synopsis: You are the sibling of Billy Kimber. Living with him in London, you heard of nursing classes offered at a church in Birmingham near where you and your older brother were born. It was during World War I and you wanted to do something to help the soldiers from your country as well as the allied countries. Living in your childhood home until you were sent back to London to work at the Veteran’s Hospital, you never forgot about the firey brunette who wanted to do the same as you. Keeping in touch, you both wrote letters back and forth until one fateful day you find yourself back in Birmingham, bags in hand, to take care of an ailing family member. Who knew the moment you got off the train your whole life would change?

Words: 2594

MASTERLIST

A month had passed since you arrived in Birmingham, three weeks since you started the nursing classes at the church, and two weeks since you bonded with the witty yet quick thinking brunette in the class whom you found out was named Ada. You had been partnered to evaluate one another’s quick first aid techniques when it all sparked. Taking suggestions from one another at a pub on the side of town your brother warned you to stay away from turned into meeting her younger brother Finn and Aunt Polly who lived on Watery Lane which evolved into having dinners with the three of them every Wednesday, drinks every Saturday, and breakfast every Sunday.

Ada’s family soon became your own, learning of her three brothers who were over in Europe; the oldest in the Ottoman Empire, the second oldest in France, and the last stationed in a location that was to be kept top secret. When no letters arrived in the post, you were there for the distressed duo. Whether it was help around the house as they try to find out from people in their inner circles if there were any reports of the three men to infirmaries or morgues or even keep the news away from little Finn who was only seven years of age. You found that he enjoyed helping you around in the gardens on nice days and telling you about his favorite types of horses. Though you knew nothing of the animal other than the fact they can be used in racing and that they were being overworked in London for carriage rides though cars were becoming more readily available, you listened to him jammer on and on until he became too hungry or tired to continue.

You hoped for the three of them that the three men over at war would come home safely. For the first time in ages, you prayed.

Two more months passed, and you were three months into the nursing class. Nearing the ending of the courses, it had been decided by the instructor, a nurse at one of the largest hospitals in the south, that you and Ada were both not fit for in field work but, due to both of your wonderful communication skills, that working with veterans that were in rehabilitation or facing treatments for their injuries was the best choice. Seeing that the closest veteran’s hospital was back in London, you faced conflict. Continue living in Birmingham and risk Billy finding out you aren’t finding any work in the medical field but rather conversing and being social with those you grew close to, which would result in him dragging you back to London under his supervision, or take the job that was offered to you at Imperial Order Of the Daughters Of The Empire Hospital and live on your own until the war was over and see what the future held.

Choosing to go back to London on your own accord was heartbreaking to you, it was like the last day of primary school before you were homeschooled by the tutor your brother hired. You felt as if you would never see Ada or her family again as well as the other friends you had made. On the last night before your departure, Polly had invited you over for drinks with her and Ada. Finn was at a friend’s house for the night which left the lot of you free to drink without worrying about being too loud or filtering your stories in case Finn decided to play spy in the middle of the night. With your trunk sitting by the front entrance as well as the suitcase you had brought with you, you sat around the round table with the two other women you had become so close to. They had already given you a present for good luck. A pristine nurse uniform that Polly had seen a usual at the pub’s wife wear one day as they crossed paths on the street laid unfolded on the table as the three of them admired the soon-to-be-fleeting cleanliness of it. Ada, on the other hand, had gifted you a golden locket with a photo of the two of you that a man had taken while testing out the newest camera to come out. That day you and Ada, drunk off your asses, tried to sit as still as you could as the camera process as slow as a snail. “I remember we went from The Garrison into that damned parlor. It was a fuckin’ shame we went there first. Imagine all of the drunken shopping we would’ve done.” Ada jabbed, causing you to laugh so hard you spilt your drink all over you robe.

That night, words of advice, stories of family and friends, and songs were sung until your eyes couldn’t stay open anymore. The next thing you could remember was Polly waking you up, Finn on her side with tears in his eyes. “This one was picked up this morning and wants to go with ya’ to London.” Polly smiled sullenly, your eyes softening from the groggy, hungover state they were into something more awake and less irritated. Your heart broke as you saw tears on the boy’s cheeks.

“Oh Finn, you know I’d love to take you and Pol and Ada to London with me,” You began, thumb brushing off the tears that rested on his cheeks, “But I can’t take you three, which breaks my heart. But, with you here with them, I know you’re going to protect them, right?” With a sad nod, Finn fell into your chest as he cuddles up into you one last time. It was hard saying goodbye to them, but Finn’s sadness really made the decision settle in. Pressing a kiss to the boy who you considered your little brother’s forehead, you pick him up and begin to say goodbye to Polly and Ada, sad smiles all around as you grab your trunk and suitcase. A honk sounded which signaled your exit, a final wave as you loaded your items into the car’s backseat before joining the driver in the front. “To the trains please.” You spoke, settling into the seat though it was a short ride.

4 years passed, many patients that you had helped were back finding their ways through their daily life once again. Within those four years you had always kept in touch with Ada and Polly, writing letters back and forth about what has gone on in each other’s lives. One day, a letter came for you, Ada’s flourish on the envelope. The note read:

“(Y/N),

Obviously, you’ve heard that the war’s over, thank fucking God (I don’t think I would have lasted if it went on for any longer). With that, all three brothers are home and the chaos has picked up right where it was left off. Arthur is being a dumbass, Thomas is being a hard-ass, and John is being a jackass.

I miss having you here, you’re my last hope of sanity in all honesty. I think you were Polly’s as well, having seen that I’ve been sneaking out to visit Freddie Thorne. Oh, (Y/N), I have so much I need to tell you but so little I can write without having Thomas go through my shit. Let’s hope this gets to you soon, I don’t think I’ll last in this god forsaken house one last minute with the way the ass trio continues to act.

Will you come visit soon? Did they offer you a job?

Please write back soon, it’s the only thing I look forward to now,

Ada”

Laughing at the thought of stubborn Ada dealing with her brothers, you looked around your London apartment and sighed. You had notified your brother that you were moving back to Birmingham to help with the veterans down in Small Heath. Under the guise of the hospital having a volunteer program being funded, Billy handed you over the keys before sending you out of his office. “Anything else? The races are starting soon, and this damn horse keeps fucking winning.” He had grumbled causing you to roll your eyes and head back to your own apartment to pack. Now, with the letter in your hand and the key in your jacket pocket as well as a train ticket, you grinned widely. Ada always found joy in surprises, though they were always small ones like when you sent her imported cigarettes for her birthday.

In the matter of twenty-four hours you went from living in London with a well-paying job and new experiences to living in Small Heath, Birmingham with no job, a house, and one family who cared for you. Gazing out the window of the cab you caught, you pay him the pounds before stepping out. “How much for you to help me bring the trunks inside?” You inquire, the man letting out a solid laugh, much to your misery. “Oi, I drive a cab, not own a fuckin’ moving company. Should have thought of getting one.” He spat, helping you take out the trunks you packed before speeding off. Cursing him under your breath, you used all the strength you could muster to drag the heavy trunks into the foyer and leaving them there. No way were you getting those things upstairs. Not tonight, at least. You had more important things to tend to, anyways. Like visiting Polly and Ada, hopefully. You prayed that they were at the house in Watery Lane and not out dealing with some ‘family matters’ as Ada would explain.

Finding the trunk that you had packed with clothes and shoes, you pulled out the outfit you had planned for surprising the duo. Pulling out the cornflower blue silk chiffon dress, you paired them with the white button up shoes that a soldier’s wife had gifted you for saving his life when he randomly fell ill. Tucking the locket Ada had gifted you all those years ago into the top of your dress, you quickly fixed the pattern curls of your hair before grabbing the golden compact you had carried always and key to your house. Setting down the roads as the sun was beginning to set, you noticed the abundance of men who bore flat caps that had tip’s that, when the light caught it correctly, gleamed in the light whose appearances multiplied in number the closer you drew to the house of Polly. Worry settled in but you didn’t let it phase your emotions physically.

The nerves in your stomach seemed to spread as you felt eyes on you when you walked up the steps to the house you frequented not so long ago. Either way, you knocked at the door hard enough it was heard and took a step back. Rolling on the balls of your feet, you waited for the door to open and when it did? You were met with a man who was slightly taller than you with a freckled face and striking blue eyes. Before either of you could even speak, you heard the sound of running feet across the wooden floors before seeing a taller, spritelier, Finn.

“(Y/N)! You’re back! When did you come back!?” The now eleven-year-old inquired, a grin on your face. The man in front of you seemed confused, but still never took his calculating gaze off of you. “I came in this afternoon! I’m movin’ back down to my house, remember when you and Ada came over and had a picnic in the parlor?” You grinned, the boy nodding furiously before turning to the group that had formed at the door.

“Arthur, Tommy, John! This is (Y/N), Ada’s friend! They met at those nursing classes Ada took four years ago!” Finn informed the brothers, realization coming across their face.

“(Y/N), nice to meet ya’. ‘m John, that tall, lanky one is Arthur, and the statue here is Thomas, call ‘im Tommy though. Thomas is too formal for ‘im.” The youngest out of the three, John, spoke with a smirk on his face. Moving aside, the men let you in before the eldest, Arthur, spoke up.

“So what brings ya’ back to Small Heath? Can’t be better from where you’re comin’ from.” A chuckle left his lips as you sat down at the kitchen table comfortably, too comfortable for the middle brother, Tommy’s, liking. “You know you should wait for Polly before you sit. It’s a bit rude.” His gravelly voice rang in your head and his piercing blue eyes stared into yours. You could tell he was waiting for you to submit. That wasn’t going to happen, that’s for sure.

“Oh, I’m moving back from London. Worked at Imperial Order Of the Daughters Of The Empire Hospital until about three days ago. Decided to move back here since I feel more at home here. Like seeing the horses on the street being taken care of rather than being beat down for not being fast enough at the carriage rides, you know?” You start out, focusing your gaze on Arthur who settled in his seat across from you before turning to Tommy.

“Would you like to see my correspondence with Pol, as well, Tommy? I don’t carry her notes on me but I do have them back at my house here in Small Heath. If you’d want to take a stroll with a lowly Londoner, then let it happen. Just know the days the two of them hadn’t heard anything from you lot I was here, helping around the house and with Finn,” pausing, you look between the three who seem taken aback that you didn’t crush under the gaze of Tommy who was now glaring daggers at you, “Not to say your lack or correspondence is directly your fault, but they worried. They were scared you had died and didn’t want Finn to hear the discussions of phoning local morgues that received army men’s bodies.”

Before Tommy could retort, a gasp from the front door was heard. Polly. Grinning wide, you instantly shot up from the chair you relaxed in and made your way to engulf the woman in a tight hug. With tears in your eyes, you pulled back to look over the woman with a smile. “(Y/N), what are you doing here!? I…I’m fuckin’ speechless. Does Ada know you’re here? Are you just visiting?” Her questions continued on just as Finn’s did in which you answered them all with the brightest, happiest tone in your voice. It wasn’t until her eyes locked with an annoyed Thomas that she realized she wasn’t there to greet her and neither was Ada.

“Hope they didn’t give you a hard time,” she whispered before steeling up and turning to the three men, “This is Miss (Y/N). She’s a family friend, if I hear anything about any of you thinking with your cocks and not your brains, I’ll fuckin’ beat ‘ya. She doesn’t deserve the crock of shit you three stew. Now, (Y/N), come with me. I have a lot to catch you up on.”

With that, you were guided into the parlor, unknowing to the booming business behind the curtain in the kitchen. You were also unaware of the burning blue eyes that scanned you from head to toe as you left. Another thing you were unaware of? The fact you just walked into the den of the Peaky Blinders and that you, Billy Kimber’s kid sister, were an unknown enemy by fault. This was going to become the beginning of the most trivial times.

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thebluesideofmyworld · 4 years ago

Text

The Small Things

Summary: Five times Nico gave a small thing to Will that actually meant a lot. And the one time when he gave Will something that meant the whole world to Will.

Word count: 2,500 words | Read on AO3

Author’s Notes: 1. A companion to my other fic titled The Clues. Each fic can still be read separately, though. 2. I have no idea how residency in a hospital works and I relied on Google so apologize for the inaccuracy.

***

[1. The Keychain]

Will was just going over the notes he had after the sign-out with the overnight resident. He was ready to go for his pre-round when Kayla, his fellow resident in the hospital called him.

“Will! I got something for you,” Kayla waved at him from the door.

Will raised his eyebrows questioningly at Kayla who strolled down the room to see Will.

“Do you remember that Italian guy who came here last Tuesday? Who was here panicking over his little cousin?”

Will’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean Mr. di Angelo?”

Yes. Of course Will remembered him. The Italian guy with dark eyes and dark hair, distressed over a little girl. Luckily, it wasn’t really a serious case.

Kayla nodded and hummed. “Guess what? He came back.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Wait. What? He came back? What happened?”

Will was pretty sure that the little adorable girl (she told him that her name was Estelle and she’s would be four years old next March) just had a mild sore throat. But maybe she got worse?

Kayla laughed. “Will, relax. Actually, he came here by himself.”

“Really?”

Kayla nodded again, along with a teasing smirk. “Really. So last night, he came here and stopped by the front desk receptionist. He told her to give this,” she lifted up a small, envelope-size package in brown paper. “To the, quote-unquote, the nice blond doctor who took care of his cousin last Tuesday,” Kayla made a quoting gesture with her fingers at the phrase nice blond doctor.

Will’s heart flutter as the image of the young Italian guy crossed his mind. “And that was me.”

“Yes, Will. That was you,” Kayla said. Her lips twitched as she gave the package to Will.

“Thanks, Kayla!” Will said.

“Anytime, Will,” Kayla winked, and left the room.

Will quickly opened the package. He found a small, yellow sunflower-shape keychain there, along with a small piece of paper, folded neatly. His heart fluttered pleasantly as he opened the small paper.

Estelle loves the sunflower pin that you gave her. This is just a small token to let you know how much I appreciate your help when I was panicking over her that day. Nico di Angelo

Right below the neatly written note, was a series of numbers.

***

[2. The risotto]

It has been a long day for Will. Exhausted, Will threw himself to the couch, and let out a long sigh. Closing his eyes, he relaxed, letting himself melted into his couch.

He grabbed his phone. It might not be the healthiest option to order some junk food but he was starving and he didn’t think he had the energy to prepare dinner. But before he could pull up the Uber Eat Application, a message came in.

Will’s heart did a happy little jump when he saw Nico’s name as the sender. They have been texting almost non-stop for the last three weeks, sometimes calling each other. They even went on three dates, and last night Nico gave him a ride home from their date at a small but homey deli close to the hospital.

