#coast guard topics

[seniorveteranscare]

Dr. Earl Russell Fox joined the Navy during World War II, stayed in the Naval Reserve after the war and then joined the Coast Guard -- at 55 years old.

[sevencolorsatlast]

Archons Reacting To Their Creator Singing Pt. 2

Part 1 [Venti, Zhongli, Ei and Nahida] || Part 2 [Furina] (You're Here!)

Author's Note: 4.2 Update Spoilers! You've been warned! Song used: "Curses" by The Crane Wives. No beta, we die like my heart while playing this quest.

Update: I changed the verse weeee. Also corrected a couple of mistakes.

Content Warning(s): None.

Other Notes: Default SAGAU / GN!Reader / Drabble / 800+ Words / Ao3 Link

[ Furina ]

"There's still cobwebs in the corners

And the backyard's full of bones

Won't you stay with me, my darling

When this house don't feel like home?"

You came down from the heavens weeks ago, knowing Fontaine is in danger but kept your head low and disguised yourself as a Fontainian to seek solutions to their prophecy. No one suspected you aside from the Vision wielders and a few Guardes who eventually left you alone since you seem to be harmless. You also manage to avoid any unpleasant encounters with your followers while roaming around the city.

Visiting Focalors in the opera house when no one was around was... rather an eventful one; she hopes you do not intervene with her plans to save her beloved people. You tried to reason with her: you are her god — you can forgive her and her people but she says it is her duty as Hydro Archon as prophecies cannot be changed. To pursue "justice", so to speak, is via the death of her and her throne.

You no longer attempt to pursue the topic which Focalors tacitly appreciates. Instead, you promised to look after her "human" self... Furina.

She smiles ever so graciously, knowing that such a divine being like you would keep Furina safe and sound - even after she meets her fate. You ask if you can hug Focalors, she happily accepts as this will be your first and last meeting her. You give most of your strength to hug her and you pull away, saying your tearful goodbye.

Everything went down according to her plan; watching scenes unfolding right before your eyes. Furina's trial was heart wrenching to watch, you want to jump and defend her... but this was all part of her "divine" self's plan. You shouldn't interfere, you reminded yourself, you clench your fists as the last puzzle of the prophecy reveals itself in front of you and the rest of the audience.

After the flooding in Fontaine died down and you let weeks pass by to let the country recover, you sought out Neuvillette. He is surprised to see you, easily seeing through your disguise. He bows before you and airs his concerns about Furina who had moved away from Palais Mermonia. You gently grab his hand and hold it in-between yours, telling him to stand up. You reassure that you'll be discreetly visiting Furina and the Hydro Sovereign gives you the address on where she currently lives.

During sunset, you found Furina cooped up in her new home. You knock and it took her a while before peeking through the small gap of the door. To put it lightly, her place is in disarray even when the gap of her door is small — her things are littered on the floor and she... doesn't look too good. She is far from well-presented and she looks like a ghost.

You can tell her eyes are red from crying and lack of sleep is evident on her unusually pale face. Her once kept hair's a mess and her clothes aren't well-presented like they usually do. Her hat is also nowhere to be found, it must've been included in the pile of mess scattered about her floorboards.

She weakly asks who you are and tells you that she doesn't accept visitors. You look around, making sure no one is around to see your transformation. Once you know the coast is clear, you transform into your normal self; soft glow emanating from your skin.

Once you are done dusting off your robes, Furina suddenly pulls you into her home and slams the door behind her - stuttering "Your Grace" under her breath and muttering how she's embarrassed that she's in a mess.

You turn around to speak and, instead, you are met with a tight hug from Furina. She buries her head into your shoulder and clutching onto your robes.

She doesn't understand why you hadn't come down from the heavens sooner... and you tell her Focalors wanted to do her part while you witnessed everything. She remained silent for a while before letting out a few sobs. You finally let your arms wrap around her; like a parent hugging their long-lost child.

To calm her down, you sing a song you know from the depths of your heart; the one that is ingrained to the forefronts of your mind even as a child. You alternate between singing and humming while gently running your hand up and down on Furina's back.

Her sobs subside as the last lyric of the song leaves your lips. She wipes her tears away with her hands and regains her composure. She pulls her head away from your shoulder, her eyes yet to look at your direction.

"My apologies for seeing me in such a state, Your Grace." She says, her voice slightly above a whisper, "And ...That's a wonderful song you've sung. I... appreciate it..."

She sniffles; it reminded you when you were a kid. You smile at the fond memory.

"The song was sung to calm me down by my caretakers." You say, "I suppose it still holds its charm."

She lets out a weak chuckle and meets your eyes, "I... Thank you, Your Grace."

"For what?" You inquired despite knowing the answer. She pulls you into another hug, you could've sworn you had seen her genuinely smiling for the first time.

"For being here with me." She says, a small spark of joy coming from her voice, "For seeing the 'real' me."

As she hums your song, you hold each other close until the sun finally sets from the horizon.

[aropride]

ok picture it with me. the super bowl is on the 11th -> taylor swift sings her little songs and then flies on her jet to see her new boytoy -> lots of discourse sparked by this but the topic dies within the week -> she keeps posting teasers for different songs -> swifties are creating insane conspiracy theories as per usual -> her album comes out on april 19th -> the songs are all pretty good, one or two flops, one or two masterpieces, the usual -> guilty as sin is about the overuse of her private jet, in which she promises to Do Better -> people are shocked by the genuine lyricism and clear authenticity of the song -> she says she will start start carpooling (jetpooling?) with other artists to cut down on fossil fuels -> a week or so passes and again the topic fades into irrelevancy as trisha paytas gives birth a few weeks early and king charles the third dies of a heart attack on the same day -> the date is april 29, 2024 -> swifties take to tiktok, posting their videos to the lyric "do you really wanna know where i was april 29th?" en masse -> swift announces she's going to see travis from football on her private jet -> several hours pass -> no updates -> we haven't heard from swift or kelce at all -> night falls, the moon casts light over the quiet ground -> crickets sing softly as the world waits with open eyes for news of taylor's safe and heartwarming landing -> speculation runs rampant, twitter is ablaze, and as the night goes on, rumors only grow -> morning dawns and rumors fly through new skies -> someone leaks to the news that all contact has been lost with taylor swift's jet -> mass chaos erupts -> the us coast guard sends out a search party -> the world waits with baited breath -> a day passes, two, three -> a week. a month. -> the world moves on, for the most part. the news keeps churning out stories. trisha paytas is pregnant again. -> two months. it's late june. 24 eras tour concerts have been cancelled. fans are devastated. time keeps moving -> the day is july 9th when the news is announced. off the coast of northern europe they're found not her body, but three simple items: her custom bracelet from kelce, a chip of metal the size of your palm from the wing of her jet, and a single strand of blond hair.

[celestiarambles]

Hi this may divert from my usual content, but as someone with a platform like this I need to speak up about this.

The Philippines-China maritime dispute has been going on for years now, but lately the tensions had been getting more and more worse to the point it’s super concerning now.

Here’s a bit of a history lesson: China claims that the West Philippine Sea is theirs because of the nine-dash line, but the Permanent Court of Arbitration in the Hague ruled in 2016 that that had no basis under international law. Other than that, the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) said that China’s historic rights on the territory no longer exists. So basically, the West Philippine Sea belongs to the Philippines.

However, China rejects that decision. They have harassed, intimidated, and even used armed conflict on our vessels. China Coast Guard (CCG) vessels had even used a water cannon against our ships TWICE, in which one incident resulted to getting seven Navy personnel wounded.

Worse, there are also allegations of a spy being planted here. Alice Guo, one of the mayors in Tarlac (a city in the Philippines) had mysteriously risen to power despite having no prior experience or connections whatsoever. Literally no one even knew her in her town. She just claims to live in a simple farm. However, she owns a luxury sports car and a helicopter. And somehow, everything regarding her past is inconsistent; she doesn’t know what her mother’s name was, who she grew up with, no school documents, hell she didn’t even have a birth certificate up until she was 17 years old. This was all brought up because she was involved in the criminal activities (like human trafficking, scams, etc.) of the Philippine Offshore Gaming Operator (POGO) which also has the Chinese involved.

The US has also been taking advantage of the situation by deploying 9 EDCA sites (military bases) for a supposed military pact, but former US Marine Intelligence Officer Scott Ritter has admitted to using the Philippines as a tool to gain leverage over the Chinese.

What has our government done regarding this dispute? They’re too busy infighting to focus on the bigger picture and on how to settle on an agreement with China.

I just want to take the time to speak up and make people more aware about the ongoing dispute. I know that this has been going on for several years now, but my memory and knowledge about the topic may be a bit wonky so I apologize in advance if I had said anything wrong. You can add more information regarding this or correct the information that I've given if I phrased things wrong.

Regardless, I do know one thing: the West Philippine Sea is ours.

Sources:

https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/south-china-sea-why-are-china-philippines-tensions-heating-up-2024-04-11/

https://www.youtube.com/live/aOrmFJXyAVI?si=P9rPJkJM6BF0NIbW (check 1:57:00)

[glorious-spoon]

hello!! happy tuesday!! requesting 💛 💗💜 for buddie :)

thank you!! 💛 - reunion kiss/relief

The Indiana Jones Thing [On AO3] 2.3K words | buddie | near death experience | first kiss

-

The horizon dips and sways in Buck's field of vision, salt stinging his eyes and lips. His whole world is shades of blue: the ocean around him and the cloudless sky overhead, the white sun beating down. His skin from the shoulders up feels hot and stiff with sunburn, but everything else is cold. Even in the middle of the day, the ocean is so fucking cold.

The Pacific Ocean is one of the warmest oceans in the world, second only to the Indian Ocean. He read that somewhere, but he can't remember where, or what got him on the topic in the first place. It might have been Chris, or it might have been one of his insomnia-induced late-night Wikipedia binges in those shaken weeks after the tsunami.

It doesn't feel warm. Not right now. His clothes cling damply to him—t-shirt, uniform pants, his boots long-since kicked off and lost to the depths. He doesn't know how long he's been out here, or how much daylight he has left. How much daylight they have left to search for him, if anyone is even looking.

They're looking for him. He believes that. He does.

It's just—he's been treading water for a long time.

Perspective is strange from the water. The waves move him, breaking against his face, blurring his vision, but all he can really see from this angle is the vast blue ceiling of the sky. Birds, sometimes, high and fast-moving. Contrails, even higher than that, sunlight glinting on metal, streaks of vapor spreading out behind. He has a crazy, futile urge to wave his arms and scream every time one passes overhead, like someone's going to spot him from a jet forty thousand feet in the air.

All he can do is keep swimming. The water slips around his arms as he moves, a steady repetitive motion that's as slow as he can make it without actually sinking. Frog kicking to conserve his energy. He's a strong swimmer, always has been. He can do this. They're out here looking for him—he knows it. That means it's his job to stay alive long enough for them to find him.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming," he mumbles, a cracked, rasping singsong, and the sound of his own voice startles him so badly that he loses the rhythm of his strokes for a moment and goes under. When he finally surfaces again, sputtering, there's a low, rising rumble, the waves around him getting choppier.

Tsunami, he thinks vaguely. But it wouldn't feel like this. Out on the open ocean, tsunamis are fast-moving but barely perceptible on the surface. It's only when they move into the shallow waters closer to shore that the devastation starts. Flooded streets. Toppled cars. A small, precious body clutched in Buck's arms, or falling away into the water with devastating finality.

The rumbling is getting closer. Buck spins clumsily and blinks for a few moments, wondering if it's just a mirage that's about to blur and vanish into the punishing brilliance of the sun on the water. But it stays, and it gets closer: the sleek white shape of a patrol boat cutting through the water toward him, U. S. COAST GUARD printed across his hull.

Buck starts laughing, ragged and breathless. Maybe he's crying, too, or maybe that's just the saltwater stinging his eyes. The sound of the engine vibrates in his chest, in his ears, as someone in a wetsuit drops into the water and starts swimming toward him with long, smooth strokes, RFD towing behind him. For a wild instant, Buck thinks it might be Eddie, but of course when the man gets close enough to make out any detail, he's a stranger. Older, weather-beaten face, no-nonsense expression.

"Alright, Firefighter Buckley," he says as soon as he's close enough, and it's the best thing, the best thing, Buck has heard in hours. "I'm gonna push this floatation device to you, and I want you to grab it and hold on. Got it? Can you do that for me?"

"Y-y-yeah." Buck's teeth are chattering now. He doesn't know if it's cold or adrenaline or both; a wave of weakness washes through him. "I kn-n-now the d-drill."

The RFD bobs through the water toward him. He grabs at it, clutching it to his chest with such force that he goes under again for a second.