From: Nico di Angelo Are you home?

Will quickly typed his reply.

To: Nico di Angelo Yes. Why?

From: Nico di Angelo Good. i’m at your door

Will’s eyes widened. The next second, he jumped off the couch and scrambled to the door. Once he pulled the door opened, Nico stood right in front of him.

Will leaned on the door frame, a smile bloomed on his lips.

“Hey!” He greeted Nico, unconsciously ran a hand over his head.

“You left your sweatshirt in my car last night.”

Will angled his neck a little. “Really?”

Nico hummed. “Yep. The blue one.”

Oh, yeah. Will vaguely remembered taking it off hastily when things got a bit…heated last night in the car. Heat rushed along in the back of Will’s neck as last night’s memories flashed in his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said, glancing at the square canvas bag that Nico was carrying. “You don’t have to return it now…”

“Who said I’m returning it?”

Will looked at Nico, half-bemused. “You’re not?”

Nico shook his head. “Nope. I’m keeping it. It’s so warm so I decided to keep it for myself.”

Will couldn’t help but let out a small amused snort. “I thought you’re here to return it.”

“Nope. I’m here to feed you.” Nico lifted up the canvas bag that he brought along with him. “I made risotto. My Mamma’s recipe.”

Will stared at Nico, suddenly at a loss for words. So, not just Nico was so damn attractive, he also could cook? Will had no idea how Nico was even real.

Will was probably staring at Nico for too long, as Nico finally huffed. “So. Do you want to have it for dinner or no?”

Will blinked, but then his lips quickly tugged up into a smile. His heart did another happy dancing as he opened the door wider, and let Nico in.

“I’ll set up the table for us,” Will said.

***

[3. A dog-sitting service]

“Are you sure that you’re okay doing it?”

“Oh my God, Will! Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

Will shrugged his shoulder a little as he stroked Buttercup’s head, who was snuggling next to him on Nico’s couch.

“I don’t know. I kind of think that you’re more like a cat person.”

“Well, I am. But doesn’t mean that I can’t stand dogs. In fact, I really like dogs. And Buttercup is such a good dog, aren’t you, girl?” Nico said, petting the dog. As if on cue, Buttercup sat up and barked happily. Nico laughed, and the corgi jumped to his lap.

“It’s not too much of a trouble for you, right? I mean, I know that you’re busy-“

“Will?” Nico cut him short.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up. Just go to the conference. It’s only for three days, and I know that going there is something that you’ve arranged since like, three months ago, right?”

Will nodded. He was lucky enough that the duty hours in his pediatric residency in the hospital were still bearable. But still, arranging his schedule so he could go to the conference was a bit tricky.

Nico gave him a small reassuring smile. “Will, I know that this conference is important for you. And Buttercup is also important for you. Let me help you, Will. I want you to be able to do and have things that important to you. Because you deserve that.”

Will’s heart felt too big for his chest. He wished that more people could see that even with his all-black aesthetic, Nico had the purest, softest soul.

“Thank you,” He scooted closer to Nico, and placed a quick peck on Nico’s cheek. “Do you know what else is important to me?”

“Your residency?”

Will chuckled. “Well. Yeah. Obviously. But guess what?”

“What?”

Will booped Nico’s nose. “You, are also important to me.”

Nico stared back at Will with a gentle and warm smile, and his eyes were shining. He leaned to kiss Will’s cheek. “You too, tesoro,” he said softly. “You are important to me too.”

***

[4. The pillow]

When Nico opened the door, Will beamed at him,

“So, are you ready for the ultimate experience of a Star Wars marathon?” He asked.

Nico groaned and covered his face with both hands. He pulled down his hands and shook his head. “I can’t believe that I’m dating a Star Wars geek.”

Will’s heart fluttered at the word dating. About two months ago, Will already felt a spark of attraction inside of him when Nico stepped in to the hospital, carrying Estelle with him. But he didn’t even dare to hope that the Italian guy would see him more than just a random doctor in the ER at that time. Yet, here they were now. Two months later. Dating.

Will leaned over to place a quick peck on Nico’s cheek.

“Get ready for a long night, babe” Will said as he stepped in.

He took off his shoes and left them by the wall as Nico closed the door. Will made a beeline to the living area of the apartment, and chuckled when he saw the couch. A fluffy blanket that looked comfortably warm was draped over the couch, two cushion pillows were stacked on one end of the couch. Nico has even pulled the ottoman closer to the couch so that someone could rest their legs on it while lounging on the couch. There were two bowls on the coffee table, one held some chips and the other one had popcorn in it.

“I can see that you are ready for this,” Will said.

Nico stopped right in front of the door to his bedroom and glanced at Will over his shoulder. He shrugged his shoulder. “Well, what can I say? I’m just well prepared like that,” he said. He disappeared from sight as he stepped into the bedroom.

Will threw himself to the couch and made himself comfortable there. He was pulling out his phone from his pocket when he heard Nico called his name.

“Hey, Will? I got something for you.”

Will lifted his head up, and caught a pillow that Nico threw at him. Will looked at the pillow. For a second, his eyes widened as he saw the picture printed on the pillowcase, and then he laughed.

“Awww…. You got an extra pillow for me?” Will said, hugging the pillow close to his chest. “That is sweet!”

Nico let out a small huff as he sat down next to Will on the couch. “Well, I’m guessing that at one point, you’re just going to fall asleep on the couch. So I guess, might as well make it comfortable.”

Will held his eyes at Nico who started the TV. “You know what? I have a question about that. But first, how dare you to think that I would fall asleep during a Star Wars marathon?”

Nico rolled his eyes. “You came here straight from the hospital. Your body needs the sleep, Will. And you’re still a Star Wars geek even if you fall asleep while watching the movie that you have rewatched for dozens of times.”

Will pursed his lips. “Okay. I guess you might have a point there. But also…”

Nico brushed some strands of his hair that were covering his eyes. “What?”

“Does it mean that you’re okay with me staying for the night?” Will asked, a bit carefully.

Nico made that cute small huff again. But this time, it came along a blush on his cheeks. “Well, how long do you think it would take to watch the Original Trilogy?”

“All night long,” Will answered

“Then you’ll be here all night long. Right?”

Will grinned. He placed the pillow on the couch, and wrapped an arm around Nico’s waist.

“Well, in that case,” he said, pulling Nico into his side. “Then I’ll be here with you all night long.”

Nico snuggled against Will’s side, finding a comfortable position. He mumbled something about Will being so warm.

Will held Nico just a bit tighter, and kissed his temple. “I’ll make pancakes for breakfast tomorrow,” he whispered.

They both fell asleep before they finished The Empire Strikes Back.

***

[5. the body wash]

His 15-minute break was almost over, and Will was just finished his blueberry muffin when his phone dinged, signaling an incoming message. Will picked his phone up. Without even thinking, he smiled when he saw who it was sending him a text message.

From: Nico di Angelo Guess where i am rite now

To: Nico di Angelo Where?

Just two seconds later, Nico’s reply came in. Instead of a text message, Nico sent him a picture. It was a picture of a basket with two bottles in it. Will’s eyebrows shot up as he recognized the bottles. He quickly typed another text message.

To: Nico di Angelo Wait. Are you telling me that right now you’re at Lush getting yourself the same body wash and shampoo as mine? Is that why you asked me what brand I used the other day?

This time, it took just a bit longer before Nico’s reply came in.

From: Nico di Angelo Yes, i’m at lush. but no, they’re not for me They’re for you. But I’ll put them in the bathroom in my apartment. So you can use them when you’re staying over

To: Nico di Angelo Why? you don’t want me to use yours?

Will stared at his phone. To be honest, he’s a bit confused. Like, it’s nice that Nico was getting something for him. But this time, he didn’t really understand why.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait for too long, as another message came in.

From: Nico di Angelo No, I don’t want you to use mine If you use mine you’ll smell like me. I want you to smell like you I don’t want you to be anything else but yourself

The slight frown that Will had just seconds ago quickly turned into a smile.

To: Nico di Angelo You’re sweet, you know that? Also, want to watch Attack of the Clones tonight?

That night, Will spend more time in the bathroom than he would ever admit, just staring at his new bottles of body wash and shampoo, right next to Nico’s.

***

[+1. A hand to hold]

Will took a deep breath, and slowly let it out in a long exhale. He stared at the door to the café, just a few feet away in front of him.

“Hey,” Nico tugged the sleeve of his shirt. “How are you feeling?”

Will angled his neck to look at his boyfriend, and tried to smile.

“I’m okay,” he said, and then he cringed a bit. “I mean, I’m a bit nervous… I guess? But I think I’m okay.”

Nico smiled at him and his eyes were so warm and just so beautiful. He took Will’s hand and held it, their fingers together.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine,” he said. “Hazel is going to like you.”

Will stared at the way their fingers laced together. The weight of Nico’s hand felt warm in his, and it felt like a promise that everything’s going to be just fine.

Will smiled, and brought Nico’s hand to his lips. He softly kissed the back of Nico’s hand.

“I hope so. Because I think I’m in love with his brother.”

The smile painted on Nico’s lips and his sparkling eyes were the prettiest sight that Will had ever seen. Nico tiptoed a bit, and placed a gentle kiss on Will’s temple.

“I think I love you too,” he whispered.

They walked into the café. Holding hands, they made their way to the table where Hazel was sitting who smiled brightly once she saw them. Will only let go of Nico’s hand so he could shake Hazel’s hand.

“Hi,” he greeted Hazel. “My name is Will Solace, and I’m dating your brother.”

***

Author’s Notes:

1. Thank you for reading :D 2. Any notes (likes, reblog, replies or a message to me) are cherished so much

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo fanfic #solangelo fic #solangelo oneshot #pjo #pjo fanfic

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lexifleurs-versace · 4 years ago

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The former East

As Igor Zabel writes in his book Contemporary Art Theory " the eastern artist has , in his effort to produce modern art, remained a kind of incompletely realized western artist, and thus a second class artist" or sometimes a slightly different situation where the eastern artist is seen as a "representative of a different and exotic culture". The Eastern artist, in their attempt to please the idealized West, has become either an incompletely developed Westerner or has turned their "easterness" in an exotic fiasco. In the post-Cold War period, the Eastern artist is no longer expected to be a universal artist, the eastern artist is expected to be a Polish, a Bulgarian, a Russian but never "just" an artist.

The Bulgarian contemporary artist rarely admits to have been influenced by bulgarian art and even disregards the bulgarian art. This attitude is self colonial because they are denying the importance of the cultural context that they have grown up in and are striving for these universal forms of art which in their essence are Western ideas of art. Everything on the periphery of the Western idea is seen as “the Other” and the Bulgarian artist does not want to be that Other.

In this text I am going to explore parts of that vernacular pop culture which the Bulgarian intellectual elite are trying to escape from, to be unassociated with and are trying to eliminate its presence in their identity. DRIFTING EAST CHALGA

Chalga is the Bulgarian version of the Balkan folk music known as Turbo-folk in Serbia, Laiko in Greece, Manele in Romania or Tallava in Albania. Etymologically the word “chalga” means popular entertainment music, once played in Bulgarian towns during the Bulgarian Revival under Ottoman rule by ethnically mixed instrumental bands, the so-called “chalgii��. The popular culture of chalga appeared during the "transition" period which rattled Bulgaria and other post-Soviet countries. While in ex-Yugoslavia this transition period was experienced through wars, Bulgaria's war was an economic one. A survey done by sociologist K. Kolev shows that during the transition period “65% of all people have not bought shoes or clothes in the past two years. 54% have not traveled between settlements. 20% have not bought even soap” . Amidst this national crisis I was born in an intellectuaé Bulgarian family strongly oppossed to chalga culture invested in "protecting high culture". According to Open Society foundation, around the time of my birth the situation in Bulgaria was that “76% of the people have lost their social status, both objectively and subjectively, which leads to social degradation… The people’s vault of values is emptied of meaning as well as is their psychological capacity of correctly responding and dealing with problems and the elite do not need the population, which has fallen into a state of complete exclusion and inertia." . During this turmoil chalga music is gaining traction as the "hero" of the time, an art medium which makes the Bulgarians forget the massive political issues going on. Shops are empty, protests for democracy are ongoing, organized crime is steadily entering politics and people are brutalized. There is an ongoing danger in Bulgaria, especially in the 90s, in these wretched conditions and the brutalization of people, and the relationship between “life” and “art” gives only chalga as a result. Chalga is rejected by the intellectual communities, and "high" and "counterculture", but if reflection of reality in itself is a "high" culture, then isn't chalga a paradoxical high culture in itself?

Throughout this period chalga was more attuned to the cultural, political, and societal woes of everyday Bulgarians than anything produced by the self-proclaimed intellectual tastemakers of the times. Reoccuring topics in Chalga music :

Mercedes or BMW

The presence of the importance of economical status as represented by such brands as Mercedes and BMW has been an omnipresent feature of the venucalare Bulgarian, and to some extent Balkan, culture since the 90s.After the end of the socialist era people were finally able to buy easily "western" brands. Owning "western" objects belonging to the world of capitalism before '89 was seen as an extreme luxury , objects to which only a priviliged few had access to and the free market shift made the ownership of such objects socially acceptable The western brands are the symbol of privilege and an expression of a high class status. Chalga singers dedicated songs to car brands, and if they didn't explicitly name them after a brand, they implied visually their social status by featuring Mercedes and BMW in their music videos. Thus creating a visual hegemony and an aspiration for economic stability and wealth which is what these ‘luxury’ brands represent for the masses during the transition period. In contemporary pop culture in Bulgaria one can say that the definition of success is owning a Mercedes. Usually owning a Mercedes means that the owner is someone who lives abroad - in Western Europe - and is therefore rich ( the local stereotype is that all Western Europeans are rich). It is very common that most of the people who live up to the Bulgarian dream of owning a Mercedes are working for less than the minimum wage in countries such as the UK, Germany or Switzerland , working over hours and living in horrible conditions. They save money during their stay in Europe in order to buy the shiniest and newest Mercedes or BMW so that when they come back home they can show all their neighbours how powerful and rich they are. In its essence the Mercedes is a symbol not only of a mindset developed during the 90s but can also be seen as a symbol of the social position of the Eastern European diaspora in Western Europe.