God, it's a relief to let his legs go loose, to feel the buoy hold him up, to have his survival dependent on something else besides his own body and stubbornness.

The guardsman waits until his grip is secure to start towing him back toward the boat. After that, it's all a confused blur of harnesses and hands and the sudden chill of the air as his body leaves the water, sopping wet clothes clinging.

He nearly collapses when his feet hit the deck, the abused muscles in his legs cramping and twanging. His arms feel like two chunks of concrete dangling from his shoulders. Two guardsmen catch him before he can collapse—the man from the water, and a woman who's enough shorter that Buck has to tilt at an awkward angle to lean on her shoulder. Someone wraps a thermal blanket around his shoulders, and he's guided stumbling and clumsy to a padded bench. He blinks, squinting in the sunlight—it's past the arch of the sky, heading toward the western horizon now. It was early morning when the boat broke up and he went into the water.

"H-how l-l-long was I—was I out there?" he manages through chattering teeth.

"It's sixteen forty-five now," the woman says. "Took us a while to pinpoint your location. You're a strong swimmer, Firefighter Buckley. Good thing, too."

More than nine hours. Closer to ten. He's not sure it felt that long. Time sort of stopped having any real meaning out in the water, but he feels every minute of that time now. "Ju-just Buck. Is f-fine."

"Buck." She actually smiles. "Your team is going to be glad to hear that you're alright. Now I have a few questions, just to see how you're feeling. Are you up for that? Someone's getting some dry clothes for you right now."

He nods. His neck feels heavy, and his muscles are throbbing, and the shivering is worse now, even with the blanket. He stumbles through the assessment, and must reassure her that at the very least he's not about to drop dead on her watch, because after that he's released to change into a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that are several inches too short for him but blissfully dry. After that, he huddles back into the thermal blanket and watches the horizon skid by as the boat makes a wide, looping turn. It looks different from this angle. Bigger. He can see more of the world from above the water than he could when he was trying not to drown, and there's a metaphor in that, maybe.

That's the last thought he remembers having before sleep catches him and drags him under.

-

He wakes to footsteps, the sound of voices. All of the sounds feel louder and closer now, and when he finally drags his eyes open, they're docking. It's nearly sunset, the waves reflecting shifting shades of red and gold. It's pretty, he thinks sleepily. Even if it did just try to kill him. Again.

Shouts. Footsteps on the deck. Then hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm, and Buck blinks up at Bobby.

"Hey, Cap," he mumbles.

"Hey, kid." Those might actually be tears in Bobby's eyes, but he's smiling all the same. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Glad those Navy SEAL tryouts actually paid off," says Chim from behind him, and he's beaming too, unabashedly teary-eyed. "You just saved me from having to make one of the worst phone calls of my life, my friend."

"They wouldn't make you notify Maddie," Buck mumbles. "Against regulation."

"Yeah, and I bet you can name the line and letter," Chim says, as Bobby sinks down and wraps an arm around Buck's shoulders, squeezing tight. Buck leans against him. His skin feels itchy and sore from dried salt and sunburn, but at least he's not shivering anymore. Bobby's here, and Chim. He squints past them, but no other familiar faces appear.

"Hen and Eddie are in the other boat," Bobby says, before he can even ask. "They should be here any minute."

"And you are about to be read the riot act, make no mistake about it."

"Wasn't on purpose."

"Yeah, I know." Chim reaches across Bobby to scruff Buck's salt-sticky hair. "Just the worst luck known to mankind. You've got to be down at least three of those nine lives at this point."

The guardsman who examined him reappears over Chim's shoulder as they bump to a halt next to the dock. "Just a few more minutes, gentlemen. We already called it in; the ambulance will meet us there."

"I'm fine," Buck says, more for form's sake than because he thinks it'll get him off the hook here. "Just tired."

Chim scoffs loudly, and Bobby says, "You're going to the hospital, don't fight me on it."

"Okay," Buck yawns.

He closes his eyes again, not quite sleeping so much as drifting, vaguely aware of the warmth and weight of Bobby's arm, the bustle around him. Then he's being coaxed to his feet, muscles screaming all the way. He tilts heavily into Bobby as Chim steadies him from the other side and they shuffle their way off the boat. Bobby delivers him into the hands of the paramedics, and Buck is sitting on the edge of the ambulance bay while his lungs and pulse are examined for a second time, when he hears a ragged voice shouting his name.

"Oh," Buck says, squinting in the dimming sunset. The lights are on around the dock, making it plenty bright enough for him to make out the tall, dark-haired figure sprinting across the lot toward them.

"Buck," Eddie shouts again, and then again, softer, as he stumbles to a halt in front of him. "Buck."

"Hey, Eddie," Buck mumbles. He blinks a couple of times, but his eyes are having some trouble focusing. Eddie's face blurs before him, then settles. Wind-burnt cheeks, wide, wet, beautiful eyes. Chest heaving like he's been sprinting a lot farther than across the parking lot. "Sorry."

Eddie swears under his breath and steps closer as the paramedic lifts her stethoscope away with a deep sigh.

"I'll give you two a moment," she says.

"I'm sorry," Buck says again, and Eddie says, "Fuck, Jesus Christ, don't be sorry," and heaves him into a hug. It's tight enough to be uncomfortable, as sore as he is, but Eddie is warm and breathing quick against his hair as his hands pat over Buck's back like he's checking for injuries and then just clutch at him, and Buck thinks he could probably happily stay here forever.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he mumbles.

A slightly crazed-sounding laugh escapes Eddie. His cheek scrapes against Buck's, warm, uncomfortably scratchy against his sunburn, and then he turns his head just enough to press his lips to Buck's cheekbone, bruising, barely even a kiss. It does something funny to Buck's insides all the same. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay."

"I thought you were dead." It's shaky this time. He's pretty sure Eddie is crying. He thinks he might be, too. Exhaustion and relief and the way Eddie is holding onto him like he can't stand to let go.

The kiss, too. That kiss, just now, that was barely a kiss.

"Eddie, hey." Clumsily, he reaches up. His shoulders ache, his arms feel like lead, but he manages to catch Eddie by the arms. "I'm okay."

Eddie nods against him. Then he kisses Buck's cheek again. This time it's softer, almost delicate; this time, it feels deliberate.

"Are we gonna do the Indiana Jones thing here?" Buck murmurs. "Because I'd be cool with that. For the record. If we are."