In the video clip of Nelina - Bial Mercedes / Нелина - Бял Мерцедес / ENG: White Mercedes we see the narrator, the singer Nelina, dancing in the typical lo fi, green screen 90s aesthetics setting montage and shaky low production camera footage. " A white mercedes is following me around in life and is constantly walking next to me, a white mercedes has taken my attention but love is not sold for money, I have foreign currency that I can sell but I do not sell my love for money , my mom sent me to the change bureau so that I can buy one green dollar but in the change bereau they are out of dollars ... " . The White Mercedes in this song stands for the man whose social status ranks him to have anything he desires. The Mercedes owner waves a one dollar bill at Nelina only to assert his dominance. As viewers we are confronted with different images depicting the comfort of this symbol in its making (as seen in Image 1) and we are put in front of this difficult choice that Nelina is facing. She has to make a choice - submit to the dream of the "west" , of having money , of being Western and putting aside her "easterness" but by doing so affirming even more her position as an Eastern European woman in the context of male - female relationship , or rejecting the idea of having money, as post-socialist philosophy . In this song we can see not only the inner battle of a woman struggling whether to marry a man for money, but we see the more complex relationship of former East and former West ideologies. The "West" represents the bourgeouis, who 50 years prior to this song were murdered or robbed in all post-Soviet countries, through the symbol of Mercedes and rejecting the symbol of Mercedes

represents the traditional socialist thinking which is "higher" and "devoted to the nation". But in Image 2. we see Nelina merging with the Mercedes and this can only mean that no matter what choice she makes it is evident that the symbol of Mercedes is an inevitable part of her identity.

In Rositsa Peycheva - Dai mi Tate Malko Parichki / Росица Пейчева - Дай ми тате малко парички / ENG: Daddy, give me some money 1995, Image 4. , we can see a merge between Balkan culture with the newly arrived Western culture. The five musicians playing traditional to the chalgii music instruments are fading into a highway traversed by a BMW. But in this context the musicians are not the ones seeking dominance through owning luxurious items. The musicians themselves are part of this property. The highest goal for the Balkan gasterbaiter (slang word for bulgarians who work as construction workers in Europe) is to be able to come back to their home country with an expensive car and throw a massive party in their home village. But this parties are not what a party looks like in Western Europe. These parties consist of inviting at least everyone in the village, decorating the village and inviting the most expensive orchestra, usually a Roma orchestra. The musicians play only if the audiences sticks money on their foreheads. If the money stops, the music stops. It is very common for Balkan party- goers to spend between 50euros and 4000 euros per song. Therefore Image 2. is a representation of the highest form of being the most successful, specifically gasterbaiter, Eastern European.

In Image 5: Simpatiagi - Za milioni niama zakoni /Симпатяги - За милиони няма закони / ENG : For people who have millions there are no rules 1998 we see two thugs asserting their power by standing next to their Mercedes. Here the role of the Mercedes is a little bit different. While it still represents dominance, it is a different branch of the Mercedes dream. This dream is designated for the most daring - the ones who are ready to take the once in a lifetime oppurtunity of becoming a criminal. While it is a job that hides some risks, the thugs of the 90s (as we see in the watermark of Image 5) ruled the country and potentially are in charge up to this day. The biggest barrier to becoming a Mercedes owning thug was the risk of getting shot or getting arrested in the case for those who were not so high in the hierarchal structure. The image represents essential trademarks of the Bulgarian thugs - golden chains, dark sunglasses and black clothes. And ofcourse, what is a thug without a Mercedes?

In Image 6: Tzvetelina - Sto mercedesa /Цветелина - Сто мерцедеса / ENG: One hundred Mercedes cars, 1997 we see a young beautiful woman surrounded by a rain of Mercedes. The rain of Mercedes could be seen as a substitute of the cliché rain of money. After all , anyone can have money, but not everyone has enough to buy a Mercedes. Interestingly enough, the lyrics of the song are exploring a love story and the value of the love is represented through the amount of Mercedes cars the lady owns. " 100 Mercedes, I will drive them for 100 years and a 100 men will want to marry me". In this song the Mercedes is no longer just a symbol of money. The Mercedes represents everything - it is the lover, it is the lenght of a life, it is the social position. WOMEN FOR MALE PLEASURE

In chalga music , the female singer or actress is depicted as a sexy woman whose only concern in life is how to please the men around her. The man is strong and is either a thug or tries to be one. The narrative demonstrates the power play position of the rich Balkan man and the quiet beautiful woman. She is entertaining, forgiving and sensitive. He is strong, powerful and wears gold. He has as many women as possible. The more women he has around him, the richer he appears to be.

In its essence it is a social game whose winner is the richest. This might be regarded as PTSD from the deprivation of capitalism before '89. After '89 the people who were robbed of the experience of "being unequal" could finally show that they are better than their peers. And what other way to prove your superiority but with demonstrating your wealth to acquire high status. In reality, most people in the 90s were poor but that made chalga even more attractive. It represented a sort of a dream world, a so to say collective consciousness. This person, who listens to chalga, is not a chalga celebrity such as Milko Kalaydzhiev or Kamelia , who are projections of his or her dreams. This person articulates through the language of chalga imagery but they remain his or hers best self. Chalga dictates the norms and rules of the pop culture.

The socialist parliaments in Eastern Europe included a higher number of women than those in Western Europe before ‘89. Prior to the regime change, the average percentage of women in those parliaments was 26% compared to only 12.5% in the European Union member states. After the first free elections the level of women’s representation in parliament decreased. In Bulgaria it fell down from 21% to 8.5%.

As the iron curtain fell, mysoginist came front hiding behind the idea of free speech. We can see the root of this issue in “socialist feminism” – the woman was portrayed both as a laborer and a mother thus retaining her “women” duties in her private life, while being equal on paper to her male colleagues. Even though there was a significant number of women in politics, they had almost no power and were shadowing the male leaders in their sphere. And as the transition period of the ‘90s arrived, Western feminist ideologies were seen either as a colonial power trying to impose foreign beliefs or a type of bourgeouis feminism. Thus chalga reacted as a counterculture agent trying to establish a national identity which didn’t respond to external pressure whether that be from the West or the East.

Whether chalga is one of the roots of sexism in Bulgaria or is a reflection of the already existing sexism in the country is not clear. But in contemporary culture chalga listeners preach beliefs of gender inequality. Even though men are as objectified as women in these videos, the objectification remains in the respective gender boxes. The woman must be attractive, have big breasts, wear as little clothing as possible, be submissive even if she is portrayed as strong and independent. She is suffering for she can not live without the male character. The man must be strong, he must display his financial status through cars and gold, he is in power even when he is weak or dependent. He is suffering for the female character but usually forgets about her because he can have any girl he desires. It is a sort of power play between emotional and financial dominance.

IMMIGRATION / EUROPE

The most traumatic topic for Bulgarians today is emmigration. From a population of roughly 9million in 1989 to roughly 7 million in 2019, Bulgaria faces one of the biggest population declines that are not caused by a war. Most Bulgarians aspire to live abroad as they know that this is the only way to self-realisation. The immigration process has become even easier after 2007 (the year Bulgaria became part of the European Union) as visas were no longer required to live in the EU. Chalga music, as the trustworthy mirror it has proven to be, has taken this topic at heart and has a wide range of music clips tackling this issue.

In Kali - Shengen / Кали - Шенген, 2000 , we see a fictive Shengen border which is guarded by two border police men . They are playful but at the same time are strict and do not allow the Bulgarians to enter Shengen. Even though the song was created for parties, it has a strong political message. " Will I manage to get in Shengen? Can I be a European member?" is part of the refrain. Alongside the video , the Shengen song represents one of the biggest political questions at the time. The Eastern European who is wondering whether they are good enough for the Europeans, whether they are savage or civilised, and their worth is measured by their status in the EU. Some of the characters in the video are represented by "european looking" Bulgarians, whilst others dressed in the traditional Bulgarian clothes represent what needs to be eliminated from Bulgarian culture in order to be seen as worthy. The characters trying to pass the border are performing different tricks for the border police and their

entry is based on the entertainment value of their performance. The Eastern European is seen as the one who is invited only if they play by the rules and marginalized if she/he demonstrated their culture too much. The invitation is conditional.

In Lia - Mitnichariu/ Лия - Митничарю / ENG: Borderpolice, 2001 we see a beautiful young lady stuck at a border point. She is begging the policemen to enter their country whilst offering them different types of bribes. She drives an expensive car, which means that she has been working abroad and now wants to go back home. The border police do not allow people with expensive cars to pass the border without taking a bribe, even today. The lyrics of the song " give him 200 deutsche marks, he is human after all and he needs money to buy cigarettes" are giving a sort of innocence to the act of corruption. Lia is normalizing the corruption culture but she is also giving a voice to the Bulgarians who live abroad and experience this border police reality. Rather than describing a fictional situation, Lia is addressing an actual issue . She is not trying to take a political stance i.e. fight corruption, but rather is trying to deal with immediate corrupted regulations .The Bulgarian doesn't want to be involved in changing the country, they know it is not possible. The Bulgarian wants to get rid of the bureaucratic situation as fast as possible and knows the cost of it. The individual wants to give the money required and go home to see their family as fast as possible because they have only a few days off from work in the West. In a few days they will have to drive another 1000 km to go back to Western Europe and continue working. The border police is just one of the many obstacles on the journey. The Bulgarian knows that if he refuses to pay the bribe there will be greater consequences, even if he has not done anything illegal. Mitnichariu is a song which I listen to every time I am faced with Balkan border police, it gives assurance that I am not the only one experiencing this injustice and it gives me hope that these thug policemen are eventually going to let me through the border.

The border is a mythical location. It is a place where anything it can happen. For the border police it is a sort of cash machine. Refering to my own experience during the summer of 2020 I was asked for my car insurance at the border between Montenegro and Croatia. I gave them my international insurance which explicitly covers Montenegro. The borderpolice said it is not possible to pass through unless I buy their insurance and claimed that mine was invalid. After arguing for twenty minutes, one of the border police gave me 3 choice : buy their insurance, get arrested or go back to Croatia. When I bought their insurance at the price of 15 euros and hurried to enter Montenegro, I saw that document they gave me said One Week Insurance for Belarus. An elaborate scheme for taking bribes through a company in another country. Technically, this insurance was worthless, unless I went to Belarus in the upcoming days. This is just one of the many examples of the cash machine which Balkan borders can be. In the video clip of Lia we can see an exploration of this topic through her personal experience, which even though personal can be relatable for any Eastern Europeans who has had to pass through the Balkans by car.

Even though there are other visual culture references in chalga music , I have decided to focus in this text on the holy trinity of the chalga person - cars, women and Europe. heteronormativity

To end this visual analysis of chalga we must have in mind that the music in its essence is Orientalist but it is not the Saidian concept of Orientalism. Bulgaria does not have the colonial history which Europe has with Oriental culture but was rather under Ottoman rule for 500 years up until the late 19th century which makes orientalism a big part of the Balkan identity. The orientalism of chalga helps the listener to break free from the cultural elite formed during Soviet times and it can been seen as a tool to decolonize the national identity from Western culture. Rather than mocking “Eastern” values which are seen as uncivilized or backward in the eyes of Western Europe, the sultans and sheiks are transformed in a treasure vault mocking the Western ideals. They have been transformed in mafia businessmen, luxury capitalist gods, and the target of irony , even if not conscious, are the dreams connected to the Western life.

__________________

Bibliography:

Igor Zabel - Contemporary Art Theory

Rosemary Statelova - The Seven Sins of Chalga

Boris Groys- The Total Art of Stalinism: Avant-Garde, Aesthetic Dictatorship, and Beyond

Boryana Rossa - The Tree of Bulgarian artists

Vesa Kurkela - Balkan Popular Culture and the Ottoman Ecumene: Music, Image, and Regional Political Discourse

Rory Archer - Assessing Turbofolk Controversies: Popular Music between the Nation and the Balkans.

Reference links:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kv18ZnLFQBc - Bial Mercedes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5dJVFoXzL4 - 100 Mercedesa

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvjzB3zQDRg - Dai mi tate malko parichki

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVMTaIIFQgQ - Za milioni niama zakoni

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZtN1Fu_G6I - Mitnichariu

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwzVGVjtAIs - Shengen

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scrapironflotilla · 5 years ago

Text

Anzac is so much more than Gallipoli

Another Anzac day has come around and with the lock-downs and global pandemic it seemed like it would be different. But having a listen to the news or a quick scroll through the other blue hellsite, F*c*b**k, it looks like this Anzac Day is more similar than different. The reverence, the mystique and the myths are all still there, with a massive dose of social media self indulgence. So I’ll probably stay away from that today and instead talk about some history.

I don’t have a favourite aspect of the Anzac legend. I don’t think I even can. The very concept of the Anzac Legend bothers me. This is our recent history. Its members, who have all died, are still within living memory of many millions of people. The events are so well documented that we can follow some of them minute by minute in the diaries, letters and reports created by the participants. I understand the desire to turn these stories into legend and myth, especially in a country like Australia after the war and certainly in the last decades of the 20th century.

I understand how the virtues and values of the AIF made for such fertile imaginative ground in an inter-war world. The romance of war, lost on the battlefields of Europe and the Middle East, was much harder to destroy far away in the colonies, where people experienced little hardship compared to those on the continent.

I understand how and why the AIF became a legend. But I don’t think I can believe in it.

But what does it matter if I believe in it or not? It’s important to tens of millions of Australians and the government tightly controls public commemoration and the Anzac brand. The military indoctrinates its members with to strive for an unattainable Anzac perfection. A newly minted army officer once told me that during his training his instructors had screamed at these cadets, ranting at them about how unworthy they were, how they could never live up to the Anzac reputation and how they could never lead a digger.

It draws hundreds of thousands every 25 April to dawn memorial services across the world, in events whose gravitas and sombre communion even I can’t deny. It’s this secular religion that makes the legend a reality that we have to contend with. The history may vary widely from the myth, but the myth is potent enough and popular enough to be able to divorce itself from the past. “The AIF”, historian Peter Stanley points out, “has become revered as [our] romantic nationalist mystique”.