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh, which is what he was going for, and finally releases him. He keeps a hand on Buck's shoulder, thumb just brushing the side of his neck, the same way he's always held onto Buck. Over his shoulder, Buck can see Hen approaching, but she hangs back.

"Since when have you seen Indiana Jones?" he asks.

"Blame Chim."

"Okay."

"So," Buck stutters, and it's not the cold now, or exhaustion. This is just nerves. "So—so if you—do you want—?"

Eddie breathes out a quiet laugh. His thumb moves carefully against Buck's skin. And they're doing this, apparently, after everything: right here, on the tailgate of an ambulance with half of their family and a couple of mildly impatient first responders looking on. Buck will be embarrassed about that later, probably.

Right now, though, Eddie says, "Yeah, Buck, of course I do," in that fond quiet voice that Buck loves so much. Right now, Eddie leans down again to kiss Buck a third time, carefully, right on the lips.

It lingers sweetly for a moment. A few yards away, Chim wolf-whistles and Hen starts laughing, but Eddie doesn't pull back until Buck is light-headed and breathless and smiling like a dope.

Eddie looks pretty dopey himself: soft-eyed, a little stunned, even though he's the one who started this. Buck leans up for another kiss, and doesn't break it even when his shoulders and neck cramp into painful knots at the movement. He must make a noise, because Eddie pulls back a moment later. He doesn't go far, though. His hand is still warm on Buck's nape.

"Buck," he says.

"Yeah," Buck sighs, trying not to pout. "You're riding with me in the ambulance, though, right?"

"Obviously. And you're coming home with me after."

"Obviously," Buck repeats. He tilts his chin up for another kiss, even though it hurts, and Eddie lets him.

[mariacallous]

During the first half of the 1980s, in the early days of the HIV pandemic, one ethnic group in the United States faced particularly inhumane and biased treatment. Haitian immigrants, unfairly blamed as the originators or leading propagators of the virus, were lumped into the “Four Hs” of people said to be at a high risk for AIDS: “homosexuals, heroin users, hemophiliacs, and Haitians.” To help contain the virus, the prominent right-wing commentator William F. Buckley argued in a 1986 article in the New York Times that people with AIDS should be tattooed to keep the public safe from contact with them.

In a horrifying throwback to that era, the notion of Haitians representing a public health threat has been revived in the current U.S. presidential campaign season. Most prominently, during last week’s debate with Vice President Kamala Harris, former President Donald Trump repeated a baseless claim that Haitian immigrants in the small city of Springfield, Ohio, are eating other people’s household pets. It’s bad enough that Trump and his running mate, J.D. Vance, have made these vile and unfounded claims. But Vance, the junior senator from Ohio, has also warned that Haitians are spreading HIV.

(Asterisks, footnotes, and even parentheses are usually ill-suited to column writing, but one must wonder whether Trump and Vance are aware of the irony of raising animal abuse claims when one of their most important surrogates, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., has acknowledged that he dumped a dead bear cub in New York’s Central Park years ago; one of Kennedy’s daughters has also said that he once severed a whale head and brought it home.)

After nearly a week of discussion and uproar about the groundless statements about Haitians eating pets, Vance finally admitted on Sunday what people familiar with the facts suspected all along: He had “created” the claims against the Haitian community of Springfield outright to focus national attention on what the Republican Party sees as one of its most potent election issues, immigration.

One question that arises from this incident is why Haitians have been so frequently used as scapegoats for national problems and vehicles for scaremongering in the United States. As it turns out, anti-Haitian discrimination is a topic rich in history.

My first encounter with this was in the early 1990s, when I lived in Miami as a bureau chief for the New York Times covering the Caribbean and parts of Latin America. At a time of political instability, widespread violence, and the specter of famine in Haiti, the Clinton administration severely restricted Haitians’ ability to enter the United States as refugees or beneficiaries of political asylum. As coverage in one Florida newspaper summarized at the time, “Haitians picked up at sea will not be allowed into the United States, period.”

In that period, the U.S. Coast Guard intercepted desperate Haitians en route to the United States and took them to the U.S. base at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba and to other Caribbean Basin countries, where they sheltered in rudimentary camps awaiting processing and return to Haiti. Even those who wished to press claims of legitimate fear of persecution, a common benchmark for asylum, had to do so back in Haiti.

Living in Florida, what stood out to me as much as the restrictive spirit of these rules was how sharply the treatment of Haitians contrasted with that of a neighboring Caribbean people: Cubans, who fled their country for economic and political reasons the previous decade in the so-called Mariel Boatlift, a much larger exodus by sea. In 1984, four years after the arrival of many thousands of Cubans, Washington granted these refugees permanent legal status. (Between 1994 and 1996, however, the Clinton administration held around 30,000 intercepted Cubans at Guantanamo, breaking temporarily with a long-standing U.S. policy of receiving Cuban migrants with relatively open arms.)

Washington initially denied equal treatment to a smaller population of Haitians who also arrived in 1980, as it insisted they were ordinary economic refugees, not people facing political persecution. Only after pressure from human rights groups were Haitians allowed to apply for permanent residency under the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986.

Americans have seldom paused to ponder what drives attitudes toward Haitians that are frequently at odds with those toward immigrants of other nearby nations. If his goal had been simply to stir up anti-immigration sentiment to boost the Republican ticket, Vance could have targeted people from a country that has contributed far more to illegal immigration lately—say, Venezuela or China. It is not as if Trump has not slandered other groups with unfounded claims. Indeed, he launched his first presidential campaign in 2015 with wild rhetoric about Mexico deliberately sending rapists to the United States.

A panel discussion on CNN last week may have captured some of the current Trump-Vance logic. One of the participants asked another why Trump had chosen Haitians—and not, say, Scandinavians—for his obnoxious tall tale. The other panelist, a conservative strategist, refused to speculate, leading the person who asked the question to answer it herself, attributing the decision to racism. Unlike Cubans, for example, who predominantly identify as white, around 95 percent of Haitians are Black.

Many popular attitudes toward race and immigration can be traced back to something called the Teutonic germ theory, a popular 19th-century interpretation that, despite its name, had nothing to do with microbes. As the historian Greg Grandin has written, this theory “held that what was good and strong about American institutions germinated in Europe, in ancient Saxon and Teutonic villages filled with freemen not yet subordinated to feudal lords.” Put simply, thoughts like this lie behind very old and uninspected ideas that still often associate “real” Americanism and hard work and virtue with Anglo-Saxonism.