The last two or three decades has seen a steady dismantling of the Anzac legend, at least in academic circles. All its basic tenets of natural fighting prowess, mate-ship, equality and the rest have been questioned, criticised and reassessed. But this new understanding hasn’t moved far beyond academia. The short spike in Anzac TV series during the centenary showed the same romantic tragedy and nationalist triumphalism. Popular histories from the 50s and 60s were reprinted and a new slew of books turn up on shelves, from children’s books to all kinds of history and dozens of romance novels. The legend remains deeply entrenched in the Australian imagination. Little in the popular realm even attempts to challenge it in light of new understanding. Even for those in academia the revision of that history has produced harsh reaction from the right, I’m exactly one of those “cadre of academics” associated with those elite, Canberra institutions, that noted crank Bendle talks about there. But that’s the strength of this legend. Its followers take any attempt to examine it and broaden it as denigration. Lest anyone think I’m exaggerating here, just have a look at what happened to ABC presenter Yassmin Abdel-Magied after she tweeted the words “LEST.WE.FORGET. (Manus, Nauru, Syria, Palestine...)” on Anzac Day 2017. She was attacked by the press and government ministers and bombarded with rape and death threats. There’s no doubt much of the faux outrage was inspired by racism and misogyny, but you don’t even need to attack Anzac, but merely recognise that Australia’s history is less than perfect, to be met with a violent, histrionic reaction.

To imagine that the Anzacs were perfect, individually and as a whole, is wilful delusion. They were men and as such fallible. It is no dishonour or disrespect to recognise their humanity in all its complexities. We must know and understand their failures, their embarrassments and their crimes (for they are many and varied) to better place their successes, victories and virtues. To deify them and to force them to represent only what was best, without recognising the fullness of their character, good and bad, robs them of the complexity of their own stories. It robs them of their humanity and us of our history. But while I struggle with the Anzac Legend, I also think there are some little stories that deserve better recognition.

The Anzac mythology upholds a very particular character as representative of the AIF, but little about this legend is uniquely Australian. The language used to express the values, that of the larrikin, the digger and above all else mateship, may be particularly Australian but the values are not. Irreverence and camaraderie are close to universal.

These aren’t values to be denigrated in any way. But they’re representative of most militaries in war. But the AIF did have a character unique to the Australian experience. Much is made of the fact that the AIF was an entirely volunteer organisation. From a population of fewer than five million more than 330,000 men and women served in its ranks between 1914 and 1918. Conscription was put to the people in referenda twice and twice it was defeated. People joined the AIF for the duration of the war. Few pursued careers in the military and although many had prior service it was in the militia, the part time army.

The ranks were filled from the cities, the suburbs and the bush by civilians. Even the officer corps was fleshed out by the professional and middle classes of lawyers, bankers, teachers and the like. These men saw themselves not as regular soldiers, but as civilians in uniform. They saw their role as merely a job, not a calling. They were there to fight the war, to defeat Germany, or the Ottomans, and to go home and back to the farm or the factory.

Australia had one of the strongest trade union and labour movement in the world in the early 20th century. It was the first country to vote a labour government into office and ideas of unionism, collective bargaining and fair work practices were strong in the minds of many working Australians. The language they used and the tactics they employed to deal with the discipline and hierarchy of the military demonstrates just how powerful these beliefs were. Soldiers routinely referred to their officers as their boss, refused orders they thought were unfair and protested their ill treatment by military authorities. They released soldiers imprisoned under field punishment, refused to salute officers and rejected the distinction between officers and other ranks imposed by the British army. They went into clubs, restaurants and hotels set aside of officers, believing strongly that they had the right to drink or eat where they chose.

They took strike action when they felt too much was asked of them, when they were refused rest or when they felt hard done by. When battalions were to be broken up due to lack of replacements in 1918, they mutinied. Refusing orders to disband, they ‘counted out’ senior officers sent to negotiate with them. Counting out consisted of soldiers on parade counting down from ten to one, before shouting a final obscenity at the officer concerned. It was a powerful form of insubordination that humiliated officers when it occurred.

In autumn 1918, after months without leave, Australian battalions took to strike action when they were ordered back into battle. After being promised a fortnight’s rest they were ordered back to the front for an offensive after just a few days. Unhappy troops - veterans, mostly - refused to move. The battalions were well understrength after months of fighting and the men felt they had been lied to, that they had sacrificed enough and that they were being overused. The soldiers took action in the way they knew how. They shot no officers and destroyed no property. For men used to fighting for their rights in the workplace it was natural that they would turn to collective action in trade union style.

(Ex-union organiser and Labor prime minister Billy Hughes, seen here with some of his beloved men. Hughes was a favourite of the Australian troops who dubbed him ‘the Little Digger’)

And so it was in the 15th Brigade, under the command of Harold Elliot. Called Pompey by him men he was a courageous and fatherly figure, both liked and respected by the men under his command. It was his unique character that allowed Pompey to negotiate with his men, although rant and then plead were the words used by diarists, and convince them to follow his orders. Other officers, less well known and less admired by their men failed in similar efforts.

The civilian attitudes made them difficult soldiers to discipline. The standard punishment of the army, called ‘field punishment’ was particularly odious to Australians. Field punishment consisted of being bound to an object, a post or a wagon or gun carriage in the open for a number of hours. Due to the danger of artillery this punishment was not just humiliating but also potentially fatal. Diaries and letters from soldiers are full of stories about field punishment. They usually tell of Australian troops coming across British soldiers undergoing field punishment and freeing them, fighting with guards and military police.

There was a powerful resistance to the dehumanising and anti-individualising aspect of military discipline and authority. The AIF by and large saw themselves as civilians first and soldiers second. They understood the need for discipline and obedience and as more than one Australian noted “we have discipline where it matters”, on the battlefield. But the trappings of military culture and authority were repellent to the Australian working man. Strict obedience to hierarchy and the seemingly pointless requirements of military discipline were not only alien to Australians but went against their own values. Mutual respect was the key to the AIF as most of its officers discovered.

This side of the AIF, the strength of its civilian values is one that ought be remembered and celebrated in Anzac. The ideas from the labour and union movements, the fair go and mutual respect deserve a place alongside mateship and the larrikin as part of Anzac. The men who fought for the eight-hour work day and living wages were the same men who filled the ranks of the AIF and who fill Australian cemeteries in Europe and Turkey.

This is a part of the Anzac story that deserves a better place in our telling of it.

#anzac day #anzac #australian army #wwi #ww1

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mishinashen · 4 years ago

Photo

Home Again by James Collinson, 1856

Home Again was painted in the final year of the Crimean War. The British Public had followed the two-year conflict between Britain and Russia in the popular press; with this painting Collinson satisfied the demand for staged homecomings.A weary soldier wearing the uniform of the Coldstream Guards is returning home to his rural cottage. When it was first exhibited a quotation beside the painting explained that the soldier had been discharged because of an accident leading to blindness. As a consequence, the family now faced a bleak future.

'Home Again' was exhibited in 1857 just one year after the Crimean War had finished and viewers who saw the picture then would immediately have grasped the full meaning of Collinson's work. However, much of the force of Collinson's narrative, relying as it does on details and allusions which were undoubtedly familiar to mid-nineteenth-century eyes, is lost on present day gallery-goers.

In March 1854 Britain had declared war on Russia over what she considered Russia's unprovoked aggression against her ally Turkey and which had its roots in a dispute over who should have the guardianship of Christian shrines in Palestine. In July 1853 Russia had invaded Moldavia and Wallachia, two provinces of the Ottoman Empire, and then in the following November had sunk the Turkish fleet. She thereby made plain that her ambition was to eventually gain control of the Bosphorus and the Dardenelles so that her navy could have unhindered access to the Mediterranean from the Black Sea. Britain saw the Russian navy as a threat to her supremacy in the Mediterranean, but it was the Russian refusal to move out of Moldavia and Wallachia, even in the face of a British and French naval threat in the Black Sea, which led to the formal alliance of Britain and France (with, later, Turkey) followed by the outbreak of hostilities with Russia.

By the time peace was proclaimed in April 1856 the British public had been exposed to some of the realities of a foreign war in a way that had never before happened in the country's history. Two important factors contributed to this state of affairs: the presence of a reporter - William Russell from The Times - in the field meant that there were frequent accounts in the daily press of both the appalling conditions endured by the soldiers in the extremes of the Crimean summer and winter and also just how badly the war was being managed by the Government back home; and then the existence of the weekly paper The Illustrated London News ensured that images of the landscape, the battles and the military commanders were easily accessible to the public for more or less the entire duration of the conflict. The public thirst for news and impressions of the war was also satisfied by a number of exhibitions and panoramas (for example, those at the Gallery of Illustration in Regent Street and Burford's Panorama in Leicester Square in which the displays showing the progress of the allied armies were periodically updated).

The war was dominated by the allies' year long siege of the Russian naval base at Sebastopol which lasted from September 1854 until September 1855 - a period which embraced victories at the Battles of the Alma and of Balaklava. An idea of just how much impact the war made on the home public at the time can perhaps be gauged by the extent to which there are still reminders of it surviving to this day. For example, the Balaklava helmet - a woollen covering for the head and neck worn by soldiers camped out on the plain near the village of that name; William Russell's description, in a dispatch in The Times of 25 October 1854, of the 93rd Regiment in action at Balaklava as a 'thin red streak tipped with a line of steel' is perpetrated in the 'thin red line' commonly used when pinpointing a battle front on a map; the modern profession of nursing was created by Florence Nightingale in her hospital for soldiers at Scutari; the order for valour, the Victoria Cross, was instituted by Queen Victoria in 1856, and until 1942 its bronze cross was made from the metal of guns captured at Sebastopol; and the Battle of Alma is commemorated in the names of streets, terraces and public houses in London and elsewhere in England. The most famous piece of literature inspired by the war is, of course, Alfred Tennyson's 'The Charge of the Light Brigade', published a few weeks after the occasion on which the Brigade had been all but wiped out at Balaklava. Rather less well known is the debt owed by Charles Dickens's extraordinary creation of the Circumlocution Office in Little Dorrit (published from 1855) to the revelations about the inefficient workings of the War Office brought to light by an official commission of enquiry into the conduct of the war.

Engaging as it did the full attention of a patriotic public the Crimean campaign presented a wealth of opportunities - for artists to exploit - from the production of portraits of the leading politicians and officers involved in the conflict to the rendering of battlefield topography. Some, for example William Simpson (1823-99) and E.A. Goodall (1819-1908), actually received commissions early on to travel to the Crimea so they could send back drawings to London - in Simpson s case for the dealer Colnaghi who published prints after his work and in Goodall's case for The Illustrated London News. In February 1855, in a collaboration between the dealer Agnew and the Government, the photographer Roger Fenton (1819-69) who had trained as a history painter, left for the Crimea in order to provide a record of the war which would - so the authorities hoped - counterbalance Russell's pessimistic account of affairs. Some of his prints formed the basis of engravings in The Illustrated London News but towards the end of 1855, after Fenton had come back, Agnew's started selling them to the public - more than three hundred images being made available in this way. The great revelations provided by Fenton's photographs (though he was only one of a number of war photographers) were, firstly, the vast scale of the destruction wrought by modern military bombardments and, secondly, the fact that the conventional view of battles purveyed by history painters - where perfectly kitted-out armies charged in ordered lines - was false. Nevertheless,. Edward Armitage (1817-96), an established history painter, was to be commissioned by the dealer Gambart to visit the battlefields at Balaklava and Inkerman in order that he might recreate on canvas appropriately heroic views of the British actions there. They were duly put on public display to some acclaim, along with other Crimean views by Simpson, at Gambart's Gallery in Pall Mall in March 1856 (Critic, 15 March 1856, p.156 and Jeremy Maas, Gambart, Prince of the Victorian Art World, 1975, p.79).

Predictably enough, not only because it was the largest of the London picture shows, but also because historically its role was one of promoting a national school of history painting, the Royal Academy exhibitions during the war years provide an accurate barometer of how strongly artists responded to the challenge presented by the war. And so, in 1855, there were seventeen painters and sculptors who dealt with the subject, in 1856, thirteen and then, in 1857, only seven. Collinson's 'Home Again' has to be set within the context of work exhibited here and elsewhere, and also alongside other pictures which had the war as their inspiration.

First to be considered - because they formed the earliest graphic commentary on the war - must be the cartoons which started appearing in the weekly journal Punch from early 1854 onwards. Frequently comparable in their bite to Dickens's satire in Little Dorrit, their subject - just as in 'Home Again' - was often the lot of the simple soldier: John Leech's picture of two raggedly clad privates camped out in a snowswept plain and their conversation - '"Well, Jack! Here's good news from Home. We're to have a Medal". | "That's very kind. Maybe one of these days we'll have a coat to stick it on"' - was a pithy comment on the plight of the expeditionary force (Punch, 17 Feb. 1855, p.64). Other Punch drawings by Leech, 'Britannia Taking Care of the Soldiers' Children' (4 March 1854, p.85) and 'For the Soldiers' Children' (6 May 1854, p.184), or by other artists, 'The Soldier's Dream' (5 April 1854, p.130), 'Sebastopol - A Prayer for the Brave' (30 Sept. 1854, p. 127) and 'Britannia Takes the Widows and Orphans of the Brave under her Protection' (21 Oct. 1854, p.161), represent a potent distillation of a national as well as a private sense of grief about the effects of war and underline the fact that more substantial images on the same theme, such as C.W. Cope's 'Consolation' (RA 1855, no.69, oil on canvas, 700 x 590, 17 x 20, Christie's 1 Nov. 1985, lot 72, repr.) and F.G. Stephens's similar but unexhibited 'Mother and Child' of about the same date (Tate Gallery, N04634) are not to be dismissed as mere products of Victorian sentimentality.

For those easel painters who, like Collinson, Cope and Stephens, remained at home, two of the most obvious war subjects available to them were those which touched upon the themes of what might be broadly termed 'news from the front' and 'the returning soldier'. Not surprisingly, given their early hopes that their combined aims of absolute truth to nature and utter sincerity of purpose would imbue their treatment of modern life subjects with the power of 'turning the minds of men to good reflections' (J.E. Millais to Mrs Combe, 28 May 1851, quoted in J.G. Millais, The Life and Letters of Sir John Everett Millais, 1899, I, p.103), some of the members of the by then dispersed Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, one of whom, of course, was Collinson (another being F.G. Stephens), as well as others from their immediate circle who sympathized with their aims, were quick to test the potential of Crimean subject matter in precisely these two areas.

Among the very earliest and most notable of those pictures in the first category was Ford Madox Brown's 'An English Fireside in the Winter of 1854-5' which was first exhibited in Paris in 1855 and then again at the Liverpool Academy in 1856 (270). This shows an officer's wife, her sleeping child lying across her lap, pausing as she sews, engrossed in thoughts of her husband (whose portrait lies on the table beside her) at Sebastopol (Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, oil on panel 310 x 200, 12 x 8; repr. Art Journal, 1909, p.251). It was an idea which Brown had developed in the spring of 1855, just as the final assault on Sebastopol was beginning to gain momentum, out of an earlier, similar, composition (see Mary Bennett, Ford Madox Brown, 1821-1893, exh. cat., Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool 1964, p.18 no.24). What elevates Brown's small picture above any other work inspired by the war is its successful projection of the idea of uncertainty. By contrast, the two pictures by Cope and Stephens already referred to, which might be regarded as sequels to the episode depicted by Brown, are inevitably less satisfactory because they show that moment after the news of a husband's and father's death has arrived: the tension has snapped because grief in all its fullness is displayed.