For xenophobes and demagogic politicians such as Trump and Vance, who wish to whip up anti-immigrant sentiment for political gain, Haitians have come to represent a convenient and dramatic contrast to the proverbial Anglo-Saxon: Haitians, for reasons of their blackness, are an ideal “other.”

One other thing that most Americans don’t realize is how deep hostility and antagonism toward Haiti and Haitians run in U.S. history. Press coverage of Haiti routinely highlights its status as the “poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.” What reporters usually fail to state would be more helpful to understanding the country’s relationship with Washington: Haiti, after the United States, is the second-oldest republic in the hemisphere.

In the 1700s, French traders brought people in chains from Africa to Saint-Domingue, as Haiti was known at the time, to grow sugar and other lucrative commodities. The colony became a principal source of wealth for France, and experts say the production of enslaved human beings made Haiti the richest colony in the history of the world. Then, in 1791, one of the greatest events in modern history occurred. As I wrote in my book, Born in Blackness: Africa, Africans, and the Making of the Modern World, 1471 to the Second World War, people brought from Africa revolted against their enslavement, and by turns defeated the great empires of the age—France, Spain, Britain, and then France again—to win their liberty.

In 1804, when France’s former chattel proclaimed the birth of Haiti, they did so with a constitution that outlawed slavery, a gigantic step in human enlightenment that preceded abolition in both Britain and the United States. What is more, the people of this newborn nation outlawed discrimination on the basis of race altogether, a revolutionary achievement that was still being fought for in the United States in my lifetime.

The Western response to Haitian liberation was a shameful one. France imposed onerous and long-lasting indemnities on Haiti for the supposed injury caused to it by the outbreak of human freedom. Meanwhile, Europe and the United States conspired to isolate Haiti diplomatically and economically. Washington’s preoccupation with Haiti was particularly dishonorable. Members of the Virginia planter class that predominated in U.S. politics worried that the example of Haitians could incite Black people in the American South to demand—and potentially fight for—their own liberation. They believed that stories about Haiti’s success should not be allowed to spread.

U.S. policy has long been tolerant to the idea of immigration from European countries, but much less so toward people from the so-called third world. Because of this bias, upheld in education and entertainment that normalizes European society and culture, popular opinion seems to ask, what do those other peoples have to do with us? In the case of Haiti, the answer is much more than many think. Reaching Trump and Vance with this message may be hopeless, but it is not too late for Americans to understand that they are not alone as the standard-bearers of freedom in their neighborhood, and that they haven’t always been on the right side. Haitians, too, have been pioneers of liberty, not only for themselves, but showing the way to others. It is time for us to treat them with respect and dignity.

[minecraftbookshelf]

I keep thinking about MoS and I have two main questions if you have an answer for either of them :]

1. What would the main traveling methods be between empires? Mainly between Rivendell and the Codpire? And how long would it take either Scott or Jimmy to get from their own respective empire to the others or vice versa??

And

2. Is Third Life in any way canon? Like how in a lot of fics Third Life happened and then Scott and Jim (and everyone else in 3rd Life) were reincarnated into Empires?

I just keep having thoughts about this au ‘cause you’ve made such an interesting story <3

Empire Travel!

I do have a previous post on the topic which i'll yeet up HERE just so that i don't repeat myself too much.

I also talked about elytra (more focused on design but i think its still relevant) HERE jhgfgf

Specifically Rivendell and the Swamp is going to depend on who is doing the traveling. It is several hours flight and about as many days by horse (for an individual, traveling at optimum speed) as it is hours by air. There is also a river to travel by from the coast up the base of the mountains near the border with The Overgrown, there is some boat traffic on there and it is also swimmable, though going inland is against the current.

Jimmy mostly flies to Rivendell and swims home, for example.

There is also less travel than you would think, at least on an individual level.

Just using Flower Husbands as an example:

Jimmy is going to go up to Rivendell a handful of times during the wedding negotiations and preparations, but only a few. Mostly he will be in the Swamp and Scott will be in Rivendell, both of them preparing for their own sides of the wedding. During the actual wedding (a process that will cover over a week) there will be a whole procession from Rivendell all the way to the Swamp. The end of that, and the final day of the wedding itself (which will actually take place in the swamp) will be Scott's first time there.

Once they are married, there won't be a lot of travel for a bit, most of the interactions between kingdoms will be through communications with ambassadors. Eventually, Xornoth and Scott will fly back and forth for visits on a personal level, and there will be state visits as well, travel methods of which will vary.

Nether portal locations are fiercely guarded secrets, revealed only to the closest allies. Rivendell's portal is only known to Pearl and Katherine, maybe Gem. Not even most of the WRA knows where it is.

And only Katherine and the Ocean Alliance members know where the Swamp Portal is. (Pix helped relocate it after they became free of Mythland.)

Portals are a Whole Thing.

[gvfmarge]

Lighthouse of my Soul

(Ghost)Jake x Reader Coming soon!

“Could you be the lighthouse for my soul, could you be the guiding light, tell me everything’s alright? Could you be the one I love so?”

Some chapters will contain smut and difficult topics, MDNI 18+

Little sneak peak (this is unedited, apologies in advance):

Were you running away? From what? It didn’t matter. You felt like you had finally reached your destination. You felt the ocean was your new beginning. The Outer Banks had always been your comfort place, growing up vacationing here was always your favorite. It felt like home every time you visited, so it was a no brainer when you had been offered a temporary position at the local newspaper in Hatteras. You felt that you were going to finally make something of yourself. All the hard work you had put into studying and writing was going to pay off.

You had luckily stumbled upon a tiny cottage to rent. The owner explaining it had been built in 1874 and had weathered many storms and tribulations. It had originally been part of the life-saving station before they had built a newer building and eventually became the Coast Guard. The house had endured damage along the years from storms and each time had been repaired. When you stepped foot inside, you could feel the history. The floorboards squeaked with each step inside, taking a deep breath it smelled like sea salt and fresh air. Everything in the house was basically original. The dark hardwood floors showed signs of wear, with little scratches here and there and you could see the discoloration throughout the house where many footsteps had worn down the stain. The walls were fully covered in shiplap and had been sanded down and painted a beautiful light blue color. The kitchen was small, with only 3 overhead cabinets, a small older fridge and a stove. The living room was connected to the kitchen, you could barely see where the owners had taken out the wall to try and have somewhat of an open concept. Slowly inspecting each room, you came to realize just how small it was compared to the pictures you had viewed online. You realized you might not even have enough space for a couch and a table, but you would figure logistics out later. Walking up the steep rickety stairs you came upon a short hallway, at the end was a window stretching from the ceiling to the floor with an amazing view of the beach and ocean outside of the house, from the second floor it seemed you could see forever over the horizon. There are two bedrooms split by the hallway. Looking inside the room to your left, you noticed a small desk sitting underneath a window looking out to the ocean. On it, sat an empty white vase and a typewriter. It piqued your curiosity, the home came unfurnished and you were not made aware of anything left behind for you to use.