One artist in the Pre-Raphaelite circle, Arthur Hughes (1832-1915), felt sufficiently strongly about the effects of the war at this time to not only treat the subject but also to contribute his painting to the Patriotic Fund Exhibition in time for its opening in March 1855 - where it was to be sold for the benefit of orphans and widows of soldiers and sailors. The picture, now lost, but described as a small oil sketch, showed a soldier coming back to his wife and child, and apparently resembled Millais's 'The Order of Release' (Tate Galley, N01657) in its composition (Spectator, 31 March 1855 p.344). With the siege of Sebastopol over in the following September and the war officially finished in April 1856, the same subject acquired a new significance because the entire Crimean army was soon on its way back to England. The first painting in the genre (in which Hughes might perhaps be regarded as a pioneer in this instance) to actually catch the eyes of the critics was by yet another artist who sympathized with the Pre-Raphaelites, Joseph Noel Paton (1821-1901), who exhibited 'Home' at the Royal Academy in 1856 (35; untraced). This showed a corporal in the Guards who has just returned to his cottage; he has lost his left arm and, exhausted by his journey, has slumped onto a chair to be embraced by his kneeling wife while his mother weeps upon his shoulder. Described by John Ruskin as a 'most pathetic and precious picture' ('Academy Notes, 1856', E.T. Cook and A. Wedderburn, eds, The Works of John Ruskin, XIV, 1904, p.150), a print after it appeared in the following November (mezzotint by H.T. Ryall; An Alphabetical List of Engravings Declared at the Office of the Printsellers' Association, London 1847-1891, 1892, p.171, records that it appeared in an edition of 1,775 impressions) and Queen Victoria commissioned a replica (Oliver Millar, The Queen's Pictures, 1977, p.184, pl.219). Within a few weeks of the appearance of Paton's picture, Ford Madox Brown was considering a more pathetic variation on the theme though, in the end, it was never worked up into a finished picture: '... three figures, to be called "How it was", a youth quite a boy home from the Crimea with one arm, narrating to a poor young widow "how it was", a young girl, his sister, hugging him' (Virginia Surtees, ed., The Diary of Ford Madox Brown, New Haven and London, 1981, p.178, entry for 19 July 1856).

One final, initially very different, view of the returning soldier but one which in its changed state acquired the greatest popularity in its day must be mentioned here. John Millais, perhaps owing some debt to the satire of his great friend Leech, set out to deal with the privileges enjoyed by the officer class. He found a good subject in the scandal surrounding those who had excused themselves from further active service in the Crimea on the grounds of having 'urgent private affairs' to attend to back home. The contrasting total lack of similar rights for the humble private was illuminated by Punch in its cartoon 'The New Game of Follow my Leader' in which the infantryman is shown asking his general 'May me and these other chaps have leave to go home on urgent private affairs' (24 Nov. 1855 p.209). Millais showed 'a young officer ... being caressed by his wife and their infant children were themselves the laurels which he ought to be gathering'. However, with the coming of peace and the satire thus misplaced, Millais had to revise the composition: the officer was instead shown weakened by the effects of a wound, reading, with his wife, the news of the cessation of hostilities as printed in The Times, and the composition was entitled 'Peace Concluded' when exhibited at the 1856 Academy (no.200; now Minneapolis Institute of Art; repr. Geoffroy Millais, Sir John Everett Millais, 1979, p.56; see also, W. Holman Hunt, Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, 1905, II, p.105 and Virginia Surtees, op.cit., p.169, entry for 11 April 1856). Extravagantly praised by Ruskin, the work was one of the pictures of the year at the Academy and Millais's name has helped ensure that it is the only image from the war years to have achieved any sort of lasting fame.

At the opposite extreme, in subject matter, in the depth of feeling which seems to underly its conception, and in the critical reception accorded to it, is Collinson's 'Home Again'. Dated 1856 but not exhibited until the Spring of 1857 it must be numbered among the last of those paintings which owed their inspiration directly to the spirit of the times - and which, no doubt, the artist hoped would help sell his picture. But 'Home Again', far from being an isolated response to the war on Collinson's part, actually seems to represent the culmination of his efforts to produce a substantial image incorporating his thoughts about the war. In the spring of 1856 he had exhibited a picture entitled 'A Man Who Has Been with Death' at the National Institution of Fine Arts (349, untraced). It must have been a small work since it was only priced at fifteen guineas and it is quite conceivable that a painting Collinson exhibited at the Liverpool Academy later that year, 'A Crimean Hero' (790, untraced), for sale at twelve guineas was the same work under a different title. Whether or not this was the case, there can be little doubt that in the latter instance at least, the artist's subject must have been a soldier back from the war - the central theme, of course, of T04105. Alongside this, another work by Collinson which has survived should be considered for it too has a direct bearing on 'Home Again'. Once again a small work, in oil on panel, 270 x 215, 10 3/8 x 8 1/2, it is signed and dated 1856 and is prominently inscribed 'Siege of Sebastopol | by an eye witness' (Christopher Forbes and Andrea Rose, The Art and Mind of Victorian England, exh. cat., University of Minnesota Art Gallery 1974, pp.31-2, repr., and also Sotheby's Belgravia, 9 April 1980, lot 18, repr. in col.). It depicts two young boys playing: one, on top of a mangle, attempts to repel the other who, grasping its handle, is about to set the mangle in motion and so topple his opponent off his perch. On the wall behind them is a print, the subject of which - a guardsman bayonetting his enemy - sombrely echoes the boys' horseplay; the print bears the word 'ALMA' and then a sign just above this print notes, in words which both pinpoint the actual domestic circumstances in which the boys live and at the same time act as an incisive commentary on the separate images of conflict which Collinson has shown, 'MANGLING | DONE HERE'. The irony employed here suggests that the picture could well have been the work exhibited by Collinson at the Liverpool Academy, also in 1856, under the title of 'Children at Play' (774, price £36.15.0).

Clearly, the 'Sebastopol' painting is a first idea, and is used virtually unaltered, for the left-hand group in 'Home Again', but this time the boy on top of the mangle holds aloft the Royal Standard, out of reach of his assailant, the print on the wall beyond shows a more clearly defined, though unidentified, battle scene and the 'mangling' notice has gone. Below them, sitting on the floor and leaning against a tub in which two toy warships float, is a third child who, nursing a grazed knee, has also been involved in this childish scrap.

The motif of children acting out more serious adult preoccupations in their play is a device which Victorian painters frequently used to provide a commentary on the abiding weaknesses and irresponsibilities of humanity in general. An obvious parallel with 'Home Again in this respect is found in William Mulready's 'The Convalescent from Waterloo' of 1822, where a wounded soldier is faced by the sight of two boys scrapping (Victoria and Albert Museum; see Marcia Pointon, Mulready, exh. cat., Victoria and Albert Museum 1986, p.128 no.108, pl.XXVII). In T04105 the universal truth expressed, so far as the inevitability and folly of war is concerned, is given further weight by the reminders - in the Royal Standard, the royal crest on the stoneware jug next to the tub and the model of the British Lion on the mantelpiece - that patriotism too, plays a part in the shaping of men's ambitions.

Collinson's audience would have had little difficulty in picking up these points and even if there is still the whiff of the studio about the picture (for example, the lantern and the tartan rug slung over a washing line are props used by the artist in 'The Writing Lesson', RA 1855, no.321; Christie's 24 June 1983, lot 13, repr.) the meticulous attention to detail as well as overall concern for authenticity in those areas where the artist's public would quickly identify any solecism do demand our attention. The returning soldier is tanned and bearded - a characteristic of the Crimean veterans which was commented upon by the press at the time. His red coatee, with its dark blue collar and cuff facings, pewter buttons in pairs and white epaulette with its loose tassels and the dark blue field service cap with its white piping (known as the 'Albert Bonnet' after Prince Albert, its designer) single him out as a private in the Coldstream Guards. In a touch that is intended to add further pathos to the scene Collinson has indicated on the soldier's right sleeve four chevrons for good conduct; and pinned to his left breast is a silver medal on a crimson ribbon which is the Long Service and Good Conduct Medal (Army) instituted in 1830 and awarded to soldiers who, in the case of the infantry, had served for twenty-one years (the compiler is indebted to Mrs Daphne Willcox of the National Army Museum for kindly supplying this information).

Collinson's hero would have been in the 1st Battalion of the Coldstream Guards, one of the three Guards battalions (the others being the Grenadiers and the Scots Fusiliers) which served in the Crimea. The first draft left London, before hostilities began, on 14 February 1854 and the arrival of the sixth and last draft in the Crimea on 1 March 1856 brought the total number of Coldstreams who served in the war to two thousand and sixty. According to a survey of the occupations held by the men at the time of enlistment, of the total about seventy-five per cent were agricultural labourers and Collinson accurately reflects this by setting his scene in what is obviously a rural cottage. The Battalion finally embarked from the Crimea on board HMS Agamemnon on 4 June 1856, arriving at Spithead twenty-four days later and then travelled by train to their camp at Aldershot. The triumphal entry into London of all the Guards who had seen war service took place on 5 July when they marched from Nine Elms Station over Vauxhall Bridge, along Pall Mall and then via Buckingham Palace to Hyde Park, led by the Grenadiers marching to the tune of 'See the Conquering Hero Comes'. The seven Guards Battalions mustered in Hyde Park where the salute was taken by Prince Albert and where they were mobbed and cheered by the proud and patriotic citizens of London. Overshadowing the thrilling spectacle was the grim fact that three hundred and ninety officers and more than twenty thousand non-commissioned officers had not returned and nearly fifteen thousand men had been invalided during the course of the war. Of the Coldstream Guards, the central figure in 'Home Again', who is apparently blind, would have been one of the one hundred and eleven men discharged from the army on account of their disabilities (information from Col. Ross of Bladensburg, CB, The Coldstream Guards in the Crimea, 1897). None of these men would have been in the victory parade and although the guardsman here, with his long service medal, would have received a pension, his prospects were indeed bleak: he would be excluded from any further useful employment unlike those veterans who suffered the commonest disability inflicted by the war - loss of limbs, through cannon shot. 'Many of these men', pointed out an earlier writer, 'although unfit for military service, are quite capable of duties where steady habits of discipline, trustworthiness and obedience are required ... they are well suited to act as watchmen, gatekeepers, porters or warehouse keepers, and as porters in attendance upon passengers at railways would be highly useful ... We are glad to learn that every opportunity of employing them in the Royal Parks will not be forgotten' (Illustrated London News, 10 March 1859, p.238).

Few critics noticed 'Home Again' when it was exhibited: the Society of British Artists rarely attracted any sustained attention from the press and the subject was by now, anyway, rather too familiar. The Spectator thought it a work 'containing a good deal of matter, clearly if not strongly presented' (28 March 1857, p.343) while the Art Journal described it as 'full of appropriate material very minutely executed' (vol.3, May 1857, p.144). The most extended and adverse comment appeared in the Literary Gazette. It was, the critic wrote,

a picture which has manifestly cost the author much patient and careful thought, and the amount of success accomplished is by no means inconsiderable. The subject is trite to weariness ... nor is the treatment of a character to redeem the picture from the usually homely type. Here are the stock members of the family group which have figured in every similar scene from Wilkie's [Blind] Fiddler downwards; and it is only upon another version of this oft told tale that the ingenuity of the composer has been employed. For the careful, painstaking and modest manner, however, in which the attempt has been carried out, much praise is due to the artist. (4 April 1857, p.330)

'Home Again' was at one time owned by a prominent Liverpool businessman, Samuel Stitt (1816-98) who made his fortune as an iron merchant and shipowner. Very probably Stitt acquired the picture directly from the artist (it was for sale for £150 at the SBA) though the earliest indication of it having been in his collection is found in an advertisement for the sale of the contents of his house in the Liverpool Daily Post for 19 September 1898 (p.4). As a religious and benevolent man and also as a politician of a radical persuasion (he had been an active member of the Anti-Corn Law League) he may well have viewed the Crimean war with particular distaste and so the moral behind Collinson's picture would have appealed to him. In addition, in 1857, Stitt moved into a new house, The Grange, at Claughton which he had built for himself and it would have been quite natural for him to acquire new pictures at that time (see B. Guiness Orchard, Liverpool's Legion of Honour, Liverpool 1893, pp.655-6; the compiler is indebted to Edward Morris for supplying this reference). His collection also included works by other British artists including F.W. Hulme, Patrick Nasmyth and T.L. Rowbotham. In 1885 he presented a bust of W.E. Gladstone by Albert Joy (1842-1924) to the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool and under the terms of his will an oil painting by John Smart (1838-99), 'The Pass of the Cateran', was also bequeathed to the same gallery (Walker Art Gallery: Illustrated Catalogue of the Permanent Collection, Liverpool 1927, pp.105,174).

#art #pre-raphaelite #crimean war

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newstfionline · 4 years ago

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Sunday, April 25, 2021

San Francisco Contends With a Different Sort of Epidemic: Drug Deaths (NYT) The drugs killed them in plain view—in front of the public library, at the spot on Powell Street where the cable car used to turn around. Others died alone in single-room apartments or in camping tents pitched on the pavement, each death adding to an overdose crisis that is one of the worst in the nation. Drug overdoses rose across the country during the coronavirus pandemic. But in San Francisco, they skyrocketed, claiming 713 lives last year, more than double the 257 people here who died of the virus in 2020. For officials in San Francisco, the epidemic of overdose deaths has been both humbling and alarming. Many believe that the city’s preoccupation with the pandemic has eclipsed concern over the drug deaths and blunted the urgency of the moment. “I can say for sure that what we are doing is not working and that it’s getting worse every single day,” said Matt Haney, a member of the city’s Board of Supervisors who represents the Tenderloin, a district of low-income housing in the heart of the city that has seen the most overdoses. “I get offered drugs every time I step outside. It’s overwhelming.”

In historic move, Biden says 1915 massacres of Armenians constitute genocide (Reuters) U.S. President Joe Biden on Saturday said the 1915 massacres of Armenians in the Ottoman Empire constituted genocide, a historic declaration that infuriated Turkey and is set to further strain already frayed ties between the two NATO allies. The largely symbolic move, breaking away from decades of carefully calibrated language from the White House, will likely to be celebrated by the Armenian diaspora in the United States, but comes at a time when Ankara and Washington have deep policy disagreements over a host of issues. Turkish Foreign Minister Mevlut Cavusoglu said Turkey “entirely rejects” the U.S. decision which he said was based “solely on populism”. Ties between Ankara and Washington have been strained over issues ranging from Turkey’s purchase of Russian S-400 defense systems—over which it was the target of U.S. sanctions—to policy differences in Syria, human rights and legal matters.

Ravaged by Covid, Brazil Faces a Hunger Epidemic (NYT) Rail-thin teenagers hold placards at traffic stops with the word for hunger—fome—in large print. Children, many of whom have been out of school for over a year, beg for food outside supermarkets and restaurants. Entire families huddle in flimsy encampments on sidewalks, asking for baby formula, crackers, anything. A year into the pandemic, millions of Brazilians are going hungry. The virus is ripping through Brazil’s social fabric, setting wrenching records, while the worsening health crisis pushes businesses into bankruptcy, killing jobs and further hampering an economy that has grown little or not at all for more than six years.

Baltic states join NATO allies in kicking out Russians for spying (Reuters) Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia on Friday joined a fast-growing list of NATO and EU members demanding the removal of Russian diplomats for alleged spying, in actions that have infuriated Moscow and look certain to provoke further retaliation. A spate of tit-for-tat expulsions has plunged ties between Russia and countries of the former Soviet bloc to their lowest point since the fall of Communism, prompting Moscow to accuse at least two of them of deliberately wrecking relations. Lithuania said it was sending two diplomats home and Latvia and Estonia one each. “The EU should have less undercover Russian spies,” Lithuanian foreign affairs minister Gabrielius Landsbergis told reporters.

Cashlessness may have gone foo far in Norway, government warns (Bloomberg) Norway’s government wants to make sure banks don’t stop providing cash, as the country becomes the world leader in abandoning physical notes and coins. The Finance Ministry has told the Financial Supervisory Authority in Oslo to put together a plan that will ensure banks continue offering cash services, according to a statement on Friday. That’s after the FSA’s own survey found that a number of Norwegian banks “claim that they are not responsible for offering cash services.” Banknotes and coins are used in only 3-4 per cent of all transactions in Norway, the lowest level of cash usage in world, according to calculations by Norges Bank. Neighbouring Sweden, another nearly cashless society, has also sounded the alarm amid concerns that the complete disappearance of paper money would pose a number of risks.

Italian Police Accuse Man of Getting Paid for 15 Years While Skipping Work (NYT) A hospital in Italy’s southern region of Calabria fired Salvatore Scumace for not showing up to work. For 15 years. Mr. Scumace, 67, was fired last year from the Pugliese Ciaccio Hospital in the city of Catanzaro, but the news made headlines in Italy this week when Italy’s financial police announced their investigation into his remarkable record of absenteeism. His case was uncovered as part of a wider investigation into absenteeism by public workers. Mr. Scumace is accused of earning an estimated 538,000 euros, or more than $645,000, for a job the police say he never performed over the course of his long and less-than-productive career as a hospital fire-safety employee. A chronic problem in some public sector jobs, the Italian police have cracked down in recent years on no-show employees, investigating dozens of cases around the country.

Coronavirus: India’s daily cases climb to new world record as hospitals overwhelmed (NBC News) India’s coronavirus infections set a new world record for the third consecutive day rising by 346,786 overnight, the health ministry said on Saturday, as overwhelmed hospitals in the densely-populated country begged for oxygen supplies. India is in the grip of a rampaging second wave of the pandemic, hitting a rate of one Covid-19 death just under every four minutes in Delhi, as the capital’s underfunded health system buckles. The government has deployed military planes and trains to get oxygen from the far corners of the country to Delhi. Television images showed an oxygen truck arriving at Delhi’s Batra hospital after it issued an SOS call saying it had 90 minutes of oxygen left for its 260 patients. India surpassed the U.S. record of 297,430 single-day infections anywhere in the world on Thursday, making it the global epicenter of a pandemic that is waning in many other countries. The Indian government had itself declared it had beaten back the coronavirus in February when new cases fell to all-time lows.

Debris From Indonesian Submarine Is Found, Ending Hopes of Rescue (NYT) Debris from an Indonesian Navy submarine that disappeared this past week with 53 people aboard has been found deep in the Bali Sea, confirming fears that the vessel sank and cracked, the navy’s chief of staff said on Saturday. The submarine, the KRI Nanggala-402, disappeared early Wednesday off the Indonesian island of Bali while conducting torpedo drills. Emergency signals to the vessel after it failed to make contact went unanswered. The Nanggala was built to withstand pressure of up to 500 meters deep, but sonar seemed to indicate that the submarine sank to a depth of about 850 meters, well below what is referred to as “crush depth.” At that depth, even the steel hull of a submarine would almost certainly fracture from the pressure.

Jerusalem tension triggers Gaza-Israel fire exchange (AP) Palestinian militants in the Gaza Strip fired some three dozen rockets into Israel overnight Saturday, while the Israeli military struck back at targets operated by the ruling Hamas group. The exchange came as tensions in Jerusalem spilled over into the worst round of cross-border violence in months. The barrage of rocket fire came as hundreds of Palestinians clashed with Israeli police in east Jerusalem. The clashes, in which at least four police and six protesters were injured, have become a nightly occurrence throughout the Muslim holy month of Ramadan and show no signs of stopping. Jerusalem, home to holy sites sacred to Jews, Christians and Muslims, has long been a flashpoint in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In 2014, similar tensions erupted into a 50-day war between Israel and Gaza’s ruling Hamas militant group.

60% of the world is online (TNW) The new Digital 2021 April Global Statshot Report—published in partnership between Hootsuite and We Are Social—reveals that more than 6 in 10 people on Earth now use the internet. Internet users have grown by more than 330 million over the past year, reaching a total of more than 4.7 billion at the start of April 2021. There are 5.27 billion unique mobile users around the world, which means that more than two-thirds of all the people on Earth now have a mobile phone.

Can We Learn to Live With Germs Again? (NYT) For more than a century—since scientists first learned that unseen germs cause infection and illness—we’ve tended to think of sterile environments as the safe ones. And at the start of the outbreak, when we didn’t know any better, it was sensible to disinfect as much as possible, including our groceries, clothing and personal spaces. It took time for coronavirus researchers to figure out that the risk of surface transmission is low—the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention only recently pegged it at generally less than one in 10,000. Despite the now consensus recognition that air transmission, not surface spread, is more important, most pandemic sanitation practices have continued. We continue to annihilate every microbe in our midst, even though most are harmless. The New York City subway, for example, has been undergoing a 24-hour cleaning protocol that includes ultraviolet light and a variety of disinfecting solutions. But some health experts are watching this ongoing onslaught with a mounting sense of dread. They fear that many of the measures we’ve employed to stop the virus may pose a threat to human health in the long run if they continue. Their worries center on the human microbiome—the trillions of bacteria that live on and inside our bodies. They say that excessive hygiene practices, inappropriate antibiotic use and lifestyle changes such as distancing may weaken those communities going forward in ways that promote sickness and imperil our immune systems. By sterilizing our bodies and spaces, they argue, we may be doing more harm than good. “We’re starting to realize that there’s collateral damage when we get rid of good microbes, and that has major consequences for our health,” says B. Brett Finlay, a professor in the department of microbiology and immunology at the University of British Columbia.

#headlines #news

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andrewmoocow · 4 years ago

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Steven Universe: The Fantastic Mutants chapter 5: Never Again (originally posted on November 16, 2020)

AN: Good to see you all again my dear readers! How have things been? Am I being too intrusive? Well, doesn't matter! It's good to be back in business after a few weeks, so let's just cut to the chase, shall we?

"So how much of this show is actual camping?" HYDRA Bob asked Peridot as they, along with Deadpool & Lapis, watched Camp Pining Hearts together at the X-Mansion while surrounded by massive amounts of snack foods and garbage. "A fair bit, but pretty much everyone comes for the romance," Peridot answered. "Yeah," Wade stated. "like your crippling yaoi addiction."

"What is yah-oy?" Lapis asked while mispronouncing this new word just as Pearl came in with a broom. "You really should learn how to pick up after yourselves as guests." The Gem grumbled while sweeping up crumbs off the carpet. "Hey, wise up Pearl, I'm basically an honorary member!" Deadpool remarked. "Hey, Flat-Top, gimme a refill on my coke here!"

"And you should also treat the people housing you like friends, not your servants." Colossus reminded them, just as disgruntled as Pearl, while he gave the Merc with a Mouth another bottle of pop when suddenly, Xavier came in. "Ah, Professor! Would you be so kind as to help us teach Wade here some manners?"

"It's alright, Piotr." Xavier calmed the metal mutant down. "Although Mr. Wilson here can be a bit of a nuisance, we do need all the help we can get to rescue Steven and Kitty."

"Thanks for the save Cap'n." Wade grinned at the aged mutant when someone knocked at the window. "Hey, anyone in there?!" the voice of Spider-Man called from outside, latching upside down onto the glass. "Peter!" Pearl exclaimed. "Long time no see. How are the other Avengers doing?"

"The big six are off in space right now, and the reserves are holding down the fort for now." The web-slinger answered as he opened the window and leaped through it. "When your message reached us, I was the first to take it and brought along a few pals who might be useful."

As Peter finished talking, a silver and blue blur burst through the front doors, stopping to reveal itself as Quicksilver. "Pietro, good to see you!" Colossus exclaimed. "Must mean Wanda isn't too far behind, da?"

"You are correct." Scarlet Witch answered as she followed her brother. "Hello again Crystal Gems." She greeted the Gems. "Hello to you and Pietro too, Wanda," Garnet replied as she stepped into the room. "It certainly has been a while since Thanos. I hope you both are well."

"Oh, never better Garney!" Quicksilver responded as he sat down between Peridot & Lapis to watch Camp Pining Hearts with them. "Ooh, I love this show! I always felt Pierre & Percy have really good chemistry."

"Thank you for agreeing with me good sir." Peridot added pridefully. "Oh, quit with the shit already!" Wade interjected crossly. "No one ever talks about Pierre and Paulette!"

"You take that back, you crimson clod." Peridot snarled threateningly at the mercenary and soon, an intense shipping debate between the two began. "Oh, this could take a long while." Pearl sighed in exhaustion.

"I just watch for all the crazy shenanigans these campers get up to." Spider-Man gave his opinion while snatching some snicker-doodles from the ottoman.

"Come on, work!" Kitty groaned in frustration as she continuously tried and failed to break her and Steven from their imprisonment without using her mutant powers. "If only I could find a way to break this collar, then we'd get outta here easier."

"Why don't I give it a shot?" Steven suggested, deciding to use his shield to cut the bars apart. However, that failed as well. "It's hopeless. If I didn't come, then maybe we wouldn't be stuck here."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up like that Steven." Kitty comforted her fellow mutant. "I'm sure the Gems are already on their way to save us, so try and keep your chin up until then." She implored Steven, but he remained downtrodden. "Let's face it; we're here because of my mom."

"Oh, mother issues?" Kitty realized. "I get it. That's perfectly normal. But you can't always let the sins of the parent bring you down." She assured him. "Yeah, sins like taking part in universal genocide before realizing that wasn't good and instead doing things far worse than that." Steven grumbled, much to her surprise. "Whoa okay, didn't see that coming!" Kitty exclaimed. "Far worse how? Did she actually murder someone?"

"She deliberately left tons of Gems and other races to die for her just because she was bored of being Pink Diamond, let two of my friends to be imprisoned for thousands of years, forced Gems who cared for her to suffer from her faked death and who knows what else!" Steven complained. "And then there was that whole thing with Magneto."

As if on cue, the aforementioned leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants stepped into the brig to interrogate them. "I see you've been making yourselves at home while you could." He declared before grabbing Steven by the shirt collar through the cell bars. "Tell me boy, why do you have her gemstone? Was it passed down to you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Steven answered. "When I was born, my mom died to give birth to me, and I got her gemstone and all her powers as a result. She also left me with all her baggage from ages ago, including when she was once a member of the Great Diamond Authority."

"Great Diamond Authority?" Magneto wondered, and Kitty seemed just as confused. "Yeah, I have to agree. There are more Diamonds out there?"

"That's not important right now," Steven said before Magneto set him down. "Still, why go after me in particular? We're both mutants. We should be on the same side!"

"You already know about how Rose abandoned me at Auschwitz, but the Gems only told you half the story," Erik revealed, turning away from Steven & Kitty in the process. "My part of this tale is far more complex than you realize. Like many a Jew during the war, I was prosecuted by the Nazis for my religion and sentenced to death. But I was a special case."

Heavy rain poured upon Poland in 1944 as a large group of imprisoned Jews marched sorrowfully through Auschwitz, their world nothing but drab colors aside from the bright yellow Star of David on their clothes signifying their religion. All around them, more of their people were forced to perform possibly lethal jobs for their superiors and be treated horribly should they fail to work or try to resist.

One young man in particular named Erik Lehnsherr watched just as miserably as his fellow Jews and began to notice that many of the other prisoners had brands on their arms. As soldiers began coldly leading their prisoners away from the group, Erik's parents Edie & Jacob were forcefully separated like the rest from their son, with Edie being particularly hysterical about having to leave her child.

Erik raced after his parents in an effort to see them one last time, but the gates closed before he could get a chance, and another Nazi grabbed the boy to keep him under control. However, something miraculous happened. When Erik fruitlessly reached out towards the gate, it began bending towards him. Another Nazi aided his fellow soldier in detaining the boy, and two more raced towards him as the fence began twisting more and more.

Erik's mutant powers awakened that day as the gates were ripped open with a mere stretch of his hand, but he was quickly stopped with the butt of a gun to his head from a fifth soldier. "Bring ihn zu Dr. Schmidt." that soldier commanded his subordinates. The four Nazis nodded and dragged the unconscious boy away, to where his destiny would soon be realized.

"And that's where you first met his mom, right?" Kitty asked her captor. "Yeah, I don't think we need to hear how she ditched you again."

"As I stated, the story is much deeper than that," Magneto said. "Allow me to continue."

Soon, HYDRA had come to assist the Nazis in stopping the Howling Commandos and the Crystal Gems from instigating the Auschwitz breakout. As Rose began fighting off soldiers, she began counting off the fleeing Jews. "Let me see how many we got," Rose muttered while trying to do a headcount. "Agh, there's too many of them! I can barely keep count when I'm surrounded like this!"