Walking over to it, you sat down in the tiny wooden chair and ran your fingers over the vintage keys. As soon as your fingertips met with the cold metal, you felt electricity flow through your hand, up your arm and down your spine. Goosebumps rose over your skin and you quickly pulled your hand away. The shock and stress of moving must be getting to you, you thought. You gazed out the window taking in the ocean waves. You were finally alone, it felt peaceful but somehow, you felt a longing in the house. There was something that you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

You felt a presence with you and quickly turned around to the entrance of the room. You could have sworn you felt eyes on you but there wasn’t a soul there. You slowly turned your body around again to face the window and your mind wondered back to the memories you had that led you here. Suddenly, a faint smell of tobacco burning filled the room. The sweet but heavy aroma seemed to swirl around your body. It was intoxicating but slightly overwhelming. You felt frozen for just a moment, not quite understanding what was happening. With another deep breath you slowly stood up and scanned the room for any sign of someone else. As quickly as the tobacco smell came, it was gone. You shrugged the smell off to the history of the cottage and made your way back downstairs to begin unpacking and making yourself finally feel at home.

[midnightraine131]

Love Letters from the Skies to the West Coast - Chapter 4 / 15

Pairing: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart Minor: Levi Ackermann/ Hange Zoe, Historia Reiss / Ymir Tags: Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Teenage Love, Awkward First Times, Slow Burn, POV Armin Arlert, Bottom Armin Arlert, Wet Dreams Warning: R18 contains sensitive topics If you are easily triggered by religions, specifically Christianity and Catholicism, I don't think this fic is for you. I have nothing against these religions and this fic is anything but serious. Summary: They say the most judgmental people are those who attend church on Sundays. Despite growing up in a Christian household, Armin Arlert felt overburdened by the pile of ministry activities assigned to him. So he made a pact with himself to never follow in his father's footsteps and become a pastor. With the goal of saving enough money to persuade his parents to let him move to another state after high school, he started accepting paid essay projects in school in secret. Everything in Armin's busy life seemed manageable until he met Annie Leonhart, a Californian girl whose parents had moved her against her will to Vermont. Upon discovering Armin's secret business, Annie approached him with a unique request- to write love letters for a long-distance lover. To craft the perfect love letters, she would help Armin embark on a journey of firsts— his first kiss, first hug, first date, and first everything in a relationship.thing in a relationship.

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

Awkward silence.

That’s the best word Armin could describe their current situation. Annie sat on the bench beside him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her right leg rested atop the other, gently swinging her foot up and down. He couldn't discern if she expected him to say something foolish again or if he should awkwardly excuse himself, blurting out, "Hi, Doc Hange! I just remembered I have some errands to run. Send the bills to my address! Gotta go!" Then, making a dash for the door as if his life depended on it.

But, no, that scenario was wishful thinking. His grandfather was picking him up from this clinic; he needed a ride home.

Armin closed his eyes in resignation. If there were an award for making a situation awkward, he'd surely earn a noble prize.

He shifted his gaze toward the counter, squinting to catch their reflection in its glass finish. Annie appeared disinterested, likely gazing out of the window. He followed her line of sight and spotted her watching tangerine-colored leaves dancing in the wind. One leaf glided and swirled mid-air before disappearing from view. Armin rarely appreciated such things, but as he turned back to Annie, seeing her face light up, he found tranquility in that moment.

Annie's countenance was a fortress for her emotions; she guarded them skillfully, hiding something fragile. In a split second, she smiled. As Armin blinked, her usual stoic expression returned. He made a mental note that the next time he caught her smile, he wouldn't blink so she couldn't shield herself. She’s indeed a very pretty girl, he mused.

Clearing her throat, Annie broke the silence. "That's quite awkward, isn't it? If you have nothing more to say, I'll return to my work."

Armin blinked, looking away and feeling his face heat up. He shifted his seat as far as possible. "I said what I meant."

"Do you really mean it?"

He nodded.

Of course, he did. They might not have been the usual words one would say, but it was Armin. He'd bluntly speak his mind without much thought. Before he could answer, the door burst open.

Hange, sliding a pen back into her white-coated pocket, reviewed a report on her clipboard. "As I suspected, your girl is extremely malnourished. She was just a week old and required extensive care for a few days before she could eat independently. Also, her wounds are infected, not too severe, but I need to prescribe some antibiotics." Scribbling down prescriptions, she then noticed the two awkward teenagers on the bench. "Oh, do you two know each other?" she inquired.

Despite Hange being among the brightest individuals Armin knows in town, she occasionally displays a certain naiveté, often unintentionally. She's been married for over two years to Levi Ackerman, a pet groomer, possibly her first boyfriend post-university. Rumours has it they've chosen not to have children, instead opting to be devoted "fur parents." Their love for their fur babies evolved into a business—a small clinic offering pet grooming services.

Armin rose and approached the counter, where Hange was jotting down notes. Somehow, he felt relieved to escape an awkward conversation with Annie. "Well, um, yeah, we know each other. So, what will the bill be?" he inquired.

Hange clicked her tongue and sighed. "I won't charge you for the consultation, but for her medications, milk, and vaccines. It might be a bit costly. Also, my clinic is currently filled with animals carrying diseases. I can't risk a small kitten falling ill, so she needs a home."

Armin sensed Annie standing behind him, listening. He glanced at her before returning his focus to the doctor. While he could persuade his parents to adopt the kitten, he didn't want to engage in discussions about shouldering the expenses with them.

"As much as I'd like to take her, my dad will probably kick me out before I bring the kitten home," Annie deadpanned.

"Hmm." Hange leaned on her table, chin resting on her palm. "I can see in Armin's eyes that he wants the cat too. How about co-parenting for the cat? Armin provides a home while Annie supports her needs in exchange for visiting rights. You're a full-time staff member at my clinic, so you are eligible for a staff rate, it won't hurt much."

Not a bad idea, but...

"Uh, that's fine with me. I'm not sure about Annie," Armin replied, looking down at the white-tiled floor.