"Less than a million!" Garnet counted for her leader with her future vision. "However, there are still a few that we were too late to save, namely the Lehnsherr family. Klaus Schmidt is holding their son Erik."

"Klaus?" Rose soon came to a realization. "That was the boy in the office! I have to go ba-" Before Rose could finish, a HYDRA enforcer took advantage of her letting her guard down and fired with an anti-Gem weapon, poofing her form.

"Rose!" Pearl exclaimed while rushing to the deactivated gem lying on the ground. While Captain America covered for them with his shield, the Gems made a hasty retreat. "But what about those other Jews?!" Amethyst exclaimed. "A few prisoners should take this from here." Garnet answered, just as the Sonderkommando charged at their captors with guns, knives, axes, and grenades.

Inside the building where Klaus Schmidt was stationed, the mutant Jew slithered around the hall to avoid being caught again. Nazis raced outside to combat without once taking notice of the boy making his escape. Taking a moment to peek outside the window, he noticed the Gems escaping the concentration camp and furrowed his brow angrily. "Sie haben mich verlassen."

As the warfare continued, Erik quietly made his getaway with his newly awakened mutant powers and used a wrecked chain fence to fly himself away from Auschwitz.

Many years later in 1963, Magneto was holding a demonstration in New York to make a speech about the superiority of mutants when she showed up again. Rose Quartz had decided to show her face to him again after leaving him to rot all those years ago in Auschwitz, and only now, she shows up with an excuse to try and make peace.

"You can try to rope yourself into my good graces all you want Gems," he growled, preparing to fight the Crystal Gems. "But nothing can ever change the past!"

Ripping a nearby water tower off its supports, Erik prepared to smash it on top of Rose, Garnet & Pearl, but then came a loud shriek coming from the Irish mutant Sean Cassidy, aka Banshee. "Top o' the mornin' to you ladies!" Banshee exclaimed and let out another scream that brought the master of magnetism to the ground. "Now Neal!"

"I got you!" the Indian pyrokinetic Neal Shaara, or Thunderbird to his teammates, boomed while turning his body into plasma and landing a few hits on Magneto, but the German fought back by expanding a force-field that pushed him back. "Longshot, Angel, Mimic, it's all you now!"

"You got it!" Longshot replied while standing on a rooftop with Mimic and Angel Salvadore and preparing to throw a large knife at Magneto. "Just got one shot at this." He muttered to himself just as Amethyst hopped up behind him. "Hey, what you guys doing?" she asked the three mutants, catching Longshot off-guard. "Do you mind squirt?!" Longshot barked, but then he noticed her gem. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know those three, right?"

"We can discuss it later!" Angel said while sprouting fly-like wings and flying off. "Hey, wait for me!" Mimic exclaimed, copying his teammate's power by growing insect wings of his own and soaring after her.

"You guys wouldn't happen to be like ol' Maggy over there?" Amethyst continued asking Longshot, who harshly shushed her while trying to keep his concentration. "Okay, sheesh!"

"Now Longshot!" Banshee exclaimed as he let out a loud shriek at Magneto to knock him off-balance, allowing Longshot to fling his knife at the evil mutant. But Erik stopped the blade before it could reach his face with his powers and threw it right at Pearl with a wicked grin.

"Pearl, no!" Rose cried out as she dove in front of her confidant, letting the knife stab her instead, causing her to ultimately poof and retreat into her gem.

"Rose!" the remaining Gems shouted, racing to protect their leader's inactive gemstone from Magneto. "Well, that should do nicely for now." He snidely muttered. "But know this Crystal Gems, we shall meet again someday soon. Even if we have to wait years to do so!"

With that, Magneto zoomed off into the sky and left the Crystal Gems & the X-Men below. "So, sorry about letting your boss end up like this." Longshot nervously apologized. "That was my knife he threw at her after all."

"It's alright. Rose will recover soon." Garnet assured the mutant. "By the way, I didn't get your name."

"Call me Longshot, leader of the X-Men!" Longshot proudly replied. "These are my teammates; Banshee, Mimic, Angel Salvadore, and Thunderbird. We're all mutants."

"It is a pleasure to meet you." Thunderbird greeted, extending a hand to Pearl. "Mutants? I think I remember meeting one, centuries ago." Pearl replied, shaking Neal's hand. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone named En Sabah Nur?"

This revelation caused the X-Men to gasp in shock. "Wait, you met Apocalypse?!" Mimic cried. "Let me guess, you guys know him as a real bad guy?" Amethyst quipped. "Yeah, he's about yay tall, superiority complex, total Darwinist." Angel replied. "Come along. We can tell you more about him."

"And maybe we'll introduce you to the professor too." Banshee added happily. "We'd be glad to meet your professor." Pearl agreed, and Garnet & Amethyst nodded as well.

"So that's how the Gems met Xavier!" Steven realized. "But how come you remember that last bit happening? You left after poofing Rose."

"Don't think about it." Magneto assured him. "And now that I have you in our clutches, watching Doctor Doom experiment on you will be so satisfying."

"But still, you can't just vent your vengeance on a kid!" Kitty exclaimed.

"Yeah, this isn't what Xavier would want!" Steven replied, forcing Magneto to drop his stoic façade. "He knows you can be better than this, barring the terrorism. You're both on the same wavelength when it comes to protecting mutants, but kidnapping one of your own for your own sake is just wrong!"

"Y'know, that does seem like something Charles would say. Though he would've said it better." Magneto relented, pressing a button on the cell to let Steven and Kitty out. "Fight them off while you still can children. I shall take the blame myself."

"Okay Steven, let's get outta here!" Kitty declared excitedly. "And no matter what happens, I got your back!"

"Actually Kit, I think I got yours." Steven replied, just as another door opened, and Mystique stepped into the brig. "Erik! Why have you let the prisoners out?" she asked Magneto. "It was the boy who convinced me." Erik revealed. "As it turns out, he's quite good at turning people to his side."

"Well, you're too late child." Mystique said to Steven. "We have finally landed in Latveria."

The Crystal Gems, X-Men, Fantastic Four, X-Force, Spider-Man, Scarlet Witch, and Quicksilver all marched to the Blackbird, ready to go out to Latveria and save Steven & Kitty. Human Torch and Cyclops were in charge of piloting the plane while Xavier planted his wheelchair in the back.

"So tell us what we're in for Reed." Garnet asked Mister Fantastic, who gave a sharp sigh of regret. "You should know by now that Doctor Doom is our family's greatest adversary. Intelligence on par with my own, mastery of the mystic arts, psionic abilities, the works." Reed explained. "But what I'm sure you probably don't know yet was that we knew Doom long before he turned out like this."

"Victor, have you gone mad?!" a younger Reed yelled at his college classmate Victor, who was standing in front of a large machine generating an unstable portal. "This machine is highly unstable and could explode at any moment!"

"I do not care what it takes, Richards!" the man who would be king of Latveria cried as the machine was on the verge of self-destructing. "This is the only way I can see my mother again!"

"Hey Stretch, we got everyone outta here!" Ben Grimm, back then a normal human being instead of a large rock creature, called for his classmate while he, Johnny and Sue burst into the laboratory. "You gotta come with us!"

"No Reed, we can see our mothers again, together!" Doom tried convincing his rival. Reed hesitated for a moment, weighing his options between escaping with his friends or getting to see his late mother Evelyn again. But as he made his decision, he turned away from Victor. "I'm sorry Vic. But I've moved on."

"How dare you?!" Victor screeched, while his four contemporaries fled the scene. "Don't you dare run away! We could've been something more!" Just then, the portal machine has just about reached its boiling point, and caused the lab to explode with Doom inside. The last thing he said before the room collapsed on him was a scream of "RIIIIIIIIICHAAAAAAAARDS!"

"Never saw him again after that incident. Ol' Iron Mask got expelled, then he just vanished offa the face of the planet." Ben regaled in the present day. "That is until he re-emerged as some young upstart billionaire named Victor Domashev, who funded the space flight that made us into the Four we are today."

"Hey guys, less backstory, more blasting off!" Amethyst snapped her fingers. "Pretty sure Steven might be on his way to being dissected by now!"

"Yeah, and a certain author friend of ours wants to get this out as quickly as possible." Deadpool agreed, his medium-aware comment inciting odd stares from the others. "Can we move onto the next scene already?!"

As Mystique had declared, Steven was now in the European country of Latveria, famously ruled by the Fantastic Four's arch-nemesis Victor von Doom. He and Kitty were led through the aesthetically medieval capital city Doomstadt, where its citizens whispered in German, Hungarian and an unknown third language reminiscent of the latter dialect.

"Victor, we have brought the child. And an unwanted guest." Mystique announced in front of Doom's castle as they crossed the drawbridge. The castle was guarded by numerous robot soldiers that bore Doom's face, all of them giving Steven cold and unfeeling glares as he was finally brought before the man who's face the robots bore.

"Steven Universe." Doctor Doom boomed, resting on his throne while the boy was handcuffed in front of him. "I have heard much about you these past few months child. Erik, I must commend you for getting the job done, although I've heard of your possible betrayal and won't tolerate it." Then Doom turned to Mystique. "Thank you Ms. Darkholme for alerting me of this before you arrived.

"You are most kind Doctor." Mystique thanked him with a bow. "We hope you return your end of the bargain and grant us mutants sanctuary in Latveria."

"Raven, you must listen!" Magneto cried to his second in command. "This boy calls himself a mutant, just like us! We can't just let Victor experiment on him like this. What if he has something else planned?!"

"SILENCE!" the king of Latveria roared. "It seems this child has made you soft Mr. Lehnsherr. No matter." He rose from his throne and stepped towards Steven & Kitty to give them a good look. "He shall become useful to me soon. And as for the girl, take her away."

"Yes your Highness." Mystique complied, snapping her fingers to have Juggernaut take Kitty away.

"Hey, put me down!" Kitty hissed, struggling to break free from the massive mutant's hands, which was easier said than done since her powers were still restrained. "Don't worry Steven, I'll find a way to save you!"

"Ah shaddup!" Juggernaut groaned loudly, stuffing a big finger inside the smaller girl's mouth to keep her quiet when Mystique put a hand on his bicep. "And what do you want Bluey?"

"It's about Erik. We may resort to terrorism to fight for mutant rights, but I think allowing a child to be experimented on may be going a bit too far." Raven whispered to Cain while they moved farther away from Doom. "Besides, he is a mutant much like us."

"So I've heard." The Juggernaut muttered. "But shouldn't he count more as an alien because his momma was one?"

When the Brotherhood mutants left the throne room, Steven was left all alone with Magneto and Doom. "What do you want with me Doom?" Steven asked the king. "Was it really necessary to have the Brotherhood kidnap me when you could've had your robots do it?"

"Why I couldn't have just sent my Doombots doesn't matter." Doom declared. "But what does matter is what I want to do to you. You see, you're special Steven, as you probably know. A being who's a mixture of human and alien DNA, and that alien DNA might prove very important to me." He explained to Steven. "I wish to use those genes for my own ends. Perhaps make an army of similar beings, or perhaps become part-Gem myself to gain ultimate power! Which is why I chose you in particular."

"Doctor, an invading ship is approaching Doomstadt." A Doombot announced as it walked into the throne room. "Shall we send out the reinforcements you selected?"

"You may, #1961." Doom replied, pressing a few buttons on his arms that opened a door, and behind it were four supervillains.

Trapster, a man in goggles with a container of glue-like substance on his back, attached to a hose with a gun at the end.

Mole Man, a deformed midget in a green suit with a blue visor who was holding a staff in his hand.

The Puppet Master, a bald, dark-skinned man accompanied by a pair of human-sized marionettes in the shape of the Human Torch and the Thing, that he controlled with a special remote.

And the Wizard, a purple armor-wearing supergenius who floated in the air with special anti-gravity discs.

"Frightful Four, it seems we have some uninvited guests." Doom revealed to the four villains. "I insist you deal with them at once, while I make my little guest here at home."

"Yes Doctor." The Frightful Four said in unison, then the marched out of the throne room to battle. Once again Steven was alone in the throne room with Victor & Erik, and the former was all too eager to get things started.

"Now then, shall we begin testing?" Doom asked Steven maliciously, and Steven replied with a very nervous gulp.

After three months of work, it's finally done! We're getting close to the end of this guys, and I couldn't be more excited. But for now, I think I'm gonna take a little break to focus on college stuff for a bit, and I'll be back soon with not just a new chapter, but also a brand spankin' new Steven Universe tale I've had on the brain for a while. It's an AU rewrite of Steven Universe Future aptly named Steven Universe: Alternate Future. If you want to know more about this upcoming series, I've already got an entire episode list on my DeviantArt page along with drawings of some original characters created for it. Until we meet again, toodle-oo!

In Loving Memory of Sean Connery

1930-2020

& Alex Trebek

1940-2020

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brookstonalmanac · 4 years ago

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Events 6.12

910 – Battle of Augsburg: The Hungarians defeat the East Frankish army under King Louis the Child, using the famous feigned retreat tactic of the nomadic warriors. 1240 – At the instigation of Louis IX of France, an inter-faith debate, known as the Disputation of Paris, starts between a Christian monk and four rabbis. 1381 – Peasants' Revolt: In England, rebels assemble at Blackheath, just outside London. 1418 – Armagnac–Burgundian Civil War: Parisians slaughter sympathizers of Bernard VII, Count of Armagnac, along with all prisoners, foreign bankers, and students and faculty of the College of Navarre. 1429 – Hundred Years' War: On the second day of the Battle of Jargeau, Joan of Arc leads the French army in their capture of the city and the English commander, William de la Pole, 1st Duke of Suffolk. 1550 – The city of Helsinki, Finland (belonging to Sweden at the time) is founded by King Gustav I of Sweden. 1653 – First Anglo-Dutch War: The Battle of the Gabbard begins, lasting until the following day. 1665 – Thomas Willett is appointed the first mayor of New York City. 1758 – French and Indian War: Siege of Louisbourg: James Wolfe's attack at Louisbourg, Nova Scotia, commences. 1772 – French explorer Marc-Joseph Marion du Fresne and 25 of his men killed by Māori in New Zealand. 1775 – American War of Independence: British general Thomas Gage declares martial law in Massachusetts. The British offer a pardon to all colonists who lay down their arms. There would be only two exceptions to the amnesty: Samuel Adams and John Hancock, if captured, were to be hanged. 1776 – The Virginia Declaration of Rights is adopted. 1798 – Irish Rebellion of 1798: Battle of Ballynahinch. 1817 – The earliest form of bicycle, the dandy horse, is driven by Karl von Drais. 1821 – Badi VII, king of Sennar, surrenders his throne and realm to Isma'il Pasha, general of the Ottoman Empire, ending the existence of that Sudanese kingdom. 1830 – Beginning of the Invasion of Algiers: Thiry-four thousand French soldiers land 27 kilometers west of Algiers, at Sidi Ferruch. 1864 – American Civil War, Overland Campaign: Battle of Cold Harbor: Ulysses S. Grant gives the Confederate forces under Robert E. Lee a victory when he pulls his Union troops from their position at Cold Harbor, Virginia and moves south. 1898 – Philippine Declaration of Independence: General Emilio Aguinaldo declares the Philippines' independence from Spain. 1899 – New Richmond tornado: The eighth deadliest tornado in U.S. history kills 117 people and injures around 200. 1914 – Massacre of Phocaea: Turkish irregulars slaughter 50 to 100 Greeks and expel thousands of others in an ethnic cleansing operation in the Ottoman Empire. 1921 – Mikhail Tukhachevsky orders the use of chemical weapons against the Tambov Rebellion, bringing an end to the peasant uprising. 1935 – A ceasefire is negotiated between Bolivia and Paraguay, ending the Chaco War. 1938 – The Helsinki Olympic Stadium was inaugurated in Töölö, Helsinki, Finland. 1939 – Shooting begins on Paramount Pictures' Dr. Cyclops, the first horror film photographed in three-strip Technicolor. 1939 – The Baseball Hall of Fame opens in Cooperstown, New York. 1940 – World War II: Thirteen thousand British and French troops surrender to Major General Erwin Rommel at Saint-Valery-en-Caux. 1942 – Anne Frank receives a diary for her thirteenth birthday. 1943 – The Holocaust: Germany liquidates the Jewish Ghetto in Brzeżany, Poland (now Berezhany, Ukraine). Around 1,180 Jews are led to the city's old Jewish graveyard and shot. 1944 – World War II: Operation Overlord: American paratroopers of the 101st Airborne Division secure the town of Carentan, Normandy, France. 1954 – Pope Pius XII canonises Dominic Savio, who was 14 years old at the time of his death, as a saint, making him at the time the youngest unmartyred saint in the Roman Catholic Church. In 2017, Francisco and Jacinta Marto, aged ten and nine at the time of their deaths, are declared saints. 1963 – NAACP field secretary Medgar Evers is murdered in front of his home in Jackson, Mississippi by Ku Klux Klan member Byron De La Beckwith during the civil rights movement. 1964 – Anti-apartheid activist and ANC leader Nelson Mandela is sentenced to life in prison for sabotage in South Africa. 1967 – The United States Supreme Court in Loving v. Virginia declares all U.S. state laws which prohibit interracial marriage to be unconstitutional. 1975 – India, Judge Jagmohanlal Sinha of the city of Allahabad ruled that India's Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had used corrupt practices to win her seat in the Indian Parliament, and that she should be banned from holding any public office. Mrs. Gandhi sent word that she refused to resign. 1979 – Bryan Allen wins the second Kremer prize for a man powered flight across the English Channel in the Gossamer Albatross. 1987 – The Central African Republic's former emperor Jean-Bédel Bokassa is sentenced to death for crimes he had committed during his 13-year rule. 1987 – Cold War: At the Brandenburg Gate, U.S. President Ronald Reagan publicly challenges Mikhail Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall. 1988 – Austral Líneas Aéreas Flight 46, a McDonnell Douglas MD-81, crashes short of the runway at Libertador General José de San Martín Airport, killing all 22 people on board. 1990 – Russia Day: The parliament of the Russian Federation formally declares its sovereignty. 1991 – Russians first democratically elected Boris Yeltsin as the President of Russia. 1991 – Kokkadichcholai massacre: The Sri Lankan Army massacres 152 minority Tamil civilians in the village of Kokkadichcholai near the eastern province town of Batticaloa. 1993 – An election takes place in Nigeria and is won by Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola. Its results are later annulled by the military Government of Ibrahim Babangida. 1994 – Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman are murdered outside Simpson's home in Los Angeles. Her estranged husband, O.J. Simpson is later charged with the murders, but is acquitted by a jury. 1997 – Queen Elizabeth II reopens the Globe Theatre in London. 1999 – Kosovo War: Operation Joint Guardian begins when a NATO-led United Nations peacekeeping force (KFor) enters the province of Kosovo in Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. 2009 – Analog television stations (excluding low-powered stations) switch to digital television following the DTV Delay Act. 2009 – A disputed presidential election in Iran leads to wide-ranging local and international protests. 2016 – Forty-nine civilians are killed and 58 others injured in an attack on a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida; the gunman, Omar Mateen, is killed in a gunfight with police. 2017 – American student Otto Warmbier returns home in a coma after spending 17 months in a North Korean prison and dies a week later. 2018 – United States President Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un of North Korea held the first meeting between leaders of their two countries in Singapore.

#Events

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96thdayofrage · 4 years ago

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America’s defeat in Afghanistan is one in a string of catastrophic military blunders that herald the death of the American empire. With the exception of the first Gulf War, fought largely by mechanized units in the open desert that did not – wisely – attempt to occupy Iraq, the United States political and military leadership has stumbled from one military debacle to another. Korea. Vietnam. Lebanon. Afghanistan. Iraq. Syria. Libya. The trajectory of military fiascos mirrors the sad finales of the Chinese, Ottoman, Hapsburg, Russian, French, British, Dutch, Portuguese and Soviet empires. While each of these empires decayed with their own peculiarities, they all exhibited patterns of dissolution that characterize the American experiment.

Imperial ineptitude is matched by domestic ineptitude. The collapse of good government at home, with legislative, executive and judicial systems all seized by corporate power, ensures that the incompetent and the corrupt, those dedicated not to the national interest but to swelling the profits of the oligarchic elite, lead the country into a cul-de-sac. Rulers and military leaders, driven by venal self-interest, are often buffoonish characters in a grand comic operetta. How else to think of Allen Dulles, Dick Cheney, George W. Bush, Donald Trump or the hapless Joe Biden? While their intellectual and moral vacuity is often darkly amusing, it is murderous and savage when directed towards their victims.

There is not a single case since 1941 when the coups, political assassinations, election fraud, black propaganda, blackmail, kidnapping, brutal counter-insurgency campaigns, U.S. sanctioned massacres, torture in global black sites, proxy wars or military interventions carried out by the United States resulted in the establishment of a democratic government. The two-decade-long wars in the Middle East, the greatest strategic blunder in American history, have only left in their wake one failed state after another. Yet, no one in the ruling class is held accountable.

War, when it is waged to serve utopian absurdities, such as implanting a client government in Baghdad that will flip the region, including Iran, into U.S. protectorates, or when, as in Afghanistan, there is no vision at all, descends into a quagmire. The massive allocation of money and resources to the U.S. military, which includes Biden’s request for $715 billion for the Defense Department in fiscal year 2022, a $11.3 billion, or 1.6 percent increase, over 2021, is not in the end about national defense. The bloated military budget is designed, as Seymour Melman explained in his book, “The Permanent War Economy,” primarily to keep the American economy from collapsing. All we really make anymore are weapons. Once this is understood, perpetual war makes sense, at least for those who profit from it.

The idea that America is a defender of democracy, liberty and human rights would come as a huge surprise to those who saw their democratically elected governments subverted and overthrown by the United States in Panama (1941), Syria (1949), Iran (1953), Guatemala (1954), Congo (1960), Brazil (1964), Chile (1973), Honduras (2009) and Egypt (2013). And this list does not include a host of other governments that, however despotic, as was the case in South Vietnam, Indonesia or Iraq, were viewed as inimical to American interests and destroyed, in each case making life for the inhabitants of these countries even more miserable.

I spent two decades on the outer reaches of empire as a foreign correspondent. The flowery rhetoric used to justify the subjugation of other nations so corporations can plunder natural resources and exploit cheap labor is solely for domestic consumption. The generals, intelligence operatives, diplomats, bankers and corporate executives that manage empire find this idealistic talk risible. They despise, with good reason, naïve liberals who call for “humanitarian intervention” and believe the ideals used to justify empire are real, that empire can be a force for good. These liberal interventionists, the useful idiots of imperialism, attempt to civilize a process that was created and designed to repress, intimidate, plunder and dominate.

The liberal interventionists, because they wrap themselves in high ideals, are responsible for numerous military and foreign policy debacles. The call by liberal interventionists such as Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Joe Biden, Susan Rice and Samantha Power to fund jihadists in Syria and depose Muammar Gaddafi in Libya rent these countries — as in Afghanistan and Iraq — into warring fiefdoms. The liberal interventionists are also the tip of the spear in the campaign to rachet up tensions with China and Russia.

Russia is blamed for interfering in the last two presidential elections on behalf of Donald Trump. Russia, whose economy is roughly the size of Italy’s, is also attacked for destabilizing the Ukraine, supporting Bashar al-Assad in Syria, funding France’s National Front party and hacking into German computers. Biden has imposed sanctions on Russia – including limits on buying newly issued sovereign debt – in response to allegations that Moscow was behind a hack on SolarWinds Corp. and worked to thwart his candidacy.

At the same time, the liberal interventionists are orchestrating a new cold war with China, justifying this cold war because the Chinese government is carrying out genocide against its Uyghur minority, repressing the pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong and stealing U.S. patents. As with Russia, sanctions have been imposed targeting the country’s ruling elite. The U.S. is also carrying out provocative military maneuvers along the Russian border and in the South China Sea.

The core belief of imperialists, whether they come in the form of a Barack Obama or a George W. Bush, is racism and ethnic chauvinism, the notion that Americans are permitted, because of superior attributes, to impose their “values” on lesser races and peoples by force. This racism, carried out in the name of Western civilization and its corollary white supremacy, unites the rabid imperialists and liberal interventionists in the Republican and Democratic parties. It is the fatal disease of empire, captured in Graham Greene’s novel “The Quiet American” and Michael Ondaatje’s “The English Patient.”

The crimes of empire always spawn counter-violence that is then used to justify harsher forms of imperial repression. For example, the United States routinely kidnapped Islamic jihadists fighting in the Balkans between 1995 and 1998. They were sent to Egypt — many were Egyptian — where they were savagely tortured and usually executed. In 1998, the International Islamic Front for Jihad said it would carry out a strike against the United States after jihadists were kidnapped and transferred to black sites from Albania. They made good on their threat igniting massive truck bombs at the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania that left 224 dead. Of course, the “extraordinary renditions” by the CIA did not end and neither did the attacks by jihadists.

Our decades-long military fiascos, a feature of all late empires, are called “micro-militarism.” The Athenians engaged in micro-militarism during the Peloponnesian War (431-404 B.C.) when they invaded Sicily, suffering the loss of 200 ships and thousands of soldiers. The defeat triggered successful revolts throughout the Athenian empire. The Roman empire, which at its height lasted for two centuries, created a military machine that, like the Pentagon, was a state within a state. Rome’s military rulers, led by Augustus, snuffed out the remnants of Rome’s anemic democracy and ushered in a period of despotism that saw the empire disintegrate under the weight of extravagant military expenditures and corruption. The British empire, after the suicidal military folly of World War I, was terminated in 1956 when it attacked Egypt in a dispute over the nationalization of the Suez Canal. Britain was forced to withdraw in humiliation, empowering Arab nationalist leaders such as Egypt’s Gamal Abdel Nasser and dooming British rule over its few remaining colonies. None of these empires recovered.

“While rising empires are often judicious, even rational in their application of armed force for conquest and control of overseas dominions, fading empires are inclined to ill-considered displays of power, dreaming of bold military masterstrokes that would somehow recoup lost prestige and power,” the historian Alfred W. McCoy writes in his book “In the Shadows of the American Century: The Rise and Decline of US Global Power”: “Often irrational even from an imperial point of view, these micromilitary operations can yield hemorrhaging expenditures or humiliating defeats that only accelerate the process already under way.”

The worse it gets at home the more the empire needs to fabricate enemies within and without. This is the real reason for the increase in tensions with Russia and China. The poverty of half the nation and concentration of wealth in the hands of a tiny oligarchic cabal, the wanton murder of unarmed civilians by militarized police, the rage at the ruling elites, expressed with nearly half the electorate voting for a con artist and demagogue and a mob of his supporters storming the capital, are the internal signs of disintegration. The inability of the for-profit national health services to cope with the pandemic, the passage of a Covid relief bill and the proposal of an infrastructure bill that would hand the bulk of some $5 trillion dollars to corporations while tossing crumbs — one-time checks of $1,400 to a citizenry in deep financial distress — will only fuel the decline.

Because of the loss of unionized jobs, the real decline of wages, de-industrialization, chronic underemployment and unemployment, and punishing austerity programs, the country is plagued by a plethora of diseases of despair including opioid addictions, alcoholism, suicides, gambling, depression, morbid obesity and mass shootings — since March 16 the United States has had at least 45 mass shootings, including eight people killed in an Indiana FedEx facility on Friday, three dead and three injured in a shooting in Wisconsin on Sunday, and another three dead in a shooting in Austin on Sunday. These are the consequences of a deeply troubled society.

The façade of empire is able to mask the rot within its foundations, often for decades, until, as we saw with the Soviet Union, the empire appears to suddenly disintegrate. The loss of the dollar as the global reserve currency will probably mark the final chapter of the American empire. In 2015, the dollar accounted for 90 percent of bilateral transactions between China and Russia, a percentage that has since fallen to about 50 percent. The use of sanctions as a weapon against China and Russia pushes these countries to replace the dollar with their own national currencies. Russia, as part of this move away from the dollar, has begun accumulating yuan reserves.

The loss of the dollar as the world’s reserve currency will instantly raise the cost of imports. It will result in unemployment of Depression-era levels. It will force the empire to dramatically contract. It will, as the economy worsens, fuel a hyper-nationalism that will most likely be expressed through a Christianized fascism. The mechanisms, already in place, for total social control, militarized police, a suspension of civil liberties, wholesale government surveillance, enhanced “terrorism” laws that railroad people into the world’s largest prison system and censorship overseen by the digital media monopolies will seamlessly cement into place a police state. Nations that descend into crises these severe seek to deflect the rage of a betrayed population on foreign scapegoats. China and Russia will be used to fill these roles.

The defeat in Afghanistan is a familiar and sad story, one all those blinded by imperial hubris endure. The tragedy, however, is not the collapse of the American empire, but that, lacking the ability to engage in self-critique and self-correction, as it dies it will lash out in a blind, inchoate fury at innocents at home and abroad.

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