"I have no issue with that," Annie said, crossing her arms.

"It's settled then!" Hange clapped her hands in delight. "I'll prepare her things so you can head home. I have a small cage here for you. I'll be right back." She continued to chatter as she vanished into one of the rooms, leaving the two blondes alone.

Armin smiled awkwardly at Annie.

Great.

Read more on AO3

[monarch-afterdark]

Titan History: Scylla

Welcome once again to Monarch: After Dark, the digital gateway between you and the organisation dedicated to understanding and navigating this troubled new world we live in.

While our inquiry into Janos Biotech continues, we return to the regularly scheduled "Titan History" series, where we break down all you need to know about the creatures we now share our world with. For today's communication, we look to the most recent Titan crisis and examine one of the casualties; the Lovecraftian scavenger, Scylla.

(Pictured above: Scylla rampaging through Rome, prior to being confronted and executed by Godzilla, circa. 2027)

Monarch Database File: Scylla

Monarch Designation: Titanus Scylla

Height: 341 feet

Weight: 20,000 tons

Nature: Bio-Corrosive

Behavioural Classification: Destroyer

-----

A colossal cephalopod Titan that appears to have crawled out from the depths of the Cthulhu Mythos, Scylla is among one of Monarch's more recent discoveries, noted as 'Titan 024' in our database. Her discovery was recent enough that, during the construction of Monarch Outpost 55, a proper containment field for Scylla was unable to be constructed. Some of the outpost's operatives erroneously believed she was dead when they found her dormant in Arizona.

Scylla is known to us as a Titan scavenger, able to break down the carcasses of deceased Titans and convert the nutrients into a lethal waterborne bacteria. This ability led to the implementation of new protocols for Monarch's pathology teams when cleaning and disposing of Titan remains. She can also emit an incredibly dense fog-like pollutant, which she uses to feed on radiation sources or cover her while she evades an attacker, and can emit liquid nitrogen from her body. The latter ability in particular has been cited for cooling down the Antarctic ice and stabilizing global sea levels.

Scylla is also surprisingly intelligent, able to take the wreckages of ships and craft them into temporary shells for her body, and is remarkably agile in her movements, enabling her to take on opponents such as Godzilla with ease.

(Pictured above: The Moai statues of Easter Island. It is believed by Monarch these were built by the Rapa Nui people to ward off Titans like Scylla)

Like with most Titans, not much is known about Scylla's activities prior to 2019 outside of what mythological records allow. It is known that, at some point, Scylla made landfall on Easter Island. Feared by the Rapa Nui people, they erected the Moai status as megalithic scarecrows to deter her, and presumably other Titans as well.

When Scylla was awakened by Monster Zero in 2019, she erupted from beneath Monarch Outpost 55 and made her way to Arizona's capital Phoenix, where she rampaged through the city. She was pacified by the ORCA device's activation in Boston, and was among the few Titans present to witness Godzilla become the new Alpha, bowing down to him as he roared into the sky.

Between this and her next known sighting, Scylla enjoyed a deal of popularity among humanity once Monarch's record of her went public, even becoming a trending topic on social media platform Twitter once her Greek origins were confirmed.

(Pictured above: Artistic rendition of Scylla engaging the United States Coast Guard and Godzilla over possession of a nuclear warhead, circa. 2020)

Around the end of 2020, Scylla appeared off the coast of Savannah, Georgia in search of food. Her hunger led her to a discarded nuclear warhead, which she fought with the US Coast Guard for possession of. Godzilla arrived shortly after and successfully drove Scylla away after a short brawl. She then made her way to a frozen lake at the tip of South America, claiming it as her new territory. Like with all other Titans, Scylla then returned to dormancy, seemingly under Godzilla's instruction.

She did not stay dormant, however. In 2027, Scylla was lured to the Kudankulam Nuclear Power Plant in India by a reactor beacon created by Skull Island trophy hunter Raymond Martin, who (as Monarch later discovered) wanted to use her to occupy Godzilla's attention so he could proceed with his plans for Hollow Earth. After feeding on the radiation there, she would travel to other locations around the world and feed there, Godzilla always one step behind her.

Scylla attacked the United Kingdom Nuclear Labs in Preston and the Aviano Air Base in Italy, feasting off whatever she could find. Her ravenous feeding had caused her to cease cooling the planet's oceans, and Monarch instead found that she was heating the areas she attacked, causing damage to the ozone layer. After an attempted trap by Monarch failed, she was finally cornered by Godzilla in Rome and killed by a point-blank blast of his atomic breath following a short skirmish.

(Pictured above: An X-Ray scan of Scylla, part of a compiled bioacoustic database Monarch has on all Titans, circa. 2019)

-----

And there you go! While Scylla's passing means we may not be able to learn more about her, unless new data is found or another of her species emerge in the future, we do take some pride in knowing some people out there came to embrace Scylla, rather than fear her as most would.

Until next time,

Monarch: After Dark

[elladastinkardiamou]

We’ve lost Greece’s manual This week's newsletter from AthensLive is out:

* The costliest Olympics end up in derelict venues and a financial crisis 

* The EU strikes migration deal, while it is revealed pushed-back refugees burned alive 

* Major Greek involvement in Predator scandal revealed in detail 

The iconic and super-expensive OAKA stadium roof, created by renowned Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava for Greece’s 2004 Olympic Games, has become derelict to such a degree that the stadium closed due to safety reasons, Greeks were told. It was reported that the roof was created with a license for a pergola and that its maintenance manual had been lost…

While the EU was striking an important migration deal that would supposedly lead to a change of its asylum rules to lift pressure on the continent’s border countries, Greek authorities were confiscating the mobile phones of the Coast Guard officers involved in the Pylos shipwreck - a whole 119 days after. Plus, the NYT revealed that refugees who burned alive during Greece’s wildfires were push-back victims.

Finally, a series of investigative reports named Predator Files brings stormy details on Greece’s deep involvement with Predator illegal spyware.  

It cannot be recommended strongly enough to read and share this week's updates on the events and developments in Greece here: https://steadyhq.com/en/athenslivegr/posts/e679cd16-c2ad-4122-86b1-0938f60e2549

For anyone with a wish or need to follow and to gain an insight into recent events in Greece and to read and support independent and investigative journalism in English, the weekly newsletter from AthensLive should be a core element in the reading flow.

If you want the best overview of the events and developments in Greece right now, this is the place to go. Not the mainstream Greek news, but independent journalism with sharp analysis and links to interesting and important topics from a variety of sources.

Become a member and get the newsletter in your inbox every week here:

https://steadyhq.com/en/athenslivegr/newsletter/sign_up

[mywiderangeopinion]

Hi! I created a Tumblr account just for this reason—I want to freely express my opinions without worrying about others judging me. My Facebook is full of college friends and relatives, and I’m not sure if they would appreciate my opinions on certain topics.

I've got a lot on my plate, but when I opened Google News and saw that the Chinese Air Force dropped flares in the path of the Philippine Air Force, it made me stop and think: What can I do to help? How will this affect me? How will this affect my family?

I'm a bit concerned about what our government's next move will be. According to ABS-CBN News, they plan to discuss this within the week and come up with an appropriate response.

China always mentions that they want this issue resolved peacefully, but their actions suggest otherwise. If the Philippines allows itself to be bullied while under the watch of our allies, China may perceive us as a mere speck they can easily disregard. Although I hope this never leads to war, the ongoing tensions over this territorial dispute make me anxious, especially considering our limited equipment.

I don't want my husband to go to war. We have young children, and if other countries or UNCLOS allow China to be aggressive, it would show a disregard for the 2016 arbitration ruling and international laws. This would also suggest that China could easily capture Taiwan. It's been several years since the ruling, yet China continues to create tension. This situation could significantly impact my work and our future.

I will end this by saying that I'll pray for our country's safety. Even though we are clearly being bullied, I hope our president and other leaders will wisely and strategically plan their next move. Their decisions are unclear to me, especially after a recent video showed Chinese Coast Guard personnel taking or stealing firearms from the Philippine Coast Guard without any response from our side. It makes me wonder if they are waiting for a serious incident, like the loss of life, before they take a firm stand for our country.

Here's the link: https://news.abs-cbn.com/news/2024/8/12/agricultural-goods-without-permits-confiscated-in-naia-boc-034

[magnolia-sunrise]

ALso if you're up for it: 25 & 32 for elise, and 2 & 31 for thorne !!

ahhaha thank u so much i actually got to wrinkle my brain a bit thinking about these two :3c

ask meme

Élise

25. What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

god i think like. so many things. they're a pro at hyperfixating on random subjects and hobbies for a few months, hoovering up all information available and then moving on when the next thing catches their interest.

not directly relevant but i guess somewhat relevant: they learned a lot about tattooing and history of tatoos and the difference of tattooing on different types of skin and why android skin is not suited for regular ink and needles and oftentimes they return to their dream of actually developing a technique that would make tattoos stick to modern synthetic skin.

completely irrelevant knowledge: history of local beer crafting and the different "wars" of competitor brands over the past decades that lead to this particular very hoppy flavor of beer dominating the market

32. If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

the "if" can be thrown out just on the basis of them doing work for the clinic which is not strictly legal but in terms of specifically petty crime definitely shoplifting and vandalising private property (denting a cop car while drunk). they can't actually afford a lot of the supplies they need for their work and their studies, so they got pretty decent at lifting what they need : )

Thorne

2. How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

while many people would want to be her friend with all the benefits they imagine that could bring them, Thorne wouldn't call anyone a friend, at least not where anyone could hear her. i think she has "clients", "sources", "associates" and "subordinates". even the women she's more intimate with she wouldn't refer to as friends or partners, despite caring for them deeply. she is extremely analytical and extremely guarded.

31. When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

she would say that guilt is a useless feeling that only blocks your path to success. especially in her position as an android buying and selling information to the highest bidder regardless of her own allegiances... there are many people in her past she has had to step over or make decisions that ended with them getting sidelined or hurt - she can't afford to feel guilty, it would overtake her entire life. all she allows herself is once a year a trip to the coast by herself to quietly ask no-one in particular for forgiveness.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

I'd love to hear what you think about prompt 13, and likewise, number 21 from the OTP question masterlist xx

13. Hmm. I actually think Astarion is more open, especially as time goes on and he opens up even more. Eleanor is heavily guarded about deep topic stuff, meanwhile Astarion in game is, on like the third conversation, all, "SO, you want to know ALL ABOUT Cazador eh???" And then just...spills his guts, lol.

21. Another toughie. I'm not incredibly sure? I think when Astarion gets hopeful, he does it like a roller coaster, it's ALL RAINBOWS AND SPARKLES, or everything is horrible and worthless. Meanwhile Eleanor is coasting along on dim, minimum levels of hope, but they remain a low, steady constant?

Question list here.

[lesbianralzarek]

while we're all on the topic of that missing deathtrap submarine, lets talk about the boat of migrants that capsized off the shores of greece. 80 confirmed dead, 500 missing. at sea. we all know "missing at sea" is not great, and that theres not enough driftwood in the world for 500 people. survivors have said that the greek coast guard capsized it while attempting to steer it to put it on course to italy, while greek coast guard says they were already on course to italy and had refused help (note: they are still required to help, regardless of whether or not capsized victims want them to). the EU has sent out the FRA (agency for fundamental rights) to "gather evidence and cooperate with the local authorities" but said that they do not have investigative power

5 missing has mass search parties, but 500 missing prompts no investigation

[sasquapossum]

At this point I've probably seen about thirty posts on the theme of how horrible it is that the news is all about the five people who died in an ultra-capitalist boondoggle near the Titanic, and not about the five hundred immigrants who died when their ship sank with the Greek coast guard right there refusing to help. They make a good and important point. Really, they do. However, as someone recently said in another video (on a different topic) we shouldn't just stop there. We should ask the next question. Why are these stories being covered so differently?

A large part of the reason is that a story about Very Rich People getting their "just desserts" is simply more interesting to many people. We have names and faces. We have extra details, like the famous video-game controller, or the fact that the sub was bolted from the outside, or the fact that James Cameron criticized the design before Titan hit the water. With the Greek ship - the name of which I still haven't seen mentioned BTW - there are no such individual details. Just a nameless, faceless, evil. Even worse (from the standpoint of getting on the news) the main crime here seems to be indifference. Boring. But even that's not the whole story.

You see, whatever they say, many people's revealed preference is for stories of revenge rather than tragedy. That's what the news outlets are responding to. In fact, there's probably a huge overlap between those who have been pounding the "I wish all billionaires a painful death" drum for years and those who are now decrying the lack of coverage for something else. They drove this behavior, and now they complain about it. I wish I could believe they'd spend a moment reflecting on that.